Peace is the best solution to mostly everything.
However, it does not work every time. The perfect solution does not fit into the size of whatever may be.
Things constantly shift and change.
If it was slow or unmoving, it would be a world without the second solution that most revert to.
Violence is ingrained into us.
From the time we used it for survival, to the first murder, to the present, it is always there.
A tool used as often as our mind.
Then why?
It's usefulness is undeniable.
From threats, to harm, even words cause violence.
Words hurt the mind. Something someone wishes not to hear can be said.
Or insults. Coated compliments doused with poison.
A single word from the heavenly body to exterminate, and down they would spiral.
A twist of metal in the hand of man and another would fall.
It's usefulness is a curse at the same time.
Lowly beasts that fight each other for one reason or another.
Tiny or not it can grow to be as large as the sky.
The punching over a woman's hand.
A petty comment.
Resources and dominance.
Enmity.
History is a line of fools and intellectuals who have used and faced violence.
No matter how strong they themselves or others were, they had to resort with it back.
From right to wrong.
From wrong to right.
It had to be corrected. For the sake of the holy and their own beliefs.
They too are not exempt from murder.
Even if their brother was held hostage.
They must not yield.
"C'mon! I ain't stoppin!"
The wave of endless lives clashed.
"None of you can!"
The Holy Knight could hear the screeches of the greatest threat that humanity had faced.
The sky was tainted just like the ground.
The metal cutting down others.
"Hold!"
The Sanctity of summon must be fulfilled.
Even if it costed their life.
"This… must stop…"
"Eh what a yapper breh. Show me your finest creations! I'll see to it that it happens!"
The manipulation put upon their brothers could not be undone.
Their own kind.
Reduced to slaves.
Slowly they were being pushed back.
It was harsh.
Land ravaged by this war caused by a dying spark.
The form constantly shifting with no difference made between it.
The holy knight was exhausted.
With the murder.
With the senseless violence.
All of it.
Yet the holy knight gripped the sword and persevered.
Swinging more and more.
Wounds found themself invading the holy knight.
"Who woulda thought–Grit in ye bones."
The grin.
It all came from that grin.
The fallen pushed harder.
Rigidly sacrificing their lives. Not even knowing they were being toyed with.
Softly born, turned to ashes.
The holy knight ferociously fought harder.
The embers not to be forgotten.
The kindling grasped by the fire.
"Now that's what I was expectin!"
Breathing heavily, the holy knight had trouble viewing the person in front of him.
Clapping.
"Great. That's great."
Barely it was audible. The person started to get closer.
The holy knight once again raised their sword.
"Tell me a lie. Tell me a truth. Ah, havin fun?"
The holy knight steeled their resolve.
There were only the fallen brothers who were finally resting from this madman.
The holy knight felt no pleasure.
The burning flame wanted only one thing.
It was to be granted.
It should be granted.
There would be no atonement for the holy knight's actions.
That there was no human.