The figure raised its armoured head to Zane. "[i]Do you hear them... Zane?... No... No one does..."[/i] His voice is gravelly and distorted through the metal, as if his entire throat had been scorched by fire. His words radiated from the armour itself, everything he said emanating from the engraved plates of burnt ceramic. [i]"They tell the same story, over and over. Yet you, along with everybody else here, shall never here it... What a shame. They tell me of such wondrous things. Telling me the same story of exile... What does this place offer you now, Zane? It is set aflame not by the fires of my own doing... But of your "people" and their feeble attempts at playing politics, always being the hero. The hero, the God... There are no gods."[/i]