After death, one does not ascend to Heaven nor descend to Hell; they simply return to dust and dirt.
The deceased possess nothing and will not make any demands of the living. The so-called anger of the undead, the resentment that lingers, is but a reflection of the emotions within the living.
Thus, those who are no longer alive, who can't even find peace or rest in death, are encapsulated within a steel prison of a shell, reliving the carnage until destruction – how could they possibly preach the path of eternity to the living, how could this tragic state be touted as a human aspiration, and how could such brutal and ludicrous acts be described as happiness?
Only those with ulterior motives, who are living, and who are extremely twisted and cruel maniacs, would see madness as normal and dub savagery as truth.
In the memories of "Nightingale," there existed just such a monster.
