It was a pyrrhic victory. Emperor Kamong sat exhausted on a mound in the middle of the battle field of Uberbia. He now controlled eight directions, twenty races, all horizons and was next to the gods. But he had lost almost all of his gallant soldiers who made him what he was today. He wiped off the blood dripping down his eyebrows with the corner of his loin cloth and surveyed the corpses and half-deads moaning around. He was filled with rage and roared into the heavens,\”If we have to die anyway, then why suffer living? What is the logic? Who or what compels us to stay alive? Why are we afraid of death, of inevitability? Where is volition? Where is individual will? What is this epic trickery? Who is in charge here? I demand an answer!\” There was no answer. He got up and hurried off to tend to the injured. They were all he had. They were the ones he could depend on. They were the ones who always replied.