"Gods?" Rosellia scoffed, but the reaction was awkward. It was clear the Blade had trouble properly communicating it's effort to mock the very thought of it being ushered anywhere by such beings. On the other side there were many 'gods' each one just as gaudy and offensive as the last. Powerful beings that hoist themselves up as superior for a few generations before being dragged down and butchered with it's slayer being propped up as the next Hero for a generation until they rise to the same level. It was a vicious cycle, one the blade looked upon with mockery and disgust. How many supposed 'gods' had died on it's edge alone? How many had designs for it while being pulled down from their thrones soon after? As far as it was concerned the gods on this side would be the same, the more awe they were viewed with-- that merely meant they were doing their job a bit better then those on the other side.

Shaking her head, Rosellia snapped back, realizing that the Tainted Blade had been too lost in it's frustrations and disapproval, it had forgotten to lead Rosellia along to continue the conversation. "Erm... I don't think it was 'gods' who were responsible, at least, they never really seem to be the type who would do something so strange." She admitted with a dry laugh trying in vain not to let the disdain for those hypocritical figures show. "In 'my' memories... They're hazy. Before I was 'born' often it's only vague impressions or brief flashes of 'somethings'. It was a skewed place, dark and light, burning and freezing all at the same time... there was something in the air, thumbing and pulsing, it effected everything, plants, animals, humanoids... in the early stages, survival was difficult, life was so pathetic, so weak and frail. Most died just trying to adapt to the harshness of the world around them, everyone had to fight for another day, another week of living, preying upon anything that could help them survive. As time passed, the strong lived longer and made the weak stronger, directing the week like limbs they grew stronger and claimed to be superior. Rise and fall, the weaker became strong, the strong became weak, some stayed the same, others passed in peace but there was always killing, always struggling-- Everyone struggled." It spoke.

It's words were harrowing, grim as it spoke of a chaotic world where there was nothing but constant pandemonium, constant fighting and slaughter. Blood poured into every gutter on every day, there was no money-- people just took what they wanted, no laws-- the strong just did what they wanted, no towns, no jobs, no fun or joy, there was just no time to build, no time to experiment if they wanted to survive the disturbed atmosphere. "My earliest memory was being pulled from another's body, being wielded and killing others. The thirst for blood was infectious but not overpowering, how to say-- it was good to feel needed?" She explained with a mellow smile. "My wielders got weaker as time passed though, the glorious days of heroic figures storming the strong to try and usurp them had led to people becoming crafty rather then powerful... It's a shame, I remember my first feeling was anger and disapproval, I didn't like my role any more, and then, I was here, in some small village, just stuck in the ground." She admitted with a bitter and dry expression.