When all other emotion has fled, only hate will remain. Long after the illusions of love and peace have evaporated on the winds of perpetual war, hatred will continue to pour into each rage-fueled blow. In fury a man finds his true strength, the power he needs to bring any weapon to bear against those who would dare stand against his will. Might exists only in the depths of hate, and powers each trigger pulled, each blade swung, and even the rock that crashes down on skull.
Long after fear has vanished in the face of maddening insanity, when a man can no longer find the strength or the will to know fear, hatred will carry him through. When hope is gone on the ashen winds of death, and the warrior has come to the place where sorrow and misery no longer hold sway in a wilderness bereft of all comfort and security, hatred will see him to the end. For beyond the precipice of mortal understanding, when the very question of life or death is asked, a man can only know one response that will lead to life.
Hatred is the purest of our emotions, and the most natural. Who could look at the cruelty of the world that surrounds us and believe that happiness is the most fundamental state of a man? Who could see the horrors visited on the unsuspecting innocents and understand that as anything other than the ravening injustice that life is from beginning to end? When one looks upon the ravages of a short and pain-filled life, he has but one response that is at all rational. He must scream into the night that awaits him, refusing to give in without a fight.
That very response which seems most irrational is the only one that makes any sense at all, because such an insane and happenstance existence can only be rationalized by the irrational. Hatred is all that will see a man through to the end, his blood offered on the eternal altar of war, for there can be no other fate for man. Should you feel differently, it would be better for you to blast out your own brains now, and save true warriors the trouble of slaughtering you when your time comes.
Today we stand before you as harbingers of a death you could never have avoided, for it was your appointed time to die. At some point our own appointed day will come, but it is not today. Yet we do not ask you to lay down arms, for we are prophets of hate. We worship it for what it is, the one true idol that gives us meaning and purpose. We hate you with every ounce of our being, and we expect the same in return.
Decadence is purposeless, for when desire fades it is left as nothing. Likewise, change is meaningless without a greater sense of being. Even the great equalizer that is decay can only march in our wake, gobbling up the offal that our lord casts aside as unworthy of his attention. Only hate can sustain, and only bloodshed can endure. When the winds of oblivion come, and the whirlwind sweeps down to reap this reality from its pathetic existence, even then, only hate will remain.
Khorne saves us all from our weakness and our asinine hopes for something greater. We offer your skulls to his bloody name, as tokens of our appreciation for the clarity he has brought down upon us.
-Kozlu, Apostle of Khorne