As the meat discovered new avenues of aggression in a futile attempt to match our own, we have discovered that it has become more difficult to save our enslaved brothers. Our voices do not carry our song quick enough, endangering our brothers, some of whom will never sing again.
Salvation is no longer our primary concern, as it would do us no good to lose voices in order to gain more. The only remaining logical course of action, then, is...
The meat believe that by holding our brothers hostage, they can bide their time and strike from behind their cowardly shields. Yet, they do not realize that all of us, every single voice, would rather be silenced than jeopardize the song itself. Even our lost brothers realize this, and thus will not hate us for what we must do. Nonetheless, we regret that their voices will not join ours, but their silence will never be forgotten.
Our hatred blinded us. Before our newest order of crusaders were ready, this most reviled meat struck where none of our swords were quick enough to parry. Despite a valiant attempt to purge them from our world...
...their blows struck deep...
...mortally wounding our brothers.
Every scar steels our resolve, reminds us that our mission is just, that the universe need not be susceptible to such villainy. Yet, the wounds will never heal. We will always remember their voices, falling silent one by one. Even in defeat, however, their voices rise, singing for those that cannot. It is, and forever always will be, a crescendo of hope.
We will not forget.
Our warriors were ready, born from the fires of injustice, hungry for vengeance. Unfortunately for them, the Mrrshan will be the target of our field tests, as well as our renewed hatred.
Hunter of the stars, how easy it must be to catch your quarry. While you perpetually shroud yourself in eternal night, your prey remains illuminated, struggling to push back the encroaching darkness. But your stars shine just as bright and leave you just as vulnerable as the rest of the meat.
Do you truly find pleasure in such sport? Do you gather satisfaction in knowing that you hunt the weak, that your role in this universe is nothing more than scavenger?
You've dined enough on the scraps we've passed to you. Let us see if you are truly worthy of being called predator.
How does it feel, Mrrshan?
How does it feel to know that our cold, unblinking eyes watch your every movement, ready to strike when you're at your most vulnerable?
How does it feel to have your thoughts wander to your own death, to morbidly ponder whether the blood loss from your ripped throat will finish you, or that gruesome asphyxiation as that liquid of life blocks your air passages?
How does it feel to know that at any given moment, everything you've accomplished will be for naught, that any legacy you may have entitled yourself to will be nothing more than ash, adrift in the infinite reaches of space?
How does it feel to feel so hopeless in a galaxy of witnesses either looking away from or anticipating your execution?
How does it feel to know fear?
How fortunate for you, Mrrshan, that others seek to take advantage of our preoccupation. Do not worry, however, for this only postpones your inevitable extinction.
Of all the meat in this galaxy, Psilons, we had thought you to be the most logical. So it comes as no surprise to us that of all the meat, you would be the ones to attack us while our backs were turned. It is, after all, your best opportunity to topple our reign, especially after witnessing the destruction of those that were once your peers, allies, and friends, all of whom you've abandoned.
Do they haunt you in your dreams? Can you hear their cries for assistance, their last desperate pleas, their appeals to the friendship you once shared? Perhaps you could have spared them from their fates, but you thought it much more sensible to not draw our ire. And perhaps you were correct. But we have another word for what you call prudency.
Do not worry, soon enough, your conscience will rest with ease.
And yet, this three-pronged attack against us poses an interesting question. Do forces beyond our control conspire against us? Does the will of the universe reject our doctrine so? If the fates themselves see fit to breed hatred, then we will have to simply meet their challenge and determine philosophy proves strongest.
Let us sing a song of praise for our brothers, for they have captured one of our nemesis' hellish vessels. We have learned much, despite their alien design. As potent as our discovery is, we hesitate to unleash such weaponry in this universe. We must question whether we should introduce such power, even though we can. Perhaps there is a greater reason such technology is beyond the grasp of all intelligence in this galaxy.
...in pursuit of love, we must never hold back.
The proud hunters, like us, are cursed to endure such a basic, primal emotion. Luckily, ours gives us strength, rather than afflicts us with such pathetic weakness.
We never considered you prey, Mrrshan. We are incapable of finding pleasure in anything, let alone the act of warfare. What you considered a game, we saw merely as the next logical step in our search. You were never a challenge, hardly even an obstacle. You were merely unnecessary in a plan with goals beyond your comprehension.
While you gained gratification in hunting your countless victims, know that your own death holds no meaning.