"A deluge not of rain, but of blood. Deserts turned to quagmires, forests to marshlands, streets to canals. That was just the beginning."
— Lone survivor of the Chaias Rift Anomaly, Warhammer 40,000
The World Eaters come in a Maelstrom of Gore. 888 faithful souls have been sacrificed to the Lord of Blood, the ensorcelled lifeblood pouring from the heavens invigorates the psychotic berserkers to even more extravagant acts of bloodshed. Chainaxes rise and fall in bloody arcs again and again and again. The red stained stormclouds rumble with peals of thunder, sounding for all the world like the laughter of mad gods. Truly, the berserkers of the fallen legions are the most terrible of foes, for their god is strong indeed.
"A senbon rainstorm, huh? I've got a better idea. Let's make it rain blood instead."
— Gaara, before liquefying three enemy ninjas, Naruto
I emerge into a brightly-lit street where it's raining blood — coarse dark stinking drops. People stand shielding their faces, screaming, or huddle on the ground, shaking and whimpering. What is this — some smeared lunatic's vision of the end of the world? Will every insane eschatology ever dreamt of be unleashed in these last few hours? Or is this nothing but an accident, an unintended glitch? Many of the smeared humans could still be inexperienced and isolated — maybe we're collapsing them unawares, constructing a mosaic reality from a series of random snapshots of their first, infantile explorations of the space of eigenstates. I stand and watch, helplessly, until the blood in my eyes begins to blind me.
"LET THEIR BLOOD RAIN FROM THE SKY!"
— Profion, Dungeons & Dragons (2000)
