Victory smelled disgusting. It had a way of turning men ugly, transforming them into embarrassing, predictable creatures. Not because of blood. Blood had never disturbed me. Nor did war. War, at the very least, stripped humans honestly. On the battlefields, men screamed when they were afraid, bled when they were wounded, and died when they were weak. There was an absolute truth in that brutality. Clean truth. Steel did not pretend; death did not flatter.