A world was a fitting sacrifice, he mused to himself. The heretics and the unfaithful of it, anyway. What use were they, in the end? Nothing more than fodder for this great day. This momentous day. What person would do any less for a master that has provided everything? For one that staves off Death's clutching hands, and breathes immortality into withered limbs. No, no sacrifice could be too great, and this was far too little. The gain of a sacrifice is proportionate to the loss.