Memory loss is a sort of living death -- and these moths are the Grim Reaper.

“The Armored Avenger is dead!"

"Look at him! He looks like hamburger, but his admantium armor is untouched! What could have done that?”

Upon the third storm-cracked night, under the light of a bloated blood red moon, the Razor of ManBeasts was crafted. A show of revenge, or the creation of a druid gone mad, no one knows for sure. But the ManBeasts walk the nighted forests now, ever since then, not a coincidence I say.

He had done it a hundred times, taken eyes. It was so easy by now, he rarely used a spoon or knife, but, with his own fingers, would pilfer those beautiful orbs from the skulls of the deceased...

The wind picked up to the point where it sounded like a chorus of a hundred howling banshees. Even deep in the cave, we all felt the temperature drop even further as the Chill Squall moved through; snatches of wind fingering in as if it was trying to pluck us out of our hole.

The Red-Wind Rag; Trappings of a Bloody Death; A Malevolent Sheet of Scarlet and Ichor.

The failed prototype of the artificial race, the Oraki, it was Kain's misfortune to be found, and resurrected by those who bore a special hatred for his kind. Twisted now in mind and body, this monstrous man machine haunts both its kin and its former captors.

It's hiding in the dark, it's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me, it wants my soul, it wants my heart
No one can hear me scream, maybe it's just a dream
Maybe it's inside of me, stop this monster

Skillet ~ Monster