Humans, so romantic, so fragile, so busy. Moving through the day as if what they do has meaning. As if their business is the most important thing in the world. They search for artifacts, explore the world, make offerings to their gods. They kill each other and wait together, hand in hand, for the apocalypse. Oh, if they only knew that they were sitting in a manger and that angels and demons, all of them monsters, gaze down upon them and see the same thing as when a human looks into a sack of grain or a butcher looks at a fat pig.
Humans die and leave behind the most precious treasure there is in the pit: A soul. Every monster, whether angel or demon, needs souls to awaken.
Because every god is only as powerful as the number of souls he has collected.