The Marches.

Half battlefield for the minds and hearts of man, half refuge for the steadily increasing refugees from the war between Heaven and Hades, half free-fire zone notable for its lack of mercy and surfeit of bloodshed, and half crazy-quilt of strongholds and anarchies. There are too many halves, and the Marches are beginning to show the strain.

As armed assaults on Heaven or Hades aren't very effective, and since both sides don't want to fight too openly on Earth, for a very long period of time the Marches was where you went to fight the War. This tradition started roughly five minutes after the end of the Revolution, and continued on for about twenty millennia. In that time, the ground rules were set: Win, or die. No prisoners, no mercy, no surrenders offered or taken. There are celestial neutrals present: respect their neutrality, but they in exchange had to stay neutral. There are no ethereal neutrals: either they were for or against your side. Those on your side were to be defended fully; those not were to be shown no tolerance. Do whatever it takes to win the fight.

Things are supposed to be a little less vehement today (for one thing, the Symphony can't handle the massive amounts of disturbance implicit in the above), but Servitors on both sides have difficulty remembering that. They've spent too much time engaged in a war to a knife to get past their anger and loathing for their enemies, just because of some nagging worries that they might bring the whole universe down with their antics. Some honestly don't care: the entire thing is falling apart anyway, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Except get your revenge. Revenge is a dish served at many flavors in the Marches, but most still prefer it cold.