In the days of the Civil War, it was North against South.  America was divided.  Battles like none other ensued.  You would pick up a gun and fight for the place you called home.  But sometimes, you realized too late that your own brother, or father, or cousin, or whomever called a different place home.  When you marched into battle with a bayonnet at the ready, you didn't realize that you'd be staring across the battlefield and into the eyes of the same boy you grew up with, playing marbles and jacks in the dusty backyard that your houses shared.

But at the time, you just think "that traitorous bastard."

You don't think "how does he feel about seeing me in the same light?"
You don't think "do I have to fight?"

All you realize is your hate for him.  Your sudden, bubbling, seemingly hidden hate, harbored for years upon years.  From nowhere, thoughts you never knew you had, they rise up like boiling water, the anger skyrocketing to a point where it no longer can be contained rationally.  You see nothing but red.

You see red as you're angry.
And you see the red stain of your best friend when you regret.

You wanted to know how someone can kill a brother?
It's pretty goddamn easy when he's in your way.

Civil War.  Domestic disputes that turned uglier than one expects.  Cain and Abel, above all!  Brother slays brother.  Son slays father.  Jahnke murder case.  Oedipus complexes.  Tell me, William...  haven't you looked across the ring into John's eyes and wanted to take him apart?  Don't tell me you haven't.  And what do you think of my situation with Tyrell?  Do you believe that I stare at him without pangs of malice striking me like a cold wind without warning?

Brother or not, when they stand in your way... there's only one thing you can do.

Remember?  Sacrifices?  Wouldn't you throw your brother into the volcano for the gods to smile on you?  Don't bother, I know the answer.  In a New York minute, you'd sacrifice your kin to be a king.  What's an extra letter?

Looking across from me, you'll be blazing with hate.  I know you will.  The "how dare he oppose me" will kick in soon enough.  And in the end, we will be enemies again.  Isn't it a lovely feeling?  For what is sacrificed, I cannot lose this match.  For what is on the line, I will not be beaten.

For the revolution, I will stand until death.