The light that appears, hungry and red, behind the heroic banner frames it in a bloody light. The ruined skeleton that shambles behind it, weighed down by tattered leather and rusted armour, still stands as tall and proud as he did in life. With skeletal hands wrapped around the hilt of a flaming sword, Arisztid marches on–seeking more bodies to cut his way through. His purpose is to protect the banner-holder until their march comes to an end. Somewhere in his marrow, he knows that it never will.

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