The Juggernaut stepped forward, and the earth quaked beneath him.
His form, immense and heavy, cast a shadow over Xerosis, his armor etched with the scars of countless wars. Each step he took resonated with power, as if the world itself obeyed his presence.
Xerosis, blind but unshaken, stood her ground.
She raised a hand, her voice an unearthly wail, a dirge of the forsaken. The air shimmered, vibrating with the cries of women long forgotten, their agony woven into her very being.
"Rise."
The battlefield shuddered as the corpses of long-dead warriors stirred. From the bloodied dirt, spectral figures emerged.
Women wronged, women silenced, women betrayed.
Their translucent hands reached toward the armored bodies of men long fallen, dragging them from their restless slumber with the clanging of chains.
Helmets turned. Rusted swords were gripped by skeletal fingers. Eyes, empty and soulless, glowed with unrelenting duty.
The Dead Knights had risen.
