The battlefield is an unforgiving place. Filled with anguish, anger, and the metallic scent of fallen soldiers. Amidst the carnage, which seemed so hopeless, stood one shining beacon of victory. Raising high his golden gauntlet, red rivers dripping over the sharp claws, he summons forth his soldiers once more.

"Soldiers! For Kremnos! We bathe this ground in red or die!" His voice boomed over the fields. And similar chants erupt from the remaining ranks of his men. Raising their weapons high and charging forward.