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... posing commander strode through the carnage, his spiked boots grinding over the faces of the fallen. He didn't glance down—why would he? They were beneath him in every sense, their lives meaningless except as stepping stones to his glory.

His armor, though ornate, was deliberately defaced—scratches etched into gold filigree, dark stains of dried blood splattered across intricate engravings. It wasn't wear from battle; it was a statement. He wore the filth like a badge of honor as if to p ...

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