Grimnick
Somehow he found himself alone. A macabre ring of crusader corpses lay around him, all of them dead or dying. He looked at the blade of Contagion, watching with morbid fascination as the blood on it coagulated at an alarming rate, eventually staining the blade black as the disease killed every living cell in the fresh blood.
"...Richard...?" One of the men was trying to talk, the name bubbling in the back of his throat as he descended quickly to death. He had taken a deep slash to the ribcage, and would bleed out even before the disease could kill him. His face was familiar. Had he known the man in life?
It mattered not.
"Grimnick," He spat. But the man was dead, his eyes nothing but empty, soulless orbs.
The undead warrior lifted his foot and brought it down hard on the corpse's head, curshing it like a melon.
"Soon your kind will be no more. Relish the fact that you will not be joining my ranks, human."
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