A vast battlefield stretches to the horizon, drenched in blood and strewn with the bodies of the fallen. The smell of death and smoke permeates the air, and heavy clouds of smoke rise from the battle, painting the sky crimson. The armies of the dead march forward, their eye sockets empty, their bodies covered in rags and rotting flesh. They know no fear, feel no pain - only the call of the necromancer leads them to attack. Giant cannibals march ahead, their crude armor riddled with dents, and in their hands they carry massive clubs that smash the ranks of the living like houses of cards. Their roar shakes the battlefield, striking terror into the hearts of even the most steadfast warriors. But the living do not retreat. Knights in shining armour fight side by side, their swords slashing tirelessly, their spears piercing rotting carcasses, and their catapults tearing the ranks of the dead to shreds. Crossbowmen and archers fire endless volleys of arrows, but the fallen warriors continue to rise, picking their way through the piles of bodies that hinder the advance of both armies. Every step across this hellish field is difficult - mangled remains, torn limbs, overturned war machines lie everywhere. Chariots are stuck in blood, and warhorses stumble over bones, falling under the weight of their riders. In the thick of battle, titans of war clash: huge cannibals and the finest warriors of man. Axes split skulls, armoured giants rain down blows that can cut through several fighters at once. The screams merge into a single roar, the earth trembles from the tramp of thousands of feet. And then comes the turning point - the necromancers raise their hands, awakening new waves of the dead, raising even those who fell in this battle a minute ago. The ranks of people are thinning, but the battle is far from over. Soon the commanders will meet in a final blow, and then the fate of this bloody field, which has become a mass grave for thousands, will be decided. (((Legion)))