The sound of war drums rolled across the plains like thunder.
Banners fluttered in the cold wind, crimson and black threads stitched into a silver dragon that now stood as Riverdale's sigil.
Below those banners, an ocean of soldiers marched, their steel armors clashing, boots pounding, and formation stretching farther than the eye could see.
At the front, the Death Legion advanced in silence.
Unlike Riverdale's mortal army, the legion was a tide of deathly aura mutated monsters, demons, deathly hounds, mutated humans, and wraiths that floated low over the ground. Necrolord himself led them, scythe in hand, his hollow sockets glowing faintly.
Beside him strode Thunder. Lord walked; his steps crackled with raw lightning. Behind them came the ten pseudo-transcendent warriors, men, and women who had died at the hands of Klaus or his subordinates.
