Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall
Tell me, who is your predecessor? Who is the one that made you what you are now? Who gave you birth into this ungrateful world, just to hear a chant of the dead? The jingles of the past are closing in more than ever, casted into the wasteland once again, they will march forward to victory, even in the most dire situations. Dying slowly, they will uphold their loyalty to their Autarch, even if they are caught up in the worst possible days. My capabilities have extended far more than a mere mortal could even think of, and in the blink of an eye, my cutlass has already been jabbed right in your stomach, without an exception, without thinking it over. I have pledged my loyalty to the Autarch, and the march of the undead is now going to commence, to victory, for blood and thunder, and I'd like to thank my glorious father, for making me what I am today.