by John Xero
Saint Araxis (XI) is dead, headless.
He lies slumped across the tactical map desk in the war room of his battle barge. Little wooden ships, tanks and soldiers have been scattered to countries far removed from the current conflict. This redeployment has been recorded by sensors built into the oak desk and corresponding orders have been issued.
Quizzical transmissions are coming back from the front lines; the battlefield commanders are understandably concerned.
The assassin has been subdued, however, and the overwritual has been initiated; his memories are being overwritten by Araxis’ last backup.
Long live the immortal Saint Araxis (XII).