The pieces were set, the war lost. The black King stood tall, almost alike the warriors of the old, awaiting the swinging sword that had already butchered one of his loyal Pawns. His Bishop knelt beside him, praying feverishly for the soul of his master; but then again, death to him was just another inevitable holy journey – a journey to afterlife. The Black Knight, in manacles, gritted his teeth, bile of defeat coursing through his throat, seeped through the cracks in his teeth. The Pawns waited in fear, bewildered, afraid of their fate – as they were but foot soldiers, mere minions in an ugly battle.
Yet despite the fact that he was checkmated, the black King was not about to go down without fighting … and so, bracing himself, he raised his sword last time for an honorable defeat!