I'm so wary of standing alone.

Before it was for the honor. Because no one else could weather the abuse. Because I was needed to.

But everyone forgets I'm there. That I'm alone, waiting for the End Times. They forget that a player is still in the game. A soldier still on the field.

That there is still hope.

My sacrifices and losses become their blessings and salvations.

But how long do I have to remain? How long do I have to fight?

When do we have victory? When do I get to stand down?

And will there be anyone left to greet me when I do? Or will they all passed. Long lives, happy lives. Given through my sacrifices.

Only for the briefest of moments do I weaver and falter. Then I stamp my foot and roar to the opposition. I will not fail. I will not quit.

You can't make me move. As much as it hurts, you can't stop me.

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