Back on the battlefield, the remnants of Skyhall's once-proud army were being systematically stripped of their dignity, along with their valuables. Heaps of discarded armor, weapons, and space rings glittered under the dim light of the artificial sky, a testament to the swift and brutal efficiency of the Dark Lord's forces.
"Get those damn boots off too!" a dark army soldier barked, shoving a Skyhall knight to his knees. "And the shirt! The Dark Lord said everything!"
The knight, his face pale with humiliation, fumbled with the clasps of his breastplate, his fingers trembling as he stripped off his armor, piece by piece. Around him, dozens of his comrades were doing the same, their faces a mixture of shame, fear, and simmering resentment.
