I hold onto my comrade tightly by the
shoulders as his body leaks red liquid more and more. I tie my shirt around the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. But suddenly, he exhales his last breath and flies away. I stand up, grasping my sword, as if nothing just happened. I feel my feet getting tugged by a thousand hands, forcing me to fall. But I still stand strong, as my body heat powers the weapon I am grasping. I bring my hand, covered in blood, up to my thirsty mouth. I gently blow, making the sound of a
whistle.
Covered with sand, we all line up,
including those who have just lost their limbs, getting ready for one last charge. A drop of blood drips from my mouth as I open it to take a deep breath. In the distance, I can spot many soldiers carrying, dragging, and even looting their wounded brothers. They rush to reload their weapons. I believe they are trying to bring out their keyminite ammo, since it's the final stretch. I look at my general, or captain, I can't afford to care anymore. He is carrying a large pole with our flag on it, while trying to not lose his heavy staff. He begins to raise his staff, and fire sprouts out of the tip, flying into the sky like a firework.
"VARA KEYMINEA DEYO!" He
howls as the ball of fire lands in the hands of my kind, the kind that has now become my enemy.