Mini-story. A Battlefield where only Death exists

Chrome stands there staring out at the battlefield littered with the bodies of both ghouls and diamond-dogs, blood is weeping out of the corpses on the battlefield, the trees sit there on the once peaceful plains now littered with bodies and blood. In the trees you can find the corpses of soldiers who fought, their blood staining the bark a deep dark crimson, all around the trees bodies lay against them as well, the once green field of grass is now a field of crimson.

In the distance one can see the mountain of Iz’cradour with the cities of the diamond-dogs, when looking back to the battlefield anyone who sees it would just stare in disbelief. The plains now look like a stationary sea of crimson and its seaweed is the corpses of the armies who clashed, and among the corpses diamond-dog soldiers sit, lay, kneel, or stand weeping at the bodies of their dead brethren.

Swords, spears, axes, shields, hammers, and armor lay broken and covered in blood, and the carnage shown by the mere amount of death. Chrome stands in the middle of this battlefield covered in blood and his pickaxes ready, his armor dented, cut, burned, and covered in blood hiding the fact that the armor’s color was tan, but his visor glowing a brilliant light yellow. His pickaxes in turn have notches put into them from Chrome blocking deadly attacks with them, they are covered in blood of his enemies from the heads all the way to the end of their handles.

He shakes his head and keeps muttering under his breath, “What has this world come to?” over and over again until he collapsed slowly onto the ground blood stained ground from exhaustion because the battle that lasted three days straight and he stayed in the front lines fighting the entire time without any sleep, and when he lays down on the ground the puddles of blood ripple from him touching it, there he lays in a puddle of blood and falls into a deep sleep.

Published by

The Masked Fox

I'm a hobbyist and aspiring artist and writer.

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