The night had fallen.
Cries had fallen.
Soldiers had fallen.
What remained were the few lucky men with breaths and a heart in their body swinging their weapons like children swinging sticks at a dog.
Their bodies had given up long ago but they weren't dead.
Their hands had bathed in bruises long ago but they weren't dead.
They hoped for death long ago but they weren't dead.
Only one thing mattered for them and they had come too far to give that up.
Victory For Pablo.
From what started with billions of men, was now reduced to some thousands men.
Thousands may sound big or grand but in reality, in the scale of the war, they were just a handful.
The Vampires had become less.
The soldiers of Forza had become less.
And the Cannibals… well..
In some part of the Crucible.
One man stood in front of a man on his back lying on the ashes.
The lying man stared at the black sword pointed towards him by the standing man covered in blood from head to toe.
