With labored breathing, tears and sweat trickling from his body and face, he ultimately resisted exhaustion and made his way through for the last time. A contorted face, eyebrows narrowed downward, a downward curl of the lips along with shaking legs. The scent of lingering steel stained with blood, and the faces of despair among his brethren. His feet and hands turning white, as the painful grip toward the sword and ground struck a nerve within him.
The lone myriad glanced from side to side, saw that the myriad scholar's company was advancing slowly, to which he then looked forward. His eyes opened wide, mouth agape, as realization struck him. The first gate was still closed, and so he would need to open it, unless he had somebody else do it.
