Quagmire snapped his pistol forward. With a firm decision, he decided that he would fight and never surrender. Just like the first time, he would never give up on himself. Yet, no matter how firm and strong one's mind is, his body kept on betraying him.
He felt lethargic. His mind was strong as steel; however, his heart had long faltered. Frustration and anxiety gripped his hands and feet, making each and every movement difficult. Despite all odds, he gazed forth. If his body felt too heavy, he punched it. The palms of his hands were bleeding? He took it like a champion.
The verdant forest, once adorned with vibrant colors and a nutty smell, was now stained with the blood of the ghouls. Bodies were strewn across trees, and pools of blood lay in each patch of dirt. The once solid soil had now turned mushy from all the scarlet fluids flowing from each direction, mixed with the flesh and scent of death.
