You clutch the weapon, your breath short as your lungs are barely functioning. You try and remember every point of entry the enemy will come from. You can hear the echoes of their battle cries fill every precipice and crack in the walls – but you hold still and ready. To engage them fully would be suicide you think, and the only death you are willing to give allowance to is theirs. So you sit, and you wait. Each moment becoming more visceral then the last, and then you see them, and your body empties a war cry from every sinew, bone, and cell.
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