Here I was... facing hordes of senior veteran grunts like a lone survivor against an army of zombies... (which, technically and unironically, I was more of a zombie than they were, given that I had actually died once and got revived).
Sweat dripped down my brow as I dodged and countered their relentless assault. How long could I stall them? They showed no signs of slowing down; if anything, their attacks grew fiercer with each passing moment... or was I starting to get tired?
These veteran grunts from the Arena Ring racketing group surged forward, their collective roar deafening to my ears. I ducked under a wild swing, pivoting to land a solid punch on another grunt's jaw. The impact sent him sprawling, but I knew he'd be back on his feet soon. Another lunged at me, and I twisted away, narrowly avoiding his fist.