Bloody

Red Painted the grass. Bodies scattered around, heads separated from each and everyone of them. It was a gruesome sight. But in the middle, stood a man, gripping his sword for dear life.

His breathing was shallow, fast and uneven. He would occasionally sway to the side before finding balance. Despite the bloody scenery, his sword still shone brightly. Using pure might, he swung the sword once, cutting the air, and gently pushed it into his scabbard.

With a thud, he collapsed onto the ground.