"Cough… Cough…" Captain Deacon spluttered blood as he panted deeply.
His body was a mess, riddled with deep wounds that refused to stop bleeding. His left eye was missing, causing him to take a stance that tilted his left side away. His Martial Art attire was completely torn, yet he didn't care. He stumbled as he moved forward.
Each step he took splashed around the blood that submerged his heels, produced by all the corpses around.
He glanced around him.
The grade-ten Martial Squires that had taken the lead of their wounded force in the battle against the Root were all dead.
One of them was flattened, while the other one was severed in half, the third one had been throttled away. Considering he never returned, Captain Deacon that he was dead too.
He was the only one left, half a day later.
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