His black hair, soaked in blood from the battle,
stuck tight to his motionless face.
His armour was dented and ruined from countless swords and spears.
The leather beneath, cut to rags.
His shoes were buried in piles of severed limbs and dead bodies,
swimming in a sea of blood.
He stood there motionless,
blood dripping from the sword piercing his heart.
I looked into his dead eyes and my vision started to blur.
A tear fell from my eye as his dead body slipped off my sword and fell to the ground, only to join the rest of humanity.
Only I was left on that desolated battlefield.
I was the victor.
I had won.
Then why did I feel that way? Why did I feel like the loser?
Why did I want to die?
Why did I continue to live..?