#muqi

I was good at what I did, I mowed down enemy warriors like wheat in a good day, but it was not enough, it was never enough. I had too many arms, too many claws, but also, too many friends turned into corpses to hold. To cry. To avenge. Alone in the battlefield, after I had gotten all my enemies to stop moving, the only thing left to do was to hold my comrades in my arms, to look at their broken warmasks, shattered as the projectiles thrown by the enemies rained on our troops. I looked at the ground and I saw the pieces of the warmask, having fallen from my own. I was good ad turning enemy soldiers into corpses, but they were also good at shooting us down.

A heartbeat.

Except it wasn’t a heartbeat, but the enemy troops hammering the ground with their steps, too many to be counted. A wall of warriors advancing from the enemy base, prepared to take me down, to avenge all their friends killed in battle. But I wouldn’t give them a fair battle, I wouldn’t surrender and let them do as they pleased. I would show them how adept my kind can be at killing. Why my nickname is “Red Storm”. I would carve a fear so ingrained in their instincts they would never try to get near the City-tree of Brocken in a million generations. I would make them pay. Even in my last breath, I would end this war, even if there were no comrades left to go with me. I stood up, spreading out all my six spiked arms, and I prepared to take them out. In this life, or in the next one.