A Battle Of War

Flower beds made from blood and bone laid upon the rubious earth, as the incarnadine stained skin of those around them matched the depraved need to win from soldiers, who were starved of energy and intoxicated by bloodlust. Gunpowder accompanied hungry breaths as their clothes were now begrimed, but they were uncaring as the laid, even in rest, in front of their goal. They would win this war, that they had promised.
Ginger breathed, stifling the cough that rose with the gunpowder, and lifted the small ball in his hand, ‘ALE-OP!’ he vociferated, casting his grenade into a group of sitting ducks. The moment their screams accompanied the skirl of the battlefield, he was off, tepid gun in hand he followed his brothers as they charged the enemy. Noticing their advance, shrill cries joined the ambient battle as metal rained mercilessly down on them. Ginger pounded the ground, trying to avoid the metallic strings of death as he slid into a nearby trench that was thankfully empty. Peeking above, he could do naught but watch as the light in his comrades’ bodies convulsed before going out.
The clinking of a gun made Ginger’s heart run cold as he dashed to the side, twisting around he espied a person, a Foe. All sound deafened and the walls fell away, it was just the two of them now. Raising his gun, Ginger lunged forward to cut Foe with a knife that was attached to the end of his rifle, narrowly missing as Foe strafed to the left. To counter, Foe thrusted his gun down towards Ginger’s shoulder. He couldn’t be hit! Manipulating his momentum, Ginger flung himself to the side. Foe didn’t dwell, charging forth with a balled hand, gun forgotten, aiming for Ginger’s unbalanced abdomen. Ginger’s own balled hands reached up to block the blow, as the force pushed him back. The energy was electrical as the two faced each other, only one could be the victor. Both let out a deep-hearted bawl as they dived at the other. Ginger reached first, aiming for the heart, while Foe slinked out of the way. In turn, Foe slashed as his back. Ginger, already predicting a blow to the back, dashed forward and out of range. Whirling around, he pegged the ball at Foe.
‘Crusaders win!” Whistled the umpire, blithe cheers and merry whoops echoed from Ginger’s side of the court, a joy-filled energy encompassing them as the team rushed towards him. A stark difference to the opposing dodgeball team, who’s energy sulked and altogether crashed after what they would consider a disappointing climax. Ginger didn’t think too much on it however, as he basked in the sweetened taste of victory. They had fulfilled their promise. He had won the war.

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