Blood. Cries of Agony. Incoherent yelling. The battlefield had long lost the order it had started with. Men clashed against one another. If their swords went blunt, they used their shields. If their sheilds broke, they used their fists. It was a mass brawl, full of filth and despair. To anyone looking, it was impossible to tell who was winning, but each man stuck in the large pit all could. It was long and agonising, but the Empire slowly pushed the Commonwealth soldiers back.
Everyone wished for it to end soon, bar one. Isra looked at it with a joyful smile as she jumped back into the fray, swinging her sword elegantly. The blade reflected the sunlight, creating as she skillfully cut underneath a man's arm, tearing a hole into his chest. In the back of her mind, she worried about Alfred not knowing how his battle with Snowid was going. She felt bad for it, but the joy of being stuck in the middle of the battle overwhelmed her.
