By John Page
I look down at my foe. They march through the woods with a grim look. They look around for any opponents to slay. The horde is thirsty for blood but will not get it.
They do not see me up in the trees. I wait until they are right under me and then I pounce. I land without a sound. I immediately punch one through the chest and knock him down. In the next four seconds I kill three others before they can react. The remaining beasts howl with rage and then attack me. I dodge their clumsy blows and rain blows upon them.
After five minutes all sixty are dead. I then jump back into the trees and spend the rest of the day ambushing beast kin patrols.
Eventually my companions and I have slain the whole army and then we retire to our monastery.
The war has been going well. I feel confident and chat with the others about our battles. We are masters of war and celebrate it.
We stop when we hear the sounds of battle. We race to the courtyard and see that our masters and fellow students are fighting off a grey humanoid. Over two hundred masters of war are battling one foe. They are losing.
I am horrified to see that over two score monks have been ripped apart already. We race to assist, leaping over the bodies and spilled blood.
The battle is horrible as with every passing minute more monk die. The foe moves faster than I can see. It is also horrifying strong as it can break a man in two with one blow. After an hour, only four master and myself are left. I have no time to weep as my whole word dies.
Eventually the four masters are killed with a single swipe of his arm.
I am alone with my foe. It is an inhuman being dressed in a suit and mask. It is drenched in the blood of my brothers. It laughs at me and promises death.
I will die but I will do all I can.
This is the way of honor.