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As part of my course "Writing unleashed"...


The tower door swung open. Feet traversed the space to the first step like an exhalation. Others followed him a few seconds later. Both runners began to furrow the room, scarcely illuminated by the red of some torches as sounds of trumpets and shouts of men outside, flooded everything. The guns were fastened to the belt and heavy on their way to the top. That day, by the work and action of a brave, one of the armies would prevail.

The first soldier to climb, in green, carried his flag in a saddlebag, as did his red opponent. The two would fight to hoist them. A centenarian struggle that both peoples had suffered. Useless conflict thought the warrior leading as he approached the top floor but events pushed him to take part in. He was poor and the only way out (since he was skilled) had been to be a mercenary. However his rival was another matter. Loyal and hard as a nail in a coffin, he killed as lightly as he cut the bread. A vassal at his masterยดs service. Deadly and efficient.

When the last of the climbers arrived at the destination, he first took care of his flank making sure that his opponent was not around the corner. A mix of lights and shadows received him. This chess game they were playing then slowed down and pulled his sword out of the sheath. Moved stealthily toward the center of the room and could hear only his footsteps, swallowed by absolute silence. Once he was at the strategic point, he remained there, staring at any subtle changes. Closed his eyes. Blind as he was, he began to feel a slight vibration that gave way to a gasping breath that froze his blood and could also identify a nauseating smell which he approached to. A brother in arms. Killed.

The moment the crimsoned knelt to examine his companion was the one chosen by the green persecuted to attack. With a quick move he raised his sword above his head to deliver the final blow but his adversary heard him come. The red warrior tumbled to the side as tried to recover the position, and soon after he was on guard. Then a moves dance began. While exchanging looks and insults in a vain attempt to blur, they crossed swords until the red fighter knocked down the green who agonized for a few seconds until receiving the coup de grace. Subsequently the survivor drew the flag of his country and looked at it slowly. Job was done. Spurred by that little conquest, victory was at hand but โ€ฆ did not fill the emptiness inside. Crushed the rag in his hands. Despised himself as usual.

Our red character, surrounded again by the silence, felt a familiar faint vibration in the air. That breath. It was back. He remained static. After a few seconds rotated to observe the chamber. Placed his sword in an upright position as tentatively attempted to guess the location of that whisper. Once he reached the shaded area, aimed for the wall but found no rock. Instead, he groped for a shoulder. A gesture that could be interpreted of respect. This time both knightsยดeyes met while life of the red contender slipped. Now he laid inert while in a fire shinning, the gloom of the dagger that had pierced his heart was cleansed by his killer.

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