Army Part 2 Battle

The forest stood motionless. The air didn’t stir, not even among the leaves as if nature itself had frozen in tension. Sunlight trickled through the branches, blurring into the moss like spilled memory. The sentry was patrolling the camp’s outskirts. Her step was rhythmic, almost calm. Her face was focused, her hands steady, her weapon slung with casual confidence as if the terrain belonged to her. The forest stirred no fear in her. On the contrary she seemed its mistress. She didn’t know the shadow was already breathing her air. The assassin emerged from the darkness like a sigh. She approached from behind. Her arms wrapped around the woman’s neck like a steel cord. The sentry reacted quickly tried to break free, stepped back, searched for a hold. But the grip was relentless, deep, cold. Confidence vanished before fear could reach her. Her body slid to the ground without a sound. And the assassin… lingered a moment longer. In silence. She slipped into the dead woman’s uniform. As if entering someone else’s life. And turned toward the camp.She entered quietly. Her movements were precise. Eyes met hers one, then another, then a third.Hesitation. And then… There was no command. No signal. Only silence a stillness that suddenly tore open like skin around a wound. The first shot broke loose from the weapon with a sound that didn’t resemble an explosion more like a howl from a world that had seen too much. The bullet sliced through the air, and time shattered into fine dust. In an instant, the assassin became fire. She moved like something that knew no limits of flesh. Her eyes wide, yet empty. Her hands steady, yet unaware. She wasn’t shooting at the women. She was shooting at memory. The bursts of gunfire were erratic, like panic attacks. Their echoes bounced off the trees and returned distorted, as if the forest itself had begun to scream. One woman fell with her throat torn not by bullets, but by a scream that ripped free like a snapped vocal cord. The voice was too loud, too early, too full of terror for her body to contain. She choked on her own fear. Collapsed mid-scream, her mouth wide open, as if she were still trying to say something to a world no longer listening. Her eyes stared forward, but saw nothing trapped in some distant second, before the bleeding began. Her hand clenched against the earth, as if to grasp reality as it slipped beneath her skin. And the air... the air trembled for a moment longer after she was gone.As if it, too, wanted to remember her voice. At last, everything fell silent. But it wasn’t the silence of relief, nor that of victory. It was the silence after the end the kind that comes not with answers, but with questions no one can voice. The assassin stood among bodies that still gave off the steam of life. Her weapon sagged lower and lower. Sunlight refused to touch her skin. Smoke curled upward lazily, uncertain whether it ought to stay or vanish. The sky remained closed. The forest was silent not out of mercy, not from fear. But because it already knew the truth: that not every war ends with leaving. Some things remain. A shape. A shadow. The outline of a person who once had a name. And she…Maybe she still stood. Or maybe she was already gone.

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