The Nineteenth Tale

He stood in the middle of a vast empty wasteland of white, where the aftermath of a battle surrounded him.

Red spills of blood tainted the ice; soldiers that were once alive and breathing, fighting for the ones they loved... 

All gone.

Was there any reason to feel remorse?

No.

It was either do or die.

He favoured his life more than others. He feared death like no other. He feared the afterlife. He feared of not being able to open his eyes again. He feared of being enclosed in a suffocating perpetual darkness.

A woman appeared in his view. Sword in hand and a blank expression on her face.

His final opponent.

He stepped forward, his eyes never leaving her own. 

The wind blew on his dishevelled hair. 

Both assassins charged at one another. Taehyung raised his sword, ready to strike her—

His foot sunk into the snow; he fell forwards, face first on the ground.

He could hear the staff groaning and the director yelling obscenities in the background.

The woman laughed at his predicament.

His face turned into a dark shade of red.