The sounds of heavy breathing echoed out. He was unsure if it was his own breath or if he had stolen someone else's, but the fear in his heart was still there. His body still had blood, and his heart was still beating.
He was sure he was still alive. He was still breathing.
He held his sickle in one hand and his battle axe in the other, blood still slick on it.
A few days had passed since the war games had begun, and at first, it was good, everything was easy, easier than expected. All they had to do was hunt demon beasts and monsters. But after the first day, things took a turn for the worse.
The demon beasts began to migrate, and everyone followed their migration patterns. Soon, they all began to disappear.
Thousands of hot-blooded warriors gathered toward the center, where prey was scarce, a few demon beasts here and there, then monsters became scarce.
It wasn't long before competition grew. Everyone wanted those medallions, no matter what they had to do.
