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The assault begins. I’m hooked on this, on killing Russians. There’s something primal about it. This adrenaline — an unholy addiction to the taste of blood, a thrill that surged through me every time I took a Russian life. It started small, but once I crossed that line, there was no turning back.
I crouched low, feeling the rough dirt of the trench beneath my fingers, my heart pounding with a rhythm that matched the staccato of not so distant gunfire. We are on a hunt, and our prey is cornered. They’re trapped, like rats.
“The fire won’t stop! Get ready!” My comrades’ shouts barely registered as I moved forward, the world narrowing down to the next target, the next rush.
I’m in a trance. The more I kill, the more I crave it. The violence is no longer a means to an end but the end itself.
The clarity of purpose sharpens my mind – kill them all. No mercy, no hesitation, and I will drink deeply from the well of vengeance, feeding the beast within me.
The screams, the gunfire, the explosions – they’re the soundtrack to my transformation
And so it would be. As long as they existed, I would hunt them, relish in their demise, and let their blood wash over me.
We’ll keep pushing, keep killing, until each of these bastards is wiped from the face of the earth, until every last one of them lies in the dirt, their essence staining the soil they sought to take.
The sky above was grey, the earth below soaked in red.
There was no going back. The river of Russian blood would continue to flow, and I would be there, riding its crimson waves.
This is our land, our fight, and we will win.
Slava 🔱
- Author:NotionNext
- URL:https://Bandeafella.xyz/article/The-earch-was-red
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