Prompt Answer

2. (NE)

(Not Edited. Grammar mistakes galor. Just a warning. And probably spelling too.) Warning : Mention of death and battle.

Someone comes back to life after being dead for any amount of time. How would they react?

A battlefield littered with the dead from each side of the war. Swords, bows, maces, and more intact or broken are strewn throughout as the last of the Darion army running off. People lowering there weapons, looking around at the damage, enemies dead, comrades still standing, and friends laying still in sacrifice.

Pierced into a female warrior a sword is almost upright. Her hair was definitely cut and unable to tell if it was soaked in blood as the color is the same shade. The leather/metal mix plating was scratched and worn, or completely torn where the blade stood inbetween ribs. Her skin seemed to slowly gain pigmentation allowing her skin to go from white to a light tan. Then a breath was taken expanding and lowering her chest, a small movement but if scrutinized one would see the movement up and down the sword. Next her eyes opened revealing a green and brown Iris. They looked around at the chaos, the wandering soldiers looking for the living and down to the sword in their chest. Her eyes widen and words flow from her mouth in a raspy whisper.

"I don't think anyone could survive a sword to the chest," she paused realizing it sounded hysterical, "okay. Sir!"

The wandering warrior turned at the sound of the voice to freeze slowly walking up to her holding his bow. He must be hallucinating, or a spirit inhabited the body of the noble, hoping to kill once again.

"Yes your hallunicating, but just to make sure since it wouldn't do any harm... you see that sword?"

The man's eyes attached to the sword the smallest of nods could be seen. The stress from the battle must be too much. Seeing his fellow protector which he had bonded with, who trained him laying on the ground dead before he had perished was just to far.

"Hey, can you just push that? Yeah that thanks. Just need to make sure I'm dead." She repeated it twice more, his eyes having a far away look to them.

Slowly he gripped the sword with both hands. As if what was happening was a nightmare, not thinking that in order for this to be happening she, Farith, must have had it far worse and snapped. For she wouldn't normally act this way, and pushed the sword in farther, til it hit the wood behind her.

Her eyes widened, mouth opening more and coughed with a small smile "Thanks." Being whispered with her last breathe as her Irises changed into a vacant forest, head dropping to the Earth, and the man dropped to his knees in fear, sadness and terror, looking at his hands.

Did he see this, kill his teacher? Was it real, or a spirit trying to break him.

The battle was won, but the country had lost, the Prince died among them, and he... He had killed the member held dear in most hearts. Many dead after, from injury, from sickness, plague, madness, or terrors. Executions held, trials as well. But the face and memory of pushing that sword into her chest would not fade away. The thanks on her lips.

The statue of her standing in the middle of the city, of a tree with rocks and wood in front of it. Her body laying with weapon in chest... with the praise and mourning written for those brave. His last thought...

'Maybe I should have pulled it out instead.'