The scent of blood hung thick in the air, a heavy, metallic stench that clung to every breath.
The smoke and fumes swirled upward, curling into dark clouds that choked the sky.
The battlefield was eerily silent, save for the irregular, labored breaths that echoed from every corner.
Some recruits had dropped to one knee, their bodies trembling as they leaned heavily on the weapons still clutched in their hands, their strength fading.
But unlike past trials, where some had succumbed to exhaustion, fainting from the overwhelming pressure, this time, there was no collapse.
Not a single recruit lost consciousness.
Their eyes remained wide open, unfaltering in their gaze.
Despite their exhaustion, despite the blood that soaked their clothes and the wounds that marred their bodies, they were awake.
Alive.
And they had fought, every one of them, until the very end.
Anthony remained suspended above them all, his form untouched by the chaos below.
