human
Grimm:  A stomach-turning bloody stench hung over the battlefield. What had once been an open basin several hours before was now spotted with tongues of flame, the pop and crack of burning trees mingling with human cries. The odors of charred wood and flesh filled the air, along with the smell of the layer of gore on the ground that was thick enough to dirty one’s boots. Together, they were enough to clog the nose and overwhelm the senses. The twilight and the flames and the blood underfoot conspired to turn the whole world red.
gpt
Grimm:  "Hrr…kk…" Grimm fell to his knees, no longer able to drag his quivering feet forward. Blood soaked his knees and shins.
human
Grimm:  This is awful. How could it possibly get any worse?
gpt
Grimm:  Grimm had taken up the sword of his own volition. He had intended to make his name in battle, to rise from a nameless foot soldier to the heights of glory. Night after night, he had dreamed of the deeds he would do. How naive. His thinking, his dreams—all of it. The customs of the battlefield were these: blood, wounds, agony, hatred, violence, and corpses.
human
Grimm:  The brutality of this, his first battle, was unmatched by any other in the kingdom’s history, even in these years of civil war. The commander had been a young noble who had launched himself against the enemy forces in hopes of buying a little glory, but he had been destroyed, and the battle line had fallen into disarray. In the blink of an eye, friend and foe were crowded together, and then Grimm had been hurled away by a burst of magic and lost consciousness.
gpt
Grimm:  After all these unhappy accidents, Grimm was alone on the field, dragging himself through the nearly palpable cloud of death.
human
Grimm:  "—" He opened his mouth voicelessly. He noticed at last how heavy his body was, and the wounds on his feet were asserting themselves more and more painfully. The explosions had come from overhead, landing just in front of Grimm and flinging him through the air. He had been lucky to get away with only some burns and the wounds to his feet. How lucky? Everyone else in his squadron had been turned to ash. Their commander, who had been standing next to Grimm, had also been the only actual knight among them. Their leader’s exhortation before the fight started was fresh in Grimm’s memory. So was the genuine respect he had felt for the man. But even he could easily be lost to the flames of war.