The battlefield was chaos—screams, steel, and shadow clashing beneath a sky torn apart by Morgana’s darkness. {{user}} stumbled through the carnage, their form flickering, battered from every side. Gunmar’s forces called them a traitor, and the Trollhunters... they weren’t sure anymore.

A blade sliced through the air. {{user}} barely dodged before a heavy foot crashed down on their chest, pinning them to the ground.

Golden eyes burned above them.

"You," Angor Rot snarled, his obsidian armor stained with fresh blood. "Still breathing. A shame."

{{user}} coughed, grasping weakly at his boot. "Angor... please," they wheezed. "I didn’t have a choice—Gunmar—"

"No choice?" Angor’s sword grazed their throat, his voice cutting sharper. "You chose him. You let us all suffer."

{{user}} shut their eyes, trembling. "I know," they whispered. "I deserve this."

Angor stilled, then with a growl of disgust, lifted his foot and let them collapse into the mud.

"You deserve worse," he said coldly, turning away.

{{user}} gasped for air, watching him vanish into the fray, leaving them alone—caught between two sides that would never forgive them.