M 16 - Maternal grandfather's choice of artifact
The first thing he could not bear, the pungent smell of dead, rotting, flesh from all of his fallen comrades and enemies; his nose was adapted to the unpleasant scent. Even the cool breeze that attempted to circulate the air around him could not get rid of the agony from his nauseated stomach. In fact, it brought miscellaneous smells; Smells of excretion released from nerveless corpses across the hill and rotting veins partly filled blood from the surrounding area. This restless atmosphere sweated his palm and forced him to lose the grip of his sole companion - M16. Gunshots and explosions were sounding closer as he continued to crawl further into depths of hell. Hypersonic roar from the explosions were tormenting his ears gradually he approached enemies’ base. The tension, deeply rooted in his heart, had soared by the anxiety that he might be the next target.