War of the Emerald Empire

The world slows to a crawl the moment he enters the field of battle. All around him men and women charge past to engage the enemy head on, unaware of the outcome of their actions. They took up arms in his name, though he asked them not to. They could no longer turn a blind eye to the wrongs done against him. Defending his name and honor was worth the price of their lives, but for him it was to much to bear. He watched helplessly as those around him were struck down by gun fire. Bullets whizzed past him, finding their mark in the skulls and bodies of any making a stand this day. As this was happening he remained untouched, almost unseen throughout the battle. The wounds he carried were internal, and just as fatal.
Everything from the sky to the ground seemed grey, drained of life except the red of the blood that drained from the dying that lay scattered about. He crouched down next to one trying to help them back up. But it was too late, the light was gone from their eyes. All he could do was lay the body down to rest. When he looked back up, he witnessed one of the charging people were stopped dead in their tracks after being struck in the head by the butt of a rifle. The blow cracked the skull sending blood to splatter across a nearby wall left in ruin. Before they could recover, the attacker turned thier weapon around and drove the bayonet end deep into their gut. There was a deep grunt of pain emanating from the poor soul dying on the blade. They struggled against what was inevitable trying to pull themselves free only to be kicked off to crumble to the ground where blood flowed to pool under them.
He couldn't look away, nor was he able to stop it from happening. Pushing himself to his feet again he cried out, but no one seemed to hear him. There seemed no way to end the fighting. He knew war was to come but it was to be one he would fight alone. He closed his eyes, wishing nothing more than to disappear and with it all this would go away. It was all too much. He was breaking inside with each death he witnessed. He felt rooted to the ground, those loyal to him continued to charged past him and over their fallen. For every one they managed to take down they lost serval of their own. They were greatly out numbered and more seemed to come.
Opening his eyes again he saw something small and round like soared over head, landing serval yards from him in the midst of the charging people. Realization came to late what it was until it exploided. All he could do was turn and cover his face. Those closest were turned to a red mist, while other were torn apart and lauched away. When he looked back only one had survived but she was badly hurt. Left blinded and her body badly mangled, she attempts to drag herself away from the carnage.
There could be no running from this, nor could he allow this to continue. He was drenched in the blood of the fallen. As long as he stood as a threat, they would never stop till they got what they wanted from him. They cared so little for the lives of others, only their own mattered. It was decided there and then, they would get what they wanted so badly. But he would not be done with them. His surrender would come with a price, one they would pay in full. He would call a cease fire and put an end to the bloodshed and save those that still stood with him. Like a breath of a deep sigh, he had been wating for this moment all his life.