Déjà vu

 “Hey.” Tagget yelled to his companion. Smoke stung his eyes into a squint. By anyone's standards he stood as a very fit, young man, but nothing around him spoke to his inexperience. His armor was worn, clipped, and folded where it had been hit. He wore scars, fresh and old where it had not. Something stirred in his furrowed brow, surveying the darkened desert around them. Carnage was illuminated in a diffuse overcast caused by the constant whirlwind of dust between the ground and the sun. Syrupy pools of puss and blood mingled with volatile organic compounds. The Firefungus they had been in open combat with for over a day still burned here and there producing thick inky smoke.

At the edge of the clearing he stood in, Ironwood grew. Each tree an organic steel cable, wrapped around itself like layers of muscle. Ropes dangled from one of the gnarled metallic trees where he and his friend had strung up some bandits as a scare tactic. They probably had the better death, he thought. No one should have to live while slowly inhaling parasitic spores that take your senses. He despised the thought of being nothing but a vessel. He hadn't expected the old man to turn so quickly to something so brutal, but maybe that is how he got old.

Standing in the sand, blown by the dust, and spattered with his war... he paused. “Hey.” he yelled again. His grizzled friend was presently swinging one bastard sword at a time through the air, and flicking them in an effort to clean the rot from his blades. After cleaning each on his cloak and sheathing them, he then turned to face Tagget across the several yards between them. He nodded in silent acknowledgement. Tagget’s brow furrowed for a moment and he glanced down then back up.

“You ever get that feeling you’re remembering something you have done before?”
Ammanas turned his head to try and find the horizon through the dust, and could not. He looked directly at the sun, made into an opaque dinner plate by the dust in the air. He then surveyed the carnage, the fires, and the blood. His chest sank slightly, and he lowered his head for a moment. Agonizingly, he turned to collect what small spoils of war the bandits had. His darkened leather hid the blood running out from between its folds better than his companions scuffed plate.