Got it! Here's the corrected and enhanced version of War
Chapter 1: Rusted Roads and Red Dust
My eyes were closed, trying to force sleep in the worst damn bus rattling down a road that barely deserved the name. The suspension was dead. The shocks were suicidal. Every bounce felt like a punch to the spine.
The road wasn't just broken—it was torn apart by war. Shells, landmines, and tanks had chewed it up during the clashes between Fharmos and Izan. And lucky us—Palledania bordered both of them.
Last week, Izan sent two 7i-15 jets skimming low through our skies. They didn't drop bombs—they fired bullets. Live fire. Straight into Palledanian soil.
Their excuse?
"Heavy fog. A misfire."
And we?
We swallowed it.
Not because we're thar weak—but because we're alone.
Palledania isn't the lowest-ranked nation. We're not helpless.
But we've got no allies. Bad blood with every neighbor.
So we gritted our teeth... and stayed quiet.
Suddenly—
Two arms locked around my throat.
I couldn't breathe.
His grip was steel. My lungs screamed.
Whoever it was, he was strong. My vision blurred. My neck burned.
I didn't resist directly—I knew better.
I leaned forward, scraping my throat against the seat edge, tearing skin to create even a little space.
That's all I needed.
Islammed my head backward—
THWACK.
The bus bounced violently. Both of us flew.
His grip broke. I twisted mid-air and landed a clean punch to his cheek.
He stumbled.
I blinked.
It was Krite.
That idiot.
"Chill, Sevryn! Just a joke, bro!"
He laughed—like trying to kill me was part of some prank.
But then—his smile disappeared.
His fist shot toward me.
But I wasn't in the mood.
I caught his wrist mid-air, twisted it sideways. Locked it.
Before I could follow up—
The bus slammed into another crater.
We both lost balance and hit the floor hard.
Metal creaked. The whole bus groaned like it was about to snap in half.
We kept bouncing against the floor like broken dolls. The suspension was practically a trampoline.
We thought about yelling at the driver.
But no one yelled at that driver.
Because sitting next to him was this skinny rat-faced lunatic, grinning like he was high on dust and danger.
"FASTER! GO FASTER! DON'T LET THE ROAD SLOW YOU DOWN!"
"Let the wheels feel the war!"
He was egging the driver on like this was some kind of rally race.
The bus finally rolled over a smooth patch of road.
We stood up, groaning, brushing dust off our uniforms.
And then—
Krite sucker-punched me.
Right in the nose.
Didn't hurt much—he misjudged the angle, and I moved back just in time.
"Reflexes still sharp, huh?" he grinned.
I narrowed my eyes.
Stepped back.
My spine hit the back seat.
Another crater came.
Another launch with a psycho.
Another lesson I have to taught to him
In war, the roads hit you harder than the people.