My world has become one of blood, fire, and darkness. The Zhahuran forces collapse around me, slowly giving ground as the Earth humans' superior numbers slaughter us. I take down soldier after soldier, slaughtering my way through their forces. Limp bodies lay in my wake, and more join them every minute as I cut my way through their forces to the commanders.
I fire at the first one I see, but he dodges and flies at me. I duck and roll through the blood-soaked mud, pieces of metal cutting through my clothes and slicing my skin open. Fires rage to my left and the smoke makes my eyes water. I rip one of my knives from the sheath on my outer thigh and slash it across the commander's shins, drawing blood. He grabs my collar and hauls me up, tossing me away. I get up again and charge him. He has knives too, and draws both of them, not having time to draw the gun at his back. We exchange strikes and parries, whirling around in a deadly dance.
The commander lands a strike, his blade slicing down the left side of my face. Pain explodes there and I stagger backward, falling to one knee. The left side of my vision is dark and my face is sticky with blood. The commander is rushing toward me. I raise my knives in a feeble defense, bracing myself for the painful death bearing down on me. My vision gets dimmer and dimmer as the commander charges me. I try to stand, but my legs give out and I fall to my knees.
A blur of black intercepts the commander, but I can't tell who it is. The commander falls to the ground, his blood soaking the earth. Someone hoists my limp body over their shoulder, and my vision goes completely dark.