L A U G H T E R
The throaty, burbling sound echoed down the hallway.
He pulled harder on the sword, staring into the dead eyes a few inches from his own. The knight had sprinted forward and impaled him, right through the lung it felt like. The combat drugs hadn't worn off yet or he'd be in agony.
He reckoned they'd last around another half hour, if he lived that long. He had dropped the first one, blown his head clean off, but the second had been charging and he turned a fraction of a second too late.
He jammed the bayonet through the knights chest plate and ribs, piercing the heart, the warrior's own momentum helping kill him. But at the same time the knight pinned him to the wall - both held upright by the tangle of armour and weaponry.
He laughed again, tasting blood in his throat. Spat, a pinky foam, so not too bad yet. Maybe he could get out of this. He knew he couldn't risk bracing his legs, the motion would cause the lodged sword to slice through other organs inside his torso, probably killing him. He heard a tramping noise - someone was approaching, the clang of footsteps preceding them.
Not one of theirs.
He panicked for a second, the drugs feeding off the chemicals produced by his glands to make his heart beat faster and system slow down, putting a false calm over him. He appeared to drop dead, head hanging, arms by his sides.
The approaching knight stopped as it saw the weird tableau. A harsh laugh came and he muttered something in his own eldritch tongue, leaning forward to pull the sword from the wall. Both corpses went sliding to the floor, the last bit of support having been removed.
He nudged his fallen comrade with one foot. Useless fucker.
He turned and began to walk away, throwing the sword into a corner. He heard a click behind him, then felt something smash into his back and saw his own intestines spray before his eyes.