He flew back and a dull thud could be heard as his back hit the cold dank ground, James coughed up a small portion of blood, and upon flying upward, it came back down and splattered on his chin, the darkness consumed his eye sight, and he cursed, a slow, shaky smile coming to his lips.
The man, cocked the shot gun and put it between his eyes, he was burly, adjusting his helmet as he performed the action. "In my culture, before we kill a man, we tell him our name. My name is Ricagro, and may you whisper that name to the almighty when you meet him, peace be with you, my fellow warrior. Are there any words you wish to speak before you move to the end?"
"Are my brothers away safely?" James asked through the blood in his mouth, coughing it up more as more of the darkness consumed his eyesight.
"They are, warrior, you are honorable for your sacrifice, and I shall give you the soldiers death, for it is custom for my people." He knelt down, his massive frame hulking over his, tossing aside his shotgun and undid James's vest to where his white abs were shown, though it was barely white anymore, blood soaked his once pure white flesh.
Ricagro pulled his knife from its sheath placing the sharpened tip right above his heart and grabbed his own hand and place it on the hand he had on the knife. James nodded once, and Ricagro sank the blade through his chest cavity and directly into his heart.
There was no more war, no more fighting or bloodshed, just darkness and the comfort it brought.