Fire Warrior Story
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Vral slid his hand onto his pulse carbine, and with a click, pulled out the cartridge.
"Great," he said to himself. "All out."
A shell burst overhead and landed on the roof of the building across the street from him, showering ruble onto the ground. Vral slowly stood up, and tossed his Carbine away. His unbuckled his belt holster, and pulled out his combat knife, stolen from the Orks.
He turned his head to the right. About twenty yards away was a corner, and around that corner, was death, sitting, and waiting Orks at the ready. He walked over to the edge of the corner, and put his back to the last bit of wall. Another shell bursted, blowing apart the dead body of his partner, and the place he had been a half a minuet before.
"Can't even shoot right," he muttered to himself, whipping his head around the corner, and what he saw didn't surprise him at all. Just what he expected-a few Orks here, a few Orks there, a motorbike over there, all fighting for the 'treasure' on dead bodies. He knew the position of his enemy. Now how to kill them. A knife wouldn't do it. One of those crude Ork guns might work, if he could carry it. What he needed was a back-up plan. And he thought of one-die. Vral launched himself out in the open, knifing the single un-expecting Ork in front of him. The Orks were slow. He took advantage, and charged forward. He put his blade into the next Orks green skull, and quickly scooped up the Orks' gun, though he struggled to lift it. A quick pull of the trigger and - empty. The damned gun had no ammo. Six nearby Orks were up and on Vral.
They were playing with him, cutting him up slowly. Then the leader of the group smashed his fist into his visor so hard it shattered, killing Vral.