Sasha, 23, dirt-streaked and bruised, stumbled through a splintered doorway. His rifle clicked dry—no bullets, no backup.
A heartbeat later, another soldier crashed in. Ukrainian. Late teens. Eyes wild.
Click. His rifle was empty, too.
Silence stretched.
Then both men dropped their weapons in eerie unison.
Blades flashed.
They collided with raw fury—flesh, bone, sweat. No elegance. No rules. It was survival.
Sasha: "Сука!" ("Bitch!")
He bit down on the Ukrainian's shoulder, teeth scraping the tendon.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Мразь!" ("Scum!")
The soldier screamed, slamming an elbow into Sasha's temple.
They tumbled into broken glass. Splinters, blood, and shouts filled the air.
Sasha: "Урод, я тебя порву!" ("Freak, I'll tear you apart!")
He twisted the soldier's wrist until it snapped—bone popping.
A knee rammed into Sasha's ribs. His breath left him in a ragged wheeze.
They split for a moment, panting, both on their knees. Blood pooled around them. Knives were gripped tightly.
Mud. Dust. Rage.
Then Sasha lunged.
They slammed into each other again, slower now. Choking. Scratching. Biting.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Сдохни, сука!" ("Die, bitch!")
He clawed Sasha's ear. Sasha screamed back.
Sasha: "Чёрт!" ("Damn!")
He yanked the soldier's hair, punched him with what little strength remained.
No power. Just will.
The blade came for Sasha's ribs.
He caught the wrist. The knife edged closer.
Sasha grabbed the blade with his bare hand.
His palm split open. Blood spills like oil.
Roaring, he twisted the knife free and rammed it into the soldier's chest, beneath the ribs, angled for the lungs.
Crack.
A wet gasp. Blood sprayed.
The Ukrainian collapsed, gurgling.
Each breath bubbled like air in water.
Sasha leaned in, watching. Listening.
Like air through wet leaves.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Ты победил... чёрт с тобой. Я думал, успею..." ("You won... to hell with it. I thought I'd be faster...")
A prolonged cough, full of blood.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Господи, прости меня грешного... Не дай душе моей пропасть..." ("Lord, forgive me a sinner... don't let my soul be lost...")
His fingers trembled.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Прости, мама... Я ухожу первым. Не хотел тебя оставить." ("I'm sorry, Mama... I'm going first. I didn't want to leave you.")
His hand slipped from Sasha's sleeve.
Ukrainian Soldier: "Не стреляй. Дай умереть с миром." ("Don't shoot. Let me die in peace.")
Sasha's hand hovered over his pistol. He lowered it.
The boy sighed—one last breath. Sasha slumped against the wall, chest rising and falling.
He looked down. Blood poured from his wrist. So deep. He hadn't even felt it.
His hand went cold. He chuckled once, bitter .The room faded.
Sasha: "...Я всё равно победил." ("...I still won.") His eyes shut.