The fourth one threw his pistol at me; it must have been drained of power. I saw it revolving lazily through the smoke-filled air and flicked it away with the length of my blade. The Skorpis howled and leaped at me, clawed hands reaching for my throat. I sidestepped and fired a laser bolt into his neck. His head twisted and he landed on his face with a jarring thump. Before he could move I leaped on his back and drove my knife through his armor and into his heart.
I jumped to my feet and turned full circle. It was all over. There were no more of them to kill. I stood alone in the midst of their fallen bodies, knife dripping their dark black blood, pistol hot enough in my hand to scorch my flesh if I had not been wearing battle gloves. They lay all around me, dead or dying.
I blinked and turned again, every sense stretched to its utmost, every molecule of my body tensed for more danger, every atom of my being lusting for battle. It had been built into me; I had been created to kill. I swung around a third time, looking for more enemies. There were none.
A handful of my troops were left. Those still standing were gaping at me as if they were seeing an apparition. A hero. A monster.