Malus looked numbly at the stump that had been his left hand and noticed the amazing amount of blood spurting from it. He managed to collect his thoughts long enough to realize that he was going to have to do something, or everything he'd ever done would be nothing. His LIFE, would be nothing. He looked up at the monster in front of him, and realized just what it was. 'The demon whom makes trophies of man' He'd heard of them before, invisible hunters that travelled from world to world, taking on what they saw as the strongest enemies and taking thier skulls as trophies. In a small way, Malus smiled at the thought of this thing thinking of him as a worthy foe.
Another, more animal, part of his mind gritted it's mental teeth and swore that this bastard was not going anywhere near HIS skull. He realized that he was outgunned, outmuscled and quite simply outmatched. He was a mere recruit in the military, and this guy seemed to be a veteran. That wasn't going to stop Malus from doing everything he could do to win, though.
He decided to take action before his foe did, and dived to one side, barely dodging a swipe from the wristblades. In a single movement he drew his flamethrower with his remaining hand, easily strong enough to wield it one-handed.
He aimed the weapon and fired it, a jet of indasescant fire streaming from the weapon and striking it's target. The target was not stalker, as most would have suspected, but the stump of his own left hand. Malus gritted his teeth as the fire burned at the wound, and then let go of the trigger, the jet of fire abruptly ceasing. Malus gritted his teeth from the pain and looked at the stump. It was perfectly cauterized, no more blood was flowing from it. Perhaps the flamethrower had been a bit excessive, but it was that or bleed out. He then turned the flamethrower on his foe. He knew fully well that these guys were fire-resistant, but the incinerator unit was no ordinary flamethrower.
Malus grinned as the weapon engulfed stalker, there was no way to dodge a weapon that fired in the way the incinerator did. That is: It fired everywhere. He grinned again as he heard a few pops of circuts overheating and melting, although the wristblades and armour seemed unaffected. Malus kept up the stream of fire until the flamethrower ran out of fuel, and then drew his combat pistol. It had been given to him by his father when he was 10, on the day before the mission which had cost him his death started. Malus measured the extent of the damage and smiled. It looked like every bit of technology stalker had had overheated and malfunctioned. This meant that his vision modes were screwed, his wristblades were locked open, his self-destruct was not going to work, and his smartdisks were likewise stuffed. Malus held the pistol with his remaining hand and swore. He was left-handed, and now he had a weapon that required him to AIM. It annyoed hims somewhat, but he'd trained to the point where he was almost ambidexterous, and took aim at Stalker's head with the powerful handgun and opened fire with a snarl, constantly moving to evate his foe. Malus was really into it now, never staying still for more than a second. Highly Explosive Armour Peircing rounds struck stalker with massive force, blasting large craters into the foe. The pistol had been with him for eight years, and he'd upgraded the already deadly weapon. It was by far his most powerful, and his most revered posession.
Honour is a fools prize, glory is of no use to the dead."