What the…
He didn't get to finish the thought.
The black figure dropped the short sword and grabbed his throat with the now freed hand. Immediately they squeezed tight, choking him.
Instinctively, Dragan began clawing at the gloved hand.
Their grip was like a vice, impossible to shake or destabilize.
Changing his approach, he grabbed the opponent's steely arm and used it as leverage to pull himself off the ground. Lifting both of his legs, he slammed his feet into their stomach.
Dragan would've preferred to slam them into the head, but he was incapable of lifting his legs that high.
A painful grunt escaped the suited person and they released Dragan's neck, making him fall to the ground.
As they staggered, Dragan didn't think much.
Running on adrenaline-fueled instinct, he grabbed the dropped sword. With all his might he stabbed it into their torso.
The weapon went a third of the way through before his meager strength was spent.
Dark liquid began flowing out from the wound.
A flash of pain hit the right side of his face.
The asshole punched him.
Barely managing to keep his balance, the right side of his head numb with the pain, Dragan performed an awkward tackle. He was betting that his weight would do the work of bringing the suited person down.
The two of them crashed on the walkway, Dragan on top.
This didn't give the enemy pause. Another punch landed on his head.
The pain dazed him just enough for the person in black to push him off themselves.
Grunting, he lifted himself sluggishly to his feet. He readied himself for the next attack, but his opponent only barely managed to get to their knees. The wound and the lack of one arm slowed them down.
Not wasting time, he kicked the suited person in the abdomen with all his might, sending them back to the ground face down.
Then he began stomping his heavy boot into the helmeted head, over and over.
Initially the enemy tried to move, to get back on their feet, but after several impacts they just lay there, sprawled and immobile.
Dragan did not stop right away.
Too taken by adrenaline and fear, he failed to realize that the enemy was no longer moving.
When he finally calmed down, he stepped back and took in the scene, breathing heavily.
They lay there, on their stomach, head turned away from Dragan.
The sword was invisible from this angle, but its results weren't.
The dark liquid he noticed flowing out of the stab wound earlier – he subconsciously refused to refer to it as blood – now made a puddle beneath the person's body.
There were also splashes of it here and there.
Dragan checked his hands and jacket and saw them dirtied with the dark liquid too. Contrasted on his skin, the liquid's color was dark purple.
So it's not blood.
He almost believed it.
Adrenaline finally eased up and with it gone, pain, fear, shock and exhaustion overtook him. His legs shook so much he couldn't remain standing. With pained, exhausted grunts he lowered himself on the metal floor, dazed by the event he had just experienced.
He checked the place where the suited person stabbed him. There was no blood. No wound. His skin was completely unblemished.
Wondering what it meant, he felt it. A slight, pleasant sensation rushed through his body. Nothing major, but noticeable.
A system message popped up.
[EXP: +5]
[EXP: 5/100]
Dragan stared blankly at the message.
He felt the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.
A system-like screen with a message telling him he acquired points. It was ridiculous.
But his thoughts quickly shifted to something else.
Did I just kill someone?
Although he tried to pretend that what he saw was not blood, or that the suited person was not a human, he found it difficult to act like he didn't just end a life.
It was in self-defense.
It truly was. That man or woman or whatever literally stabbed him without any warning, completely unprovoked.
But Dragan was not raised in an environment where he could just rationalize away guilt from committing a murder, no matter how justified.
So, he decided to find proof that the suited person was not a human.
When he calmed himself and rested enough to be able to stand stably, he got on his feet and walked to the body. Carefully, with some trepidation, he used his foot to shove the body on its back, revealing the details under the light.
The first thing to catch his attention was the head. The visor was already very damaged before the fight and his repeated foot slams seemed to have been the last straw. Now it was partially broken open, revealing the head underneath.
The face beneath the visor resembled a human, but it most certainly was not a human being.
Their skin was onyx black. He was sure that not even the darkest people in Africa had skin like this.
Then there were the eyes. Still open, they were completely white, with some purple-blue tint on the edges.
The rest of the face was similar to a human's. Nose, mouth, eyes, ears, all were there, but exact facial lines were difficult to distinguish due to shadows and the being's own black skin.
Satisfying his curiosity, but not his conscience, he turned his attention to the sword still stabbed into the alien's body.
He won this fight because the enemy lacked an arm. If they never dropped its weapon, Dragan would have nothing to stab it with and would've just gotten one-sidedly beaten to death.
If there were more of this kind of aliens in this place, he would be completely helpless against them as he is now. Having a weapon was a necessity.
He pulled it out of the body, then wiped it off the alien's suit.
The blade was too long to be called a knife, but the shape resembled one more than a sword. It was a straight, single-edged blade without a crossguard.
Maybe machete is the correct name?
Ultimately, the classification did not matter. The important bit was that it would help him stay alive in this place.
With one last glance at the corpse, he continued walking down the corridor.