struggle

His own blood clotted his vision, he knew the time was near, the revolver in his hand struggled for freedom from his grip as bullet after bullet exited from its mouth. They were all around him now but he would not let them take him. He had to find her, she was the key and without her all would be lost.
Tatterd and worn he fought on, his life blood flowing from a dozen fatal wounds, he had come too far to give up his soul now. The sky was black, the moons shining high above were cold and dead, the stars were ice and he was dying.
He grabbed the creature before him, slashing at its neck, he was rewarded with a crunch of bone, the beast fell and two more stood to defy him. This would only end with his death. Spitting curses and oath’s of hatred he squeased on the trigger of his revolver into the face of one of his opponent’s. Its head exploded and its body fell to the ground, he battled on and on, but it was all too much and finally he fell, his heart torn from his chest, his body a bloody ruin, the darkness around him folding inwards to take him.
Tears flowed from his eyes, he would not let this happen, with all his might he lurched forward, his legs buckeling from the extreem pain. His enemies stood all around him, amaised at his urge to servive. With one last breath he raised his arms in defiance, and launched himself into the crowed, killing with every blow. For a moment they reeled from his attack, his death strength eclipsing the earlier struggle.
But no man will live forever and finally with all he had ever strived for lost, he fell, never to take in another breath again.