Gorrendil screamed out in pain, the knife stabbing him in his eye. He roared, trying to grab his opponent off of him. The pain went through his body like no other, gut churning pain that would make most men hurl and want to curl up and die. He was no man. He was a Kriegsman and Kriegsmen do not give into pain until the very end of their lives. As the knife was continuing to drill into his head, he felt his life coming away from him. He fell over, the weight of his opponent sending him crashing down. He unattached his chainsaw attachment and aimed for his opponents side. He felt the blood rushing to his head as the knife slowly sunk into his head. He quickly stabbed his opponent in the gut, eviscerating him with the chainsaw. He let go of the attachment and laughed. Laughed as hard as a dying man could, spitting blood all over his opponents face.