Or my name isn't

It was a tide or was it a fog? Whatever it was, it keeps trying to Consume me!! Where am I? Why am I suffering like this? Maybe, maybe I should just give up…NO I CAN’T GIVE UP NOT NOW NOT LIKE THIS NOT EVER!! For the A—

The cloying sensation lifted and I found myself surrounded by four beasts. The ground, a mushy black sand with white fragments littered everywhere.

As I looked at them, I saw their eyes clear up one after the other. The silence was deafening. They all turned to look at each other and I noticed I was the smallest one. These black monsters with the skulls and forms of a giant cat, a weird bird with a hooked beak and a giant turtle?  They turned to me and I knew I was prey. My heart beat faster as I raised my claws. Claws? I took the brief second before they attacked to look at my form.

I was black like the rest of them with a hole above and to the right of my heart right where I was shot. Sharp claws and a tail. Who am I again?

Before I could reflect on the question those monsters were upon me. I tried to fight back but they were ripping me apart. I gave a couple strong strikes before I felt that fog cover my mind once more and didn’t fight it.
When I finally came to I was in almost the same scenario as before except there was no one else there.
The crunch under my feet answered that question. Masks broken and shattered, much like the bodies of those monsters. I instinctively knew I had caused this. The recognition almost gave me a sense of pride before I squashed it.

Who am I? Where am I? and Why am I a weird looking weasel?

I took the quiet I had under the moon to reflect while I had the time to. Something told me I wouldn’t have very many chances to do so.
I remembered gunshots. A man in a bed. I briefly remember a fort and the greedy Mexican government. I’ll die fighting alright I’ll- …I died, didn’t I? I remember now.

I died fighting back against the Mexican soldiers coming to take back the Alamo and I died on my bed shooting with my two pistols. Damn sickness, keeping me from directly commanding my soldiers. Hopefully, we bought the army enough time.

Not that it matters, I’ll survive whatever twisted hell this is or my name isn’t James Bowie