Sam Fisher- Killing Aslanov

Fish­er won­dered if the pain and the fa­tigue were mak­ing him hal­lu­ci­nate; but then Aslanov’s oth­er arm came up with a glis­ten­ing sil­ver blade in his fist, stab­bing the karatel at Fish­er’s chest. Some­how, against the odds, his nem­e­sis had made it out.

He blocked the at­tack, but with only lim­it­ed suc­cess. The knife cut into the bal­lis­tic ny­lon web­bing over Fish­er’s tor­so and a length of it en­tered his flesh, lodg­ing there, caught on the dense ma­te­ri­al of his tac­ti­cal suit.
...

“You will die!” The Rus­sian spent the last breath in his lungs shout­ing out the drowned words in a gush of bub­bles, and he grabbed at Fish­er’s throat, fin­gers like iron rods tight­en­ing around his neck, squeez­ing.

A depthless black void shrouded them as they con­tin­ued to sink. Fish­er’s world be­came pain and shad­ows, and he knew that Aslanov’s fu­ri­ous eyes would be the last thing he saw.

No.

The de­ni­al lit a fire in­side him. Fish­er reached for his fi­nal re­serves of strength, and grabbed blind­ly at the trapped knife. He ripped it free with a jolt and grabbed the back of Aslanov’s head be­fore the Rus­sian could stop him.

Fish­er rammed the karatel through Aslanov’s skull with a crunch of shat­tered bone, forc­ing it deeper with the heel of his hand, press­ing the Rus­sian’s head into the weap­on so he could not es­cape the kill­ing strike.

Aslanov’s tal­on-like fin­gers re­leased their grip on Fish­er’s throat and the oth­er man twisted away, his body shak­ing as death fi­nal­ly took him.

Fish­er’s last glimpse of the man was the black mass of his coat swirl­ing around his body, be­fore he van­ished into the deep.

- Firewall, Chapter 25