Just some more coloring practice this time using lines by  ChillChell that can be found HEREs

Jorvan after the war on Taetrus which claimed nearly his entire Platoon as well as a bit of him:

A snip from Enemy Mine
To Jorvan, time seemed to slow. It feels like he’s standing there while a cone of bullets traps him in place for an eternity. Something deeply feral and primitive spurs him into action; jumping back, through the door, and slamming painfully into the guardrail of the landing. A scream of pain escapes him as fists slam through his leg, back and shoulder. Three rounds have found their mark. He pushes off in a heap and tumbles down the staircase as the child chases after him, still firing. Jorvan loses possession of his rifle as he falls, sending it clattering down the stairs after him. It spins and pirouettes in much the same fashion it's owner does.

Unlike its owner, however, it doesn't have a crest to get caught between the step and rise of the skeletal steel staircase. Another scream as white hot pain blinds him temporarily.

His momentum is briefly halted by this development but the inertia of his body makes this a brief affair as there's a loud snap and he continues his experimentation in rapid staircase descent, sans his central crest plate.

He lands in a heap at the bottom of the staircase and rolls around the corner, the child is screaming and chasing him down the stairs. Jorvan looks around desperately and notices his rifle has landed across from him, a barrier of bullets preventing him from acquiring the much needed weapon. He frantically looks around and spots a pile of rubble close by. His wounds throb dully through the rush of adrenaline and he touches a cool spot on his chest where one of the throbs originate from. It comes away blue. He scrambles to the pile of rubble and hefts a brick.

Breathing is becoming harder, a wet gurgle rasps from the hole in his chest with each frantic gasp. The child has stopped firing and Jorvan can hear him still descending the stairs....