As the sword drops further away the darkness envelopes you.  You light your brands and lines of fate bend to your will. You fist strikes true in the exact spot that would stagger the beast.  Its boney body, convulses in  pain from the pressure point strike.   It’s spiny, sharp, bone tentacles release you and shred your skin as they do. With a pale green flicker your brands burn out and you are in pitch black.

You swim upward but cannot seem to find the surface.  The darkness and water are confusing. Unable to find your way you feel your lungs begin to burn. Grasping in the darkness, putrid water in your nose and stinging your useless eyes, you feel fate has abandoned you. Knowing it is death to inhale does not give you any reprieve from the need to do it.  As water floods uncontrollably through your mouth and nose your body lashes out to reject it.  You mind panics, and you refuse to let it end this way.

Yellow bland light fills your eyes and then everything washes away in a dull fade. There is a moment of pure white colorless light, someone familiar says something of love and joy, and then you are no more.

Crawling, squirming things in the deep feast on Teuton meat and the Vorpal sword sinks deep into light-less forgotten mud.  It will not be found again for 1000 years.