Like a stone dropped from the side of a cliff; it was the best way Cleite could describe what was happening to him in these moments. He tried to gain some form of control, but these attempts were often robbed from him by fleeting consciousness. Events, all of the last few minutes, rushed across the warrior’s mind as he recalled how he had come to be free-falling from the sky.
The thunderhawk had been riding fast and low, using the tree-line to hamper most surveillance in order to better transports its payload. The ‘payload’, Cleite and the other members of squad Korvis, had been going through final weapon checks; Cleite himself had just stowed his chainsword in the vessels gripping at this side, his bolt pistol already in its holster on his hip. Much was dark in the transports main hold, for why would warriors like these need much in the way of light when they could see fine in near pitch?
Without warning though, the thunderhawk lurched to the side in a violent buck as if to avoid something. The maneuver tossed sergeant Korvis from his feet, and Cleite had reacted without truly thinking. Rather than assess what was going on, the warrior had instead slammed the release on the grav couch restraints and made to stand. And it was at that moment that whatever the thunderhawk had been attempting to dodge struck home, and a decent chunk of ceramite and adamantium was blown from the transports side.
Blindsided by the damage, Cleite was unable to prevent himself from being sucked out the hole and into the open air; only just avoiding colliding with the ships wing after smashing his helmeted head against the side of the ragged hole on his way out.
He was like a stone dropped from the side of a cliff, tumbling without grace or care and fading in and out of consciousness while a genetically enhanced brain let loose a swath of chemical to keep Cleite alive. With a hiss of pain the warrior opened his eyes and splayed his arms and legs, arresting his tumble in time to register the fact that he was fast approaching the jungle canopy below. With a grunt of effort and pain, his body acted on instinct while the mind railed at what to do. For only a second he forgot who he was, what he was, and that moment of confusion nearly cost the warrior his life. Then it came rushing back to him, that he was Sciathan Cleite, both a warrior and a soldier who’s very life was dedicated to serving the Emperor and defending His Imperium. More than that though, Cleite was Raven Guard, a member of squad Korvus, an assault marine armed with a jump pack.
Just as Cleite began to come into contact with the jungle canopy, he activated the thrusters of his jump pack, pushing the engines in order to cancel as much of his downward momentum as possible. The effort would have forced him to black out, had his body not been flush with adrenaline. Instead he would get to witness shattering branches on his haphazard descent before finally coming to a jarring halt on the ground below. Pain shot out along both legs and up his spine only to be numbed by pain-killers an eye blink later.
Standing to his full height, Cleite watched the thunderhawk crash into the earth, carving a gash in the ground and throwing debris like it was nothing. Carefully, the assault marine made for the crash, to seek out survivors and retrieve his chainsword as well. He did not know what had caused the ship to crash, but no doubt whatever had done so would surely not stop there.
Cleite tried reaching other members of the squad through the vox system in his helmet, but was answered only by static in the wake of his calls. That most certainly could not be good. He thought to himself as he picked his way closer to the downed thunderhawk; there were fires from where the ships fuel lines had ruptured during the crash. Despite that and his trepidation, Cleite made out movement at the base of the ship, dark armoured shapes wearing bulky packs like his own.
The scarred face of sergeant Korvis himself came from the side of the stricken ship as Cleite approached, noting the sergeant’s decision to fall back in the wake of approaching hostiles, likely those who had some hand in the squads most recent events. Ducking back through the damage that had tossed him out before, Cleite removed his weapon from its holding area where he had been not an hour before, cocking his head when Korvus entered the thunderhawk and moved towards the prone forms of Reyun, Lenox, and Kai. The older warrior began to move the bodies, handling them with all the care of a mad grox at the controls of a plasma-fusion core.
Before Cleite could do anything, the older warrior had finished the work of another. When an apothecary was not able to perform the reclamation of the geneseed, such an act fell to the squad sergeant if he had lived long enough to be trained in such a thing. It was an honour in its own right, but Korvis had chosen instead to pass it off, and to the callous Korvus it appeared.
"Reynon and Kai's gene-seeds are here, Lenux's is crushed. No big loss really, now can I hand these things off to someone else, preferably someone less likely to forget about them?"The older warrior informed sergeant Korvis with all the care of a brat. It was all Cleite could do not to strike the bastard; but instead he chose a different action that might normally put a smile to his face under better circumstances. “It would not be a big loss if you had been in Lenux’s place, now not only are we less three brothers, but we have you as well to impede us.” He said, grabbing the containers as he did so. “They were the sergeants warriors and your brothers, if keeping their legacy alive is too great a task for you, then I will gladly take such a thing unless the sergeant would take them.”
Damnation is paved on good intentions; subtle and sugar coated or blunt and honest
A hero is someone who steps up when everyone else backs down.
Popularity is what people strive for when they lack the strength to be themselves.
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Last edited by darkreever; 06-28-12 at 02:24 AM.