Perius Lay on the surgery table before him, a thin stream of blood flowing from his neck that wasn’t sealing up. That meant, it was deep. The Warrior was one of Kunzhardt’s, one of the Second Company. During one of their endless, perilous training regiments Perius had taken a bolt fragment to the side of his neck and was rushed to Lugerev’s care.
Pelegon always preached about numbers, and for good reason. It was an issue for nearly all of the remaining Traitor Legions. A failed rebellion, and several millenia of guerilla warfare had taken its toll on all their numbers. To lose an Astartes in a training accident was...deplorable.
Perius was not dead yet, though. Lugerev had put him to sleep so he could more easily search for the embedded fragment.
‘Kunzhardt might want to start making his mens’ training a bit more purposeful than this.’ Said Lugerev to one of the two Apothecaries assigned to 7th Company, who stood to the side of the room. His name was Tirgivil, and he was here to learn, today.
Both of the medical officers wore their unarmored garb, iron-gray, hoods down draped over their wide, strong shoulders.
Lugerev didn’t much feel like guessing as to how many patients he had received from Kunzhardt’s Company in any standard Terran cycle due to being in the Warp, but needless to say, it was a lot.
He stuck a syringe into Brother Perius’s neck. A solution to soften the flesh so he could cut it open easier. A second syringe, poked. This one at the edge of the wound; a solution to help the Larraman’s cells clog the bleeding.
There was a spread of small holes in the upper chest and collar bone area of Perius’s power armor. Something was wrong. Lugerev’s hands searched over the area, unable to manipulate the armor.
‘There’s another wound here, a second penetration they didn’t notice. One of these pockmarks goes all the way through.’
Tirgivil did not say anything in return. He knew it was not necessary.
Lugerev Looked into Perius’s numb, unconscious eyes. He grabbed the adamantium tipped saw off of the table next to him. He placed it carefully at the top edge of the armor’s collar bone and activated the tool suddenly realizing there might not be time to properly remove the armor. The jarring, screeching of metal on metal ensued. The gray earth around him constantly trembled. It shook beneath his feet. The noise was tremendous. For days, the noise had been tremendous.
His saw continued to bite into the iron hued war plate as lifeless suits of power armor dangled off the sides of corpse-mountains and fell, nudged off from the intense vibrations, dropping like worthless bugs. It looked as if these piles of dead had been dumped out from buckets. Yellow, black, iron, chevrons, and black mailed fists had never been so mixed together. Missiles screamed over top of him, and Lidecrus screamed into his face with all the spittle Lugerev could have ever asked for.
‘Where is it?’ yelled Lugerev at the top of his lungs, he had wrent the chest plate open, but could not tell where the bolt fragment had gone. Lidecrus’s whole chest was soaked in blood.
Lugerev’s hands waded through the blood over the hole. It was so large. It must have been the entire bolt round’s tip, shattered as it hit the reinforced ribcage.
‘Everywhere,’ whispered Lugerev, ‘Its everywhere.’
His fingers dug through the flesh, expertly plucking out piece after piece. Lidecrus grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling it down as he screamed in agony, calling out to Lugerev that he was dying.
‘Hold on my brother.’
Lidecrus’s eyes were stuck, locked on the piles of dead bodies surrounding them.
‘Just one more.’ the dying Marine practically whimpered.
Torrents of enormous caliber rounds from a fortified gun emplacement, ground an incoming squad of Imperial Fists into red dust and bits of armor plating. Apparently they had sighted him, and had made a for a run, hoping to kill the Apothecary.
Lidecrus’s life was fading in his hands, fast. Those hands were frantic now. He couldn't start trying to repair the flesh with pieces of burning metal still lodged inside.
He screamed back at the patient in frustration. He grabbed Lidecrus’s head in his blood covered hands, smearing the Marine’s ears red.
‘Stop dying! Stop losing blood! I can’t take it anymore, you bastard!’
He activated the saw on his narthecium, and plunged it into Lidecrus’s ribcage. If his brother had already been screaming in agony before, Lugerev had no idea what to call it now.
‘Where are you, you damn piece of Emperor-blessed metal. Where, are, you-’
‘Sir.’ A hand was on his shoulder. It was Tirgivil.
Lugerev looked down at Perius, and stopped his rotating saw blade. The Second Company warrior lay on the surgery table, dead, his ribcage cut open with organs bubbling out.
Lugerev felt sweat on his face. His twin hearts were beating with adrenaline. He stood up straight, collecting himself.
‘The wound was too deep. I will have to inform Captain Kunzhardt to decrease the pernicious nature of his training exercises.’
Tirgivil could see it in his master’s eyes, that he was utterly confused. After a moment of silence, Lugerev picked up the heavy, armored body. Tirgivil moved to help, taking one side.
‘Please clean the table, Tirgivil. Pelegon has summoned a council. I am already late due to Perius being brought to me.'
Several minutes later, Lugerev had just transitioned from the Medicae Halls to the main tower of the Eisenschloss. He walked rather slowly, discovering he was not as late as he had thought.
‘Tik-tok. Tik...tok. Tik-tok tik...tok. Always, always. Always. Tik-tok, tik, tok, tik-tok. Slower...Tik, tok, tik, tok’ he was saying to himself, as he rounded a corner and found the verdigris-eyed twins, Iapetus and Coues, deep in conversation in one of the open spaced, adjacent chambers to the corridor.
He looked at them for a moment, and decided not to interrupt, passing them by. He knew they would be following him soon enough. Truth be told, not long after, all three of them stood at their places around the fourteen sided, polished steel table. While the Warsmith spoke, Lugerev stared down into his hazy reflection. He watched as it moved, side to side. Though his eyes were lost to this oddity, his ears were open, absorbing the details. A few times though, his eyes wandered up to the stern, emotionless face of the Second Captain, who's eyes never veered from their Leader.
Space Wolves. Maybe he’d get to kill a few. That wasn’t going to be his primary objective though, naturally.
The mission sounded simple enough. An easy target. Some sugary prey to vent their Warp crazed appetites. All but two and himself were dismissed. Massive, armored bodies slid past his robed form. Now at the lonely side of the table, he looked up towards Pelegon as he continued with further information regarding a Strike Cruiser. The Fist of Russ, he mused, sounds like a ship that will be around for a while. Being that it’s named after one of Russ’s hands, I bet, that’s where it will stay.
Ah, he thought, as he finally heard his objective. There it is. And he shuddered at it. Lizard geneseed? Disgusting. Red eyed, burnt, radioactive freaks.
“Are there any questions?’ Asked Pelegon.
A short pause, in which Lugerev looked to the Seventh Captain, now separate from his psyker brother. He liked Iapetus. He had given him a means off of Terra. Lugerev had been assisting the Sixth Company, The Company his roots were in, which had nearly perished on the Throne world. With all hope for escape thought lost, Iapetus descended through the smoke and smog, with a lowered ramp, and an open palm.
Suddenly the other figure in the room spoke up, rather loud. Clad in black, this individual stepped around the table a bit in order to come closer to the Warsmith. He dismissed Iapetus’s role with hardly a thought, and laid out his requests for some kind of plan.
Baffled, perplexed, puzzled. Lugerev’s eyes and brow were in the shape of dire concern. Disgust, even.
He raised his arms out wide, looking back and forth between Pelegon and Iapetus as if to ask: Am I the only one seeing this?
When neither of the two seemed to know how to respond, Lugerev voiced the question instead.
‘Who is that?’ He paused looking at the individual further, squinting his eyes now, jaw dropped.
‘Is that...is that seriously one of the Lion’s pristine little maggots?
Lugerev drew his blade from beneath his robes.
You can never be prepared for the unexpected
Last edited by unxpekted22; 09-22-14 at 04:31 PM.