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post #1 of (permalink) Old 08-05-10, 04:02 PM Thread Starter
TheJolt's Avatar
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Default Super short story.

This is my shot at a super short (Under 500 words, more than 400)

By the way, anyone who was Reading 'Upon the flaming fields' I am very sorry for it dying, I just couldn't keep up. Sorry guys

Well here it is....

“Do you consider yourself worthy?”

“I do.”

“Then show me.”


He danced around the sparring ring like a natural born fencer. His training blade flashed and sliced, whirled and parried. His feet moved with the lithe agility of a ballet dancer, but his form was muscled like a weight lifter. He struck swiftly, striking his foe a trio of blows. His mastery of blade was evident.


“Good, but I need more.”


The ork swung wildly with a filthy, crude axe. He parried with the skill of a warrior, like he had trained to do so long ago. His blade crackled with power a million times the superior to his training blade. He swung once, twice, three times. All the blows met their mark; the ork reeled back, holding the stump of its left arm.

But it was made of sterner stuff.

It came at him again, its axe throwing his blade to the ground. He leapt out of the way of a decapitating blow, rolled from a swing that would have bisected him from brain to balls. He lost sight of his blade in the swirling one on one. He grabbed for his bolt pistol, as he done so the ork smashed him from his feet. He hit the ground hard, mud squelched under his black armoured bulk. He lifted his bolt pistol.

One shot.

The ork bellowed in triumph as it stalked towards him, intent on the kill before it. He fired.

One kill.

The ork toppled over, its slack jawed head was naught but a mess of bone, brain and blood. His mastery of bolter was evident.



The daemonette danced around him, laughing wickedly. Its bladed limbs lashed out, slicing into his flesh like a razor. It hissed and stabbed into his shoulder joint, breaking his collar bone.

He roared in pain, crackling energies gathered in his hands, blue lightening fizzled down his entire body. His black armour began to smoke, unnatural energies singed his skin and hair.

The daemonette recoiled as he looked it in the eye, fiery light emitted from his eyes. He raised his hand and made a fist. Every bone in the daemonettes body was ground to dust, every artery burst and every cell starved of oxygen. It fell in a crumpled heap. And so did he, his powers drained him, and for the last time he spoke.

“Enough?” He asked, then he died.


“Enough for three services as a Marine,” Boomed the voice, “Come; walk by my side, your kind is needed in the final war, by my side.”



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