This is my first attempt at writing a short story and I feel I gave this a good go. So I hope you enjoy
Mind numbing boredom
Samael sat underneath a (to the average human) large tree, making a mockery of its size with his large armoured bulk. He laid down his sonic blaster to one side and observed in front of him a large field, as far as the eye could see, of golden long grass as they swayed in the light summer breeze. The gold colour of the grass was emphasised by the golden rays of sunshine from the large, life giving star that this planet was orbiting. Occasionally the long grass would collapse from a rather strong breeze, giving the whole field a shimmering effect. Dotted around the field were large trees, just like the one Samael was sitting under right now; their leaves a healthy palate of green and as if to accentuate it's healthy aura, wild birds would occasionally fly out from their nests within these natural fortification of beauty at its purest. The whole scene was a picturesque dream, a peaceful haven.
It was also mind numbingly boring.
He was an Astartes of the Emperor's Children. The last (If any) of the Astartes to appreciate such a conventional sight. 2 days ago he was fighting the lapdogs of the Imperium in a battlefield the stark contrast of what he was witnessing at this moment. The sky was on fire where the battlecruisers of his warband and those of the filthy mongrels called space wolves; battled for supremacy of the atmosphere. On the ground was a symphony of death and destruction as a bitter "altercation" took place between the ground forces. The field of battle was alive with screams of the wounded and dying, laughing of the sadistic and depraved and the roars of the defiant and brave.
A cacophony of noise and emotion aggrandized with the ostentatious images of dead Astartes littering the terrain. Most of the lifeless corpse died of conventional ways with a traditional bolter induced death or a chainsword shoved with little grace through the gut.
But others had magnificent, noteworthy deaths. One that springs ever so joyfully in Samael's dark, twisted mind; was the strewn body of one of those filthy space dogs. His corpse was a masterpiece; A work of art. His body was spread out on the ground, lifeless and headless. Its grey armour crumpled from the majesty of Samael's sonic blaster. He remembered his death vividly. He remembered how the eyes of his foes bulged out from his sockets, how his entire head warped from the twisted melody coming from his weapon. It warped so much it burst, turning his neck into a volcano spewing hot blood. Bits of skull and brain matter cascaded the earth near his now lifeless body.
Now that all the visible flesh of his foe has irrevocably changed (For the better in Samael's mind) now the fool's armour will go through a similarly destructive metamorphosis of its own.
The malevolent symphony spewed forth from his instrument of death, warped and distorted the armour of his hapless foe. Armour that could withstand innumerable bolt shells and other standard weaponry; crumpled like autumnal leaves under the strain of such a rancorous melody. What once was a proud suit of Astartes issued power armour, became a macabre sculpture of twisted metal which also formed a makeshift coffin for the sundered flesh inside.
After momentarily appreciating the work he done, he surveyed the rest of the battlefield and realised he was the only one left. All that remained of the other participants of this violent opera corpses and body parts on the blood stained ground. Their life force spent in the admirable pursuit of ‘art’. But it left Samael with an uneasy realisation; a sort of ‘come down’ from the high he just felt seconds ago. Logic and reason began to filter through his recently over-indulged mind and asked himself a question; a question he always asked himself but on this occasion had more meaning and consequences attached to it.
He looked up to the sky to see if any of his warband’s cruisers were still functional and all he saw was the black of night with stars and flaming debris puncturing the abyss. He then checked his comms to see if there were any of his comrades have survived; all that returned was static. Samael stood there, on the ravaged battlefield, trying to figure out his next course of action. Suddenly, he moved his gigantic bulk towards the nearest forest and continued walking.
He kept on walking not knowing where he was going, but all he knew was that he had to do something. So he walked. He kept walking in a steady and relentless pace, barging through branches and bushes. Occasionally he would see the local wildlife (and to break the monotony of his continuous walking) would set his sonic blaster upon them, turning them into twisted and bloodied parodies of what they were. This amused him but the novelty worn of after several encounters. So he walked through the forested area for 2 long and uneventful days until he reached a field.
Now he finds himself contemplating what to do next. He wondered if there were any other humans or at least sentient xenos on this planet he could relieve his boredom with. He tried to think back to before the battle that lead him to this, and tried to remember what was it that his warband wanted from this planet.
Slaves? Minerals? Weaponry? Unfortunately his frequent use of combat and recreational drugs and with the ‘help’ of Slaanesh’s gifts, has taken its toll on Samael’s memory.
He quickly gave up on such useless things like reasons for fights. So he just sat there, under the tree looking at the bland landscape. He then turned his attention to his blaster; contemplating using on himself to free him from this boredom inducing hell. He imagined his head being transformed into a bloody pulp and spraying the ground with bits of his head, just as he did to that filthy loyalist. He longed for violence, death, destruction. He longed for his craft. He longed for any other experience; just as long as it was something, anything. He couldn’t take this boredom any longer.
And as he rested his blaster under his chin, he had a change of heart. He was destined to die on a battlefield against a worthy opponent. It was his destiny to be part of someone else’s masterpiece. And with that thought, he got back up and continued on through the golden field. One day he will meet a violent death and revel in it. But not yet.