Scythes of the Emperor
A Piece taken form one of my roleplay threads here on heresy that I dig a lot and felt like throwing up here on its own. The specifically named characters are all characters throughout the RP. This is a dream sequence I made for one of them that is a series of flashbacks.
Your feet begin to drag along the rockrete; stimulants not keeping you awake for long.
The blue sky of Sotha above is clear and the air is comfortable, but sweat drips from your pores. You grip a burning tear in your abdomen. You look down at your heaving body, a large right hand holding onto your flesh. Not a moment longer do you rest, for you know you must keep running. You have been running for days on end, but it’s not enough. There are other neophytes ahead of you, who will beat you. There are others behind you and you know their fate: failures. You are on the border line between them and those ahead of you, the excessive muscle growth beneath your skin sore beyond measure, only able to keep moving by the still unfamiliar beating of your new second heart. Your legs feel like paper nonetheless, but your spirit remains strong. The thought of becoming one of mankind's greatest warriors pushes you. This is what it takes. Your stomach forgot about hunger days ago, as you learned to grab vegetation on the run and throw it down your throat no longer having to be afraid of food poisoning and water is merely scooped up by hand when striding through rivers.
You stand in line amongst your current equals. Many who started the process are no longer here. Veteran battle brothers stand before you. The old Chapter Master Thorcyra in all his glory, Brothers you would learn more of later on, sergeants Brig and Tobias among them. An established brother among the rows of robed Scythes of the Emperor catches your eye with long white hair and a narrow chin, Brother Astelan, and also Chief Apothecary Alexander who you had become familiar with early on from geneseed implementation.
At this point your past life is no longer with you, not as a memory, nor a care. You have been accepted into the Chapter and will become a marine scout.
It is your first true engagement, the Tau forces have you pinned down in the Damocles crusade. So many of the battle brothers around you have seen so much fighting already. In your scout armor you try your absolute best to stay calm, fear no longer a factor, but desire to help your brothers and aspire to glory, very much so. You look through the scope of your sniper rifle overlooking an outpost held by your brothers that is currently being overrun by Kroot mercenaries. You are about to pull the trigger when you see one of your brothers, Brother Solaki, rush forward with a bolter in each hand and initiating the Kroots’ retreat. You soon learn he all but destroyed his arms in the process. At the time you would have no idea you would become so familiar with him acting in this manner when it comes to battle, always one to sacrifice himself almost foolishly for the rest of the chapter; something he would someday scold you for not doing yourself on a world called Ferim.
You find yourself never one to stand out. Glory evades you, and even now in your full power armor your brothers refer to you as a rookie and a newbie. So many of them claim that they have had to save you on at least one occasion. Your muscles always flex beneath your armor when they say this, but your throat gulps beneath your battle helm when it’s on, knowing that what they say holds truth. You don’t realize how much you will miss these brothers of an old squad when you see each of them ripped apart in a bloody mess by the Tyranid xenos on the same soil that you ran over for days, years ago.
The skies of your beloved home-world are clouded with red, brown, and grey swirls. Your power armor strains to keep up as you find yourself running once again. The death of your squad behind you, there is only one more chance for you to be the one doing the saving for once. The voices of your chapter constantly yelling into your ears, overlapping each other calling for aid, for reinforcements, screaming the names of marines you trained with, marines you looked up to, who you aspired to become one day, the voices screaming their names…dead.
Air moves forcefully in and out of your battle helm's rebreather as your large feet stomp over the light brown dirt. You focus in on one of these channels and single it out. Suddenly one voice fills your helm. A voice filled with metallics.
“This is Laikus. Request support. Gaunt broods closing in on my position. Evacuation procedures have begun. Cargo lift off will be a failure without support. Current defense is zero.”
He is close enough; you are the only one. A clearing emerges and you break through the tree line. You quickly spot the enormous cargo vessel and the techmarine hastily working on shoving supplies in with servitors about his feet doing what they can. He turns for only a second and sees you. In your helm you hear him speak again,
“This is Laikus, support acquired.” With a single thought you open your channels back up and through the mess of failure and death reports you hear, “Copy that Laikus, must be what’s left of second company’s gamma squad. Rerouting.”
Before you can even reach the landing pad the vegetation to your left rustles violently before bursting with tyranid life forms. You are all that stands between them and the techmarine. This is your last chance. Gaunt after gaunt is gunned down as you take a step back one at a time towards the cargo ship. As you're forced to bat their vile heads away before firing into their bodies your ears pick out another line on the channels,
“Master Thorcyra has successfully evacuated. Command structure being re-worked”
Every moment of your training kicks in as you back pedal, as well as all of your failures... yet still managing to hold on with the rest. Tyranid blood splashes your armor as teeth are bashed away and claws scrape lines into your ceramite form. A sheet of flame bypasses you and the wheezing power of servo claws in combination with a mechanicus insignia power-axe strike out simultaneously by your side, annihilating the nearest overwhelming wave of gaunts. One of the techmarine's red armored gauntlets pushes against your shoulder guard to turn you around. You sprint toward the cargo ship that is already lifting off the ground, and grab hold of a railing just inside the still open cargo doors, Laikus clambering in behind you. The two of you would watch as the expanse of battle and Tyranid movement over the landscape of your home-world below moved like a single slithering creature.
With his four servo arms folding up onto his back, Laikus speaks into the vox network, “Techmarine Laikus clear, battle brother Belial clear.” And soon more channels pick up as a few other transport ships of various kinds can be seen out the window floating up into the darkness of space toward the belly of the battle barge, *click*“Chief Apothecary Alexander, clear, Scout Brother Niko clear,”*click* *click* “Sergeant Brig and squad, clear.” *click*
You fire a bolter looking over a steep rock wall. You relish in the revenge, the Tyranid monstrosities below scraping along the rock walls trying to reach you, only to be met with searing rounds of ammunition. Once again reports of fallen brothers come over your vox channels, but it’s different this time on the Giant’s Coffin. None of you expect to live, all of you finding peace and obsession in killing the Tyranids that spawned from the very same source as those that devoured your homeworld.
You open your eyes to a dark grey room. You grip onto your abdomen again, the burning and tear sharply felt. An indenture marks the spot beneath your hand this time. Your upper-body power armor, bolt pistol, and chainsword, are set aside from you.
Laying on a makeshift table you turn your head and see the young apothecary brother Niko, a narthecium equipped to his forearm and holding a white helm in his hands.
You can never be prepared for the unexpected
Last edited by unxpekted22; 04-18-12 at 12:15 PM.