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Discussion Starter · #1 · (Edited)
I'm not sure if this will become something longer, or not, yet - I suppose that depends on whether you guys want more - But, it's something short and sweet, I think. Wrote it up, quick, after a moment of inspiration. Hope you guys enjoy!

Never Stop Running​

Running, always running, through twisting alleyways and dank, narrow streets. Onwards I went, cradling the ruin of my left arm, gasping for breath - My left lung pierced, deflated, useless. Death was coming for me, they were coming for me, with their bolters and their chainswords, their prayers and their curses. I paused, momentarily, beneath an overhanging hab, standing in piss, and looked upwards. The Hive, a monolith of rock and metal, was aflame. Black, poisonous smoke, thick and impenetrable, drifted from the city's flanks. This was genocide. Slaughter to preserve a secret. Blind, passionate hatred, unleashed with one goal in mind - Me.

A Land Speeder hovered overhead, stablights spearing the gloom, illuminating puddles and rubbish, rats and pale, blind, suckling things that squirmed in the light. I continued to run, thundering across a rusting gangway, when my luck came to an end. It groaned, twisted, and then collapsed. I fell, a dozen levels, weightless, the air rushing at me. I bounced off a spar, felt my ribs break under the impact, and struck a roof, plunging through the rotten tiles. I found my descent halted, laying across the remnants of a bed, in a sub-level bedroom. I groaned, wiping blood from my face, and stumbled through the habitation. I shattered the door, and came out into a broad, empty courtyard.

I have overseen massacres. I have prevented death and destruction. I have ruled worlds, ruined worlds, saved worlds. I have been a warlord and an humanitarian. On some worlds, I am the Saviour, whilst on others, I am the Butcher. Some call me the Prophet, others call me the Sightless. Wherever I tread, bloodshed surely follows. I am an omen, a bringer of misery. I am the Voice of the Emperor, the figurehead of hope, lord of the unwashed masses. To my brothers, however, I am a traitor, an oathbreaker of the most monumental degree. I am all of these things, and so much more. I am-

A bolt-round struck my knee, destroyed the armour, pulverized flesh and bone in a welter of gore. I fell back, struck a wall, and sank to the ground. My run had ended, then.

A giant, coloured like bone, approached. It was hunched, feral, red-eyed and skull-faced. A Interrogator-Chaplain, a Hunter of the Fallen.

'Cypher,' The giant, jabbing a storm-bolter at me, growled. 'Your time has come.'

'Lord Cypher,' I grunted, through gritted teeth.

'What?' The Terminator asked, unlimbering a mace. Lightning sparked and fizzled around the head.

'I am a Lord,' I wheezed, grinning, locking eyes with the Chaplain. 'And you will show me-'

The mace swung. I felt it connect with my jaw, felt my bones break, and then all was dark.
 

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Interesting beginning. A fallen story starring Cypher? Sounds good to me :grin:.
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 ·
Interesting beginning. A fallen story starring Cypher? Sounds good to me .
Cheers, mate! Here's the next part, another short one - I'm thinking the majority of them will be short, drabbles if you will - That introduces an antagonist. A big, mean, fanatical antagonist. It's largely dialogue, but I'm thinking most of these will be. Hope you enjoy!

A Nose for a Nose​

I was awakened rudely. An armoured fist mashed my nose, snapping the bone and sending blood, thick and bright, splattering across the chamber. I was chained to the ceiling, arms above my head, bare toes scraping across cold, wet stone. My left eye was swollen shut, my jawbone broken, my teeth sharp, jagged splinters. My other wounds had been sutured shut, crudely, and leaked pus.

'Cypher,' My assailant drawled. He was tall, broad-shouldered, naked from the waist up. His torso was a labyrinth of scar tissue. Blue eyes, burning with intelligence, regarded me. 'I am Tzerkiel,' A necklace of three black pearls, glinting in the candlelight, dangled from his thick, bullish neck. 'I am here to extract your confession.'

'Confession?' I scoffed. 'Confessions are for the guilty.'

Tzerkiel struck me. I spun on my chains, dribbling teeth and blood.

'You are guilty,' Tzerkiel hissed, picking up a viciously-bladed sickle, testing the weight in his hand. At his side, there was a table, upon which rested a dozen blades, all shining, all promising pain. 'Of the most heinous crime - Heresy.'

'Heresy,' I said, flexing my fingers. They were numb, those damnable chains constricting my blood-flow. 'Is such a strong word.'

Tzerkiel struck my again.

'You will confess,' The Interrogator-Chaplain continued, drawing the sickle across my chest. It rasped, breaking the skin, and came away, red and dripping. 'All of your mewling kind does, in the end.'

'Very well,' I managed, sagging. 'Come closer.'

Tzerkiel stepped closer. I headbutted him, with all my remaining strength, and caught the Interrogator-Chaplain across the nose. It exploded, much like mine, and he went tumbling.

'You whoreson dog,' I said, spitting teeth. Tzerkiel stood back up, eyes shining like sapphires through a scarlet film.

'You will pay for that,' He bellowed. Tzerkiel gripped my arm with iron-hard fingers, dipping the tip of his sickle into my flesh. 'First,' Tzerkiel smiled grimly. 'With your hand.'
 
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