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More fiction, this is a three parter. So expect a twist This does get a little disturbing/graphic btw so be warned.


Well maintained barrels obscuring the men who held them. Behind each barrel was a stance, a sure-shot for efficient execution. For them to be anything else would defeat the purpose, no compassion was to be found in each pair of cold eyes.

'You have been judged, and you have been found wanting..' A commissar, the sheen of his black leather catching the sun as it foreshadowed the prisoners arrayed for execution.
Amongst these condemned one could not hold back his protest, his shout drowning out the commissar's monotone.
'We were found wanting as soldiers but not as men! We did what was right!'
The commissar took no notice and continued,
'For gross dereliction of duty and treason against your High commander..'
'We made no treason! We only chose mercy. Is mercy now a treason?!'
Enough to make the commissar pause, though not for long.
'For gross dereliction of duty and treason against your high commander and the emperor on the throne, I sentence you to death.'

The fifteen guardsmen took one last look at each other, each one agreeing without words,
'WE DID WHAT WAS RIGHT!'
A defiant chorus silenced cruelly by efficient las-fire. On a balcony above an officer smiled, not so long as to be unseemly, but long enough.

Tiny pin-prick holes covered the chest of each corpse, from each small tributary streams flowed into one river, soaking red the standard issue uniform. Taciturn men hefted the haunches of meat one by one into the mass grave, it had been dug less than an hour before by those now to fill it. As each one tumbled into terminal bed limbs limply flailed and heads lolled on flaccid necks, it was hard to see their past humanity. Cool, pale bodies now coalesced into a joyless orgy of flesh, traitor or not the worms would soon take their fill.


+++


He had awoken with the smell and taste of soil, it was part of the routine really, when you spend more than a day manning a trench soil and mud become a ubiquitous nuisance. Strangely Lieutenant Morrens had always liked the smell, it was wholesome, no matter what tainted it soil always smelled the same. Something was different this time, something nagged at his subconscious like the lingering fear from an un-remembered, but harrowing, nightmare.


'I'm dead' he said, or possibly thought, to himself.
'I'M F***ING DEAD!' Suddenly panicked he attempted to thrash but the soil constricted him, a grave, a grave for a dead body! Morrens rallied his sense to rationalise the situation, i'm not dead, they missed, I survived, I beat the firing squad. Calm now he explored further, there must be a way out, if there weren't I'd have suffocated by now. He augured with his limbs, tested the water, his left leg had some give. He kicked down, luckily they hadn't taken his boots. Morrens was joyously greeted by the hollow thunk of flak board, better than any symphony. He kicked again, the soil shifted, he kicked again, a mass of soil and bodies plunged down into an abandoned sewer, if he wasn't tumbling with them Morrens would cry for joy.

He was the only one to kick his limbs into a stroke, the others were just a floating nuisance, buoyant with errant putrefaction. A sewer grating ahead, rusted through, another in a queue of happy coincidences. Along with the other human debris propelled by the current he found his way through to surface, a generator room no doubt tributed by the cistern in it's one-time operation. Morrens gasped for air, he had only been in the water around 20 seconds but there was far more to this inhalation than simple oxygen. The guardsmen treaded the corpse-swash slowly towards a ladder. As his feet found an ancient rung he heard noises, footstep and Comms.

'You see the size of that sink-hole? It seems the shallow grave was too deep, Redceczh warned us about the sewers'
Morrens saw the shadows and reflected torchlight as he waded, he waited a few confirmatory moments before submerging into hiding.
'Oooofft, you smell that? Seems the traitors bobbed their way into the room ahead, best go tag n' bag. Pretty sure the furnace topside works a treat'. A deep breath then below the waters, kill or be killed, Validate or justify at your leisure.

The torchlight barely penetrated the thick, brown, water, Morrens assessed it cautiously as it danced on the meniscus. These men were killers, the ones who had followed the orders Morrens had disregarded. A last torment battled in the fugitives vengeance-eroded conscience; were these Abominations? Or cowards, pitiable in their determined self preservation? A bayonet pierced the water, trying to snag the first catch of the day. The corpse the soldier had hooked was a small fry, what took the bait was a shark.

Thrashing foam and the tangle of limbs, each was now an amphibious creature. The gloved hands furrowed and dug into Morren's face, the suede grips clumsily scouring for eye sockets. The other pair of hands scurried searchingly through the webbing. Both floundering predators took on great gulps of brackish sewerage, a foul taste to accompany a bitter struggle. Nimble bare fingers prevailed, that feels sharp enough!. Morrens kicked back from the tangle only to immediately thrust back in. He had less trouble finding an eye socket.

The fork from mess hall had found a jellied morsel in the soldiers skull and Morrens had found a gun, the metal aquila a glinting giveaway, catching the light of a panicked flash-light scan from the man above the water. He'll be on the horn, thought Morrens, take the shot! For the first time he opened his eyes, a new piece of human driftwood was at his side, encased in a fresh nebula of blood. It wouldn't hinder the shot, Morrens let himself sink to the bottom and calmly sent a las bolt two foot above the floating orb of light.

Breaking out to the surface his hands padded clammily on the cold slabs of the cistern rim. Morrens could make out the sprawled twitcher through the hazy fug. His eyes were streaming, who knows what was in that water besides the blood and rot he had introduced. Out of the water now he knelt beside it, waiting for waves and eddies to settle into a reflection, the twitcher had stopped, no cause for concern. The creature that stared back at him was.

He waved a wizened hand in front of himself, in front of the gaunt devilish visage he now owned, he looked no better than the corpses that choked the pool. His arms were pale and blotchy but ribbed with corded muscle and coiling veins, stripped of their health they now only looked lethal. His face too had been excised of fat, razor bones threatened to tear through the skin, a gunshot wound perversely above his right eye. Even his teeth looked sharper and somehow more threatening, barely concealed as they were beneath thin cracked lips. Dark, pitted and bulbous eyes moved their attention to his chest, Stained with stale blood and ragged with holes, the imperial issue tank did little to hide the red ruin. Unlike the rest of him his 15 las stab wounds were fresh and holding no sign of infection, he was no biologist but their was no way his heart had escaped. Strangely the mortal wounds didn't pain him, Doc Stanzer had once bored him about men surviving headshots, they always came out different, a loss of the pain centre was far from unheard of.

Thinking of the Doc reassured Morrens, the reason I look like a corpse is 'cos I was one. A 'coma' they called it, mostly one only bought you the emperor's mercy, not this time though. The stilled twitcher behind suddenly seemed to speak, luckily it was only his comms looking for a status report.

'I heard gunfire! You get him?!'
'No...' Morrens smiled for the first time, commissar Redceczh would recognise his voice.
'Hmmm Morrens is it? Hear me Morrens, we both know I cant let you live. Cant have you squealing to Inquisitor Uolis can I?'
'No..'
'That all you got for me? No insubordinate drivel, no self righteous garbage'
We did what was right! It echoed in Morren's head. 'No...'
'Very well. You will never see daylight again by the way. This underground rat hole and my stormtroopers will see to that'
'No...' Morrens started to laugh, somehow it sounded inhuman, somehow he didn't even want to do it.

Really liked it Perk, reminded me of Abnetts later writing style.

Considering its just a set piece it raised some interesting questions, why were the soldiers being executed, what will Morrens do now/how will he escape, is there a daemon element involved (personal opinion on that one).

All very good points Thanks alot for reading, was worried no one was interested.

Always someone lurking down here in the fiction forum

Second part coming along or?

Yep, defo within the week.

Realised i wouldnt get it done in just two parts i have extended it to 3. Stay tuned for Part 3 (the conclusion/payoff).

The laugh had come with a side effect, as it limped into a wheezing retch he felt the blood surge up his gullet. It mingled with the rawness in his throat, putrid clots kissing the fresh ulcerations in his stomach and oesophagus. This new black pool of blood spread unevenly over the floor, curds and whey, clots and plasma. Morrens' felt his insides churn and roil, muscles contracting and slipping into foreign contortions, though the pain was distant he could tell his body was failing.

I'm not gonna get out of this, what's the point anyway? The lieutenant fell to his knees, legs suddenly buckled and bloodless. Morrens greeted the black borders now skirting his vision grimly, the tunnel, the terminal path, with each blink it expanded, until only pinpricks remained of what he once called vision. Like the last moments before a dream his mind wandered, clumsy footfalls, hands outstretched in the dark, they wavered in emptiness until they touched it.

It was ceramic on the underside, better to resist re-entry temperatures, the hands ran over it's pumice stone surface. The gentle roughness had a warmth to it, through the friction it felt like it had retained a tiny portion of the atmospheres heat. This one was named 'Euclidien', in reality Morrens had not touched the Euclidien, he had done something far greater, he had watched her soar into the sky, he had let her go. He was serene, at peace, letting go, until the AA mounts pumped flak into his synapses. The Euclidien had escaped, well out of range by the time High command had realised, the Pyrax and Auroch were not so lucky. Morrens felt something new as he re-lived their explosions, fuel cell chain reactions and secondary detonations interlocking with efficient cracks of las rifles at point blank.
We did what was right!
Rage. Revenge. Hatred. Like a scourge it washed the death out of him, he felt the strength return. Coursing down into the lethal weapons he called hands, lifting him off his submitting knees. He didn't even flinch when the breaching charge evaporated the bulkhead to his left. Back to reality.

Before the spall had even hit the ground Morrens was within the debris cloud. He scythed through the smoke like a razor, ramming into the first shape he encountered. A splintering mass careening through an insubstantial cloud the storm trooper was bowled over. Carapace plates dented and screeched at the joints as Morrens and the soldier barrel rolled away from the breach. As they came to a stop the stormtrooper was on top, both men had their weapons braced against their chests. Two spectators aimed their breaching shotguns in a panic, hesitating before they wrote off their comrade. As soon as their target slide his leg between him and his aggressor, gaining the upper hand, the other two opened fire. The human shield was no match for shredding buckshot, by the time Morrens sent the man tumbling into one of his allies he was limp gristle.

Seizing the moment the fugitive rolled toward a blast wide off the mark, looking to tackle it's source, the other opponent was luckily out of play for the moment as he had been thumped onto his backside. Distance closed, the lieutenant quickly lurched upwards delivering an uppercut to the muzzle of the storm trooper's shotgun, three metacarpals and all his knuckles fractured against the plasteel foregrip but it kicked the weapon upward sharply. A clumsy armoured trigger finger struggled to escape the guard in the upswing and was dragged over the threshold. The resulting accidental discharge kicking the man's grey matter out of his brain-pan. Assisted suicide.

Without even a glance Morrens snatched up the smoking weapon to send a shot to his right, the fluid motion felt almost like a reflex, the resulting Buckshot cracking into the chest of the attacker, snapping him into the far wall in a shower of sparks. As Morrens strode over the dazed stormtrooper showed admiral spirit, floundering into an attack, Morrens batted it away like child's play. His newly broken fist contorted into a cruel jab and he struck it into the visor of the enemy, crushing the plexi-glass goggles and blinding him. In a sobbing moan of pain the unfortunate enemy sunk to his Knees relinquishing all designs on aggression.

The man let out a pathetic whimper as Morrens knelt beside him, he convulsed in fear as a hand shot out towards him. In a well trained motion, garnered from years of experience, Morrens expertly unclipped the demolition charge from the decommissioned soldiers webbing. This may come in handy.

Interesting story. You have a great prose/writing style. Stuff like "he scythed through the smoke like a razor, ramming into the first shape he encountered" makes me very jealous. The only complaint I can think of is that some parts are unclear, but that's not a major problem since all you have to do is reread it and it makes sense.

I'll admit some of it would be better in say a movie. The part where he is touching the Euclidean in a 'dream sequence' especially. I just wanted to really get inside the character, the random bits of inner monologue are inspired by the novel fight club by Chuck Palanuik (I.e just throwing them in, without 'he thought' etc.) Some of The random little one liners like 'assisted suicide' are also inspired by the comic Watchmen, some of the panels in that have random quotes/words which i thought was neato. The second action sequence needs a little work i'll admit.

I like to write the first things that pop into my head, i dont labour too hard making them into similes/metaphors etc. Though there is obviously a middle ground.

Last part, still needs some formatting, will get right on it. May try and improve the ending but the concept is there.

Flights were being scaled in single bounds as the stairs gave their height. Morrens could almost taste the open daylight, almost taste the fresh air. Bursting into the dark atrium he almost let himself feel optimistic. The greeting at the other end of the hall was similarly uproarious, three heavy bolters primed on the door, a split second from unleashing hell.

Either time slowed or Morrens sped up, either way the whistling tracers seemed to scorch through the air lazily, humming gently as he danced for cover. The high calibre weapons shook the air and ground in a percussion pound, complementing the sharp notes of speeding bullets. Managing to dive behind a security booth, Morrens could now appreciate the harmonies as they shredded his cover. Six fat pillars punctuated the no-man's land between him and his dug-in aggressors, a fresh squad of flushing stormtroopers adding colour. The atrium flashed in binary dark and light, muzzle flashes blooming in a growing cloud of smoke.

The heavy bolters petered off when Morrens had himself better hidden, multiple Rasping voxes could be heard when the rhythm section died down.
'#Suppression HB only# #spaced echelon# #sweep the flanks# #counter enfilade#'
Lurid red flares swung through the air in slow arcs, rolling on the floor in a pall of dull squeaks. The red light gave the scene a sinister aspect, as if the walls themselves thirsted for blood.

A fluorescent spider-web of laser targeters gridded the dark air, each one bobbing and swaying with it's owner. One plotted a course dangerously close to Morrens' own, searing past him to the back wall. The footsteps grew closer, the clanking of armour becoming distinct, breathing that was low and barely controlled. As the moment grew closer Morrens felt the primal instinct that had become far from a stranger, a grim passenger was taking the wheel, he could almost smell the soldier's fear and apprehension. He could almost feel the air vibrate from the stormtrooper's gentle quaking. He could almost tell the adrenaline had caused a lactic acid build up in the man's legs, causing a seize were he to be suddenly set upon. The air between them grew thicker with the proximity, tension coiling within a spring release trap.

The flakboard wall between them barely seemed to register as Morrens leapt through it. The grazing chunks and splinters batted aside by an animal force. Before he could even turn in shock the man had had a slug pumped into his belly at point blank. As the soldier's vital blood sprayed over the wall the red flare-light made it black, a second gloss coat.

Screeching hellguns scoured darkness in tight beams and fat tracer rounds pummelled from heavy bolters, Chaos Reigned. In amongst the lethal strobe, Morrens was god, one by one the men fell by their own weapons or those of the prey that preyed.

A flush of cognition just after the final trigger pull. He stood panting over the cratered head of prone body. Quickly and with a limp indignity the upraised arms fell, futile shielding hands demolished by buckshot. A failed plead, a score of failed pleas behind, not all these men had died well.

Sliding weakly out the front door Morrens could barely identify a prevailing emotion, he had nothing in his heart, no clue of his morality. Steam rose off his blood slicked body in the outside air, it was as if it didn't want him here, he was a creature of that loathe dungeon, a cruel trogladyte, he had no place in the sunlight. To his right was a spent ammo case filled with water from a long passed rainfall, he poured it over himself. It's icy sting was far preferable to the warm, crusting, embrace of the blood he wore. The water seemed to clear his head, the low ringing in his ears quietened and revealed the high whine of priming engines. When he made to run, pain finally re-acquainted itself with him, a brittle explosion of re-firing nerves yanked him to the ground, the grit scraping agonisingly on the raw skin on his forearms. As he made to get up he was confounded once again, his broken hand reminding him why it shouldn't be leaned on. Staggering on to his feet felt like some great victory, killing the twelve heavily armed men had not.

Blood was rushing everywhere but his head, his throat as he coughed it up, his lungs as it drowned him and his legs as they lurched into a run. The arm he raised to wipe the blood dribbling down his chin barely rose, it felt like dead weight as it swung back down with his limping stride. A flight of forty stairs loomed ahead, leading to the lip of the launching silo. He was quick to taste the sixth as his face collided with it. His feet were impossibly clumsy, dying tendons struggling to anchor them, now they had cost him his front teeth. Grimly Morrens spat out the smashed dentine and continued his ascent. Half way up he fell upon his hands and knees, his derelict heart refusing to comply, refusing to give the blood he wanted. Familiar black fog returned to his vision, it clouded, but it also guided, guided to the bright light at the end. The civilian shuttles he had refused to commandeer, the good men under him who had known the consequences, the crack of lasguns at point blank range, the officers smile.

'WE DID WHAT WAS RIGHT!' he howled it from a hoarse throat, the air that made it ripped out of him, expelling any intention of giving up. The pain was a figment, It's in your head, just move damn it!. His arms pulled his body and his legs pushed him forwards, the gunshot wounds in his chest scraping over every step. Every one conquered gave him a boost in strength, the more he scaled the more muscles he felt reawaken. The thick trail of blood he had left was no longer gushing in pools but smearing as the outpours were stemmed by his resolve. With titanic effort he catapulted himself onto his feet and onto the launch silo rim. The engines below roared horribly and a wave of heated air and displacement rushed over him. The Valkyrie revealed itself. The thrusters screamed and thrummed as the after burners fired. Take-off.

No chance. A wilful chain reaction played out over a hand full of milliseconds. Muscles contorted and retracted, sliding over each other and snapping into new housings. The Locomotion spread like a virus, scouring down his shoulder, channelling into his tricep as it lifted the elbow into a swing. The elbow took the forearm with it, the air was no match and little resistance as it cut through. At the last second he let go, any longer and it felt like his arm would rip free. Guiding the message to his tendons they slackened their grasp on his hand. At once graceful, glorious and spiteful the demolition charge soared through the air. The fury of the explosion and crash were bland nothings to the hardened soldier in comparison. Calmly he made towards the wreckage.

Ragged rents and scorched leather covered the corpse of Redcezch. A Commissariate great coat holding together a pulpy collective of bone fragment and flesh. It was not what Morrens' spied though, it was not what he had come for. The officer still breathed, a shallow throb of the chest lifting and dropping his listing head. All this death to silence some whore he consorted with, to buy her silence with 800 civilian deaths. When granted to the corrupt, military power brought a lack of respect for life and an obsession with reputation, this man exemplified this with primacy.

'No final words sir I'm afraid, I just want you to die'
Morrens plunged a knife into the emblazoned doublet. The steel hilt not looking out of place amongst the grim tokens of accolade. Morren's barely felt it, a ripping sensation in his left side, lazily he acknowledged the sabre driven into his flank. Within the bludgeoned mess Morrens could just about decipher a sneer on the officer's face. Morren's grabbed the head and brought it close to his, foreheads abutting. At once, both twisted their blades.
'Just.... Die'
Morrens looked deep into the eyes, they swam frantically in their sockets, for second they looked into his own, then sank upwards into the man's skull.
'Dead'....

The dying avenger fell back onto his backside, Slumping into the mud for the last time. A shattered canopy gifted him a reflection. He looked almost obscene, a long sabre spitting him rib to rib. Where before he had seen a creature he now recognised his previous humanity, without any willing he even had a look of solemn acceptance on his face, almost bitter sweet triumph. He sighed a wavering sigh, vengeance had bought him peace, people lie when they say vengeance turns to ash in your mouth, it doesn't, it turns to contentment, even joy. A perfect thought to embrace before sleep........

Where it had started with a rude awakening so it ended, it was night, flaming fuselage shrapnel illuminated the crater. Putrid chemical fires polluting the darkness. Something rubbed his cheek, he was barely conscious, groggy, being awoken while in the process of dying had drawbacks. The cheek felt warm, he looked for the reflection, on his cheek was a bloody hand print.

'Do not look behind child...' It spoke in his mind, a choir of voices, singular and monotone.
'My master has been watching you, he has an offer.'
With impossible clarity he felt his soul shatter, a feeling that he never could envision or describe, something his cynicism thought impossible. His being let out a moan of despair, tears welling in ducts that could no longer cry them. Utter desolation.

'I feel it, you feel cheated, now you are confronted with the truth you are horrified. Know this, there are many ways to serve my patron, you can tread the circular path of slaughter or you can use your gifts for something more. I know you Morrens, you have a will of iron and a righteous heart! You will be no mere puppet! Think of the lives you can save, think of the monsters you can topple, humiliate and destroy. He is no mere god of murder, he is a god of Justice!'..

'I accept'....
+++

[BLOOD VENGEANCE]

I can't believe I'm the first person to comment on this new entry; this story is great! Your writing style retains the same excellent prose and lacks some of the vagueness/confusing parts it had earlier! And of course the twist ending was pulled off quite well. Please write more!