Fighting With Faith- Eleventh Entry
The impact hit Leston liked a power sword rammed into his face. The mutants. The Tyranids. Working as one. And all along, the Imperium thought the mutants were just rioting for their Emperor-forsaken habs. All along, the damn mutants had been using that reason as a cover, to further disorientate the already beleaguered and exhausted defence effort the Smorjorn Defence Corps. and the other Imperial Guard regiments posted here, all already stretched thin on the various battlefronts being assaulted. It wasn't surprising the mutants turned against the Imperium. On the surface, the Imperium professes the mutants as humans. However, deep in the mindset of everyone, discrepancies were rife. Both sides resented each other. All along the Imperium was being siege from within. Emperor damn this!
Leston was dressed in his full battle uniform, lasgun slung over his shoulder. He was the sole survivor of the human population left within the commercial spaceport. His squad, his platoon, his regiment, slaughtered. Even the initial sight of the endless waves upon waves of Hormagaunts and Genestealers still ran wild within Leston's mind. His hands quivered, his body shivered. He was covered in blood; mutant, human, and Tyranid.
Crouching behind an ammunition crate tucked away in the mechanician corner of the spaceport, he could hear and see occasionally the group of foul, Emperor-cursed Xenos in the middle of the spaceport. He had overheard everything. The spaceport was brightly lit up by the incandescent overhead light beams. The vile minions of the Xenos have accessed the main control tower.
What to do next, Leston was hesitant. To flee was not an option; there were already Hormagaunts, Genestealers, mutants and Genestealer Cults worshippers converging onto this spaceport, to board onto the various ships to travel to the Asat System. To hide was not an option; the abhorred abominations would inevitably sense his presence, either by highly tuned senses of smell or of sight.
Leston silently mouthed a word of prayer, checked his lasgun one last time and stood up. He held on to the trigger of his lasgun for all he could.
His fire peppered onto the group in the centre of the spaceport. Some figures fled for cover. Some burst into a red mist of blood and gore. He even killed a few human prisoners as queer looking grey slugs crawled slowly into their ears and mouth. Grelion slugs, Leston thought with disgust.
"Emperor damn you all! May his holy wrath-" Leston's berate was cut short by a prowling Hormagaunt as it emerged from the gloom from behind and pounced upon Leston. His lasgun clattered noisily onto the floor, followed by his head, limbs, and his body.
The impact hit Leston liked a power sword rammed into his face. The mutants. The Tyranids. Working as one. And all along, the Imperium thought the mutants were just rioting for their Emperor-forsaken habs. All along, the damn mutants had been using that reason as a cover, to further disorientate the already beleaguered and exhausted defence effort the Smorjorn Defence Corps. and the other Imperial Guard regiments posted here, all already stretched thin on the various battlefronts being assaulted. It wasn't surprising the mutants turned against the Imperium. On the surface, the Imperium professes the mutants as humans. However, deep in the mindset of everyone, discrepancies were rife. Both sides resented each other. All along the Imperium was being siege from within. Emperor damn this!
Leston was dressed in his full battle uniform, lasgun slung over his shoulder. He was the sole survivor of the human population left within the commercial spaceport. His squad, his platoon, his regiment, slaughtered. Even the initial sight of the endless waves upon waves of Hormagaunts and Genestealers still ran wild within Leston's mind. His hands quivered, his body shivered. He was covered in blood; mutant, human, and Tyranid.
Crouching behind an ammunition crate tucked away in the mechanician corner of the spaceport, he could hear and see occasionally the group of foul, Emperor-cursed Xenos in the middle of the spaceport. He had overheard everything. The spaceport was brightly lit up by the incandescent overhead light beams. The vile minions of the Xenos have accessed the main control tower.
What to do next, Leston was hesitant. To flee was not an option; there were already Hormagaunts, Genestealers, mutants and Genestealer Cults worshippers converging onto this spaceport, to board onto the various ships to travel to the Asat System. To hide was not an option; the abhorred abominations would inevitably sense his presence, either by highly tuned senses of smell or of sight.
Leston silently mouthed a word of prayer, checked his lasgun one last time and stood up. He held on to the trigger of his lasgun for all he could.
His fire peppered onto the group in the centre of the spaceport. Some figures fled for cover. Some burst into a red mist of blood and gore. He even killed a few human prisoners as queer looking grey slugs crawled slowly into their ears and mouth. Grelion slugs, Leston thought with disgust.
"Emperor damn you all! May his holy wrath-" Leston's berate was cut short by a prowling Hormagaunt as it emerged from the gloom from behind and pounced upon Leston. His lasgun clattered noisily onto the floor, followed by his head, limbs, and his body.
posted by yandaoben at 8:51 PM
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