Fighting With Faith– Ninth Entry


“Hold your ground! There is no fleeing! Face your fears and the trust in the Emperor!” Bukom’s voice was coarse after all the bellowing of commands and praises of inspirations to the weak. The situation was not bright. Troops’ strength has been reduced to barely half and he could tell that his men were tired. But where is there to run to? He gingerly side-stepped a fallen Hormagaunt’s corpse and brisk walked to his medic in charge, Ladin Helf who was crouching down, tending to a soldier whose face was destroyed beyond recognition, melted raw down to pinkish soft and raw tissue, his eyes a mass of charred black flash. He was trying to say something through his lipless, toothless mouth; all forms of communication rendered impossible through his flesh-swelled filled mouth, only able to make soft, pathetic sounding moans. Ladin was whispering something to the soldier, however could not be heard amidst the heavy fight going on.

Upon reaching closer to Ladin, Bukom realised that the damage done onto the soldier wasn’t all he had seen: the smell; a pungent, burning sulphuric smell, emitting from the soldier’s torso. That was when Bukom wished he hadn’t looked down. Covered in greenish-blue slime, which was still giving off wisps of vapour as the biochemical liquid ate away the soldier’s remaining body, he saw a huge tear across his naval line around his body, bleeding out blood and intestinal organs. Blood was bleeding was like water cascading from a damaged dam. The soldier was going to die. Bukom immediately whipped out his heavily modified laspistol, his well aquatinted ally on the various battlefields he had fought for the past thirty years. After doing a quick check for weapon jam and reloading faults, Bukom executed a swift, clean clear shot to the soldier’s forehead.

“Bloody spawn!” Ladin yelped, looking almost humourous as he jumped out of his skin but his fair complexion and refined features immediately turned back to seriousness as he realised who made the shot.

“Commissar.” Ladin's tone was grave and had a touch of exhaustion to it.

“Ladin, how goes our casualties?” Bukom inquired, with a hint of concern and pre-trepidation to his voice. From Bukom’s face, Ladin could tell that he could guess the answer. From Ladin’s face, Bukom could guess the answer. Both were right.

“Commissar, currently there are over two hundred casualties, mors of them have been moved to the backlines. About half of them are dead. The rest are still fighting for their lives, but most are dying. Medical supplies are running low.” Ladin reported to Commissar Bukom. Silence was between them. Ladin could tell Bukom was conjuring some sort of plan within his creased, battle scarred forehead.

“Tell the backline reserves to pick up any spare weapon they can find and hand it to the remaining half of the casualties. If we are to die, we will die fighting.”
“Yes Commi-” Bukom shoved Ladin aside with immense strength. Ladin rolled into the thick mud underfoot face first. He was dumbfounded. He immediately rolled back into supine position, lifted his head to forcefully spit out mud and dirt. He wiped his dirtied mouth with his hand and looked up. He was shocked motionless. What he saw was the sum of all his fears.

Standing at over three feet tall, was a giant Hive Tyrant. Somehow it had managed to break through the frontline trenches where the main fighting was taking place. Vile smelling black viscous saliva drooled from the monster’s mandible, which was a wild bright red colour. It had slaughtered many. It had six limbs, four of which are considered arms and were armed with an assortment of cruel and sadistic forms of blades and shards. It stood on its hind legs and towered imposingly over the dwarf like form of Commissar Bukom, its five metre long barbed tail flicking the air menacingly. However, forty years of service to the Imperium had not failed Bukom. He did not flinch. Instead, he steadily unsheathed his delicately ornamented Commissar’s Honour Scabbard. It was slick with vile Xenos’ blood. He had slaughtered many too.

“FAITH UNTO THE EMPEROR!” bellowed a raging Commissar Bukom, fuming at the sight of such an abomination, an animalistic rage building up within him. He charged straight onto the alien, scabbard pointed towards his front, held above his head. The alien was wary; it did a quick side step which Bukom had predicted. Bukom was drawing on the traditional Smorjorn art of close combat. Appear unwillingly to the enemy, and the enemy will willingly lose judgment, becoming the enemy unto himself. Bukom was tricking the foul spawn into believing that it was dealing with an amateur, causing the alien to become foolish and eventually executing simple, easy moves to slaughter Bukom.

The Hive Tyrant immediately fell for Bukom’s trick; it turned on its legs and slashed its cruel looking tail at Bukom in a flash. Bukom was quicker: he jumped, missing the tail by a hairsbreadth, and landed again with the scabbard pointing downwards, slicing the tail neatly in two. Foul red-yellowish pus and thick blood cascaded from the Tyrant’s wound. The beast moaned painfully, but quickly regained it’s composure and turned its face back to face Bukom.

Bukom was in his battle stance now. He had revealed to the enemy his true warrior, or what his combat art had called when the fighter had dealt the opening blow after the opponent had fell for his trick. The Tyrant released an immensely loud bestial roar, deep, raw and powerful. Ladin got up and hurried off to carry out his orders, offering a silent prayer for Bukom.

Bukom looked on at the Tyrant, eyes dark and fierce, in a state of mental and physical preparedness. He was suddenly aware of the mauve coloured sky, the sporadic sight of the last few myceptic spores raining down upon his hapless world, signifying the end that is yet to come. It started to drizzle, cold refreshing water droplets splashing off Bukom, making the mud and blood underfoot even more slushy and thick.

The Tyrant glared back, eyes lit orange, as though back lit by the fury and power within the powerful alien. It flexed its claws and snapped its remaining tail. It growled menacingly, flaring it’s nostrils with hot jets of air. It’s quick metabolism had already quickly healed it’s wound and now only the remainder of the tail remained.

Both warriors were ready.