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Ferrata

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Hey, this is something that just kind of hit me this evening. It isn't anything special, and it is a damn short story coming in at barely seven hundred words, but my fingers were speaking. I might expand this into part of a story, or I might just leave it as it is, a pure action scene. On the good side though, I've wrote a story that didn't involve a marine crying. Idea for titles are welcome, the best I could come up with was 'He was'...which just doesn't work. Enjoy.

 

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The cracking of bones vibrated through his feet, travelling up his legs, echoing within his fused rib cage before finally rippling across his eardrum. His decent from the heavens had been swift, his landing brutal. Though he could move swiftly, with inhuman agility, the sheer mass of his armour was capable of crushing the human form. Before the enemy even knew they were under attack, one of them was little more than a sack of skin and shattered bones, the wet grass swallowing his blood.

 

The giant was already moving, his chainsword ripping through the air ready to taste the meat of battle. The horrible roar of the weapon ignited as it chewed through the flesh of one of the poor retches, his weak muscles offering no game to the power of the serrated teeth. His skeleton gave no better resistance, smashing into pieces as they encountered the jaws of death. The sword tore through both arm and chest, leaving a bloody path across the entire body of the defender. Two bodies already littered the floor and the combat was only nine seconds old.

 

He was rage. He was fury.

 

Small arms fire opened up, the humans hoping to achieve something against this monster in their midst. The las fire bounced and pinged of the heavy power armour, scorching the paint at best. In retaliation, the giant smashed his combat knife into the skull of a young soldier, the blade penetrating the cranium, and cut through the brain until it tore the hindbrain from its stem. His body convulsing as it fell to the ground, his death was quick and painless.

 

Unable to retrieve his dagger instantly, the marine brought his chainsword round with the force of both hands. Though the move left him open on a number of fronts, so confident was he in his own ability and the inability of the enemy, he cared little for the gamble. His savagery paid off as the blade connected with the thigh of another man. So immense was the momentum behind the weapon the soldier, ripping his feet from the ground, his body thrown a number of feet across the field.

 

He was violence. He was wrath.

 

His direct vicinity cleared of enemies, the Astartes drew his bolt pistol from its holster, unleashing two burst of rounds towards a gathering of three enemies. The first two shells went wide, flying far into the distance before finally colliding with a dirt mound. The other four were more accurate, two blasting holes in the chest of one foe, another erupting within the skull of a second. The fourth caught the final man in his forward arm, tearing the limb from the body.

 

Three more soldiers remained, fear blossoming with them. One froze on the spot, terror crippling his muscles. The marine charged towards the statue of a man, again using his mass to obliterate the body of a normal human. His shoulder pauldron lowered to connect with soft face of his enemy. Neither the nose nor cheekbones stood a chance, surrendering under the pressure. The bone fragments splintered inwards, slicing the one thing they ought to protect. The weight of the armoured giant quickly overcome the rest of the body, trampling what remained underfoot as he chased down the two who managed to flee.

 

He was vengeance. He was anger.

 

His superior muscle structure closed the gap between him and his pray almost instantly, the chained blade excavating the first. Only the unfortunate man’s gore prolonged the life of his comrade, the teeth coughing to a halt as the mechanism jammed. Forced to abandon his weapon, the marine brought his fist to bear. The first blow broke three ribs, already ending the fight. Her lungs punctured by the impact of rib shards, the gust of her resistance removed. Collapsing to the floor, her breathing became heavy, each intake accompanied by a deathly gurgling noise as her lungs filled with blood. The last thing she saw was the sole of a power-armoured foot hurtling towards her.

 

The cracking of bone felt good through his body, violence finding a home in pleasure and ecstasy. Ten deaths, ten small victories, ten people who would be missed tonight by their brethren. He cared not for their lives, they were the enemy, and that was the matter done.

 

He was an Astartes. He was death.

 

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Interesting way of writing this one. It's a nice style, pulled off well :) And at last no crying marines :P A couple of thoughts; as I was reading through I was expecting that there wasn't going to be a hint of who the main character was until the very end, however you did blow that one open near the end. I think you should of kept it low profile until the last line, just to add mystery.

As for a title... hard one to think up. If it was written in 1st person then you coulkd use "I Am Astartes" etc.

 

No matter, it's a good short story :(

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Interesting way of writing this one. It's a nice style, pulled off well

Thank you. I've kinda decided this might play a part in a bigger project aiming at forcing myself to play with different styles of writing.

 

as I was reading through I was expecting that there wasn't going to be a hint of who the main character was until the very end, however you did blow that one open near the end. I think you should of kept it low profile until the last line, just to add mystery.

Did I? Who is this person? All I know is they are Astartes (which I suppose could make people think he is a loyalist, but I didn't intend it to be). If it was that line, I'll remove it for another one.

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A really great short story. It pulls you in from the start. I wonder if it would loose some of it's impact though if it was included as part of a larger story.

 

The last paragraph gives me the impression that he is a traitor marine. Do loyalists get these feelings of pleasure and ecstasy, even from battle?

 

If you were to change the last line, possibly He was fear. He was death. I think this woould work whether he was loyalist or traitor, as all enemies of the Astartes should fear them.

 

Also, after the first couple of paragraphs, I thought Astartes would be a suitable title, but I am not as sure now. Maybe Angelis Mortificus (sp?)?

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The last paragraph gives me the impression that he is a traitor marine. Do loyalists get these feelings of pleasure and ecstasy, even from battle?

I hadn't clicked that many people would assume an Emperor's Child or a World Eater based on that. I'll remove that line.

 

He was fear. He was death

I like! Stolen.

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I think personally the reader can make the marine what he likes, either traitor or loyalist. Chaos marines still see themselves as Astartes i am sure.

 

I like it a lot mate, i think a punch though from a marine would do a hell of a lot more than break 3 ribs though, much more, would more than likely kill on impact anywhere on the head or upper torso, easily.

 

;)

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Was the last victim a woman? It said "she" and "her", so I assumed so...

Yup. Who said women can't fight in the Imperial Guard or be Cultists?...I got bored of writing 'him' :D...thought it might add something to it as well, we all know how people react slightly more to women being brutally killed over men.

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Was the last victim a woman? It said "she" and "her", so I assumed so...

Yup. Who said women can't fight in the Imperial Guard or be Cultists?...I got bored of writing 'him' B)...thought it might add something to it as well, we all know how people react slightly more to women being brutally killed over men.

 

True... Although there aren't really any GW minis to represent female Guardsmen. (Or in this case I guess it should be "Guardspeople"...)

Although I guess there would be female cultists... Especially in a cult of Slaanesh...

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