Pretty One

[Corsair]

Pretty One

by Tim Sweeney

 

 

 

“Well you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” said Urska Junn of the Executioners Chapter, his vicious, gap-toothed grin peeking through a fanning beard of coarse black hair

 

The ork responded with a snarl, thick ropes of saliva hanging from lopsided tusks. Bizarrely, it wore a uniform of a vaguely Imperial cut, white material showing through the blood and grime of the battlefield. Both sides of the greenskin’s chest were covered in dozens of crude medals, seemingly made from battlefield detritus, each emblazoned with the symbol of an ork skull and crossed axes.

 

“You like axes do you, xenos?” Junn continued his taunting. He raised his own chain-axe, gunning the motor, the jagged teeth growling with their need to rend flesh. “I like axes too.”

 

“Waaagh!” the Blood Axe boss roared in response. The greenskin, even taller than the Space Marine, reared back, raising its own weapons to the sky in a warrior's display of strength. It wielded a buzzing chain-axe at least as big as Junn’s own in one hand. The other was encased in a rusted power claw, the finger-blades crackling with deadly energy.

 

“Impressive,” grunted Junn as he snapped his bolt pistol up, releasing a burst of explosive shells at the ork’s face.

 

It must have expected the move, the claw darting up to intercept the shots, the shells detonating harmlessly within the coruscating blue lightning encircling the weapon. The ork grinned, one of the few beings alive in the galaxy with a smile more hideous than Junn’s own.

 

“Pretty and smart,” Junn holstered the pistol casually, reaching down and drawing the machete from the eldar-leather sheathe on his calf. This would be a battle won in melee, just the way he preferred it. “I think I’ll make a cloak out of you, with your skull as the hood.”

 

He set himself, axe and knife in each hand, armoured boots sinking deep into the muddy forest floor. “Or perhaps I’ll use your skin for a mask. This world is damnably cold, after all.”

 

“Will you stop talking to that beast and just kill it, brother?” the whispered words came over the vox – thankfully on a private channel – the voice exasperated.

 

“Get back to shooting that toy gun of yours, Oros,” he replied via the vox-bead at his throat, never taking his eyes off the ork boss. “Us real warriors in the assault squads like to have a chall-“

 

He cut off as the greenskin charged, claw raised before it as though it meant to impale him through the chest. Junn swayed to the right, the razorblade digits whistling through the air mere inches from the aquila standing proud upon his chest.

 

Time seemed to slow as the combat drugs flooded his system, the war-spirit of his power armour detecting the spike in adrenaline and doing its utmost to augment it. Junn watched as reddish leaves falling from the massive trees that covered most of Saint Paedrig’s Pride came in contact with the ork’s claw, each one bursting into flame for a single instant before turning to dust.

 

The Blood Axe’s face turned toward his, still smiling grotesquely as it moved past. Still staring into the ork’s beady pig-eyes, Junn brought his axe up.

 

The squeal of tortured metal filled the clearing as the chain-axes met, the ork’s telegraphed attack with the powerclaw a feint to allow it to bring the other weapon to bear. Junn wrenched the axe to the side, bringing his machete down at the greenskin’s meaty wrist.

 

With a roar, the xenos ripped its arm loose, the chain-axes coming free in a shower of sparks. Several of the teeth on both weapons had torn away in the impact.

 

“Need help, brother?” Oros’ again, more serious this time. The ork began to circle, grunting insults in the guttural filth that passed for a language amongst the brutish species.

 

“I am fine.” Junn growled, whirling his chain-axe and machete in loops, loosening his wrists. He had expected to finish the beast easily. “Interfere at your peril, brother.”

 

“Alright, alright, my barbaric friend,” Oros replied. Junn could practically hear his battle brother from Tactical Squad Luridic rolling his eyes. “Take the greenskin’s head, not mine.”

 

“For Dorn!” Junn shouted, charging at the Blood Axe. The alien advanced to meet him, punching it’s lightning-wreathed fist at the Executioner’s face, the chain-axe in the other hand darting in low in an attempt to eviscerate him.

 

The punch was too slow, Junn’s superhuman reflexes allowing him to dodge the move easily. He brought his own chain axe up to clinch with the ork’s, the weapons locking once more. Junn ducked to the side under the power claw, and ripped the blade of the machete up into the greenskin’s armpit.

 

The creature roared as he hacked upwards, great gobbets of dark green flesh and thick, alien blood spurting from the wound. The Blood Axe leapt backwards, tearing the blade from the Executioner’s hand. Junn stepped back quickly himself, narrowly avoiding a vicious counter swing from the ork’s axe.

 

They faced off once more, Junn wiping sweat and disgusting xenos blood from his brow. He grasped the axe in both hands, pistol forgotten in the battle-lust that had overtaken him. It was rare to face an opponent of such quality.

 

The ork seemed to be having similar thoughts, taking its time to wrench the machete from where it had been sheathed in its flesh. Hot blood flowed from the deep wound, steaming in the autumn air; the power claw arm hung limply, the occasional twitch the only sign of life in the half-detached limb.

 

Junn smiled. The beast was as good as dead now.

 

He moved in for the kill, spinning the axe in figure-of-eights, the whirring teeth purring as though the weapon knew the end was near.

 

The ork managed to block his first strike with the haft of its own axe, shoving him away with its prodigious strength. A quick feint left followed by a one-handed strike at the greenskin’s left knee was only just blocked, the expected riposte sluggish and easily deflected by the faster Space Marine. Junn punched the alien in the face, two quick jabs, snapping off a yellowed tusk in the process.

 

The Executioner launched into a series of two-handed strikes with the axe, going for brute force over finesse. The Blood Axe was on the back foot now, injured and slow. Its head would join the others at his belt soon enough, a fine addition to his slaughter-tally for the day.

 

He dragged the blade across its right shoulder, the chain-axe digging in for a second before the ork could block the blow, great chunks of viscera clogging the teeth. He spun the weapon in his grip, head butting the greenskin in the chest as he slashed the axe sideways at the knee, the axe connecting with the armoured boot for an instant before once again being pushed away.

 

Junn had expected this last defensive lurch from the xenos. He used the momentum of the push, spinning in a full circle before bringing the chain-axe downward in an overhand chop at the ork’s face. The greenskin boss desperately brought its axe across at the last second, fist grasping the blade high on the hilt.

 

The Executioner’s weapon chewed through the leather-bound haft of the ork’s axe easily, just below its meaty fingers. With a roar of victory, Junn slapped the broken weapon out of the Blood Axe’s hand and drove his blade directly at the beast’s face.

 

It punched him with its power claw.

 

Junn flew sideways, as though his half-tonne form of ceramite and genetically engineered flesh weighed nothing. He smashed into the trunk of an ancient tree, armour cracking from the impact. An integrity alarm buzzed on the edge of his hearing, relayed by the neural wires linking him to the suit. He was not concerned at that moment about the damage to his power armour.

 

The Executioner had landed on his back, and was trying with great difficulty not to choke on the blood filling his throat. He managed to open one eye, seeing the ork sauntering towards him, clacking the fingers of its power claw together in front of it. It had been feigning the severity of its injury the whole time, luring him into a vulnerable position.

 

Cunning, for a greenskin.

 

Junn ran a hand along his face. The energised talons had done a thorough job. His nose and most of his lips were gone, great, ragged holes torn through his cheeks and throat. He could feel exposed bone peeking through at several points on what was left of his face.

 

He laid there, one hand holding his ruined face together, when the Blood Axe boss finally reached him.

 

It stood over his prone body, grunting something that sounded suspiciously like ‘good fight’ in Low Gothic at him. It did not bother taunting its victim, moving in immediately to crush his head with the power claw.

 

Junn’s hand darted to the holster at his waist, the bolt pistol coming free in one smooth motion. The claws had closed around the weapon before he could even pull the trigger, dividing it and several of Junn’s fingers into smoking pieces. The ork laughed.

 

It was still laughing when Junn brought the chain-axe up into its groin.

 

“I can be cunning too,” Junn rasped through ruined lips, the words as guttural and near-unintelligible as the ork's own. The head of the ork’s chain-axe, grasped in the Executioner’s hand by its crude motor, ate its way up the torso, long ropes of stinking intestines falling free as it reached the beast’s belly.

 

It attempted a punch with its clawed fist, but the excruciating pain rendered it clumsy, Junn easily ducking beneath the blow. He crouched down low for one brief second, looking up at the expression of sheer agony on the ork’s face, and then pushed himself back to his feet, electro-fibre muscles in the legs of his armour making the movement even more powerful.

 

The ork managed to let out one final, defiant roar before the Executioner drove the blade up into its neck. It went limp, toppling backwards, falling apart as it collapsed. Ruined organs tumbled from the almost completely bisected corpse, a flood of stinking blood and other, less savoury fluids pouring forth.

 

Junn left the body where it lay, ghosting through the trees, searching. The front of his silvery-blue armour was completely coated in blood, most of it the ork’s. He laughed to himself; he looked like a son of Sanguinius!

 

“Brother, are you alive?” Junn’s old friend sounded worried. They had been Scouts together, and Oros had always been one to fret.

 

“Aye,” Junn grunted distractedly. Where was the damn thing?

 

“Thank the Primarch, I’ve been voxing you for an age!” Relief was palpable in Oros’ voice. “The xenos overwhelmed the Guardsmen to the east; the Lords of Midnight require our assistance.”

 

“Be along shortly,” ah, there it was.

 

Junn stooped, stumbling drunkenly as his damaged armour struggled to keep up with the movement. He stalked back to the corpse of the ork, the machete grasped in his good hand.

 

He had stopped the chain-axe at an opportune moment, the teeth of the xenos weapon still buried in the meat of the burly ork’s neck, near the base of the skull. Wasting no time, he slammed the machete down on the creature’s throat, sending another burst of blood squirting out. It took three hearty blows before the head finally came free.

 

"Xenos filth," Junn stood up, grabbing one of the chains hanging at his belt and stabbing a hook through the back of the skull. The cleansing would come later.

 

Satisfied with his work, he walked away, bending once again to retrieve his chain-axe from where it lay. He was heading back to rejoin to his squad when he froze, memory coming back.

 

He had made a promise to the ork, and an Executioner always kept his word.

 

A few minutes later, Brother Junn rejoined his Assault Squad as they went to meet the ork advance. None of his battle-brothers commented on the ruined nature of his face, though a few looked at him askance. Junn just smiled at his fellow Executioners as they stared, his hand stroking the length of bloody green skin draping his armour.

[Lysimachus]

Surprised there've been no comments on this, a very nice piece, great action and well written!

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Very nice indeed, and a good story and title. MORE! I WANT MORE!

Love the humour, much better than the solid rocks most Astartes are. MORE EMOTION! Wait. That sounded weird. :)

[Corsair]

Thanks a lot for the kind words fellas, I'd sort of resigned myself to no one reading this one haha.

 

I actually wrote this as a little action scene practice, as I find myself often writing stories where the fights are very lopsided, and I've come to the realisation that this is my subconscious trying to avoid writing combat, kind of a no-no with 40K haha.

 

This piece involves characters I used for a short story submission to the Black Library, so with any luck you might read about the further adventures of Junn and Oros of the Executioners Chapter soon...hell, if I'm unsuccessful, I'll most likely post the story anyway.

 

Thanks again guys, really appreciate the kind words.

[Lysimachus]

Did you enter stuff for the BL on the May-July window? Me too! Not heard anything yet but if I remember right it's within 8 weeks from the end of July so there's still a chance!

[Corsair]

I did indeed, entered two short stories. I had an additional short and two novel entries, but I felt like they weren't up to scratch at that stage.

 

Don't lose hope too quickly, apparently they can be longer even than their self imposed deadline of 8 weeks. The volume of entries is apparently huge, and they only have a small number of editors at Black Library. Don't forget there is another window in September, although it's much more specialised.