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Rapid Fire Challenge: Obsolete - July 2019


Race Bannon

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Prompt: Obsolete

 

Maximum length: 500 words

 

Deadline: 31 July 2019

 

Where to post submissions: In this thread

 

Note - please make sure all submissions adhere to the forum rules. Any entry that breaks one or more rules shall be removed.

                                                                                                                            Emptiness

 

            The room was bare, the simple white-walled space unadorned with the banners and trophies that would have decorated the rafters of a meeting-place of the VIthor XVIthlegions. No kill-markers or company standards gave the illusion of triumph over long-vanquished foes to this space, hidden so deep within the heart of Tessera-Alpha. 

            Harrowmaster Vaen Fyr, of course, knew the truth about this Legion’s nature. To be more precise, he knew about as much as any senior-level commander within the Alpha Legion could know. He stood at the edge of the room, directly in front of a stream of silver-blue light that emanated from the tarnished silver strat-table taking up the center of the space. Surrounding the table’s outermost points were a trio of aetheric figures composed of holographic light. 

            Captain Arkos was the first to break the uneasy silence that dominated the holo-conference.

            ‘So the rumours are true. The Warmaster has fallen.’

            Vaen Fyr nodded sharply, the gesture carried to his fellow officers across the depths of space to their warships. The ships lay dormant so as to escape detection by potential enemies – even the vast darkness of the void is no guarantee of safety in the days of Horus’s rebellion. 

            ‘What of us then? What purpose will we now undertake, what directive must be followed?’

            Commander Dynat shook his head slowly as he spoke, setting the corvia trinkets he had stolen from fallen Ravens on Isstvan V to clattering against the chains that bound them to his armor. The commander’s voice crackled with vox distortion, yet the challenge in his tone was evident nonetheless.

            ‘We wait for orders,’ Vaen Fyr rasped, unconsciously running a gauntleted hand over the patch of scar tissue knotted across his throat, ‘and strike the enemy as best we can.’

            ‘Orders from what authority, brother?’

            The final figure broke his silence, intensity emanating from his hunched posture and bared teeth. Phaerus T’var was no officially ordained commander or Legate, but his warplate was adorned with dozens of kill-tallies, each boasting of a Loyalist slain. Even more impressive was the ragtag battle company he led, composed entirely of survivors from various ill-fated XXth Legion detachments of the Warmaster’s Isstvan campaign. 

            Vaen Fyr hesitated, before offering up the name of his primarch.

            ‘We await orders from Alpharius.’

            Phaerus T’var offered up something that could have been mistaken for a smile on another man’s face. 

            ‘We are Alpharius, brother. I suggest we enact Directive Alpha-Sigma-Null.

            Arkos scoffed, his derision echoing as a squall of feedback.

            ‘I could be harrowing the enemy, and you waste my time with this?’

            With a snap of his fingers, Arkos’s image faded away, leaving the remaining commanders to gaze at one another for a few moments more.

            Dynat vanished next, offering up a nearly-apologetic bow before he, too, went dark. 

            Vaen Fyr met the eyes of his last brother for a split second. He spoke two finals words before disengaging his projection too.

            ‘Hydra dominatus.’

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