Rapid Fire Challenge: Absolution - August 2021

[Race Bannon]

Prompt: Absolution

Maximum length: 500 words

Deadline: 30 August 2021

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.

[tinpact]

Man, I never realized how much space I lavish on fight scenes.

 

***

 

Dust fell from the vaulted ceiling above Vandriel's head as an artillery bombardment shook the very foundations of the fortress.

"Are you sure they will come this way?" Hass growled, swinging his axe impatiently. The Iron Warrior's scowl was hidden beneath the death's-head visage of his helmet. "If they do not, we have practically handed them my fortress."

"They will come. My brothers will come."

Of this, Vandriel was sure. He knew as well as any of his brothers the shame that drove them—he was there when the Lion razed Caliban, when he crossed blades with doomed Luther. Vandriel closed his eyes, exhaled, and waited. A minute passed, then several. He unsheathed his sword just before melta charges vaporized the door.

Warriors in bone-white armor stormed through the molten gate, shrouded in smoke. As Vandriel flicked the emitter switch on his power sword, Hass was already charging into the fray with his warriors. Lascannon fire lanced through the air, piercing a Terminator before the wielder was slain himself. Bolter rounds ripped through the haze, tearing chunks from ceramite plating.

Soon Vandriel and Hass were all that remained of their force. Vandriel gritted his teeth as his shield crumpled under a power fist's impact. Vandriel countered by burying his sword deep into his attacker's arm. Unyielding, the Dark Angel tackled him to the ground with his greater bulk and drew back his fist.

"For Caliban, I take you!" the warrior roared.

Vandriel smiled bitterly at the proclamation. Was it not Caliban for which he had fought, that the Lion had betrayed?

"I was there when Caliban broke, brother."

Vandriel drew his plasma pistol, pressed it to the warrior's unarmored torso joint, and fired. He winced as scorched flesh screamed and hissed.

Discarding the overheated weapon, he saw Hass take two shots to the gut from the remaining Dark Angel's bolter. The Dark Angel's left arm hung limp, while Hass' axe lay in shards strewn across the floor. Both were drenched in blood, surrounded by dead enemies and allies alike. Hass howled and swatted the weapon aside before the other warrior lunged, his good arm grasping for Hass' throat, and the two tumbled to the ground.

Vandriel clambered to his feet, prying his sword from the marine's body as he scrambled to action.

"You—will—know—repentance!" the Dark Angel bellowed, his words punctuated by heavy blows to Hass's helmet.

He raised his blade and looked down at the two struggling warriors. They seemed very small, suddenly. For an instant, Vandriel considered how easy it would be to simply drop his weapon and concede, to bring an end to it all. For all his righteous fury, had Luther's rebellion been any more than folly? What had any of their accomplishments wrought? The Warmaster was slain, the Emperor shattered, and the dreams of the Great Crusade scattered to the void.

Vandriel closed his eyes and swung. What did it matter, the fates of those great men? His absolution could wait another day.

[Dumah]

Petitioner

 

The throne room of the Planetary Governor had changed only in small, insidious ways since the man had, quite messily, ‘retired’. Galia very carefully averted her eyes from the faces that leered and gibbered at her from curls of smoke, spiraling lazily upwards from smoldering tapestries that should have ceased burning weeks ago and cooking flagstones that should never have burned at all. She closed her eyes and clutched at her head to relieve the pressure building there. It happened that way when she thought too hard or listened too closely.

The worst of it was she was starting to understand the whispers.

 

“You will rise,” the Pretender decreed, shaking Galia’s bones with the force of its words. Only reluctantly, she forced herself upright. Galia had never seen a Space Marine before and had initially believed the Pretender to be such a creature. She had been so very wrong in that – they all had, finding out only too late that it was something else entirely. But that was only after they had toppled the regime with the monster’s help. Her own position as the governor’s chamberlain had served its schemes particularly well.

 

 “Approach…”

 

Galia tottered forward like an infant, clutching her arms to her chest. She approached the throne, the golden luster of which had been tarnished by spilled blood and other unnameable excretions. Galia felt her legs go weak as she gazed upon the monster squatting there. As ever, its face was swathed in shadow, giving only the vaguest impression of human features within the recesses of a heavy gorget. It beckoned her onwards, closer than ever before. This would mark the first occasion she would be close enough to see the Pretender’s face and she shuddered with inexplicable dread as she realized the beast, the monster, the liar, looked utterly human; even handsome.

 

“You puh-” Galia choked on her own words. She could feel the breath of the Pretender on her face, making her wilt. But she would not be deterred. “You p-promised us freedom,” she stuttered at last. The Pretender smiled and opened its enormous arms wide. Galia saw her face reflected in the scalloped armor plates that covered the monster’s body. Something alien leered back.

 

“And so you have it!” the Pretender boomed, standing to its full, towering height. It looked down at its servant and its face softened paternally. “Come, my child – embrace your savior.”

 

Galia smiled at last, honestly. Before uncrossing her arms, she flipped a switch on the heavy device hidden beneath her robes. She could feel the thing hum with growing heat and the pain that blossomed there was liberating. Galia fell into the monster’s embrace, pressing the melta bomb tightly between them as it reached its critical mass.

 

A blinding light built between them and the air sizzled with cooking meat and burning metals. The Pretender roared, trying to free itself. But it was too late. Galia died with a smile on her lips.

 

True freedom beckoned. And perhaps even forgiveness.

 

THE END