Rapid Fire Challenge: Redemption - January 2022

[Race Bannon]

Prompt: Redemption 

Maximum length: 500 words

Deadline: 31 January 2022

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.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Originally written in honor of Kinstryfe's Deathwatch frag cannon wielder, seen below:

Lord Inquisitor Furioso suppressed a shudder as he heard the impossible: A member of the Death Guard Traitor Legion screaming in pain as the Chaos Space Marine struggled to loosen the blessed silver chains binding him to the iron chair.

 

Francis Castiglione- battle-brother of the Righteous Punishers Chapter, seconded to the Deathwatch for the past 44 years- leaned fowards to look into the Death Guard member's eyes. "Are you ready to talk?" Castiglione didn't look physically intimidating- no more than the average Space Marine- but his eyes had the haunting quality of one who not only survived an ordeal that would crush a lesser man's soul, but would avenge the ordeal by inflicting horrors beyond imagining upon his enemies.

 

"Why are you doing this?! We are brothers, sons of Mortarion!" The Death Guard member glanced at Castiglione's right arm, the Righteous Punisher's armor concealing bandages where the Chaos Space Marine's manreaper failed to sever the limb. "Your durability is proof of our shared gene-seed! Pledge yourself to...!" Steel wool- soaked in a mixture of holy water, chemical disinfectants, antibiotics and antiviral drugs- scraped against the Chaos Space Marine's breastplate, drawing blood where the the armor had transformed into fleshmetal. "Ahhhh!"

 

"That is not what we want to know." Castiglione thought himself a son of Guilliman, like six in ten of his battle-brothers; he would have shuddered at the idea he and the sinner before him were descended from the same Primarch, if he could still feel disgust. "What we want to know is what your warband plans to do with the Tyranid tissue samples you stole from the Mechanicus research station on Alpha Sigma Mu 129."

 

"Grandfather Nurgle for- Ahhhh!"

 

Rust failed to appear on Brother Castiglione's gauntlet after it reached into the Chaos Space Marine's left eye socket, to free the organ from its bony prison; the Death Guard member's tainted blood failed to taint his torturer's in turn, a testament to the strength of the Righteous Punisher's faith. "Your false god has forsaken you; only the Emperor can save you now. Tell us what we want to know, and I will let you die before His symbol," he nodded to the cenobyte servitor at the Lord Inquisitor's side, and the holy icon in the slave-machine's servo-arms, "to face his judgment."

 

The Lord Inquisitor noted the prisoner seemed resigned to be forever denied his false god's presence, as if the Death Guard member accepted the God-Emperor's judgment- or more likely, found Brother Castiglione's disturbingly tranquil fury too terrible to endure. 'Such a pity the Astartes made him one of their own, before the Holy Ordos could,' Furioso thought. 'We could have used him to...'

As you can see, the Marvel Comics characters were a HUGE inspiration for the story. As for the Deathwatch member's original Chapter, Kinstryfe wrote the following:

The Righteous Punishers are a chapter known for working closely with the Ecclesiarchy and for being strict, almost fanatical followers of the Imperial Creed. They believe that all Astartes are guilty of the sins of their genetic forebears, most greviously the sins of their Primarchs’ failing to prevent the near death of The Emperor at the height of the heresy. As such they strive to punish any who commit further heresy in their eyes and would have been declared excommunicatus many times over if not for the protection of the church. The Punishers do not know whom is their genetic Primarch, and so both revere and hold in contempt all of the loyal nine for their successes and failures. It is not uncommon for a Primarch to be adopted by a brother as a personal saint, the brother's actions being dedicated to cleansing the guilt of sins millennia past. Brother Castiglione is the last survivor of his squad and, as is tradition in the chapter, carries the sins of his squadmates and has opted to join the Deathwatch in the hopes of securing their place at The Emperor's side before he dies.

Edited May 28, 2022 by Bjorn Firewalker

[Xin Ceithan]

So, after all this time, this is how it ends.

 

But even with  his body broken end half his mind burned away, he still tries to get up. 

 

Tough bastard. I will give him that. 

 

I also give him another kick. 

 

Ancient philosophers spoke out in favor of forgiving your enemies their virtues. I don’t recall anything about refraining from physical violence. Of course, I have been accused of overthinking things. So…

 

 Another  kick. 

 

There is a strange sound coming from the ruin of his face, ripples of wet coughing, which I suddenly realize seems to be laughter.

 

“Think this will redeem you? To your father? To the EMPEROR?“ 

He shakes his head, damaged servos whining as he attempts to  roll to his side. 

“You always were a such self righteous a…”

 

Another ripple of gurgling and coughing literally drowns his tirade in a spray of blood and lung tissue.

 

The sense of irritation rising within might have made a mortal pause for a moment.  Instead, I feed it into another kick. The unwelcome feeling gives way to a much more satisfying crunch. 

 

The coughing is getting swallower and less frequent now. 

 

I have worked on this for ages and now I am running out of time. 

 

Hilarious.

 

With a renewed sense of urgency, I close the gap between us and heave, bringing his body upright with a whirr of straining servos. Our armour  is scorched, battered, full of ash and soot. Brothers in ruin…

Then I bring the blade up under his chin and the glow only makes what remains of his face look even  more sick and pallid. 

 

I probably don’t look much better. 
 

Except that I still have enough teeth for a  grin…

 

“You think that’s what this is about?! After all his time?!”

 

I can feel the grin widen and suddenly can’t suppress a laughter of my own.

 

“No, Dragoth. Redemption is overrated. I just just hated your miserable guts from the beginning.”

 

A flick of the wrist and his head topples away. There isn’t enough left of his face to betray any sort of emotion. Bastard won’t even give me that. Figures.

 

Closure, I realize, is overrated as well.

 

edit: the typos. Always the typos.

Edited January 2, 2022 by Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

I am the most forgiving of men.

 

Each night on the world of my birth, I beg the Emperor to deliver us not from the evil now burning and destroying the walls of our Chapter Keep, but to put our enemies into my power. Long do I await each morning is silent vigil, spending only a minutes resting, for the spirit outwills the weak flesh.

 

I gird myself in the battle raiment of our blessed chapter, a spiritual figurehead since our Chaplains have all given their lives to the cause, leading us into the hellscapes that were once our cities, our gardens.  Hung with olive branches and devotional papyrus.  All long burned away by the zeal of those believing the Emperor is Divine, all the while cursing us for not.

 

But I am the most forgiving of men.  Blessed is their ignorance, for it is the gift that today finds me under burning skies, the air choked with ash, and surrounded by my foe.  With me are my Brothers, the body militant of our Chapter Cult.

 

For this is Gehenna, and in the world of war, onto the shores of battle, land fools seeking my benevolence.

 

It is here in my hands - a battered, trusty shotgun filled with volatile chemicals and slivers of chromatic-metal, sharp enough to cleave their imitation warplate and expose their sinful hearts to the charred air.  I grasp now the tool of redemption as I rise from prayer and lead my Brothers in a chorus of shotgun and bolter fire, our petitions answered, and the Primarch blesses our unified massacre of the betrayers.

 

The slaughter complete, we fade into the grey hell of the city where I was born.  Spectres in the soot, only to return again in judgement and thunder tomorrow.

 

They seek penance.  I will give it to them until I live no more.

 

I am the most forgiving of men.

Edited January 2, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Good stories, Xin Ceithan, Mazer Rackham.

 

Xin Ceithan, does yours depict a Dark Angel confronting one of the Fallen?

[Xin Ceithan]

Well, … I can’t say?  
 

;)

 

Actually I decided to leave that one in the dark - both so  I wouldn’t be bogged down trying to work too much background in and to keep the word count down. It’s also more open to interpretation this way…

[Mazer Rackham]

Good stories, Xin Ceithan, Mazer Rackham.

 

Thank you for the kind words.  I've tried to implement the advice you gave on formatting for the forum and my writing, so it looks like I've managed it.

 

The standard in the Liber is very high though, so I can only follow your leads. ;)

[Mazer Rackham]

I dunno what's wrong with Daisy.  She's our Captin now cos' our over lad Big 'At got 'iself killed, which made us all sad like.  Even Daisy is blubbin' cos she says nuffink she does is good enuff, and I dun like it.

 

She just keeps starin' off inta the sunset or the stars an' that, making these noises like Vrathogg after rat-shuns.  Corse 'e says it's tummy-burp, but it dun smell like it.  Anyways, we 'ad a big fight today with a diffren' lot what were like blue and carried big sticks.  I 'ad to laugh, dem ray guns were dead burny but broke like planks.  Dunno how they win anyfing.  Me you-ne-form is well scuffed up an' all.  Das bad, cos I's like in charge, and Big 'At got angry when I weren't lookin' after meself.

 

"It's tha Empra's own Quipment Gratthog!" e'd say.  Poor Big 'At.

 

Daisy don't care.  She just gets real angry at us every time we gets in a scrap, like she's angry at bein' alive.  She looked down at me with them lines on 'er 'ed what is supposed to be like telly-plastic for letting me know she's fed up.

 

"Na worries, Daisy," I says as we's running towards 'em in the Box.  Big metal rumbly engine with holes in it for seeing, but they's too small for me noggin.  That was alright though, cos Daisy had the big door in the roof open and we could see the sky.  She wan't 'appy though, because she dun like our pet name for 'er.

 

"Abhuman Squad: We move in hard and fast, and kill them all - or die trying."

 

"Sure fing," I tells her, "easy as breakfast," I get's out me boomstick and check the fittings of me new bayoh-net.  This is big enuff to win the war the Kernel said, and that even the Empra would be proud of how shiny it was.

 

So we does the charge and the shouting, and them blue people ran off, but I got so angry at 'em making me face all red from puffin' I kronked one on the bonce and now he don't got a neck.  Daisy was really sad, lookin' like she'd seen sommat awful.  She kicked at a Blue man helmet they'd left behind and looked up at the sky and sighed, before walking off.

 

"'Ere, Gratthogg?" Berenk picks his nose and stuffs the greenie in his gob, making his 'avin' a go a thinkin' face.  "No stunties about?"

 

"Nah."

 

"Tha's why she's upset.  We ain't found 'im yet."

 

"Oo?"

 

"A bloke called Reed Empshun.  Heard 'er last night, talking to the Kernel."

 

"Well too bad 'e ain't 'ere.  Might've cheered her up.  Anyway, go find some Rat-Shuns.  Breakfast time."

Edited January 3, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Another good story, Mazer Rackham. Who are the Ogryns fighting? Traitor Marines from a Night Lords warband? The Tau? Or Ultramarines, i.e., the abhumans are unwittingly joining their commanding officer in treason?

[Mazer Rackham]

Thanks Bjorn!

 

The enemy is the Tau as you guessed, and the commander has been put in charge of the Ogryns for attacking the wrong hill and killing some Elysians.  It's a bit of a follow-on from previous Rapid Fire submissions.  I think I have a few words to tweak it a bit to get the themes to come through better!  I will have a thunk.

 

Cheers!

[Mazer Rackham]

"Strike Alicia," said the Centurion.

 

The snickering slice of a power sword through a neck presaged the dull thump and bounce of a head.  Ozone stink warred with cloying thickness as the blood seared from the blade, the severed neck only partially cauterised by the power field.

 

The other Brides stood around, looking forlorn - lost even.

 

"The Emperor forgives," she told them.  Her words spread into the vaulted chamber where the Brides danced, sang and...cared for their deceased lord.  The echo was stolen, absorbed by the tapestries and banners of faith swaying in the gentle breath of the air circulators.

 

Alicia looked over her shoulder at the towering form of the golden Centurion behind her, knowing her words were true.  It stood there in lethal, powerful, corporeal form.  Even the gloom of the inner palace could not diminish the potent reflections from his auric plate.  Behind him stood two Astartes in hornet yellow, plain colour slick with red rivulets from her sisters and the armsmen who had resisted them, the armour pocked with shiny spots - dings and dents where the ceramite melted under hot impact.

 

One was a veteran, white-helmed, and vibrating with murderous intent.  His helm swept back and forth, assessing threat.  The second, and bloodier of the two was a Captain, cloak scorched and torn. but although it should have made him shabby compared to the Centurion, it instead brought sobriety, the understanding of how many had died to reach this moment of clarity.  They did not speak - at least to her, but muffled vox clicks betrayed hurried dialogue.  A master reigning in an apprentice perhaps.

 

She ignored it.

 

"Sisters, we must kneel at the feet of our true Master, and beg absolution."

 

Alicia led her warrior-women from the chamber, past the Centurion and the two Space Marines, the head of the debauched prelate clasped in her left fist by his lank hair, a gruesome twist of fear forever frozen on his face.  With a glacial turn, the gleaming Centurion followed them, a slope about his previously proud shoulders, his tread weary.

 

++++++++++++

 

The Space Marines stood still, long after the others had departed, the Captain removed his helm and stepped to stand over the headless corpse, still trussed in his finery, and the  harness of artifices that kept him alive.  After a moment, his companion followed suit.

 

"Your pardon, Lord," the Veteran called.

 

"No need Decimus.  Your instinct was true, but it was better the Brides killed him."

 

"I do not understand."

 

"Would you really have us take the blame, when we already burned Holy Terra?"

 

"This is their pain glove?"

 

"You see it.  Now.  Burn this whole place to the ground, and let us begone.  We were never here."

 

"Is that our pain glove?"

 

The Captain smiled thinly, pleased and willing to show it. "One absolution at a time Decimus."

 

The cleansing flames began.

Edited January 16, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Bjorn Firewalker]

A story depicting Goge Vandire's execution and its immediate aftermath is unexpected, but well-written. The references to pain gloves is in-character for an Imperial Fists member.

[Xin Ceithan]

 Nice one. Might have even more references, I wonder ;)

[Mazer Rackham]

In the dark, oily corners of a forgotten den,

Three bold drunks, and half-machine men,

Drinking good old underhive brew,

Part of a burned and blasted guild crew.

 

"Here's to Old Hook!" one ganger cries,

Another wipes crusted blood from his eyes,

A mighty good scrap in a Necromundan way,

Left corpses bloated and Gelt for pay.

 

The far doors open with a sudden bash,

Enforcers? No! It's Redemptorist trash!

Bullet-holed, bloodstained, holding fire,

"Left me to die?  You'll feed the pyre!"

 

The bar goes silent, 'cept for the flames,

That crackle and snap up what gasp remains,

A Guider's end, a Ganger's mistake,

When you let a maniac flee through a gate.

 

"Purgation!" he cries, lips bloody and raw,

"And your souls I must save - 'tis not a chore!"

The last of his crew he ups with his heater,

And nary a job done which was neater.

 

Leaving the scene he breathed deep and true,

His lungs clogged with burning Underhive stew,

"Let that be the end of this sinful den,"

"Filled with the wicked and half-machine men!"

 

And a cause in his breast as right as the walls,

Aye, truer it's said than old Terra's Halls,

Blindly went forth The Last Flame of Salvation,

And blew himself up at the mag-rail station.

Edited January 17, 2022 by Mazer Rackham