11-12-2015, 01:49 AM
She took a long, deep breath, and patted down her still-filthy shirt. Dust and grit puffed out, and she waved it away from her face. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she’d put it back together, remaking the garment out of bullet holes and blood stains, there was always a bit of sand in it. It was part of how she saw herself; part of who she was. Just like the long, bloody streak that ran down her chest. Her finger mindlessly played with the hole where Roland had almost killed her, and where that red bastard actually did.
The past was her religion. Pains suffered, difficulties overcome. The bullet that still rested in her chest, the metal arm, and now a quaint yellow ribbon; all were monuments to the past and a promise to the future.
Running his gauntleted hand over the blackened surface of a skull, Okor too paid homage to his religion. Twisted prayer gurgled from his fetid lips, resonating from within his helm. Only after his dark consecration was completed did he lift his gaze to the woman perched on a faraway structure, Zul-Jin’s banner fluttering behind her.
The gruesomely polished trophy fell to the plague-marines belt and a single, heavy, footfall broke their reverie.
The bandit snatched a long spear from the rack, twirling it into her hand and cocking it back. She stepped forward twice and lobbed the weapon as hard as she could, stumbling to her knees after it left her fingertips. The shaft soared over the field, the feathers and baubles whistling as it cut through the air. The spear entered the traitor’s body with the crack of his armor and a wet slorp, the tribal weapon burying itself halfway up the haft.
The raider grinned, pumping her fist in celebration of her shot. That is until she noticed that the wretched titan of jangling steel was still walking towards her. Scowling, she removed another spear from the rack and sent it along the same trajectory.
Crack. Slorp. He lumbered forward, heedless.
Another. Still, he marched. Another. Unfaltering, dauntless.
Inevitable.
He had made it halfway across the “city” and she could now see the swirling aura of flies that surrounded him. She squinted as the doddering ancient plucked one of the shafts from his chest and tossed aside, allowing him to retrieve his bolter unimpeded.
“Come, I have such wonderful…” his voice burbled, pausing to take a rattling breath, “… gifts to share with you.”
Pursing her lips in frustration, the skull-faced woman pulled the massive hammer from the straps that held it on her back and cranked on the throttle, flames spitting from the exhaust. “I got something for you too, pal,” she shouted from the top of the building, looking down upon him. “Come and get some, punk-ass.”
“Ah,” he rasped, “the impertinence…” again he was forced to pause and suck down another sickly breath, “of youth.”
Slowly he brought his weapon to his shoulder, the remaining three spears still jutting from his torso at odd and unsettling angles. The bandit made note of the eerie green light that shined from within, glinting from the strings of teeth that drooped from its exterior. She leapt from the rooftop to an adjacent building just as the bolter vomited a fist-sized round, screaming past by mere feet. When the shot bit into the stone beside her, it detonated and cast steel splinters in every direction. Tiny shards of the projectile peppered the woman’s flank, though it was barely more than a sting.
The thatch roof sagged dangerously as she rolled overtop it, and one of the boughs snapped when she sprang off of it into the air. A shadow loomed over the plague marine and he ponderously turned his gaze skyward, just in time to see the maul meet his brow. A plume of flames engulfed him and, for the first time, he staggered.
Instantly the bandit’s senses were assaulted by the heretic’s presence. With every movement he made a new whiff of his abominable odor came forth. Some horrid fluid seeped from between the joints of his armor, itself seeming plagued by time and rust. Every aspect of the warrior told a story of not just illness, but rot.
“Sweet Omni and all of his ass-fucking angels, what is wrong with you?” she balked, waving her hand in front of her nose.
“I have only embraced…” he groaned, thick layers of mucus drowning his words, “… the inexorable.”
The past was her religion. Pains suffered, difficulties overcome. The bullet that still rested in her chest, the metal arm, and now a quaint yellow ribbon; all were monuments to the past and a promise to the future.
Running his gauntleted hand over the blackened surface of a skull, Okor too paid homage to his religion. Twisted prayer gurgled from his fetid lips, resonating from within his helm. Only after his dark consecration was completed did he lift his gaze to the woman perched on a faraway structure, Zul-Jin’s banner fluttering behind her.
The gruesomely polished trophy fell to the plague-marines belt and a single, heavy, footfall broke their reverie.
The bandit snatched a long spear from the rack, twirling it into her hand and cocking it back. She stepped forward twice and lobbed the weapon as hard as she could, stumbling to her knees after it left her fingertips. The shaft soared over the field, the feathers and baubles whistling as it cut through the air. The spear entered the traitor’s body with the crack of his armor and a wet slorp, the tribal weapon burying itself halfway up the haft.
The raider grinned, pumping her fist in celebration of her shot. That is until she noticed that the wretched titan of jangling steel was still walking towards her. Scowling, she removed another spear from the rack and sent it along the same trajectory.
Crack. Slorp. He lumbered forward, heedless.
Another. Still, he marched. Another. Unfaltering, dauntless.
Inevitable.
He had made it halfway across the “city” and she could now see the swirling aura of flies that surrounded him. She squinted as the doddering ancient plucked one of the shafts from his chest and tossed aside, allowing him to retrieve his bolter unimpeded.
“Come, I have such wonderful…” his voice burbled, pausing to take a rattling breath, “… gifts to share with you.”
Pursing her lips in frustration, the skull-faced woman pulled the massive hammer from the straps that held it on her back and cranked on the throttle, flames spitting from the exhaust. “I got something for you too, pal,” she shouted from the top of the building, looking down upon him. “Come and get some, punk-ass.”
“Ah,” he rasped, “the impertinence…” again he was forced to pause and suck down another sickly breath, “of youth.”
Slowly he brought his weapon to his shoulder, the remaining three spears still jutting from his torso at odd and unsettling angles. The bandit made note of the eerie green light that shined from within, glinting from the strings of teeth that drooped from its exterior. She leapt from the rooftop to an adjacent building just as the bolter vomited a fist-sized round, screaming past by mere feet. When the shot bit into the stone beside her, it detonated and cast steel splinters in every direction. Tiny shards of the projectile peppered the woman’s flank, though it was barely more than a sting.
The thatch roof sagged dangerously as she rolled overtop it, and one of the boughs snapped when she sprang off of it into the air. A shadow loomed over the plague marine and he ponderously turned his gaze skyward, just in time to see the maul meet his brow. A plume of flames engulfed him and, for the first time, he staggered.
Instantly the bandit’s senses were assaulted by the heretic’s presence. With every movement he made a new whiff of his abominable odor came forth. Some horrid fluid seeped from between the joints of his armor, itself seeming plagued by time and rust. Every aspect of the warrior told a story of not just illness, but rot.
“Sweet Omni and all of his ass-fucking angels, what is wrong with you?” she balked, waving her hand in front of her nose.
“I have only embraced…” he groaned, thick layers of mucus drowning his words, “… the inexorable.”
Quote:750 words