Just a very short one-shot that came to me the other day. This is my first fic, so any feedback would be much appreciated. Thank you.
Final Moments
The air was alive with hissing las-fire, and whistling shrapnel fragments. Major Landon Vold fell, hitting the ground hard. He let out an agonized hiss as a lance of white-hot pain shot through his side.
Lying on his back now, the Imperial glanced around, trying to make sense of all the confusion. Most of his men were dead, he was certain. He could see a few of them sprawled motionless in the mud around him. He was one of the last left alive.
The Chaos were so many. Too many. Vold could make out their lime-green battle garb, as they moved in and out of the haze. Either they hadn't spotted him yet, or thought he was dead. Not that it mattered. He was already a dead man.
Vold could feel the strength leaving him. His own life blood seeped thickly from the open gash in his side. The piece of metal shrapnel was lodged deep. His limbs were getting weaker, and no matter how much he willed them to, his legs would not move. Each time he tried, the agony of his wound flared up to unbearable levels, forcing him to stop. After the third attempt, he accepted the fact that he wasn't going anywhere, and sank back into the soil, staring up at the smoke-stained sky.
This was a good death, he realized. He had fought well, his men had fought well. Hundreds of the Chaos scum had fallen before them. His military career, though short, had been a successful one. He was sure that his family, millions of light-years away, would have been proud of him. The thought was comforting. Vold had served the God-Emperor and Imperium well, and would die contented.
Even with his failing hearing, and the din of the battle, Vold heard the voices. Harsh words spoken in a language he couldn't understand. Suddenly, a rough hand took a hold of his webbing, and yanked him upwards. He cried out in agony.
A face was now inches from his. The snarling visage was grotesque, disfigured by self-inflicted lacerations and festering carbuncles. Vold caught the glint of a rusty, serrated blade as it was held up in front of him. The Chaos soldier grinned and spat out a string of taunting curses. He spoke in Low Gothic, so that the Imperial could understand.
Vold's vision was beginning to grow murky. Death was almost upon him. The burning pain within his body was quickly being replaced by a cold, numbing sensation.
Matching the soldier's cruel, taunting gaze, Major Landon Vold smiled. Something round fell from his hand, and dropped into the dirt.
The Chaos warriors didn't even have time to scream before the grenade detonated.