Pain
Pain was the oldest teacher. Pain meant something was wrong. And that something else needed to be done. Pain was the universal motivator. That was the first lesson drilled into ever Imperial Fist Space Marine.
Brutus was in pain. His right ear had been sliced off. He was losing this duel. There were long scars across his face from 'ritual' sword play. But never before had he been tested in open combat. This was his first duel to the death. And it seemed that all his decades of discipline would not be enough to defeat this, thing. This, champion of depravity.
Power swords clashed and their sparks shined in the dark. This lord of sin was a violate blur of motion. Left, right, over, under. Brutus parried as fast as he could. His ancient broadsword dashed back and forth, trying to intercept the quick-silver rapier. There was no opening to counter. Like lighting, the sword darted at him again. Brutus had to take a step back.
The debauched Chaos marine cracked a sick grin. His void black eyes tried to burn their way into Brutus' mind. The corrupted marine was holding back, he knew it. But he refused to yield another step to this abomination. The Imperial Marine barely intercepted a strike in time. Before he lost the chance, he thrashed up with an elbow and tried to step inside his opponent's guard. With a perverse, coy smile the purple marine let Brutus take a single step forward. Then, faster than Brutus could blink the humming rapier whooshed past his good ear. The traitor flicked and sliced and thrust. His devious smile bubbled open with sinister laughter.
Pain. The tip of the blade was lodged in Brutus' shoulder. He tried to move his sword arm but it wouldn't obey him. He reached up with his other hand, only to have the Chaos Marine kick it away with even more insidious cackling. Never flinching, Brutus merely grimaced as the blade twisted, then sliced down his arm. Pain. The deep gash ran from his shoulder to his wrist. His yellow pauldron and vambrace slid from his side and clattered to the ground. Pain. His pride was wounded. This opponent was more skilled then he could have imagined. Brutus had thought himself to be so mighty these past fifty years. But now it seemed as though he was going to die a novice, taken apart a piece at a time.
No.
Brutus mastered himself and rejected his fears. If he was to die he would die like a champion. He would take this fowl warp-cursed traitor with him into oblivion.
Blood pored like a curtain from his bare arm as Brutus lashed out at the warp-touched Marine. With a smile, filled with needle teeth, the violate traitor let the Imperial have another step. The rapier flashed again. Pain. The blade cut through Brutus' knee. His boot split and fell off his leg. The debauched marine laughed and laughed as the Imperial marine stumbled.
Brutus' hand touched the floor as he fell.
Humiliation was pain for the soul. And then Brutus remembered, pain was a lesson. What was his pain trying to teach him?
Pain. Pain was the purest sensation. Pain awakened all the senses. Both to inflict and to receive was a tactile delight. Pain was both the means and the end. That was one of the many lessons learned in the service of the dark prince of excess.
Vivein had acquired a taste for pain. That was why he loved to duel. It was the only time he could truly savor all the delicate pleasures pain could offer. Vivein drew in a breath through his hawk-like nose. Pain was in the air, mixed with the sweat, blood, and anger. The aroma was intoxicating. The anticipation was almost enough to make him burst. The time to feast on the pain of this Imperial fool was drawing near.
The Imperial Fist sprung from the ground. With a great heave he swung at Vivein with his sword flashing. The marine of excess giggled maniacally, this warrior was far too slow. Their blades crackled as Vivein's rapier went in circles around the weighty broad sword. The rapier darted up and cut open the loyalist's cheek.
"MUW-HA-HA-HE-he-he!"
Vivein's black tongue came over rows of teeth to lick his lips. He could taste the frustration. Yes, he had inflicted pain on his opponent's ego. Vivein couldn't wait any longer, his next strike would be to the throat.
The Imperial Fist stepped forwarded again swinging his blade. Smiling, Vivein flicked his sword to counter. But when the blades clashed the broad sword went flying away, the Imperial Fist had let go of his weapon. Vivein's smile disappeared. With a vice grip, the loyalist snatched the Chaos marine's wrist. The Imperial yanked, and Vivein's shoulder popped out of its socket.
Pain. The purple Chaos marine tumbled forward. The Imperial cracked him in the nose. Pain. An un-armored foot tried to kick Vivein's knee inward. But he saw the blow coming and shimmied his legs clear. As he dodged he tried to spin his sword arm free. To Vivein's dismay, the loyalist anticipated his move. The closed fist hammered into Vivein's elbow while it was turned, and the hand locked around his wrist twisted.
Crack-pop!
With a contemptuous snarl the Imperial Fist bent Vivein's broken arm backwards. The Chaos marine fell to his knees as the rapier in his own hand pierced his armor and sunk into his chest.
Pain. Vivein had been subjected to pain before. But never in the real world, never in a duel. No one in the mortal realm had ever bested him, no one. But now his strength was gone and his breath was filling with his own blood. He had lost. An emotion Vivein did not know surged up through him. It made him feel cold. What was it? Fear? Fear. He had almost forgotten what fear was like. The sensation was elating. In all his millennia waging war, Vivein had never felt a more beautiful moment of pain. There was only one thing missing.
"your name…" He gurgled.
The Imperial Fist glared down at Vivein. There was only burning hatred in his eyes. Without a word, the Imperial took Vivein by the jaw and snapped his neck.
Brutus spit on the corpse. He did not expect this victory would bring him glory, and he had no intention of showing the damned traitor any respect. He had not won the fight honorably. Brutus expected to be shamed for 'how' he had won.
The battle barge rumbled. The lofty corridors groaned and the floor grates trembled. It felt like another boarding craft had hit the ship. Brutus would have to examine all his lessons another time. For now he would bear his pain and fight on. Perhaps that was a lesson in it of itself. His armor was broken, his body battered, and his mind was grim. But Brutus still lived. The pain meant he was still alive. And while he lived he could always fight on. That was the lesson he chose to learn. The Imperial Fist space marine lumbered off deeper into the dark bowls of the battle barge with new conviction in his heart.
For as long as he lived, pain would be his teacher.
Thanks for reading. I hope you have an enlighteningly painful day!