Thirty-eight thousand years later, There Is Only War

by tombouric

Following a night of drunken celebration after a successful raid on a Talon stronghold, Tracer had foolishly taken a bet to see how far into the future she could transport herself. Unfortunately, she can go very far indeed, into the Grim Darkness of the 41st Millennium, where there is only War. Note: it might be better to read my other Tracer story first. Also, Commissar Tracer.

3. Interlude

I run down these traitorous corridors, the blaring of the alarms churning my stomach.

This was not how we were supposed to die.

I am alone, for now. My battle-brothers trade blows with the enemy in distant rooms. They fight fiercely, protesting their innocence even as their sacred blood spills upon the ground.

How did it come to this?

I take turn, pounding my way through a battle. Here, a dozen mortals deem fit to block my path.

"Halt!", shouts their sergeant.

I ignore him. I draw my blade and wade through them like so much soft fog. They cannot stop me. They do not know the extent of our burden, what we do to protect them in the dark. Nor must they ever know. They are no match for me. Their bravery sours into cowardice, until the last one begs for mercy. And I grant it, Emperor forgive me.

Another turn, and the blood hanging guilty from my blade splatters on the wall beside me. I do this for them, I recite in my head, but it rings hollow. I do it for our Father.

I am but a few feet from the Reliquary. Sergeant Bornious is holding off the enemy, his bolter shells booming down the juncture to snatch lives away. Seeing me, he does not speak, but merely nods. Rushing forward, he blocks the corridor with his huge body, and as I dart through the door I hear the resounding thud of a brother falling.

There is a word that mortals use, reserved for the time when the world falls around you and leaves you vulnerable, takes away from you everything that you cherish. As an Angel of Death, I thought I would never use it.

That word is grief.

As I make my way into the Reliquary, I find that it is already ransacked. I knew that this would have already happened long before I set a foot in here.

Grief.

A sound behind me. I turn, and before me stands a figure identical to me. He seems as surprised to see me as I him, but strikes with his polearm with blinding speed. It crashes against my sword, splintering my beloved into a thousand fragments.

I thrust my hand backwards, and I grasp the last weapon that is left to me. Only then do I notice who is trying to kill me.

A Grey Knight.

Son of the Emperor.

Brother.

Lightning coruscates from his hand. Whispering a prayer for forgiveness, I raise my new sword and swing it with all my strength.

She wakes.