-VII-
He couldn't see. There was too much blood and dirt in his eyes. His vision swam and his head pounded from prolonged fighting. He didn't know where his chainsword was. Was it broken or clogged. He didn't remember. It didn't matter. He grabbed a piece of cement and bashed the Ork's skull in. Ork underneath him was covered in blood. Was it the Ork's blood or his own? He was bleeding for sure, but trusted that the Larraman cells would clog quickly and keep him alive. Orks tore him apart. His armour was ruined, his flesh was covered with choppa wounds. He didn't gave up, he didn't stop fighting.
How long has it been?
Minutes?
Hours?
Days?
He blocked an incoming choppa and slammed his eye with his bolt pistol. It ran dry a long time ago and now he used it as a provisioned club. His muscles burned with fatigue but his Astartes body kept him fighting. A heap of Orks laid at his feet. He rolled among the dead to dodge blows. Ork flesh clung onto his armour. They kicked at him, bit at him and he returned the favour.
At one point he remembered having a choppa in his hand. It was better than nothing. He killed and killed.
He remembered having a chainsword in his hand. Or was it a choppa? Or was it a spear?
"Spear is a hunter's tool." reminded his father.
He remembered the smell of dry grass on his homeworld.
His father moved next to him in silence. The deer was feeding with ignorance of his hunters.
He was tense, he risked a glance to his father. He didn't remember his face, only his voice.
"With your spear you have two choices ahead of you." taught his father.
"You may throw it but if you miss then you would disarm yourself, a disarmed hunter is prey." stated the old man.
"Thrusting is the better way, who would be stupid enough to throw his only weapon, father?" he stated boldly.
"Things never work out the way you expect, son. One day you will need to choose whether to throw or thrust your spear. If you choose to throw it, then you must also bear the consequences."
His vision swam. A ugly face of an Ork was right to his face. He head butted the ugly beast and sent him falling. He kicked another and threw himself away while a different Ork lobbed what looked like a grenade.
Everything exploded and burned. Burning Ork flesh rained. They made a disgusting smell. Disgusting as their whole race.
He grabbed a nearby choppa and raised on his feet. Orks were charging at him. He raised the choppa and lunged forwards at them.
"Faster, initiate, faster!" shouted Chaplain.
"My lord." he panted "I'm not used to swords, we hunted with spea..." he protested and was cut by the harsh voice of Chaplain Galieo.
"Silence initiate, if you resort to excuses one more time, I will have you repent in droppod cleaning detail."
"Yes lord." he said and thrust poorly with the sword one more time.
"Miserable, just miserable." commented Galieo.
"My lord, if I could just have a spear, I could show you that I can do it." he pleaded.
"Codex Astartes has no place for archaic weapons such as spears, initiate. You will learn to master the sword or you will fail."
He failed. He fell. His backpack gave out and his armour gave up. He was defenceless. All around him Orks laid dead. His light blue armour was covered with blood. Orks moved up to him to deliver the final blow.
His time came to an end. His blurry vision darkened. He lost all senses. He was fading to black.
A loud voice blew. He heard it or imagined to hear it. He couldn't tell the difference.
His face felt the wind. Hot and strong wind blew around him.
He heard shouting and loud banging noises. He wasn't sure if he was awake or not. Sounds were familiar.
He heard this sound before somewhere. But where? What was it? Loud and violent voice of...of...what?
His vision came back and he remembered the sound he heard a thousand times. Bolter fire, and more precisely heavy bolter fire.
A great eagle flew overhead and rained heavy bolter fire at the Orks. Orks were dying in droves and then a great cannon fire boomed.
The explosion was immense. Entire Ork horde was annihilated with one blast.
He saw blurry shapes launch from the great light-blue eagle flying. They landed crunching Ork bones and breaking Ork flesh.
He heard chainswords running wild and rending flesh. He heard battle cries "Pierce their soul!"
"Pierce...their...soul." he mumbled as a blurry figure bent over him.
"Brother, can you hear me?" the figure asked his response was incomprehensible mumbling.
"You will be alright, we got you." said the figure injecting him something from his gauntlet.
Then everything was black and peaceful.