[I own neither Warhammer 40k nor Fallout new vegas]
Choking...he was Choking...noxious amniotic fluid rushing down his throat as he struggled in the darkness, clawing at the rancid fluid that enveloped him...the cold metal clamps holding his torso squeezed the air from his lungs before the scene changed. No longer Choking, Rylanor found himself almost face to face with his Gene-Father...not the Marionette that he faced on Isstvan III, but the TRUE Fulgrim from the days before the extermination of the laer. uncorrupted, magnificent...
Rylanor tried to call out to him, but found his voice robbed of him. Sputtering and gasping Rylanor ran for his father, his body on autopilot as he sped towards Fulgrim. within a hundred yards of him, Rylanor was flung back by some unseen force. Landing on his back, Rylanor watched as the shattered remains of a dreadnought sarcophagus, HIS sarcophagus, materialized at the feet of his father, clutching the life-eater warhead as an echo of his renouncement grated from the hulk of rusted metal he once relied on. He watched in horror as the warhead detonated but, where there was once those at the ready to contain the life eater's detonation, none made themselves known as the hulking mass of parts melted away and his True father writhed in agony, his flesh turned to gelatinous soup beneath his skin as he reached out to Rylanor, desperately begging for...
Rylanor awoke with a start. His duel Hearts hammering in his chest with a storm bolters pace as he sat up and checked the ruined room for targets...finding none he became less tense leaning back against the wall he elected to rest on due to its sturdiness.
He had found the ruined building after dispatching the wretched Thing that he may have once called brother. And, having seen that the sun was setting, decided to make camp within its ruined walls.
Collecting his bolter from his resting spot he set it and all of his spare magazines onto a ruined countertop. Checking his utility belt, he uncliped a bushel of Krak grenades, a blade, and a bolt pistol from his armor before setting them with the bolter. Taking inventory of everything, he quickly realized that he had enough spare ammo and grenades to last a dozen weeks if used conservatively, half that if launched into a long-term conflict...he needed to find an alternative weapon or else he would have no way of replacing his precious amount of ammo...
Greetings, dear reader(s)! I must apologize for the lack of an update, I had lost someone dear to me after the last update and had lost motivation to write because of it until now. Though currently unfinished, I wished to get at least the basis of the chapter out for you to enjoy before I lose motivation again and to reassure that I fully intend on finishing this, whenever that may be. With that said, I hope you enjoy.