DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN WARHAMMER!
He brought his foot down upon the traitor's breastplate, pinning him down. The warrior was bleeding profusely from a multitude of wounds that covered his body. A steady pool of blood was beginning to gather underneath him. He heard grunts from within his battered helm. He curled his lips into a snarl, pointing the barrel of his Volkite Serpenta at the warriors head. He thumbed the trigger, firing off a single round.
A single superheated burst of energy sprung out from the weapon. The target point of the silver armor began to glow a fiery orange color then quickly collapse in on itself as it melted. The smell of burnt flesh and seared ozone filled his nostrils. He stared down at the body in disgust and pressed the trigger again..and again. He constantly fired into the Iron Warrior's body, his thermal weapon turning much of his flesh to ash.
"BROTHER!" He heard a voice shout as a hand placed a firm grip upon his pauldron.
"He is dead now brother. Come we must your ammunition. Scavenge what you can from the bodies. We must return to the Primarch. This battle is won."
He turned to the warrior who spoke. He wore jet black armor, though it was in bad shape. Wear and tear and days of battle had violated much of the color scheme, revealing the gun metal gray beneath. The imperial Aquila upon the breast was fractured. His helm bore the worst of the damage. Two of the four studs upon the helmet were missing.
The left eye lense of the Mark V Power Armor helm was missing, revealing the black orb of a pupil which made up the warriors eye. From the remaining eye lense he saw a reflection of himself..or better yet what was left of him. After the initial battle he had been captured and taken to a Night Lords encampment. They tortured him for sport. Whipping his flesh. Shearing off pieces of meat from his torso. Luckily he was rescued by his legion brothers when they attacked but he was not the same as he once was. They had left scars, both physical and mental upon him. His pale skin was riddled with still healing scars and burn wounds.
His features were gaunt, giving him almost a skeletal like appearance with how pale he was and the fact he was now completely bald. His long black hair gone.. Much of the flesh on the left side of his mouth was missing, giving him a horrid glasgow smile. This had occurred in combat where he lost his helm, direct impact from an enemy power claw fired both his helmet and face. So much flesh was missing that one could see the gums of his mouth and the teeth. His armor was a kitbash of what could be found after his escape. His own armor long since scrapped by the breastplate and right arm belonged to a fallen brother. The left bore the emerald green of the salamanders whilst the vambrace and lower body belong to that of a fallen Iron Hands. The two blacks and the green of his armor clashing with each other. He was half of the man he once was. He was a ghost, clad in the armor of dead men.
He stared down at the body. He was not of the legion that wronged him but he had seen what his ilk had done to the others. Brutalized his brothers and fellow loyalists. Impaled their bodies on spikes and hung them around like war trophies. He felt a deep primal rage welling up within him. He was preparing his finger to fire again when he felt yet another tug, more forceful than the last.
"Brother..I understand your rage but-" he was cut off as he smacked his hand away.
"You understand nothing Reszan!" He spat. "
They did not violate you as they did me! Break me apart. Flay my flesh. Beat upon my body! You do not-" he stopped as he felt his left hand clench, beginning to shake uncontrollably.
He could see the hurt in his brother's eyes. Reszan had been with him since they were first initiated. He had fought alongside him since.
He was the one who had liberated him. He had no right to talk to him in such a manner. Something was afoul in this world now. He could feel it. It put them all on edge. Drove brother against brother. It fueled their paranoia. He had seen many too broken of the mind, lash out at their brothers thinking they were the enemy. Others too trapped within the confines of depressions, lose their will and end their own lives. This planet was taking its toll on them greatly.
"Brother...forgive me I didn't mean to take such a time with you." He said. The Raven hefted up his boltgun, allowing it to rest in his shoulders as he waved his hand dismissively.
"Worry not Ordias. All is well." Spoke Reszan. He was always the more calm And understanding of the two. He always knew what to say to comfort them and ease the tension of his brothers. He smacked his power pack lightly.
"Now let's go connect with the rest of our Squad and make it back to our base. Eh, Ordias?" said Reszan calmly. Even though his face was obscured by the helm, he knew that his friend was smiling. He nodded in response and followed behind him. It didn't take them long to find the others. They numbered six in total. A small strike squad that alongside many others had been performing hit and runs on the Iron Warriors formations. They would strike, slaying them to the last man then retreat, taking with them as much gear as they could carry.
That was how he had got his Volkite weapon and power axe. Stripped them from the bodies of traitors. Another Marine sported a Volkite Caliver which was simply the assault rifle variant of the pistol he wielded. Everyone else wielded BoltGuns and pistols. Now that their mission was complete they would make their way back to base camp. He walked beside Reszan, his presence providing him with a sense of ease.
Midway through their small squad stopped, the warrior leading raising a fist signaling for them to halt. He turned towards him, but before he could even utter a single word his head exploded into a red miss. His body crumpled to the ground. It was an ambush! From over a hill, charged a small group of Iron Warriors. Far too many for their small squad to handle. He took aim with his pistol, letting loose a barrage of rounds. His first caught a charging warrior in the throat, downing him. Another took with it another's shin, burning both cermaite and flesh to nothing. He heard the steady boom of bolters from both sides.
The warrior that wielded the Volkite Caliver letting loose burning vengeance. Iron Warriors caught by the barrage having their bodies reduced to naught but ass from the super heated weaponry. However, for each one that fell another seemingly rose. They would be surrounded and killed..or at worse..captured. One of his number too far ahead of the others was surrounded. They hacked into him with chainswords. His bloody cries resonating in his ear drum. Another found himself blown to pieces by combined bolt fire. They were being brought down one by one. Eventually only he and Reszan remained, surrounded by the remaining Iron Hands. They number five in total. Both he and Reszan were too tired to kill them all.
They would however fight to their last.
"All alone now are ya. Don't worry we won't kill you. We need you alive so you can tell us where the rest of your ilk is." Jeered one of his opponents. "You're the last one left. All the others are dead." Spoke another. Clearly whatever had corrupted these poor fools had run a mess of their mind. He was not alone. Reszan was right here with him.
"Reszan I believe this is our last flight brother. The carrion's feast will take us both soon. We can not allow ourselves to be captured. We die fighting not as their playthings." He spoke. Ordias turned toward Reszan expecting him to respond. To say some final words to ease him into passing but instead he stood still. Unmoving.
"Reszan?" He said as his brother turned towards him.
He expected to see the lively warriors eye once more. Radiant and full of hope but what he saw instead broke him. Within the visor lense was a half decayed face. Maggots and other insects squirming within what remained of an eye socket after a bolt round had burst through it. His form was bloodied. Breaches in his armor revealing more decayed flesh and his skeleton.
It was then it dawned on him..Reszan was never here. Reszan had died long ago. Slain by the traitors assault. The Night Lord's after they captured him had brought his corpse in to break him. They forced him to remain chained up to a wall with his body in front of him, eyelids stapled open forcing him to watch as the body decayed. His brother had long since gone.
This was just a figment of his shattered psyche. One brought on as a result of this planet's affect on his own psychic powers. Since the edict and censuring of psychic powers he had been forced back into the rank and file. He had been there when Reszan died. He had felt his death..Once more he felt the rage swell up within him. His eyes began to glow with the light of an unwieldy power. Sparks of lightning began to crackle off his fingertips as he turned his ire upon those of the traitors that surrounded him.
They stepped back, each frozen in place. He could feel it. Their anxiety. Their hesitation. Their fear. He extended his left hand towards them, amassing his psychic might in the center of his palm in the form of blue warp flame. They would die as surely as his brothers did. He would make sure to tear their very spiritual essence apart..bit..by bit. He cared not for the edict anymore. He cared not for the mission placed upon him for his Primarch. All that mattered now was ensuring that they each died as painfully as his brothers did when they were slain.
As he released the power held within his hands, and their scream started. A single thought sprung into his head.
How much agony could inflict upon them by using his powers?~
Author's Notes: I'm going to be starting a series of warhammer shorts so if you guys have ideas or characters send them in!