Quoted By:
Eregenus LastDay - Pash Medtas diary, PDF conscript, file available in DeimeaArchive
My world was not made for war. No matter what the vox told us. Theorks did not stop.Eregenusstoodalone. The latest tax the sector lord had declared had almost deprived us of our tools.The autogun in my hands was not an old surplus stored away. No, much like otherguns, it was originally spare ore that we miners had robbed from the cargoes, and then forged into weapons during the war. If he knew, the planet's governor would have us stoned to death with those same pieces of ore.But he was dead. Time passes. Before we knew it, we were called to order by the preacher. We felt strong hearing his sermon. When the battle started, that certainty left me. Rick was taken by his leg and broken like a doll, Samus had been luckier, a bulletkilling him instantly, Hyd not so much. Burnt alive. I remain.
The monsters defile their bodies in front of me. Like it was a game. I don't want to believe it. The autogun remains clutched in my hands as the horrendous act before me continues. The sounds of battle, of my breathing, of the orks .... of flesh. They're gone. After moments of nothingness that pass, I stand up and pull the trigger, my hand feeling less confident than ever. Some bullets hit. Asavage sound is the answer. I scream back just as hard,and mygun empties in a click. They throw me against an already broken wall that collapses on me. My ribs crack.I can't move. The autogun's bayonet is stuck in an alien arm,my last defiance. That one grins to his fellows, removing the debris above my chest. I spit at it. The aliens laugh, one picks what I'd call a cleaver, but it's a crude piece of iron stained by blood and viscera. The blade comes down.
I hear a sound I have neverheardin my life. Unlike the cacophony of drills, or the rhythmof pickaxes. It's clear and precise. The ork blade stops, and as it tries to turn its head, it explodes. The world is red. That sound continues. The orks are dying. Rain and snow fall, and some of the blood clears from my face. Revealing a ... servitor? It seems to stare at me for a while, the weapon beneath its body cooling down. I'm saved! It's a miracle, the white servitor—whatever it is, for the God Emperor—seems to mark me with a red light. It takes flight again, and I begin to panic: will it go away? I remain blocked by rubble with the rain and snow kissing my face. The battle seems to continue in the distance. I fear I was abandoned, or that I am hallucinating.
Later, a group of people arrives, following the white servitor. Satisfied, it returns to its flock above us, leaving me to my thoughts. Eregenus isn't dead, neither i.
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a little story+image while we wait. I am sending you the white and black one on twitter Newb.