Ashley’s Writing Corner

Artillery lands and explodes, wiping people from their very own existence as if they were merely the ash that was left over from the blast, only contrasted by the purple sky. Waves of green and brown armor flood against the forces covered in blackened robes, decorated with heretical  symbols detailing their oaths to their false gods. He sits in the trenches made by his brothers, the distant sounds of battle flooding his ears like a dark symphony.

“I, Guardsman Theovain, am a traitor to the God-Emperor. I am a traitor to my battle brothers and sisters across the line and I am sure the angels of death will bless me with their blades, as I deserve. There is no excuse for my actions-” he shakily writes in his journal until he hears the blaring, grinding crank siren carried by his Commissar, Commissar Herald. 

“Attention all units, we are under attack, affix bayonets to lasrifles and prepare to fight for your God-Emperor!” The Commissar Commander yelled out, holding an electrically charged sword in one hand, and his speaker in the other.

“Damnit,” Theovain cursed under his breath. He reached behind him and grabbed a rifle attached to his back. He fished for a sharp, pointed piece of metal and attached it to the end of the rifle as he stood up, putting his journal away. 

It was only a few steps before he slid off of the solidly packed dirt, skittering to a dug out firing hole. He aimed his rifle over the lip and fired into the first black robed figure he could see. The pulse of light streaked out and almost seemed to melt the man’s flesh when it made contact. Before he knew it, there was a silver flash and black robes were on top of him. One of them got him to the ground.

“The seer of all sees what lies in your heart, coward!” The heretic said, laughing maniacally. “Join us, and be freed!”

Another flash of light blinded Theovain as the man’s flesh was signed from his skull in a flash. The dead heap collapsed onto him as he trashed to be freed of the thing. 

“On your feet, guardsman!!” A barking voice yelled as Theovain was pulled to his feet. “A good soldier dies standing!”

He looked over to find another one of his squadmates, Gradel, pulling him up. Relief flooded through Theovain upon seeing his friend. The two trained their lasrifles over the trench wall and began firing, Gradel almost firing into the dirt as Theovain hesitated for a single moment, aiming to strike in lethal areas.

“HAHAHA,” Gradel laughed. “These heretics are as weak as their faiths believe them to be!”

Theovain was quiet, placing precise shots into the bodies of the heretics. “Yes, they are no match for our faith.” Theovain said in a half-hollow voice, almost replying off of instinct.

The fire fighting continued, with Theovain and Gradel quickly recharging their lasrifles, there was another grinding siren, the call to charge. Theovain felt his stomach give into the cold, horrid fear he knew all too well. It was always the same choice, either he charged forward, risking getting gunned down by heretical forces, or he would get gunned down by his own commissar before he could even register he’s dead.

“There’s our call!” Gardel said before hopping over the trench and charging forward.

Theovain desperately scraped and searched for every spare second he didn’t have to spend running towards a possible death, or looking away from a certain one as he had seen too many times. Was his lasrifle charged? Would the Commissar put a bullet in the back of his head if he made sure his weapon was charged? He wanted to run, making him as much of a traitor as those heretics, but he had already had the thought. Despearly he prepared himself until he saw another person charge over the trench, and then another. And before he could control himself, he began charging across the no man’s land of devastation set in front of him. 

“For the god emperor!” Cried one soul before being torn into by large bullets that proceeded to explode from inside his body.

“We shall never fall!” Cried a female officer before being ripped into by figures in black robes with strange shaped daggers.

He charged, and kept charging, until the large explosion to his right sent him sprawling and he saw darkness. He couldn’t tell how long he had been unconscious, but it had been long enough. He woke up in the medical tent, as he saw people with no light behind their eyes and fused with ghastly mechanical limbs and mechanical augments took care of some of the other injured.

“Greetings, guardsman.” A small servo-skull announced as it floated over the other bed. It has a large mechanical augment to its right eye with different types of sensors and analysis devices. “You have been deemed fit for duty, Guardsman Theovain. Please, gather your items and report back to the nearest commissar.”

Theovain watched the skull float away, announcing that food would be brought soon, and that the God-Emperor was proud of them for their duty, and how they would fight again. Theovain thought differently. He knew that there was no helping for quite a few of them, as some strange disease that some of the others had caught. It gave them yellow skin as their eyes became bloodshot, and would leave them as drooling, mindless, beings. He heard a few of them scream as he walked out of the tent into the shockingly quiet trench network. 

“Well there the Throne you are!” said a loud, excited voice. “We were worried about ya Theo!”

Theovain turned to see a shorter man with a more bulbous nose, and pot belly to match, stirring a large pot over a fire with some strange gray food inside. He couldn’t help but smile a bit at seeing his friend Traton. 

“Hey, Traton!” He said as he walked over. “Good to see you again too.”

Traton stirred the pot more, adding some spices as he dipped his finger in and tasted it. “Blegh. These rations are probably the best we’ve gotten.” He said as he laughed.

“Where are we even?” Theovain said, looking at the sky. It was a bright purple to the darker shade they had seen earlier. 

“Apparently, we’re closer to those heretic bastard’s base than ever. Commissar says we got ‘em runnin’ for the hills. But I don’t think so.” Traton mused as he sat down on an old crate, watching the fire.

“What about Gradel? I saw him at the first charge, but I don’t know after that.” Theovain said, leaning against a dirt wall. He could feel how tightly the dirt was packed, and prayed it would be enough to maybe save his life.

Traton had a worried look spread across his face. “No idea, kid. Last time I saw him, the fool ran off with a small group to pursue a priority target.”

“Traton, do you think we can do this?” Theovain said, without thinking.

The Traton was almost taken aback, shocked the question had been asked in the first place. “What are you even talking about? Of course we can! I thought that-”

“I meant to say how do you think we can do this!” Theovain said, covering what his mind has wandered to.

Traton looked at the younger man, eyeing him into confessing. “Hmm. Well, the Commissar says that we can make a stop and hit ‘em with artillery for a bit, and attempt to draw them out while they’re trapped.”

Theovain nodded. He knew he let his traitorous habit slip. He prayed that it wouldn’t be thought of too hard, even a report could mean an Inquisitor comes to visit, and the rumors that he had heard on the interrogation tactics alone sent a chill down his spine. He knew he should be listening to the strategies being explained, but this creeping thought crossed his mind the more he tried to ignore it. The distant ringing of a messenger bell was the only thing that broke him away from the thoughts.

“Message for Commissar Herald! Incoming Message for Commissar Herald from Company Commander Yavon!” The messenger said, clearly out of breath from running with his equipment.

Several other guardsmen moved to help the messenger, sitting him down  and giving what water they could. It could have only been a few blinks until the commissar was striding up to the messenger, a large Bolt Pistol in his hand. The two talked in hushed tones by themselves, the commissar never showing a hint of emotion on his face. When they were done, Theovain looked down to the fire in time to hear the loud bang coming from the Commissar's direction. As he looked back, he saw the redness cover the dirt behind the body, not missing a large portion of its head. The same guardsmen moved in, almost as fast to clear the body as the commissar walked away, still no emotion on his face.

“The boy asked him to do it.” Traton whispered. “I saw him mouth it.”

“What?” Theovain looked bewildered. “He asked the commissar to shoot him?”

“Shit, he looked like he was happy when the bullet went through his skull.” Traton said, attending the pot more than he needed to.

Theovain could feel the creeping, traitorous thoughts again. Could they do it? Why were they even there to begin with? He didn’t know, and couldn’t decide if he wanted to know why or if he’d rather the why of it all. Impossible creatures, zealots, and then he thought, “what’s the difference?”

It was a few more days they had stayed in the same place. Steady streams of artillery followed by the occasional raiding party ensured all that stood after was the dust kicked up by the marching of their boots. Men dropped dead from starvation, followed by the sickness that turned their skin yellow. Theovain kept marching, the same thought echoing to his soul, what was the point of it all?

“Men! Formations!” Commissar Hearld called.

Almost without meaning to, Theovein’s body snapped to his position, looking down the barrel of his rifle to a crowd of shades of figures ahead. A  group of walking shadows covered by the ruins. His hand shook a bit. What if they were hiding and they didn’t see them? Was he about to die?

“Commissar Harold! Hold your fire!” A loud, commanding voice rang out, bouncing through the solid tension in the air.

Murmurs filled the air, asking if they were reinforcements, or if it was a trick. The dust scattered to show the normal green and brown armor they wore, pale and darkened faces filled the crowd, as Theovain spotted Gradel, his eyes full of fire, his skin a slightly different hue. He was silent, and had no lasrifle, but instead held an ax spattered in blood.

Another Commissar marched forward, a small melta pistol in his hand. He wore a large coat similar to commissar Harold’s but it had more veins of red on it, along with a different design on its heraldry. The two talked quickly, discussing plans and how they had met up with the group Gradel had gone off with and how they were planning on sweeping more of the possible underground areas related to some of the local factories. Theovain couldn’t help but notice how Gardel was no longer his old, boisterous nature. 

They began to march through the ruins again, joined by the other group. Nameless faces passed by his view, each one looking equally as dead on the inside. Once again, the thought of what they are doing there passed Theovein’s mind, and this time, it didn’t leave. Why? Who decided it was needed that he be here? Everyone else was called by a divine purpose, but the only reason Theovein was there was because he was forced to be, as part of his planet’s tithe to the Imperium of Mankind. He never asked to be on this hell planet, or part of this squad. He was sent here because his name was drawn out of a machine and he had to watch his mother and father weep for him as he was sent off to fight.

When they stopped for the night, the bombed out ruins of the factory sent an uneasy feeling through every nerve of Theovein’s body, Shadows flickered across walls and it felt like they called to him, if only he stepped into the darkness he could hear what they said. Gradel set his tent next to his, and they were near the center compared to the poor souls that had to sleep outside, or were permitted to sleep.

“Do you think that this is right?” Gradel said, unprompted, his skin looking slightly off in the firelight. “Us being here?”

“What are you saying? What would happen if someone else heard you?” Theovain said, quickly hushing the other man standing outside of his tent.

Gradel gazed longingly at the axe, a strange light dancing in his eyes. “It’s not right. They were here first. Even the commissar agrees.”

“Gradel, what the throne are you-” Theovain attempted to say.

Gradel let out a small hiss, a crimson streak darting across his eyes. “Don’t say that word.” He said as he began to slightly twitch.

There began small movements in other tents in the area, the inhabitants seemingly struggling to get up but it turned more into a light scuffle before it spilled out. Gradel looked at him, a crimson light in his eyes, somehow holding the axe. He swung it and Theovain stepped out of the way, only for the ax to split the concrete where his foot once was. An alarm began to blair out, causing more guardsmen to awaken. As they stepped out, some began to join in the fight while others attempted to keep the peace, and were killed for it.

“Join us, Theovain! I know you don’t want to be here! Listen to the shadows whispering, and you can leave when we’re done!” Gradel said, attempting to swing the ax again.

“B-by the throne stop!” Theovain said, reaching for his lasrifle.

The bolt of light from Theovain’s barrel hit Gradel in the stomach, exposing ribs and other half-seared internal organs. Gradel took only a few more steps before dropping, going limp as other guardsmen began attacking each other with fists, claws, and teeth if they could. In the distance, he heard barking orders and the black coat of Commissar Herald.

“Fight, men! They use cowardly tricks to fool you! Do not listen to their heresies and lies!” Commissar Herald said, firing his bolt pistol into his crazed men when he could.

Theovain ran over, providing covering fire where he could. He wanted to go anywhere but here, it was too much for any man to see. He met with the Commissar just as another crazed guardsmen arrived, blood flowing from his jaws. The lasrifle shot hit the creature before it took another step as the Commissar fired the pistol into another target, behind Theovain.

“Cracking shot, Theovain! The Emperor must bless you in this battle! Fight with all the hate in your heart to eliminate these wretches!” The commissar bolstered, changing magazines.

“Thank you sir!” Theovain responded. “What’s our status?”

“They have us surrounded.” Commissar Herald said as he fired two shots into another man. “The emperor truly tests us today!”

Theovein couldn’t help but wonder why bring that up now, in this moment where they could die. Did the Commissar mean he’d rather be here than with a possible family? In service to some being that sent him to die? More Guardsmen screamed around him, dying in gruesome ways no man deserved to experience.

“We need to warn the fleet.” The commissar announced. He grabbed Theovein by the arm and hoisted him upwards, “Warn Commissar General Yavon!”

All Theovein could do was blink as he was pushed backwards, away from the fighting. He landed on the ground outside of the factory, looking at the commissar fire rounds. Before he knew it, he ran. He heard his commissar scream as he was running, but never heard any pursuit. It felt like he ran through the wasteland for hours upon hours, seeking already long dead ghosts. He ran until he saw the smoke from the cooking fires, and almost laughed out loud when he saw them.

“Message! Message for Commissar General Yavon!” He cried down to the camp. He ran, repeating his message for the camp to hear.

When he got to the border of the camp, several guardsmen met up, and caught him in his almost dead state. They moved him and sat him near one of the cooking fires, with his back to the dirt wall. After a few moments, a black commissar arrived, in a jacket lined with red and gold. 

“What happened?” The new commissar asked, no emotion displayed upon his face.

“Attacked. Heretic forces influenced our men, causing us to fight each other. We didn’t know what to do, until Commissar Harold sent me to inform you. Everyone alive is mad and wanting to kill each other.”

The higher ranked Commissar looked at his troops, disbelief etched across his face. It was clear the message wasn’t getting across.

“Why are you alive?” He asked. “Did you run?”

Theovein looked at the Commissar and nodded. “Yes, sir. I was ordered to.”