18 replies to this topic

[Race Bannon]

Prompt: Hunted (c'mon, it was coming)

Maximum length: 500 words

Deadline: 31 January 2020

Where to post submissions: In this thread

Note - please make sure all submissions adhere to the forum rules. Any entry that breaks one or more rules shall be removed.

 

 

[Brother Lunkhead]

I accept your challenge Let's see ...…. In More Fun with Big Blue Space Marine, Spot, the Chaos Hellhound chases and corners Big Blue Space Marine. The fight is on

[Aothaine]

Why is this topic so difficult lol! I feel that some of my stories from the previous Rapid Fire Challenge would better fit in the hunted section. I'm working on something though. Hopefully I'll have it posted at the end of my shift today.

[Mazer Rackham]

I'm having trouble as well - I think the previous RFC Prompt drained all my "hunter" stuff.

 

Just can't get any ideas!

 

MR.

[Aothaine]

Madness

 

Spoiler

Stephanos' enhanced brain had kept track of the days. Four thousand eight hundred and thirty two days had gone by since he had been captured. He had ofcourse completed his assigned task. Sons of the Lion always completed their missions. 

 

He was exhausted, malnourished and possibly going crazy. The interrogator-chaplain had seen that all three of these states were a constant in this small chamber. He had not talked with anyone in over two thousand days. Something must have happened. Something big. Not many things could pull interrogator Rex from the hunt. Stephanos had not given in. His will was iron. Every two weeks he was given rations. Once a week his cell was cleaned. Once a day the power flickered, every three hours his mind was assaulted. He knew this game. He was a master at it.

 

But something was wrong. He had not received rations this cycle. It had been three weeks now since he had last eaten, or was it four. The days were starting to blur and his body starting to weaken. He felt his body starting to eat itself slowly. He would endure. His younger brothers would not win this game.

 

Three more days went by, the power went out. The assaults on his mind ended. Something had happened indeed. Hunger started to creep on him again and he contemplated eating himself to live as long as he could and spite his younger brother who thought his mind so weak. No. He couldn't do that. Better to die whole.

 

One week later delusions began to form in his vision and his mind swam with thoughts of chaos. A memory from his childhood came roaring into his thoughts. Darkness. He was afraid of the dark. His body started to shake. He was a space marine. He was a defender of mankind. He was a tool designed by the Emperor. He was a son of the Lion. He loved mankind. He loved the Emperor. A bright light shown above him and brought warmth that cascaded over his entire body. 

 

He opened his eyes and saw grim figure in dark plate standing next to him. It spoke briefly, "Welcome home brother. Rest now. The Emperor has chosen to save your soul." 

 

Stephanos' consciousness started to slip again. He knew what it was. He welcomed it. An end. NO! Not for him! Not for the False God! 

 

He heard the familiar voice of Interrogator Rex before fading to unconsciousness. "Return him to the cell. There is much we can learn from him later."

 

Not super happy with this. I think I could do a lot better but I'm just throwing thoughts on paper right now. Anyway, enjoy!

Edited by Aothaine, 22 January 2020 - 01:00 AM.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

I think Madness is well-written, Aothaine. The

Spoiler

Fallen Angel's

POV is sufficiently descriptive, believable, and able to draw in readers like myself.

[Race Bannon]

Ahhh, that was the trick: another PoV than the Hunter prompt

[Aothaine]

I'm trying to think of ways to write about something/someone being hunted without the typical running away troupe. I have another idea I'm working on right now just need to figure out how to put it to paper. But I really like this idea so I am welcoming the challenge.

 

Thank you for the kind words btw. 

 

 

Ahhh, that was the trick: another PoV than the Hunter prompt 

 

I'm kind of confused by the statement. Did the story not qualify as hunted? Maybe I didn't write it correctly. I was trying to...

Spoiler

make the information that could be claimed from the Fallen Angel as the object that was being hunted. Did it not come across correctly? Please be honest I'm trying to learn to write as I love story telling so any help you can give would be very appreciated!

 

Edited by Aothaine, 22 January 2020 - 04:45 PM.

[Race Bannon]

Oh yeah, your submission was fine   My comment was for the overall discussion.  My bad.

[Brother Lunkhead]

…… It's not even the end of the month and I'm done. Don't count on this happening very often

 

I give you...….

 

FEAR

Hidden Content

Fear.

 

He felt it like the cold hand of death, closing, slowly around his heart. He had never felt the likes of it. In all of his twenty-one years of campaigning with

the 1983rd Versuvian Tacticals, he had never felt fear like this. 

He had faced death before. Oh yes, death was always as close as his next breath, and sometimes he feared it. But, not like this.

Nothing at all like this.

 

The war on Justicar IV had been a back and forth continent wide brawl for five years. For the past eighteen months, it had settled into a three thousand mile 

front of fortified trenches with no one giving or taking ground. The war had been a bloody standoff.

Until now. Until twenty minutes ago, when THEY came, the terrible giants in adamantium and ceramite. They had broken the siege and nobody knew it. 

Nobody, but the dead, and him of course.

 

He would be dead too, if he had not been buried under the mud and bodies when they dropped in over the lip of the trench and began killing everyone. 

Their heavy armored boots pushed him further into the mud and dead as they raced along the trench line in a killing frenzy that felt like hours, but 

was probably only seconds.

 

The siege was broken. Nobody knew this yet. Only the dead, and him, of course.

He was still alive. But not for long.

 

This war was lost, unless he could warn command.

But how?

 

They were hunting him, only they didn't know it yet. As soon as he moved, they would know, and he would be dead, or worse than dead.

 

There was a vox bunker just fifty meters to the west. If only he could get to it, there was a chance.

 

The Monsters had moved off.....

 

NOW!

 

He crawled from his tomb and exploded into a run, a stumble, a crawl.

He exploded again, west, down the trench line.

West, he ran, then stumbled, then crawled, then ran through the mud, the blood, and bodies. 

West, he lurched, towards hopeless hope.

 

He fell into the armored door of the bunker.

 

A piercing shriek sounded out at the same instant. It was the sound of a great bird or prey. A great bird of prey from hell.

 

He projectile vomited. Blood ran from his ears and nose.

 

Numb with fear, he fumbled with the lock on the massive door. He clumsily pressed his hand against the biometric scanner, 

then punched in the code to open the door. Stumbling through the opened door, he dragged it shut, locking himself in.

 

As he moved towards the vox caster, the air grew icy and took on a oily tang.

 

Once again, fear gripped him. A cold metal helm gently touched his cheek.

 

"Thank you", a silky voice cooed. "It was a short, but exquisite hunt."

 

"Now it's over..... I'm afraid this is going to hurt. But not for long."*

 

I hope you liked it.

 

Wow. I might have time to write another story.... How does Spot and Big Blue Space Marine Go for a Run sound?  

 

* Thanks for that one A D-B

Edited by Brother Lunkhead, 25 January 2020 - 12:23 AM.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Excellent work, Brother Lunkhead. Does it depict

Spoiler

a Chaos Space Marine hunting a loyalist guardsman,

or is it meant to be open to interpretation?

Edited by Bjorn Firewalker, 24 January 2020 - 02:14 AM.

[Aothaine]

Very nice! Loved that it really left things open to interpretation.  

[Brother Lunkhead]

Excellent work, Brother Lunkhead. Does it depict

Spoiler

a Chaos Space Marine hunting a loyalist guardsman,

or is it meant to be open to interpretation?

 

As to being open to interpretation, I edited over 150 words from the draft before posting......it is now

[Tarvek Val]

Preysight

 

          Seylan Morr pauses for a brief moment, looking out across the ravaged wasteland stretching into the distance before him. Nothing moves, save for the wisps of smoke coiling from burnt-out tanks and artillery pieces. If not for the helm encasing his head, he knows that he would detect the rich stench of burnt flesh in the air.  

 

          The Cadian 33^rd had been unprepared for the ferocity of the recent ambush. Whilst moving the bulk of their heavy siege equipment and vehicles through the narrow Slotte Canyons, they had been caught unawares by the fury of Seylan Morr and his brothers. He smiles at the memory. The night sky had burned with the fire of missiles and plasma, and the ground had quivered under the weight of mortar fire. The Cadian infantry troops had scattered, desperately seeking cover in the recesses of nooks and crannies, to little avail.

 

          On that evening, Seylan Morr had whispered a single word before sprinting down the series of narrow gravel paths leading into the midst of the carnage. Preysight. His helm had obliged, turning the canyon into a patchwork mosaic of light and dark. The Cadians were highlighted against a backdrop of wavering thermal flames, and Morr had hunted amongst them at will. They were his prey, and he the executioner. 

 

          The faint rasp of breath draws the killer’s attention. He slides his archaic bolter to his shoulder, sweeping across the wreckage before him as he quietly fades backwards into the shadow of a wrecked Earthshaker piece. The breathing continues, distinct over the crackle of exploding munitions and shifting metal. His curiosity awoken, Seylan Morr stalks into the heart of the battlefield. Within moments, he finds his prey. The Cadian, no more than a boy, is pinned beneath the weight of a shattered shard of metal. The weight of the piece is slowly killing him, but the soldier labors on nonetheless. A Chimera transport sits abandoned behind the soldier, its ramp still sealed shut. 

 

          Seylan Morr kneels by the Cadian. The boy’s eyes reflect the firelight as they struggle to focus on the figure looming over him.

          ‘Do you fear death?’

 

          Seylan Morr smiles as he speaks the words, the amusement in his voice stolen by the harsh snarl of his vox-speaker.

 

          The man coughs, blood speckling his lips as he struggles to draw in enough air to reply. Seylan Morr offers him no such opportunity, firing two shots from his silenced bolter in quick succession. For a moment, the battlefield is almost silent again. As he rises, something seems different… off, somehow. It takes Seylan Morr a second to realize that the ramp of the Chimera is now lowered. As he raises his bolter, Morr is hammered by a hail of bolt-rounds exploding outwards from within the seemingly wrecked transport. A half-dozen dark shades glide out of the transport. One pauses by the stricken warrior.          

 

          Before he delivers the fatal blow, the shadow kneels by his dying victim.

          ‘Victorus aut Mortis, cousin.’

Edited by Tarvek Val, 30 January 2020 - 03:56 AM.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Good job, Tarvek Val. So your story depicts

Spoiler

a Night Lord hunting the Cadians, only for the Raven Guard to hunt him in turn?

Edited by Bjorn Firewalker, 29 January 2020 - 09:54 PM.

[Tarvek Val]

Precisely. I would've made it a bit longer, but I was already barely below the word limit!

[Brother Lunkhead]

The hunter becomes the hunted...… Well Done

 

Nitpickery:

Hidden Content

For easier reading suggest you space the paragraphs.

[Brother Lunkhead]

Well, I suggested at the beginning of the month I'd write a Big Blue Space Marine story Inspiration hit me late last night. Soooo.....

 

 

Big Blue Space Marine and Spot

Go for a Walk

 

Hidden Content

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

See Spot drool.

Drool, drool.

Slat, splat.

Sizzle, sizzle.

 

Spot smells something.

Sniff, sniff.

Sniff, sniff, sniff.

Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff.

 

Spot smells someone.

Spot smells Big Blue Space Marine.

 

Spot sees Big Blue Space Marine.

 

Spot wags his spiny tail.

Wag, wag.

 

Spot runs to Big Blue Space Marine.

Run Spot run.

Run, run, run.

 

Uh oh Big Blue Space Marine.

Uh, oh.....

 

A howl rang out.

 

The Ultramarine scanned the horizon. He felt the scream with all of his being.

It was a cry from an abyss that spoke of primordial hate and hunger. It was a howl that promised pain, death, and worse.

 

In their last desperate hours, the cultists Sergeant Laecus' squad had been eliminating, called for aid. The answer to their plea came spilling out of the warp in 

the form of a pack of flesh hounds. 

 

Most of them had been dispatched, but one remained, the alpha. It was wounded and slowed.

This would work in the space marine's favor, but not for long. The beast was still powerful and fast, and it had his scent.

 

The Astartes turned and ran towards a cluster of ruined buildings.

 

As usual he did not have a plan. But, that was how he liked it. It kept things interesting. He always managed to formulate a plan 

as need arose and opportunity presented itself. The need was definitely there. Now all he needed was opportunity.

 

Something plinked off of his pauldron. Small arms fire was coming from the cluster of buildings ahead of him.

 

The warrior in blue smiled. Opportunity.

 

Bracing and sprinting, the Ultramarine barreled through the wall, rolled, and jumped to his feet. Drawing and aiming his bolt pistol,

seven cultists died in the space of time it took to draw a breath. 

"CLICK"...…. "Bolter discipline" he thought.

 

The veteran looked down at the one survivor. The eighth cultist was curled in a fetal position, whimpering. He smiled, "You'll do."

He grabbed hold of a hand full of the man's robe around his neck and dragged him through the open wall. He hurled the screaming

man towards the incoming beast. The creature stopped and looked momentarily at the meal that landed in front of him. 

 

While the creature was busy, the Ultramarine drew his gladius and sprang. The sword plunged through the monster's skull and pinned it 

to the ground.

"Stay" the Astartes grunted.

 

The Ultramarine pulled the sword free and with a sweeping motion, cleaved the head of the monster clean from its neck. The warp immediately began to claim it.

 

"Good boy" Brother Lunkhead smiled.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Hope you liked it...….

 

This story is dedicated to Tinkerbell (June 3, 2003 - January 26, 2020). Our neurotic guardian of the kingdom, and mother to many puppies.

Edited by Brother Lunkhead, 31 January 2020 - 03:50 PM.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Excellent work, Brother Lunkhead. My condolences for your family's loss. Loyal pets are a treasure to any household.