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 33rd 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.
"Our holy hatred will make us free!" ~Nameless Dark Apostle
"Though my guards may sleep and ships may rest at anchor, our foes know full well that big guns never tire." ~Huron Blackheart
"You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father's failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." ~Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter
"So... How are you?" ~Cyrion, First Claw