Mc day 5
“Huh……neat”, I say as the human’s head is cleaved from its neck and the presence rewards me with greater power. Every part of my being feels improved. My muscles feel stronger and faster. Scale and bone are more robust, my body more vital. Instincts are keener and my thoughts move faster. Distracted as I am with my newfound power, I do not notice the almost rabid mutt approaching me until it is too late.
A pressure on my shoulder breaks me from my stupor. The fangs of the frothing dog piercing deeply into the rope there but not penetrating my skin. Leaving no injury but a distinct discomfort from the animal’s bite force.
Annoyed by my own inattentiveness, I grip the attack dog’s tail with a clawed hand and rip it forcefully from my shoulder, breaking off more than a few of its teeth in the process. Anger still fuelling my movements I bring the mad animal up in front of me. The thing struggles as I hold it off the ground, my eyes drinking in its form. Then, faster than the human eye could process, my maw darts forward, ripping out the annoyance’s throat. Quickly swallowing the tasteful meat.
Blood spurts from its ruined neck, sullying my form as it struggles even harder. Gradually, I grow bored, once its movements have ceased beyond a few twitches, I consume the rest of the delicacy, savouring each bite of the dog. Meal finished, I look once more at my surroundings. The human’s herd had been scattered by the brief moment of ultra-violence. Some 50 goat-like animals fleeing into the tall grasses and the forest too. My keen eyesight already making out some minor predators stalking a few of the separated animals.
Slowly my gaze returns to the brutalised man. More specifically, his weapon. It looks to be an old hunting rifle, High Gothic prayers carved into the wooden stock and the barrel shining from a recent polish. Carefully I remove the severed hand from the weapon and eject the magazine. 4 rounds remain. Useful if I am unable to catch up to my targets before they can escape and warn others in the region of my presence.
Gingerly, I pick up the weapon and attempt to shoulder it, the stock proving too small for my larger form. I grunt in irritation but do not let the discomfort drive me from using the useful weapon. I try to wrap a finger gently around the trigger, once more I am hampered by the ergonomics of the weapon. The trigger guard preventing my comparatively larger fingers from effectively gripping the trigger.
I give up on using the weapon as is, setting it down on the ground and examining it once more. It’s time for some modifications. I find a rock among the grass and smash it against the stock of the weapon. Again and again I hit it, not doing anything else until the stock separates from the weapon in a mess of splinters and broken prayers. From there the body of the weapon is easily removed, leaving just the mechanical components for me to use.
Pausing for a moment I look to the available components and then back to my weapon of choice, the halberd. “Why not”, I whisper to myself, “why shouldn’t I copy the Custodians of the Emperor?” I set back to work, mind a storm of ideas and calculations, my hands quickly implementing them. Hours pass, the barrel joined to the side of my weapon using a mixture of rope fibre and gun components. The trigger connected further down the shaft, reshaped using recently carved wood. Mind lost in the process of creation, I do not care for the time passing, the sun moving further towards the horizon as I work.
Completed, I examine my creation once more. The components look to be in place, functioning as they should when I test the mechanism and showing no undue stress. Satisfied with my work I insert the magazine and its 4 remaining pieces of ammunition. I rack the bolt, securing a round in the chamber, the weapon now ready to fire. The inside of my skull begins to hurt, much like a headache bordering on a migraine yet not committing. I smile a toothed smile as I recognise the return of the otherworldly presence. Its return accompanied by feelings of surprise and intrigue.
Notable action identified. Granting rewards:
Skill (Mixed Weapon Mastery) acquired.
Granting both knowledge and muscle memory for both ranged and melee weaponry, aiding the user in their use, maintenance, design and creation.
Knowledge floods my mind once more. An eldritch power beyond comprehension shaping the neurones within my skull, implanting the information without disruption of other functions. A feat that very few in this galaxy could have ever achieved, let alone waste valuable resources on. Along with knowledge of the mind comes knowledge of the body. My grip on the weapon feeling wrong, unbalanced and deeply flawed. Corrections to my grip and stance rectify the issue. Already leaving me a more dangerous fighter than I was before.
The feeling of improvement accompanied by the presence is euphoric, leaving me oblivious to my surroundings until it was gone, leaving me once more in the cold embrace of reality. Mixed Weapon Mastery no longer at the forefront of my mind I take in my surroundings once more, letting the skill make micro adjustments and improve passively in the background. The herd of 50, now scattered is being hunted down by local opportunists, making sure to stay far away from me of course. Remaining outside of my blank aura, as I have come to call it.
A sizable contingent of the animals, around 15 or so, are moving in one direction as a group. Remaining unmolested by the local predators. Curious as to why they have chosen the direction, my eyes scan their path. Seeing nothing at first I try harder, unconvinced that so many of them heading in one direction is a coincidence. Glee filling my expression as I make out a small dirt track among the grass. "That''ll do nicely", I rasp. Preparing to follow the track, I pause, once more considering the brutalized corpse.
"No point in turning up a free meal", I say. More concerned with my stomach than hiding evidence of my butchery.
<hr>
Jacob day 5
The heat of the day is beginning to get the better of me and here I am stuck out in the wilderness looking for that little rat Callum. Honestly, the self righteous prick. He catches me making my way to the brothel in the next town over one time and he tells my wife that I''m cheating on her. Emperor curse him with a thousand maladies for his holier than thou act. Can''t do anything right except spy''n on others'' business. Saying "it''s not virtuous" or "the Emperor would not be pleased". Can''t even look after the herd properly, only 15 of the animals returning without him anywhere in sight. Useless lout should go join the ecclesiarchy and get one of those stupid hats.
Not that anyone would ever hear me voice that opinion for fear of a public lashing.
Recognising that the heat is getting to my head, I signal a break, my other 4 companions sagging in relief, setting their stubbers onto the ground.
Placing myself against a tree on the side of the track, I call out to Doss, one of my fellow searchers. “How long has the shit been gone now?” I ask. “Depends”, he replies. “8 hours if you’re counting from when he left, 3 since he was supposed to be back with the herd”. I sigh, mentally cursing the Emperor damned fool.
We’d been searching for him for 2 hours now with no sign of him except for the occasional dead animal. After a short break and another weary sigh I signal my comrades to continue the search. At the ripe age of 43 my old bones protest getting up with a series of pops and groans. My body damaged by years of hard labour.
Picking up my stubber, one of the few semi-automatic weapons the settlement is allowed access to by the Administratum, I check if my companions are ready before signalling a continue to the search. Calling out the man’s name and keeping our eyes peeled for any untoward activity.
Another hour into our search, nerves rising for some unfathomable reason, we reach the vast prairie where Callum was mentioned to be watching the herd. Bodies litter the plain, the animals half eaten by local predators and scavengers. My lip curls with disgust at the sight of it. Anger building at the sight of laughing canines feasting on the flock.
Aiming my stubber into the air I fire a single shot. A tremendous crack echoes through the landscape. Animals previously hidden by tall grasses bolt for the woods, birds and flying reptiles explode from the canopies, all seeking to escape the disturbance that rocked the landscape. Waiting for the noise of panicked animals to disperse, I swallow the dry lump in my throat before giving the order. “Spread out, look for any sign of Callum!”
The men spread out, pacing through the lush grass in a search line. Looking for any sign of the absent worker, dread subtly building among them all the while. Many wrinkle their noses at the sight and smell of the dead animals, quietly whispering a prayer or a quite curse of “Emperor” to themselves. I sigh to myself, many of these young men would be drafted into the guard come the next tithe and if they couldn’t handle this, they would most certainly die to the monsters depicted on the vox reels. At least when this Emperor damned warp storm lifts and the arbites stop requisitioning so much of our supplies for the hive.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Sir”, one of the boys called out. Adam, a big well formed man. The kind a preacher would drool at, claiming him to be the perfect representative of the holy human form. “Found something, but you’re not going to like it”. He holds up a torn piece of cloth, originally blue, but now a deep crimson red. Unmistakable fear and a feeling of wrongness surface in my mind as I regard the cloth from a distance. Breathing becoming more ragged. Something that is not unique to myself.
Others shift uncomfortably, shuffling their feet or gripping their weapons tighter. “Do you think some hive gangers decided to book the city and raid out here?” Asked one of the younger workmen, nervousness evident in his voice. His question is met with a scoff from Doss. “Frack kid, you and your fantasies. Sure it’s happened before but they always hit one of the closer towns to the hive fir-“.
His final word is cut off as another crack echoes through the plain. A stubber shot barely catching the side of his head. The man is sent spiralling to the ground, brain and fluid spilling from a hole in his fractured skull. We stay still for a moment, too shocked to realise that the man who often took me out for drinks, Doss, was dead. We’re only broken out of our stupor when another crack echoes through the landscape. Another of my workers falling to the ground dead. I drop to the ground hoping to hide amongst the long grass. Two others do the same and avoid the following shot, which nails Adam in the back as he tries to run.
The bullet doesn''t kill him instantly, though it does appear to have disabled him, his screams echoing hauntingly across the plain. The wrongness grows, an ache forming in my mind and soul as something, something beyond important, is missing. Like some fundamental link to the fabric of the universe has been cut. We lie there for a while, the feeling of wrongness and fear gradually increasing. One of the men starts whimpering, the smell of soiled trousers reaches me soon after. I realise that it is my own.
Then footsteps. They march slowly through the brush at first, speeding up as the creature approaches. I know it''s a creature, it''s footfalls too heavy and long to be human. A scream to my right as I hear the swishing of a blade and a panicked gunshot. The victim of the foul abomination gurgles before falling silent.
Eyes darting in every direction, the glint of metal on my belt catches my notice. My combat knife. I glance back and forth between it and the bayonet fixture on my stubber. Heart hammering in my chest, threatening to break my ribs with the force of its beats, I slowly draw the blade. Attaching it to the fixture as quietly as possible. Footsteps can be heard nearby, the dry rasp of a lizard and the snuffling of the creature’s snout. Adam’s screams are suddenly cut off by another slash of a blade.
it’s looking for me I realise, making sure that none of us would escape, the sounds receding slightly as the Emperor damned abomination moves away. Slowly, carefully, I rise to my feet. Being careful not to make a disturbance. I can see it clearly now, the creature. Its form lean and muscled, taller than an average man despite its naturally hunched posture. Grey skin, a thick tail and a head like a water lizard give it a dangerous appearance.
It’s facing away from me, a large and strange axe wielded by its strong hands. Fear gripping my very soul, vision wavering at the sight of the creature, I raise my weapon and click off the safety. Standing on the verge of cardiac arrest. I do not know what caused it. The clicking off of the safety or the thundering of my heart. The creature dives into the long grass. The sudden movement startles me and I let off a wild volley from the weapon.
A hiss emerges from the grass, signifying that it is wounded. The fact does not comfort me. My weapon clicks empty. Discarding the magazine I reload the weapon and resume firing. Targeting anything that moves. Another magazine runs empty. Then another and my final one.
brow dripping with sweat and tears forming in my eyes I whip around as the landscape begins to laugh at me. Seemingly from every direction at once. A roar from behind and I turn around, pointing my bayonet pointed towards the creature. It stares at me, axe gripped in two hands. Standing barely 15 meters away from me.
My nerves finally break and I sprint forward, shouting a wordless cry. Aiming to spear the thing’s throat with my bayonet. My mind does not comprehend when the beast speaks to me in Low Gothic, too terrified to understand the familiar words. Another crack and I am thrown back. Crashing into the ground. I can scarcely breath, a painful burning spreading through my chest. Tilting my head painfully up, I let out a small cry at what I see. Blood is slowly leaking from a hole in the centre of my chest, no doubt passing through the other side. I moan in pain as my clothes soak red. I can’t feel my legs.
Turning my head to the side, I see a pair of feet. Clawed and covered in scales. The creature, no longer hunched, towers above any man. Matching the height of one of his angels if the legends are to believed. The pain is so great I no longer care about the creature. Nor the feeling of unnaturalness that oozes from its form. Delirium seizing my mind, I notice a gash along its arm, purple blood leaking slowly from it.
Darkness encroaching at the edge of my vision, I see the creature heft its axe above its head. It holds it there for a second. The abomination then nods to me and lets the axe fall.
<hr>
Mc day 5
The axe falls with a satisfying whistle, cleaving a man’s head from his shoulders for the third time today. The fight had been easy. Catching them by surprise had allowed me to kill two of them immediately from a distance, killing a third who panicked shortly after. The rest attempted to hide in the grass but didn’t last long. One was too fearful to react when I found him. Another died to a heart attack as I approached, my blank aura proving too much for him.
My final opponent proved to be the most dangerous. Spraying bullets like it was going out of fashion. One caught me on the arm, leaving a painful burning sensation that still remains. Yet he fell quickly once he ran out of ammunition. Panic clearly impairing his thoughts.
Foes slain: human x5 Lv1-4, granting rewards
+6Lv Saxon Worker
+2Lv Mixed Weapon Mastery
I nearly stagger at the strength of the presence. Knowledge being implanted into my mind, even as my body undergoes rapid changes. Bestial instinct tells me that the process is natural, yet it has been sped up to a painful extreme. Collapsing onto the ground, I writhe there for a moment, pain clouding my thoughts. An eternity in a minute. The presence eventually recedes, the pain going with it.
Raising myself back up off the ground, I take the time to examine my body. My movements feel more fluid, more powerful. Muscle visibly rippling under my scales at the slightest movement. I grin to myself. “Time to get to work”, I say as I begin looting the many bodies around me for ammunition. The last man standing didn’t have any remaining ammunition. His companions however have around 52 rounds between them. Enough for 8 magazines of ammunition.
Grinning to myself once more I set off towards the human village. Going in the correct direction this time. I twinge slightly in embarrassment at the time I spent following a road to nowhere. I had been too busy with my meal to watch which direction the group of herd animals had ran in. Thankfully I got back before the search party could report back to the village. The settlers would still know that something is wrong when they don’t return. They just won’t know what.
<hr>
Mc night 5
I gaze out at the village from my hiding spot in the brush. The clearing filled with the light of candles. Windows yellow as butter emitting a soft light.
I had waited at the edge of the forest surrounding the village for hours now. Waiting as day slowly turned to dusk and dusk turned to blackest night. I let out a hiss as adrenaline begins to pump through my veins. The time to strike is soon approaching. Lights and candles are switched off and blown out over the course of the next half hour. I wait there, poised for combat for another hour then another.
When I’m sure that everyone is asleep I set out. Jogging silently towards the nearest shack. I reach the door and slide the looted combat knife into the gap between the poorly made entrance and its frame. The latch lifts easily, granting me access to the shabby abode. The house is only one room, an old man, perhaps 60, sleeping on a primitive mattress in the corner. He tosses and turns as I approach, trapped in some nightmare from which he cannot escape. Probably not helped by my presence. The axe quickly pierces his skull and I move on.
The pattern continues throughout the night. First a family of 4, then 8, a sleeping couple, a squatter, a suffering veteran and so on. After the tenth building I stop caring about the amount of people within each of my targets. Levels do not come with each kill, most likely because they are not a challenge. Sheer quantity however, has always had a quality of its own.
Hours pass before my grim work is interrupted. I’m in the largest house in the small village, having already carved my way through several dozen homes and families. The servants’ quarters have proven fruitful. Another 4 bodies having been added to my tally. A level in Mixed Weapon Mastery having come with it. Satisfied with my work I turn for the door, only to freeze at the sight before me. A child, dressed in night clothes, stares at me. Her eyes wide and mouth agape with the need to scream yet seemingly unable to do so.
The girl is slightly pudgy, fat from good meals, unlike the other children of the village, who were in various stages of emancipation. The child sucks in a breath in preparation to warn all of my presence. She does not get the chance to do so. Blood splatters against the clean walls and I walk by the bisected corpse, flicking bodily fluids from my halberd. Her parents soon followed her. I took great satisfaction in killing the mayor. A man who attended to his own luxury while his constituents suffered.
The slaughter continues throughout the night. At one stage I find the village enginseer, though it is difficult to figure out how to kill him…..her? Them? Eventually I sigh in resignation and brute force the issue. The first blow shatters the vox speaker they replaced their vocal cords with, waking them up in the process, but ensuring their silence. The second blow comes before they can react, bitting deeply into the cabling of their neck and hampers the function of several augmetics. The third blow bites deeper still, impacting the spine but not severing it. The fourth blow finishes off the cult member.
The slaughter continues throughout the night and into dawn. The final members of the community waking to a scene of horror, only to be gunned down as they try to escape or help those already dead. The once thriving village becomes a ghost town. And I walk away as it begins to burn behind me. A message from the presence awaiting my attention.