- Objectionable Content Warnings:
Just as a warning to others the following story contains;
GV - Descriptions of death, gore and violence.
This story follows directly after 'Deathwatch', which you can read by following the link. If you wish to leave a comment or feedback on the story, feel free to drop a message or write in the thread below!
CHERISHED ONE
Blood streamed from between Arzurdar’s fingers, rolling free and pooling on the pale ground beneath him. He gripped his wound a little tighter, trying to stem the flow, but the crimson just kept pouring. It glistened beautifully within the dim-lit room, shining beneath the shafts of light that slipped between the cracked walls of wraithbone. Arzurdar could almost appreciate the way it scintillated over his blood, were he not busy dying.
Death was a sensation familiar to him. In fact, this would be his third death in total. His previous forays into unliving included a high-speed decapitation in the Qarnathae Arena and bolter blast to the chest by a bad-tempered Sororitas. However, this was his first time bleeding out and he wasn’t enjoying how slow and fatiguing it felt.
Cold numbness crept through his body, starting at his fingers and toes and slithering up through his limbs towards his heart. Arzurdar wheezed, his breath strained by growing weakness as he drank down what dusty air he could. The combat drugs distilled into his blood made it squeeze through his veins, rushing through his body despite how little was left.
Arzurdar needed to hold on just a little longer to make sure he was found by the right person. There were plenty of up-start Sybarites vying for his position as Dracon, not to mention bitter trueborn who would like to see the half-born scum leading them replaced. If they found him like this, they’d dispose of him and leave nothing behind to regenerate. He held his blast pistol close as a precaution, ready to fire a darklight beam into the face of any who dared try…
Krethaq was who he needed. So, Arzurdar held on for as long as he could. Wheezing, waiting for his Archon to find him and whisk him back to the Vilsqarn to be safely stored in one of Vircylith’s regenerative sarcophagi. Maybe even give him a kiss before he was entombed. The thought brought a smile to Arzurdar’s bloody lips.
“What’s taking you so long…” he snarled weakly, growing impatient.
Slowly turning his head, Arzurdar looked across at the Deathwatch marine lying face-down a few meters from him. His heavy black armour was marred with dust and blood, covered in scratches and rends from their vicious fight. Blue sparks occasionally spat from the broken generator of his jump pack, lighting the room an eerie azure. His long blonde hair was matted with gore and tangled over his lifeless face, hiding his torn-open neck.
The Astartes was a ferocious fighter and a worthy adversary as far as mon’keigh go. Arzurdar was strong, but couldn’t compete with the genetically engineered brawn that the abomination boasted, throwing him through walls and beating him to the ground. So Arzurdar had to rely on his speed and ferocity, both things he had in abundance. Ultimately those skills paid off and he ripped out the marine’s throat, though in return, had his midsection shredded by a vengeful swing of a chainsword. It cut so deep he thought he was sliced in half.
That wound would soon kill him. But at least he has a token to show for this deadly victory, gripping loosely to the Astartes’ discarded helmet with his left-hand.
The blood just kept flowing. Arzurda’s grip on reality was beginning to slip. He thought he heard a khymera slathering somewhere nearby, or saw their skinless bodies bounding about at the corner of his eye. For a spine-chilling moment, he remembered the Daemon Prince on Cerecope, his smooth ivory leering down at him. Arzurdar tried to focus, to pin his mind to the waking world, but it just kept drifting away into the yawning void of unconsciousness.
But when he at last saw a glimmer of movement nearby, shapes walking through the rays of Saederych’s pinkish light, his mind snapped back to the present. He winced, trying to focus on the new arrival, seeing only a tall, sharp and imperious silhouette looming in the doorway before him. Two harder to distinguish figures flanked either side of the shadow, with long cloaks and pale smiling visages.
Arzurdar’s pained smile returned.
“Finally,” he wheezed,
“did you kill them all, Krethaq?”Wordlessly, the Archon leant down and scooped his arms beneath Arzurdar’s limp body, lifting him effortlessly into his arms. The Deathwatch marine’s helmet slipped out of Arzurdar’s fingers, clattering to the ground as he was lifted up into his lover’s arms. One of the attending shades swept it up in their dark hands. Arzurdar hissed in pain as he was moved but soon relaxed, his vision blurring as he stared up at his saviour’s shadowed visage.
They walked without a word and passed through a halo of blinding white light. With a sudden flare of chromatic colours, they crossed the boundary into the webway. Arzurdar was blinded at first, forced to re-adjusted his eyes to the many-coloured luminescence that now surrounded him. When at last his vision returned, he saw not Krethaq’s pale face looming over him. Instead, he saw his own bloodied reflection shining off the featureless mask of Shadowseer Yl’saeth.
“You?” Arzurdar barely managed to speak, too weak to shake himself free of Yl’saeth’s arms.
“What… what are you doing, esdainn?”“Fret not, cherished one of the pale shadow.” Yl’saeth’s voice echoed oh so pleasantly in Arzurdar’s ears, a sweet psychic melody that lulled the weary Dracon to sleep.
“You do not die here, for you have many trials yet ahead of you. With us.”Consciousness slipped away between Arzurdar’s fingers like free-flowing blood. When at last his eyes did shut, he drifted away with a sneer on his lips.
Subject: Cherished One 
Fri Dec 03 2021, 01:05
