swift
Lucid Dreaming
Tim the Yeti
Hammerman
Nepsis
Fetzen
Alby47
BaileyBlue302
GingerBoi123M30.878
The day was won, the field of war rightfully belonged to the 1st legion, as did this begotten little world and the lives of every man, woman and child on it. To apothecary Baltheus there was nothing special or particularly interesting about the barely worthwhile ball of rock that was Onara IV. But then again it need not be of great strategic importance, nor rich in resources to matter to the Imperium. It was a human world and it's destiny was to be brought unto compliance. Able to add and contribute what little they could to the future of the crusade. These poor, defeated souls might resent their conquerer's this day as butchers and war criminals, but tomorrow they would awaken under the safe protection of the Imperium, and they would know greater peace and prosperity for it.
None of that was the concern of Baltheus. His concerns were those of his own legio. The scions of the 3rd chapter of the 1st legion may have been more than a match for this world's meagre defences but that did not mean it was a victory totally without cost. Even Baltheus's own wounds were of little concern to him. His once gleaming white armour was caked in rockcrete dust and blood. Most of it wasn't his own. But his left eye was a raw, gaping hole. The shrapnel that took his sight, still lodged inside. His broken helmet hung magnetized at his hip, the left side shattered and the eyelense clearly punctured.
Kneeling down by the fresh corpse of his brother legionairre, Baltheus took a moment to ascern whether or not the fallen angel still drew breath, or if his hearts still beat. But even if they did, there was no blood left for them to pump. It was all spilling out from his ruined abdomen into the ruined urban pavement. His lower half was obliterated and this confirmed his brother was well and truly dead. He did not have to deliver the Emperor's peace this day.
But the grevious nature of this wound was itself a sin. One of the brother's progeniod glands was destroyed, lost to the explosion that claimed his life and his limbs. Baltheus didn't waste any further time. Quickly unsealing and removing the breastplate, and with a sinister whine that could only be produced by a chainblade, His narthecium made quick work of the soft armour beneath, and cut through augmented flesh and bone with equal ease. Within moments the surviving gland was delicately removed and safely stored.
A momentary inspection was all he needed to rest assured that at least some of this brother's genetic legacy remained intact. He had little time to reflect on his brother's death or the comments of mortality there raised. There were other brothers dead or dying, and only so many apothecaries to perform this necessary work.
A quick look at the fallen brother's helmet markings gave him a squad number and name. He voxed the location of the body to his sergeant and left to find the next brother, living or dead who needed his attentions. His own ruined eye socket throbbed with dull, aching pain, He felt his temperature rise as the Larraman organ in his chest worked hard to combat the intrusion of rust, grime and dirt in his bloodstream, and stave off subsequent infection. No doubt his enhanced flesh was already beginning to heal around the shrapnel, which would make for a minor annoyance later, but he did not believe any of this to be lethal. It hadn't punctured his brain cavity, Thus it wasn't an urgent concern. His own pain's were unimportant as long as other brethren lay fallen.
The day was won, the field of war rightfully belonged to the 1st legion, as did this begotten little world and the lives of every man, woman and child on it. To apothecary Baltheus there was nothing special or particularly interesting about the barely worthwhile ball of rock that was Onara IV. But then again it need not be of great strategic importance, nor rich in resources to matter to the Imperium. It was a human world and it's destiny was to be brought unto compliance. Able to add and contribute what little they could to the future of the crusade. These poor, defeated souls might resent their conquerer's this day as butchers and war criminals, but tomorrow they would awaken under the safe protection of the Imperium, and they would know greater peace and prosperity for it.
None of that was the concern of Baltheus. His concerns were those of his own legio. The scions of the 3rd chapter of the 1st legion may have been more than a match for this world's meagre defences but that did not mean it was a victory totally without cost. Even Baltheus's own wounds were of little concern to him. His once gleaming white armour was caked in rockcrete dust and blood. Most of it wasn't his own. But his left eye was a raw, gaping hole. The shrapnel that took his sight, still lodged inside. His broken helmet hung magnetized at his hip, the left side shattered and the eyelense clearly punctured.
Kneeling down by the fresh corpse of his brother legionairre, Baltheus took a moment to ascern whether or not the fallen angel still drew breath, or if his hearts still beat. But even if they did, there was no blood left for them to pump. It was all spilling out from his ruined abdomen into the ruined urban pavement. His lower half was obliterated and this confirmed his brother was well and truly dead. He did not have to deliver the Emperor's peace this day.
But the grevious nature of this wound was itself a sin. One of the brother's progeniod glands was destroyed, lost to the explosion that claimed his life and his limbs. Baltheus didn't waste any further time. Quickly unsealing and removing the breastplate, and with a sinister whine that could only be produced by a chainblade, His narthecium made quick work of the soft armour beneath, and cut through augmented flesh and bone with equal ease. Within moments the surviving gland was delicately removed and safely stored.
A momentary inspection was all he needed to rest assured that at least some of this brother's genetic legacy remained intact. He had little time to reflect on his brother's death or the comments of mortality there raised. There were other brothers dead or dying, and only so many apothecaries to perform this necessary work.
A quick look at the fallen brother's helmet markings gave him a squad number and name. He voxed the location of the body to his sergeant and left to find the next brother, living or dead who needed his attentions. His own ruined eye socket throbbed with dull, aching pain, He felt his temperature rise as the Larraman organ in his chest worked hard to combat the intrusion of rust, grime and dirt in his bloodstream, and stave off subsequent infection. No doubt his enhanced flesh was already beginning to heal around the shrapnel, which would make for a minor annoyance later, but he did not believe any of this to be lethal. It hadn't punctured his brain cavity, Thus it wasn't an urgent concern. His own pain's were unimportant as long as other brethren lay fallen.