LordofUzkulak’s fanfics

Sotar ground his teeth as the medic applied a medi-patch to his wound – a glancing hit from a bolter shell had torn through his flak vest, leaving a bloody hole in his side.  Around them, the rest of the squad crouched in the ruins, taking cover in the rubble while returning fire on their attackers.  Pain washed over his as the patch sealed and released a chemical cocktail into his bloodstream designed to dull the pain while keeping him on his feet.  Pressing a hand to his side, Sotar limped over to the makeshift barricade which lay across the street and peered over it.  Dust and smoke billowed across the once beautiful avenue, obscuring his view, but he could still see the lumbering shadows of the attackers looming in the clouds.

“Fall back!” ordered Sotar, turning from the scene.  Obediently his squad began to retreat, some laying covering fire as the rest ran to the nearest cover where they in turn lay down covering fire so the remainder could catch up.  They’d reached the end of the street and were about to turn the corner when suddenly one of the rearguard called out “Incoming!”

Sotar glanced back and growled in anger as he saw the missile dart out of the smoke.  Instinctively he began to leap out of the way, but his wound slowed him down and the edge of the blast caught him, sending him somersaulting into a nearby building.  Ears ringing, Sotar groaned as he tried to pick himself up, but a sharp pain in his gut sapped his strength, and instead he slumped against the nearby wall.  Screwing up his eyes he gathered his strength and then glanced down.  Piercing his armour was a large shard of crystal, probably from the tower that had once stood behind the building he was now in.

Glancing around, he recognised it as Athelene’s, a cafe he had frequented once upon a time.  Now it lay in ruins, its marble was smeared with dirt and soot, its tables and chairs smashed to kindling.

Harsh laughter broke him from his reverie, a deep bestial growl that made his heart flutter.  Looking to his left, he saw an immense shape crouching in the corner.  It wore slate grey armour draped in furs.

“Mercy!” cried the Spireguard, raising his hands in submission.  The beast laughed again, and Sotar noticed that his first impression had been misguided.  The Space Wolf did not crouch – instead he too was slumped against the wall, and one side of his armour was scorched, while the furs were matted with blood and his unruly hair and beard smouldered.

“Why should I give you mercy?” slavered the Wolf, “You who consort with Wytches?  You’re nothing but a traitor!”

Sotar gulped, tasting a hint of metal.  “I am a warrior sir, and you will respect that!”

“Pah!” spat the Wolf.  “What do you know of war coward?”

Sotar’s face flushed with anger.  “I have fought on many battlefields,” he replied, “I have won many honours.”  He tapped a bronze plate bolted to his flak brigandine; it was engraved with a stylised image of a man slaying an ork.  “I was at Praadus V,” he informed the Wolf, “I fought for a year and a day to purge that world of the greenskin.”

“Heh,” sneered the Wolf, “If the Rout had been there it would have taken no more than a month, and that only if we’d been sleeping for most of it.”

Sotar’s eyes narrowed at the arrogance.  He tapped another honour plate.  “Even you barbarians acknowledge the difficulty in driving the Krurn from the Goldburnt Stars,” he replied.  The wolf merely gave a bow of his head in admission, so Sotar continued.  “I was there when we boarded their flagship,” he said; this drew an interested growl from the Wolf.  “I lead the charge as my company took the lower landing decks.”

“And that is what you are proud of?” laughed the Wolf, “Killing a few mewling deckhands?  A child could slay those pitiful worms.”

“Fool,” snapped Sotar in anger, “Do you know nothing?  The lower landing decks were where their leaders hoped to flee from in secret if the battle turned against them.  An entire squad of Executioners defended it.”  At this the Wolf pricked up his ears.  Sotar unclasped his left vambrace and tugged off his glove.  “I lost my arm in hand to hand with the squad’s Hangman.”  He raised the arm showing the gilded bionic that had been under his glove.  “I still remember the fight blow for blow.  I remember the stench as my sword slid between the chittinous plates on its belly and its lifeblood washed out.”  Sotar’s hand fell to his side and he raised his khopesh.  The sword had been snapped halfway along then blade where the Xenos monstrosity had stamped on it, and halfway down from the break to the hilt the blade was blackened and twisted where the Xenos’ blood had soaked it.  Ever since Sotar had born it as a trophy, letting it hang proudly at his hip opposite the gilded replacement that he had afterwards used as his combat weapon.

Frustrated, he tossed the blade aside and glared at the Wolf.  Growling, the beast clambered to his feet, left arm hanging limply and left leg dragging.  The Astartes limped over to the Spireguard and looked down at him.  Sotar glared up defiantly, while the Wolf looked down, staring him in the eye.  After a few seconds the Wolf looked away.

“You speak truly I deem,” he chuckled, a hand resting on the butt of his bolt pistol.  “Yes you are a warrior.  I will grant you mercy.”

Sotar sighed in relief.  He looked back up at the Wolf and paused.

“You said you’d give me mercy,” he protested as the Wolf levelled the pistol.

“I did, and I will,” replied the Wolf, cocking the weapon, “The Warrior’s Mercy.”

A single shot rang out, lost in the tumult of the battle around them.  Without a second glance, the Wolf limped away, searching for hew prey.