Anton yelled in alarm as he was suddenly hit by a burst of moonlight. In his panic, he fell free of the Valkerie. His arms flailed wildly, panic clouding his judgment as he tumbled through the sky like a dropped toy. Managing to right himself, he looked around it soon becoming apparent that he was no longer on Veyland Sinstre. Off in the distance stood a proper mountain, with what looked like some form of Fortress on it. For as far as the eye could see, a massive plain spread out. And directly below him, a collision course imminent, was a dark forest.
Anton's tried to force down his panic. His instructor had told him that, when dropping over an obstacle-filled location like a forest or a city, try to aim for clearings. However, that wouldn't do him any good if he didn't find anything to slow his descent.
Once again darting his head back and forth, he finally came across another item thrown free of the Valkerie during its death spiral; a Grav-Chute. He angled his body towards it, soon getting close enough to grab it. His hands felt strangely numb, yet he had just enough coordination left in them to slide it onto his back.
He turned his attention back to the rapidly approaching ground. His altimeter warned him that he was rapidly approaching the forest below: 1200 meters, 1100 meters, 1000 meters. His eyes scanned the ground, desperate for someplace to touch down without breaking something. Finally, as he dipped into the hundreds of meters, he finally spotted something. A small scar in the forest canopy, running parallel to a small river. He once again angled himself, turning his hips in order to try and come down in a spiral.
The number on his vizor grew smaller and smaller: 700, 600, 500. That was the standard deployment altitude. He brought his hand up to the activation cable, attempting to grab it. However, despite the numbness fading, he simply couldn't seem to get a grip on it. Not wanting to tear his eyes off his descent, he kept fumbling for it. 400, 300, 200. Finally, after a bit, he felt the small tab on the outer part of the cable push out from the Chute. "Thank the Emperor", he muttered, pushing the tab out.
He jerked back, his body righting itself as the grav-generators kicked in and he slowed. His head jerked back, somehow slamming into one of the guidance jets. His body also felt off, as if he had somehow stretched, although he chalked it up to shock and the head collision. He finally touched down, stumbling a few steps as he did. Finally, his suddenly sore body, aching head, and exhaustion caught up to him. He collapsed forward, his enclosed head falling face-first into a small puddle of mud. Even without the mud blocking his vizor, he was still consumed by darkness as his eyes slid closed.
+++++~+++++
Anton groaned, his eyes almost refusing to open. The heavy lids remained stubbornly shut until, after a great deal of forcing, he managed to cause them to open. His head also refused to budge from its position, his neck stiff. For some weird reason, it also seemed to tug at the inside of his uniform, causing a weird tension against it.
He shifted his arms, and uttered praise to the Emperor that he could still feel them. His instructor had told him about how dangerous an uncontrolled drop could be, and while not the same, he still had some bruises from the Ribbreaker to prove it. He lifted his arms, pressing down his still numb hands to try and push himself up.
He also tried to shift his legs, yet failed to. He was able to move them, and it felt as if he was standing up. However, due to his slumped over stature, it felt like he wasn't. It was by far the oddest feeling he had ever felt. He sighed, chalking up to the impact of his landing. He brought up one of his hands to wipe the mud from his vizor. It was still feeling numb, but to his pleasant surprise, he was simply able to wipe it off with the whole mass. That feeling was soon replaced by abject horror when he saw his hand.
Well, what he assumed to be his hand. Instead of the opposable limb he was used to, he was greeted by a flat stump. And yet, it wasn't severed; his glove was still on it, albeit now in a cup shape covering it. His wrist also seemed to have vanished, now a part of an almost cylindrical mass of flesh that ran up to his elbow. In a small gap between his glove and his drop suit was a small patch of what he could only assume to be light tan fur.
He stared at the limb for another few seconds, pure and utter shock on his face and filtering through his mind. Finally, his alarm caught up with him. He jerked up his other hand, revealing that it had adopted a similar shape to the first one. However, the act of him bringing it up caused him to lose his balance and fall forward. As he landed again, his now longer neck allowed him to look at his body.
Instead of the pure human form he was used to, he was greeted by some strange sort of body. His body was long, easily as long as he was once tall. His legs had dislocated from his body, and now stood on either side of it like the drumsticks on a bird. Most alarming of all, however, was the series of long, dark red hairs that ran down his back end.
He jerked his head side to side, his mind addled by his alarm and fear. In most directions, he was greeted by a small stretch of grassland, followed by a seeming wall of trees. Finally, his eyes landed on the river. He stood once again, taking shaky, almost baby steps towards it. He stumbled frequently, but he reached it without falling over again. As he reached the edge, he lifted up his photo-vizor, before leaning forward over the running water. It was slow and clear enough to give him a clear view of his malformed visage.
His human features were gone, replaced by almost animal-like ones. His nose and upper jaw had basically fused together, joining with his extended lower jaw to form a short muzzle. His eyes seemed to have grown in size, the dark amber orbs full of fear. The same tan fur that was on what was once his wrist also covered his face, and with his vizor up, he could feel the breeze pushing the hairs back and forth across his face. Again, a notable detail stood out to him; a short, lighter tan horn that seemingly cut through his helmet.
His breathing increased, his upper body lightly convulsing. He was no longer human; it didn't matter if he was mutated beyond recognition, or if he had somehow been turned into a xeno, or what. His purity had been forever tainted.
A fresh thought came to mind. In desperation, he turned back to the clearing, scanning it for his lasgun, or maybe the meltagun he had used to kill that winged beast. However, the non-natural shapes of those weapons didn't stick out from the short grass. He let out what he could describe as a whimper, before reaching down to his webbing. Fortunately, his knife was still affixed to his belt. He yanked the blade free, gripping it in both of his limbs in order to prevent from dropping it, before he brought it to his throat.
He leaned back as far as he could, trying to keep from falling over as he tried to angle the blade just right to slit his throat. The blade quivered in his shaking grip, although he didn't know why he was shaking. Was he simply off-balance, or was he... hesitating. He pushed that thought aside, before trying to move the knife closer. Instead, he finally lost his footing, and fell forward.
The knife fell from his grip, landing harmlessly in the mud by the bank of the river. He fell a bit further forward, his new fur falling into the flowing water. As he laid there, a few racking sobs ran up his body, tears falling into the river. In between the sobs, he muttered sloppily, "Em-emperor forg-give me. Forgive me."