//------------------------------// // 2~Crash Sight // Story: The Emperor Preserves // by Centurion Pike-Wall //------------------------------// Anton pushed himself up a bit, bringing his head out of the water. He brought his... hand? Over to his knife, wrapping it around the handle. Managed to lift it up, still shaky in his grip. He stared at it, the moon reflecting off of the water and onto the blade. It flashed across his face, partially blinding him for a split second. He sighed, before pressing the blade back into the mud. He pressed his head into the mud too, prevented from staining his helmet by the horn sticking from his head. His tears kept flowing as he was lamenting his loss of purity. Now, he was no better than the Lysimicus traitors. If anything, he was lower than them, as he was mutated beyond anything that they were. At least they had somewhat maintained their human form. The thought caused him to snarl. He may have been changed, but he was still an Elysian. In spirit, at least, still a servant of the God-Emperor. He picked the knife back up and dipped it into the water. The mud run-off of the blade, and his brow furrowed in disdain and anger. He wished that the situation could be done to him. How he could wash away the corruption clinging to his form, and reclaim his former purity. When the mud was washed off, he pulled it back and, after a bit of fumbling, slid it back into its scabbard. He pressed his hands on either side of his head, before pushing up. He rose up until his legs couldn't extend any further. He looked around, again gazing at nothing but the dark woods. He shook his head, feeling his ears involuntarily pressing to his helmet. He didn't see anything that could explicitly be an Imperial base on his way down. He was uncertain if he could even operate his Voxbead anymore, so that meant he couldn't try and contact any Imperial position... "The Valkerie", he said to himself. He remembered seeing it go down further up the river. If he followed it, then he could find it. With luck, there was a survivor there that could grant him the Emperor's Mercy. At the worst, he could at least find some supplies and shelter. From there... well, he could work that out when he got there. Some sense of duty in him, he took a step forward. Well, he tried to; it was closer to a stumble, his legs somehow managing to keep up with him to prevent him from collapsing. He stopped, breathing hard, before placing one of his limbs forward. It sunk into the mud slightly, and he brought forward the other one, placing it a bit ahead of the first. After a few more of these slow steps, he was finally able to grow accustomed to moving this way, much to his disgust. Still, until he could properly cleanse himself, it was the best he could do. He muttered, "O Immortal Emperor, guide my path with your holy light, so that I might find my path." And with that, he began a slow march along the side of the river. +++++~+++++ After a while, the moon above the trees began to sink out of sight. A bright light shown from what he assumed to be the east, likely the rising of the star of this planet. He didn't know how long he'd been walking, but at the very least for an hour. His limbs ached, matching the spiritual lamentation that wormed its way throughout his body. He had tried to distract himself as best he could; he remembered his instructor mentioning that it was best to keep oneself busy when alone, as that was the time when thoughts of heresy would begin to enter the mind. He hummed to himself, trying to both remember the tune to the Ecclisarchs litanies and to keep time with his plodding limbs. Still, boredom forced its way into his mind, with doubt and fear following it. What if there wasn't anyone left at the crash site? Worse, what if they were as twisted as he was? Still, he had no real way of finding out until he got there. So, not wanting that fear to worsen, he kept on walking. After a bit more walking, he spotted something that gave him hope. A small piece of metal plating rested in the mud along the river banks. He pushed his way through the shallows, arriving on the same shore as it before heading over to it as fast as he could. It appeared to have been shorn off from the wing, if the shape of it was to be believed. Ever since he had boarded the Valkerie for the attack on House Lysimicus, he cracked a smile. He had to be close. He scanned the clearing that the piece of metal rested on. Most of it was dominated by tall grass and a few rocks, occasionally broken by a bush. On one side of the clearing rose a sheer cliff, small roots and stones spotting it like the camo pattern on a Drop Sentinel. Still, he didn't see the downed Gunship. He scowled, before looking up the Cliff. There was no way he could climb it in his current state. It had to be here. He headed into the clearing, twisting his neck around in an attempt to spot the familiar outline. After a bit, he saw a cave jutting out of the side of the cliff, which he wouldn't've been able to see from the river. Outside the cave was a small carved trench, kicked up dirt spilling out around the edge of it. Inside the cave, he spotted a flickering light, as well as an unnatural shape. He headed towards the mouth of the cave, his limbs clicking on the ground as the trench ended and the dirt turned to stone. He lowered his visor again, a faint clicking coming from it as its low-light enhancers started up. Inside the cave, the Valkerie laid inside, partially in pieces. One of the wings was almost completely broken off, the rocket pod almost fully resting on the ground. The other wing had bent over the top of the gunship, resting on the top as it was bent against the wall of the cave. Shards of metal of various sizes, ranging from the size of kinetic rounds to ones as big as a human head, were scattered across the ground. Both the side door and the main door were open, the former completely broken off. Anton pushed past the chunks of metal, arriving at the side door. He pressed both of his front limbs on the flooring, before pushing himself up into the interior of the gunship. Much like the exterior of the gunship, scattered around the interior were the corpses of the injured troopers. Well, he assumed they were the injured troopers. Like him, they had been twisted from their human forms and turned into... whatever he was. However, they were relatively uniform for mutants; besides coloring, they were only different in form in three ways. Some had horns like he did, others had wings, and a few more had neither. It didn't really matter; all of them were dead, their equipment spilling from their webbing and uniforms. Anton turned around, carefully clambering down from the open side door. He walked around the side of the gunship, climbing up a rock to get a look into the cockpit. The same story from the interior greeted him as he looked through the smashed plate-glass. Both of the pilots had been malformed into these creatures; one with wings, one with a horn. Both appeared to have died on impact, either by the impact or by the bits of shrapnel from the crash. He climbed down the rock, stepping back a bit to get a full look at the crashed valkerie. All in all, it wasn't as badly damaged as he would've guessed. Even still, there was no way he could do anything major with it. Even if he were a Techpreist, he had no experience as a pilot, and as such couldn't fly it. And with no survivors, he had no way of ending his corruption. He sighed, before recalling the standard practise in a crash. He was to recover any all all salvageable equipment, before trying to either make contact with Imperial Command or digging in. With quick, muttered prayer to the Emperor, he climbed back into the gunship, planning on doing just that.