The Emperor Preserves

by Centurion Pike-Wall

3~Taking Stock

Author's Note:

Imperial Thought of the Day: Look to your wargear!

Anton groaned, standing up straight as he rotated his neck. As it twisted one way, he heard a loud snap. For a brief second, he hoped that his mutated neck was rather weak, and he had somehow broken it. However, instead of his body dropping, he merely felt a brief well of relief pour over his upper body. He sighed, before lowering it back down, gripping the webbing of the final dead trooper in his teeth.

Lacking opposable digits with which to transport the items, he had been forced to rummage through the slain with his teeth. It wasn't the most efficient method, but it was the best he could do given his malformity.

The boots of the former man's legs slammed into the stone floor of the cave. He pulled it back a little bit more, before letting go and letting the corpse fall to the ground. He walked around it, examining the body. The fur of this one was a dark red, and with the hair cut short, he couldn't get a look at his hair. He pressed a limb down on the chest, before lowering his head down and picking at the webbing packs.

He grabbed the pair of grenades hanging closer to the head, placing them down in a pile next to around a half-dozen more. A few of the packs had been torn apart, their contents either missing or broken. Still, he managed to find an intact power pack for a lasgun, which he pulled out and placed on the floor. A few of the packs hanging by the tail had some emergency combat rations in them, in addition to a lamp-pack and combat knife. He flipped the body over, before pilfering the last of the packs for anything else they had. Once he had finished, he once again grabbed the webbing in his teeth, before dragging the corpse outside.

In he had dug a decent-sized hole after he had pulled out the first trooper, into which he had placed the corpses. He stopped dragging it just before the edge of the hole, using his front limbs to push it in the rest of the way. It tumbled on top of the others, the mass of flesh shifting somewhat from the impact. He sighed, before grabbing a large container next to him.

Using one of the canteens, he has pulled the remaining promethium fuel from the tank of the Valkerie. He poured it into several of the trooper's mess kits, as well as into any empty medical containers he could find. He worked his way around the hole, one by one emptying out the containers over the bodies. Soon, they were all empty, and the corpses covered in the fuel.

He grabbed another item he had brought out with him: a knife and a rock. He couldn't properly light the matches in his survival gear, so this crude method would have to suffice. He scraped the blade against stone several times, eventually sending a shower of sparks free from the rock. It sailed into the hole, falling upon the promethium. Soon, the whole pit had become a raging inferno, the stench of burning flesh and melting armor reaching his nose. He gagged, but remained glued to the spot, watching the flames roaring.

He stared at it, wondering if he should jump upon it. It would be fitting; he would be purging his unclean body and corrupted mind from the Emperor's sight. However, something held him back. He didn't necessarily know what; guilt, perhaps? No, no that wasn't it. The answer finally hit him as he managed to see, albeit for a short time, one of the faces of the dead through the flames. It looked at peace, and that was why he didn't fling himself upon the pyre. He first had to prove himself worthy of confronting the Emperor, which he could hardly do without first having proven his devotion. Only then, with a deed of some recognition behind him, could he in good conscious go to meet the Emperor. Maybe then, he could forgive his mutated form, and allow him a place by his side.

He turned back to the inferno, the face he had seen disappearing in the roaring flames. He sighed, lowering his head so that it stared at the grass by the edge of the pit. He muttered, slowly and methodically, "O immortal Emperor have mercy on us, miserable unworthies that we are. O master of the galaxy, protect your flock from the alien. O keeper of the light, guide our darkened path with your radiance. We are your warriors and we are servants to thee, we stand free from blindness of heart, free from hypocrisy, vainglory and deceits, but captive to hatred, malice and anger, to the filth, the alien, the heretic. By thy agony and bloody sweat; by thy Golden Throne and thy death; by thy destruction and re-emergence as the God of men, keep and strengthen us, we who fight for thee."

With that, he stood. After sliding the knife into its scabbard, he turned away from the fire and went back into the cave.

+++++~+++++

Anton decided that it would be best to go through all of his equipment one more time, just to make sure that he had documented all of it. He started with what he had just counted: namely his food and rations.

Almost all of the canteens were damaged, their contents leaking out and onto the bodies. He had found three intact out of the ten troopers in the troop bay, one of which he used for siphoning the fuel, leaving him with two. He had better luck with combat rations. A whole fifteen packets of corpse starch, along with a bit of Grox jerky, a few Emperors Mercy Bars, and the food supplement packets from his medkit. However, the score of his haul had been three bottles of Amasec; two for medicinal use in the Medics pack, and one tucked beneath the navigator's seat.

Next was a pile of utility items. Most of them were small items and conveniences. A few intact mess kits, a pair of lamp-packs, some adhesive tape, excess items from a grooming kit, a tinderbox that he couldn't open, and a whistle. However, he did have a few larger items; a sleep-bag, an auspex, field glasses, lasgun cleaning kits, and, of course, several medkits.

Tools was another group that he had a decent amount of selection in. A majority of it was made up of several small, collapsable entrenching tools, one of which he had used to dig the hole. He also had several spare combat knives, which he could use for a variety of purposes if he had to. Most important, however, was the pistol-like frame of Las-Cutter. He shook his head, before turning to the small pile of weapons.

That had probably been the best he had gotten. Most of the Lasguns were still intact, along with a decent amount of power packs. Most were standard Accetran Mk. IVs, however, he also found an MK. IVc, complete with an under-barrel grenade launcher. He had also managed to find the Melta-gun he had used back on Veyland Sinsetre, along with the petrol-pyrum flasks that Ridger had on him. One of the dead had been cradling a shotgun, which was also intact, as well as having a decent amount of shells. Finally, he found a laspistol on the medic and a power sword on a wounded Sergeant, giving him a decent arsenal.

Of course, given his current state, he was practically unable to use most of it. His new limbs were too big to fit in the trigger guards. Even if he could, his lack of opposable digits made It near impossible to pull the trigger. He growled in anger, muttering a curse to his new form, before sighing and shaking his head.

He reached down, grabbing the MK. IVc and lifting it up. He turned it over in his limbs, examining the slightly scraped exterior of the weapon. He shifted his forelimbs slightly so as to press the stock to his shoulder and hold it steady, aimed at the cave wall. He imagined the several weeks of training, in which he had spent a good deal of time at the range, swiveling the weapon back and forth.

He sighed, looking back at the weapon only to see a faint golden aura surrounding it. He yelped, falling back and hastily pulling his knife out of its sheath. It remained floating in the air, although when he drew his knife, it dropped to the ground.

He stood there, panting, watching the small pile of weapons. He lowered the knife, looking around. Nothing that could've made that aura was present; for that matter, he didn't see anything alive in general. He looked back to the weapons, finally dropping the knife. He imagined picking up the lasgun again, and he saw a faint gold light coming from the horn on his head. As it started, the lasgun in question lifted itself off the ground, floating at about neck height. He thought of shifting it left and right, and it turned in the direction he guided it to. A thought occurred to him, and he pictured pulling the trigger. On command, he saw the trigger depress, a loud crack and a red bolt of light flew out of the barrel and flew into the forest canopy outside. Finally, he pictured setting it down, wherein it lowered to the cave floor.

During the whole time, he was still panting, eyes wide and sweat pouring down his head. He hadn't seen one, but he knew other Trainees who had seen Psykers in action. They had said that the Psyker had parts of their body glow with unnatural light, before they cast their sorceries. However, none of them had mentioned moving things like this.

"Y-yeah", he said shakily. "It... it m-must just b-be a quirk of this xen-xenos kind. Yeah." He laughed slightly, the sound being somewhat manic even to him. "I'm... I'm not a Psyker as-as well as a x-xeno. I... I'm not. I c-can't be."

Comments

[Gargon94]

Poor transformed Imperial Guard, he just discovered the basic unicorn spell by accident, levitation. I'm sure after he calms down, he would be grateful to still be able to use his weapons. Can't wait to see how he reacts to the natives of the world.

[warpsmith]

Finally, he found a laspistol and a power sword on the medic, giving him a decent arsenal.

That's a bit ridiculous to found a powersword from a mere medic is bit generous. Squad sergeant maybe tho even then that squad sergeant would have been some god like veteran to have a weapon of such rarity. Shotgun would be also better explained to be found from naval personnel because shotguns are given to the navy is most cases.

[Centurion Pike-Wall]

10539913
In regards to the Power Sword, you're right. So, it's been changed to a Sergeant.

Also, I'm basing the Equipment on the ones Elysians have in the tabletop rules. Veterans can take Shotguns and even the basic Sergeant can take a Power Sword.

Here: http://wahapedia.ru/wh40k9ed/factions/elysian-drop-troops/Elysian-Drop-Trooper-Squad

[The Sound of Loneliness]

0.456.922.M41

This may sound like I am a lore-nerd, but you got the check number here wrong. Check number (that 0 you put before the year fraction) refers to the number of astropaths the message passed before reaching Adeptus Administratum on Terra. Number 0 refers to the event happening on Terra itself. Number 1 is the event happening within the solar system. Then we have 2, 3, 4, 5 etc. Now, Elysia, where the record was likely first scribed, is in Segmentum Solar close to Armageddon, that would require check number 2 or maybe 3 to be put before the year fraction.

[3-tap]

May the God Emperor be with this Guardsman and pray that he doesnt deviate from his Majesties light

[Centurion Pike-Wall]

10539935
Yes you are, and thank you for the information.

[Davenfjeld]

Poor guardsman. Mutation into Xenos is already a horrible fate, and yet you suffer worse by becoming a psyker.

May the Emperor guide your soul through the immaterium, once it is unlatched from such an unholy body.

[Miskr]

Almost all of the canteens were damaged, their contents leaking out and onto the bodies. He had found three intact out of the ten troopers in the troop bay, one of which he used for siphoning the fuel, leaving him with two. He had better luck with combat rations. A whole fifteen packets of corpse starch, along with a bit of Grox jerky, a few Emperors Mercy Bars, and the food supplement packets from his medkit. However, the score of his haul had been three bottles of Amasec; two for medicinal use in the Medics pack, and one tucked beneath the navigator's seat.

Not everyone eats corpse starch, only the poorest off the poorest. Definitely not the elite soldiers of the Imperial Guard.

[Miskr]

He reached down, grabbing the MK. IVc and lifting it up. He turned it over in his limbs, examining the slightly scraped exterior of the weapon. He shifted his forelimbs slightly so as to press the stock to his shoulder and hold it steady, aimed at the cave wall. He imagined the several weeks of training, in which he had spent a good deal of time at the range, swiveling the weapon back and forth.

More like years, this is the Imperial Guard, not the PDF

[Thunder Quill]

11276817
Apologies to reply to a comment over a year later, but first chapter noted they were rushed through training. Itd, be incredibly rushed, but it's possible that's still legit.