I Blame You, Too

by Whitestrake

Nevermore - Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard

-Taylor’s POV-

The Eternity Gate lay just a few feet in front of me, slightly opened so that I may step through. I weakly stretched a hand out in a futile attempt to close that distance as a blue Spartan brought a fist down and turned my torso into paste. Grunting, too weak to even scream in pain, I pulled myself a few centimeters forward, halting only as a shaman stabbed his spear through my chest, pinning me to the granite floor as a gorgon raised a hammer of its own. I had time to put the pieces together, to learn who these beings were, as the head came down on my skull.

My entire existence ended, as far as I could tell.

_-_-_-_-_

Screens monitoring brain waves and vital functions fizzled out or exploded as warp-energy rendered them worthless, destroying a small fortune in equipment as a psychic scream echoed throughout the medicae. Gilded Unity was struck blind and deaf as her mind fled deep within her realm of thought to protect itself from the pain while exposing her deepest character to the maleficent energies that fried her senses. Around her, men silently shouted and screamed for aid as she was carried from the smoking ruins of her leader’s life-support systems. The terrible lack of sensation slowly faded as her mind returned.

A great puzzlebox, the very same her old mentor asked her to solve during the first years of her training, floated before her blind eyes. She saw without sight every feature on it, down to the mechanisms that held it shut. Like a practised professional, she solved the three-dimensional riddle as quickly as she could breathe. The latch opened and sucked her in, as it often did in these visions of the future. Like always, she stood in a great gallery, woven by the threads of fate that she knew existed. She was at the very end, and saw the Burned Man’s thread, once so bright and energetic, now dull and rapidly fraying.

The thread, the lifeline that held his soul to his physical body, snapped.

-Amos’s POV-

I could scarcely believe what I was seeing, looking down on the what was left of Taylor. Heart rate, respiration, and the like were entirely normal, so the doctors said. Brain activity, however, was gone. He was, essentially, dead, and only by the Emperor’s grace were those machines even running after sustaining all that damage. Whatever soul he had was probably long gone, leaving a body of flesh that would not rot until it was likewise destroyed.

“His report to the Emperor may yet be delayed,” Cain mumbled, looking at the hanging wires and tubing that fed him new, crimson blood while filtering his black, unnatural blood out. Only by his use of a blank were any of the non-psykers spared the worst of the scream, but even as Unity rested in a chair, oblivious to her surroundings, we could only watch as the medics redid everything in order to save Taylor’s life.

“I’m surprised you care so much, commissar,” I replied, biting back as much anger as I could. While Vail had the tact to hide her disgust for the psyker, Cain never even called him by anything other than the Burned Man; it was disrespectful, especially to one who may die after doing his damnedest to save an Imperial world. “The man goes and nearly dies, and you finally develop a little concern about his life?”

“Ciaphas merely meant the very best,” Vail tried to assure me, failing miserably as my own cynicism filtered her words and colored them into something condescending to my status as a newly-made inquisitor. “He really, truly hopes Taylor pulls through. Lord Inquisitor Dorosa even cares, hence the gift she wanted me to bring him.” To finish her point, she opened the package, and held out a certificate making the Burned Man a fully sanctioned psyker, licensed to ply his trade under any Imperial Guard regiment or inquisitor who would have him. It was quite the gift, and Dorosa likely had to pull some strings to get it done.

-Taylor’s POV-

Strangely, death was not what I thought it was; in fact, as I rose to my feet, I was shocked at my surroundings. As far as my eyes could see, now free of any irregularities and rendered what most people considered perfect, stretched a field of green grass the like of which I saw only on Earth. The sunlight wasn’t too intense to hurt my skin, and the breeze was a calming temperature that could only be the most pleasantly-calm wind I had ever felt. I stepped forward, amazed at how easily it came, as though I had never been injured in my life. This place was too nice to be real, too wonderful in such a grim universe, a bright star in the darkness that would be snuffed out soon enough.

For a while, I wandered the rolling hills, never tiring of the serenity as I jumped over small creeks and gazed at distant mountains that seemed so close, but their scale only forced such an impression and they truly stood miles upon miles away. Eventually, after what felt like hours, I came across a small hamlet; there were a few quaint buildings, thatch-roofed and wood-walled, but there seemed to be every need of a town of a few hundred. Oddly enough, they were all ponies, milling about as though they did not see me, or at least paid me no mind as I stumbled into their lives.

I made my way to the village’s center, a large square full of tables and chairs, as though prepared for a town gathering that was only few hours away. A few ponies grouped together there, eating and generally talking about nothing. I had no idea who any of them were, and that suited me just fine; I took a seat at an unoccupied table without a word, hoping somepony would happen along and tell me wherever the hell I was. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed as I saw the sun slowly edge to the horizon; I could wait for a very, very long time.

Day turned to evening and evening turned to night as I waited for somepony to notice how out of place I was, but they did not. I seemed, as odd as it was, to blend in perfectly with the odd township. Nightlife in the village was a bit dead, as ponies milled about in the streets or the local tavern; I remained seated throughout this all. A bottle seemed to appear on my table as a passing stallion in waiter’s clothes walked by; the label said it was from Sweet Apple Acres, and was a nice, hard cider. Naturally, I sipped on it just enough to keep my nerves mellow while I looked around for someone to catch my eyes.

“Buy a mare a drink?” asked a familiar voice. I whipped my head to the side and nearly jumped back at what I saw. Sitting next to me, untouched by rain or mud or cold or blood or manticore scars, was Trixie Lulamoon, the first friend I made in Equestria.

“Trix,” I mumbled, looking to my drink while I pondered the thought of it being spiked. I shook my head to dismiss the idea as everything else was so normal-ish; no drug had such a specific effect, at least nothing that could be synthesized and produced in any usable quantities. “How is any of this even possible.”

She looked a bit sad, like she was biting back some of her emotions, but swallowed a lump in her throat and coughed. She looked into my eyes and spoke calmly and clearly. “Taylor, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you’re dead.”

Comments

[Dubious]

First. Now to read the chapter.

[Doctor.whooves]

Love the last line...very blunt "not sure how to tell you this, but you're dead."
I like it when people tell the truth about someone's current state of living I.e (he's dead Jim)

[Rhodesm96]

So, while I can kinda see you actually killing off the main character, I've got a hunch that's not quite going to happen, and he'll get revived somehow.
Although, it is you, so this could go either way.

[Whitestrake]

4641524 I'll go ahead and say, I'll be killing off a few main characters in this fic.
Whether death is cheap, however, shall remain to be seen.

[Sif-Sif]

The feels, Whitestrake. The Feels.

[Razzy]

Noooooooo, Chryssie will be so sad.