The Ship

The ship was under attack. In one moment the Protector’s Doctrine and it’s crew were going all ahead on their planned route not far from their commanding ship. In the next the alarms sounded, the captain called for ‘all hands to stations’, and the ship was rocked by heavy hits.

Belic was walking between stations when the ship was first hit. One of the impacts was close, the shake taking the floor from under him, making him fall flat on to his chest. He didn’t know what caused the shake at first. Only that the metal grating slammed into he knees making his feet spasm as a vibration of pain ran down his legs. He rubbed his calf’s involuntarily as he swore. It was only after a moment passed and he pressed his hand on the wall to heave himself up when he felt the ship was still vibrating. Not vibrating like he was too near the engines. Vibrating like something was scraping. Digging. Then the alarms blared.

He ran down the corridors merging and dispersing from the streams of people all doing the same. He was just about to get to the gunnery posts when an explosion went off in front of him. All he could see from between the heads of the others was a few tufts of fire at the end of the corridor and the feeling of a pressure wave rush over him. The people in front of him slowed to a walk. And then came the screaming. The sound of gunfire roared down the corridor as the crowd turned heel and ran directly into Belic. For a moment he was picked up by the crowd, his feet lifting off the floor before the thought of what was happening had made it to his brain. When it did he panicled and tried to orientate himself to the wave of people now coming in his direction. He managed to turn but as soon as he did the toes of his boots caught on the grated floor. He started to stumble, be pulled under the wave of oncoming feet. The image of other trampled faces flashed along his eyes. He managed to right himself, his ankle cracking as a chunk of hardened rubber chipped off his boot and fell between the gaps in the metal. He ran with the crowd, the noise of the gunfire slowly becoming more distant as he did.

The crowd started to thin as it filtered down corridors and corners. There as only one place Belic wanted to go, only one place were he could do anything. The main deck. He was a turret gunner, mid-range ordinance. He could get on a gun and shoot in or out. Shoot down those who where trying to board or those that already had. He’d already seen one boarding tick so undoubtedly there would be others. But until he got into a gunners seat he’d only just be more meat for the mill.

A dull, slow noise echoed down the corridor. The crew around him heard it too. Voices. Or was it only one voice? A few of the crewman around him turned and ran. But Belic and another didn’t. They shared a glance, then the other crewman looked down and picked up a discarded length of chain that had broken off some machine or winch. The crewman quietly wrapped one end of it around his right hand and pulled the other end tight with his left. They crept slowly to the corner were the voice or voices were coming from. Belic was the one who peeked around the corner.

He saw a man, a human, clad in a tatty red and black cloak on his knees with his hands over another crewman. It seemed like the figure was in some kind of reverie, whispering and chanting to himself. Each word they said seemed to echo in their mouth making it sound like multiple voices were coming from it. Belic tried to get closer. As he did he managed to see around the figure and saw that they had torn open the crewman’s uniform and were carving marks and cuts into his chest. The figure then suddenly stopped mid word as their head cocked. Belic froze still as his senses focused. He thought he could hear a different noise. A breath or a burst? No, a sniff. Belic realised he had been noticed.

Instantly as that thought crossed his mind, the figure spun on their knees and pounced like a wild animal, lunging at him with arms outstretched. Belic tried to jump back but a jolt of pain sparked in the ankle that had cracked in the scrum. He fell back onto his side as the gnarled, painted face of the figure, the chaos cultist, flew closer to his.

The other crewman stepped around the corned and swung the chain like a shield. The chain swung up and caught the cultist under the chin. Belic could see his jaw deform as the chain dug deep and broke bone forcing their head back, their body following behind as the force of the hit flipped them over. The crewman grabbed Belic’s shoulder and pulled him up and back around the corner. The last thing Belic saw of the cultist was them looking at him, his jaw broken apart and hanging loose from his skull, with what seemed like some kind of twisted smile. As the crewmen ran they heard a yell, a demonic roar, follow behind them. A few seconds later, the roar was joined by others from all around them.

The echo of gunfire was now constant. They both fell going around almost every corner as the ship was rocked by shots and boarding ticks. Belic felt his ankle start to swell, his limp getting worse and more pronounced with each step. They used their hands to slide down the set of stairs that led from the gunnery floors to the midsection of the ship. But as soon as Belic’s feet touched the floor his wounded ankle collapsed sending out a bolt of pain. He tried to hold back the scream as he hit the floor but it managed to escape through his teeth becoming a grunted hiss. The other crewman stopped, almost falling forward trying to stop his momentum, and turned to help him up. He managed to pull Belic up, Belic leaning on the arm of the crewman as he got to his shaky feet. As he did a shot whizzed past his head and caught the crewman in the side of his chest. He spun as he fell trying to clutch his chest but only managing to pad a seared dent that burnt his hand. With his crutch gone Belic fell to the floor. As soon as his brain caught up with what happened, he pressed himself against the floor and crawled to the crewman. His face was filled with shock and panic. It was like he couldn’t breath, like he was choking on nothing. His head reached back and forth trying to draw in air but was failing. Both of them heard the yell of cultists and running feet. Belic looked into the eyes of the crewman as the steps got louder. They were pleading but the light behind them was fading. He glanced away expecting to see the incoming boots between the steps of the stairs but saw nothing. Looking back he noticed how blue the crewman’s face had started to turn. In a moments decision Belic grabbed hold of the chain and pushed himself up. The crewman tried to keep hold of the chain but his fingers slid over each loop. Belic ran, limping on his definitely swollen ankle, the chain dragging on the floor. As he turned the corner he looked back. The crewman’s arm was still outstretched as the blurry figures of the cultists converged on him. As the wall of the corner wiped away the image, he could hear shots burn past him. When the image was gone, leaving only noises that merged with the muted cacophony around him, he faced down the corridor and ran limping as fast as he could.

The ship had begun to quieten. The constant gunfire had slowed to bursts punctuated by screams and disjointed yelling. Belic had no idea if the ship was to be abandoned or saved. Could it be saved? It had barely been five minutes and the ship was teaming with chaos cultists and who knows what else. If it had been five minutes. The adrenaline pumping through his body had warped his sense of time. Or maybe it was because of something else. Ruin was taking over. He had to leave. But if he did and was caught abandoning ship without cause or order he’d be dragged in front of a commissar. Or an inquisitor.

His pace slowed as the grim resignation of his fate sank in. He stopped and only then realised his breathlessness. He slumped against the wall, the chain clattering on the floor. He closed his eyes as they started to well up with defeated tears.

“Emperor protect me,” he prayed. “Please, I beg you. By your grace, protect me.” It felt like it was the last prayer of a condemned man. He heard the stomping of feet approaching. Getting himself to his unsteady feet he started to run. He didn’t know to where. Just that he needed to run.

The pressure in his foot had started to become unbearable. The flesh wanted to expand more then the boot would allow. His limp had become a hobble, every other step letting out a thud on the metal floor. He tried to hold the chain as tightly, and as quietly, as he could but the leaping gate made it rattle with his heavy footfall. He scrambled down corridors and junctions, trying to make his way to the deck while also running away from any noise that sounded like the cultists.

He tried to take a corner but his legs gave way and he slammed into the wall. He was panting hard and sweating. He leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The noises of gunfire and screaming wasn’t far away. Maybe only a few corners away. Maybe less. The question of how far away the noises where was quickly answered as stray laz-rounds beamed from around a t-junction ahead of him. Each of the shots burst into a blinding red light as they hit the wall. As he tried to blink away the spots in his vision a person, another crewman, dashed around the corner. Almost as quickly as they appeared, laz-rounds and gunfire threw the crewman against the wall and smeared them like paint against it. A scream tried to leave Belic’s mouth but it left so quickly he choked and gagged on it. He threw himself off the wall and started to run back where he came. The loud beat of boots was not far behind.

His hobble made him slow. The beat kept getting closer until a laz-round singed his shoulder as it grazed past and blew out a wave of heat as it hit the wall. He ducked his head down and jumped for a service hatch. The hatches were used by the servo-skulls to get to the organs of the ship. There was always another entrance at the other end so it was at least an escape for now. It was small, just about the height of a regular human, making him have to stoop a little to fit in the passage without his head colliding with crossbars. His jump into it became more of a fall as his foot failed to steady his landing. Dragging himself in, he threw the hatch closed and pulled the locking bars just as the cultists got to him. He wrapped the chain around the bars just as whatever was on the other side tried to open it. The bars rattled against the chain pulling it tight. It was jammed shut. Belic almost had a moment of calm but it was broken as something large or heavy slammed against the hatch. It made him flinch. He still wasn’t safe. He rushed down the corridor jumping over dents in the floor that exposed the ships structural support beams. He jumped one gap not seeing the body that had been used to made it and slipped on a small streak of viscera that oozed from it. The banging continued, echoing with snarls and screams with each metallic hit.

Bouncing off the walls, off creaking and hissing pipes, he made his way to the other end of the tunnel. But as he looked ahead, there wasn’t an opposite hatch. There was only a vain of pipes and cables that spread out onto every edge of the tunnel like a blister. His pace slowed as he got closer. Something must have collapsed into it. After all his running, all his pain, he’d got himself trapped. The banging on the hatch behind him seemed to fade away as he got closer. Something was not quite right about this collapsed section. As he got closer, the cables seemed like they moved. Like they slithered and writhed. Then he noticed something in the middle of the mass. The flickering and broken lights made it hard to make out. There was a darkness on the cables that was like a mist, hiding and obscuring the edges and details. The cables seemed to snake in and out of the thing in the middle. A set of red lights started to push out of the mass.

A loud explosion from behind him made him flinch and look back. Ranting and screaming restarted as footsteps started to get closer. His head spun back round to look at the shadowed thing. It hadn’t moved. He was caught between darkness and chaos. He turned back to look down the corridor were the cultists would come from. Images of what he had seen the cultists do flicked through his mind. The horror of the demons he knew was far worse the thing that he didn’t. With that thought he unwittingly found himself backing toward the shadowed thing.

The gang of cultists soon turned the corner. As soon as he saw them, fear took hold and his wounded ankle buckled. He fell to the floor and tried to crawl away, not thinking of the darkened mass behind him. But he didn’t move, his feet not finding purchase. One too wounded to move, the other still coated in a layer of blood from the body not far from were the cultists now stood. The gnarled faces of the barely human figures approaching him struck a fear in him he’d never felt before. His body responded by curling up into a ball and cowering. He heard laughter come from the cultists as his arms wrapped around his head and he clenched his eyes shut. He heard a few steps towards him but then they suddenly stopped. A few of the crowd made noises of shock and disbelief. Then came a yell, alone and distinct, and then there was a cacophony of death.

Gunfire roared all around him as it echoed off each sheet and bar of metal. He could feel the bassy rumble in the air around him. Screams and blood filled gurgles filled his ears. The quakes and wet slams of bodies being thrown around like sacks bounced around him. And then, just as quick as it started, it stopped. Even though the noises had stopped it didn’t feel like it was over. He slowly uncoiled his hands from his head and saw blood. Blood and gore pasted on every surface, including himself, as the cultists bodies were torn apart and strewn about like discarded litter. Bile rose in his throat as the smell and taste of iron filled his senses. He felt a presence behind him.

His head spun round and locked eyes with something. A body of sorts that stood, that hovered, in the middle of the writhing mass of cables. The middle of the thing looked vaguely human but it wasn’t quite right. Like it was a caricature of a human. Like it had been stretched long and thin and then was bent. The cables made it seem like the body was still bending, the bones flexing back and fourth. Two red eyes glowed in the dark were it’s head would logically be. It drew closer to him. It’s head, its skinless skull of a head, lowered towards him, its body pulling back and disappearing into the mass. Belic was frozen with fear unable to look away from its unblinking red stare. The head got closer and closer until it was only a few inches away from his. It ticked and hissed as it emanated an almost imperceptible growl. His vision blurred like his eyes were vibrating. The growl got louder, his vision blurring more and more until it was deafening and dark. Then there was silence.

---

Belic woke to the noise of an imperial guard command unit shouting orders. He had been placed on a stretcher, still covered in blood, on the main deck of the ship. There where more stretchers around him, some covered with bloody sheets, others with moving and unmoving bodies laid out on them. His body ached all over, a dizziness made his stomach churn as his eyes tried and mostly succeed in focusing on what they where looking at. The floor quaked with distant rumbles. Either cannons, Astartes, or explosions, it was impossible to tell. His mind drifted to what he saw. That deep, all consuming sense of fear. And those eyes. Those red burning eyes. The image of them burned into every portion of his brain. A wound that was perhaps not best to tell. If it even was. With it came some words.

An eternal requiem of the undying god.

Aeterna requiem immortalis. Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine.