บท 25: No Longer Human
Warning! This deals with darker material than what I've posted before. Continue with that in mind: Happy reading!
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Night has fallen.
Though the inhabitants still alive in active combat zones wouldn't notice.
It wouldn't be a commodity either, explosive volleys taking away the ability of sleep. Thunderous footsteps blazing by as you hide in your little corner; the worst part: you don't know if it's friendly or not. The fear of even peaking out renders the survivors helpless in these trying times. Even hunger can't push the already fallen mind. The prospect of death in a safe little corner is better than the onslaught outside. Just… take your hands, put them up to your ears, close your eyes, and go to sleep.
Who knows, you may never wake up to this never ending nightmare…
Surprising to even bring this up, one would think survivability in an active war zone amongst zealots and… genetically enhanced zealots would be at a zero. It wouldn't be wrong though. But, there's a reason humanity is considered a cockroach.
Brittle walls that once stood as the bulwark for the people, the same walls that housed families. They'd laugh, cry, feel, sleep, live… on the test of time, changes happen. Sometimes, those changes are brought by outside factors. It could be that the family moved out and a new one enters the responsibility of keeping the house in tip top shape. Maybe they'd be lazy, not care for a whole lot. Maybe they'd do a better job than the previous owners. Or maybe, a big fucking mothership comes and deploys an alien army.
Rubble, reduced into crumbs. Yet, some find comfort in it. It's the only thing they'd know. The only place to call their own.
No roof, that was a product of a time past. Walls incomplete, the floor cracked and jagged. Just a trip alone is enough to endanger a life. But it was home to a little one.
Huddle in a corner, a small child with pale eyes hugs her knees as a way of comfort. Dirt, ragged dress, cut skin with lines of dried blood. Her lips cracked like the mud in the Mojave Desert. Her hair lost all means of luminosity– the shine lost in the tides of war like going under a tidal wave. But underneath all that taint of war, she still holds her youthful charm.
"Over here!"
A deathly red: Ikons the lot of them. One of them hollered for whoever to hear. Most likely his companions. Whatever the deal was, more came as the sound of footsteps proliferated like an unsynchronized march.
The girl instinctively holds her breath. Afraid to be heard. Her hands trembled a great deal as fear encroaches her mind.
"NO! LET GO! STOP! YOU– MMFF…"
The girl puts a hand on her mouth, horror-stricken to let even a squeak out. Sounds like they found them. By the sound of their screams, an adult female.
"Look at the rack on her…"
"Don't have too much fun, I gotta get my turn too."
"Disgusting pigs–"
—click!
"Another word and the only thing blowing here is your head with lead, you got that Otto…"
A single tear ran down the little girl's face. Overhearing the bad soldiers talking, she couldn't understand what they were inferring. But, something about those words sounded wrong. Even now, the woman they captured tried to scream out. She knows as it was loud enough to hear even if the woman had some sort of restrictions that's stopping her.
The sound of her defiance, the snickering bad soldiers, the entire war. Her eyes began to cloud. Silent tears dropped. What did she do to deserve this?
…
Nothing… that's the sad part.
Her head began to spin. She wanted to throw up, but didn't want the risk of being found out. The stress accumulating isn't doing her any good.
After some time, the talk amongst soldiers… monsters subsided, only to be replaced with struggle, ripping, and screaming. Now that she thinks about it, they must be close if she can hear them. The giggling men that laughed and cooed at the struggling woman. A bunch of goblins by the sound of it. They taunted her as the woman resisted as best she could. But, she was only one out of many. It was only a matter of time before she was stripped of her clothing… and in the end… her dignity as a woman.
The little girl that heard all this waited in bated breath– in horror. Her eyes closed.
"Well well, lookie here."
She has never opened her eyes as she does now. But, something within her wanted the darkness of her shut eyes. Because now she has the displeasure of seeing a man in orange military clothing.
"Aren't you a sorry sight," the man says almost in a whisper.
He then looks back as if to admire the work that's being done. Despite everything that's happened, the woman was fierce. The fire in her eyes outshined the desperate situation she found herself in. So much so that the five men around her were having a much harder time than expected.
"That's why I don't like women like that. Fierce and fiery. I like those aspects… but older women tend to know how to use them," the horrid man slowly turns to the little girl, "but the younger ones… they feel nicer."
The man almost snickered, his half helm that only exposed his mouth had this creepy smile to them.
Time stopped for a moment for the little girl. She didn't feel safe. No, she didn't feel safe after this entire thing happened, but something about the man grossed her out to a whole new level. Something about him made her think that the sound of gunshots and screaming men is a whole lot safer than the smile the man is putting on right now.
She trembled, she wanted to move, but she couldn't. Even as the man walks closer, even as he slowly unzips, all she could do was stare.
—BANG
But then, the sound of salvation. As the first shots rang out, blood splattered on her. The sudden splash of crimson red liquid surprised her. She stared out, the man no longer a man. He didn't let out a scream, no sort of resistance for life.
How could he when he doesn't even have the top half of his torso…
Then, the slow encroaching thud closed in. From the rubble behind the man– now rendered torsoless– came a towering giant. He was of silver and gold, like a knight in shining armor. The inner markings of his armor was black, further enhancing the ornate armor. As the figure slowly became in full view, she was in awe. To his right was a gun of sorts. Or a cannon, something like that couldn't be wielded by any normal man. Speaking of abnormalities, the giant's left hand was ginormous. Appropriate at any given time, but it was bigger than the hand wielding the gun. Another odd thing was that it sort of sparkled in electricity once in a while.
As the giant came closer, the wildings of the man she heard too came to a stop. When once the woman screamed and trashed around, they were now the ones trashing and begging for mercy. The only gun shot that rang was from the giant mister in front of her.
As the giant stood over her, she oddly didn't feel scared like the man earlier. She felt… warm in his presence.
The giant kneeled, his bolter wielding hand holstered his weapon. With the same hand, he lifted his helmet off his head. The revelation of his face left the child speechless. To think a human would be underneath that heavy armor. As the astartes gazes at the small child, she gazes back in innocence.
"Wow…" she mumbles softly, trialing out.
"Your eyes are pretty…" she was mesmerized by the same sapphire blue eyes they inherited from their gene father. If anything were to be consistent with them, it'd be that.
He couldn't make out what she meant by that. But a complement was a compliment. He didn't say a word, he didn't know what to say. As they came here, he saw the degenerate side of humanity as the group of five guys were doing things to that poor woman. He doesn't know what, but he knows just by her resistance and screams that it wasn't good. He ordered a squad of tactical marines to be silent and to capture those men– alive. As to why, only he knows. No questions were asked, they just did it.
It was odd that the men didn't hear or notice them. How could they when the astartes could identify targets so many yards or meters away. If anything, the astartes could've picked them off then.
No, they settled for a more stealthy approach.
…
That means running at high speeds towards the men and close lining them. The guys didn't even know what hit them. They were ordered to be silent, which apparently translated to "no ones going to hear if we hit them hard before they can hear anything."
Simple, effective. Can't say anymore about the ways of an astartes. It's almost comical. Not as comical as an astartes in terminator armor sneaking up on the creeping man and blowing his head and torso off.
Attaching his helm at his hip, he reached out for the girl. Only stopping halfway. The art of comforting another being is lost to him, but that doesn't mean he can't hand out a helping hand.
Slow and trembling hands, she took his. Her petite and sullied hands were only able to barely wrap around his finger. Taking it as a sign, the astartes grabbed her like a doll and prompted her up to his shoulder. She didn't make a noise– surprised– but knew she was in good hands. Something about his gentle giant spoke to her, even as he didn't say a word.
As she settled on the shoulder of the gentle giant, she asked for his name. Her voice broke and cracked, no doubt her dehydration not helping one bit, "what's your name mister?"
"Frymrorth," he responded stoically.
"Frym–ro–ru–rort… can I call you something else, that's hard to say," she cutely asked.
He looked up at the girl on his shoulder, his eyes responding for him– as if to say "what do you have in mind."
The girl thought for a second before coming up with the perfect name.
"Frymee!" she cutely blurted out.
Frymrorth stumbled a bit, for such a cutesy name and for him to bear it is… an odd combination considering what he was. But, seeing that smile, he kept his mouth shut. Seeing the civilian secured, he walked back towards the tact team he sent. They should be down by now.
The girl was in high spirits. As he took the first steps, he finally initiated a conversation, "what's your name?"
She smiles again, as if the prospect of saying her name really spoke to her soul, "It's Quintess!"
He nodded solemnly, permanently engraving her name in his mind. As he walked, he turned his head back a bit. His eyes gazed upon the wretched man he just killed. Whatever that man was going to do with this small child disgusted him. The smell he gave off was awful, his intent dark as the night.
It angered him, so much so that his mind was still at it. He couldn't let it go. Even as he rendezvoused with the tactical squad, even as the little girl on his shoulders hummed a soothing yet childish tune, a fire within him threatened to burn. If he doesn't settle it, it would burn everything around him.
His fellow marines had secured the targets and protected the civilian. She was an older woman, about mid thirties in age. Her clothing was ripped, leaving her in suggestive and sensual state, much of which wasn't her intention at all. Her eyes bore hate as she watched the men that assaulted her sleep soundly.
Looking at the iron giants before her, she was thankful. She knew she wouldn't have lasted long if they were going at it for any longer. She was especially thankful that they got here in time, they didn't force anything within her thankfully. The sight of a running giant going at about 40 to 50 miles per hour (64 kmh – 80 kmh) was a sight for sore eyes. Them knocking the foul men down with just a swing of their arms was a blessing to see. Still, she wanted them dead.
The sound of heavy thuds broke her out of her head. These were heavier than the ones the giants before her made as they walked in position. She turned to the noise, a giant among giants. This one had his helmet off, revealing such beautiful eyes. Alongside him– more like along his shoulder– was a child. She was in bright spirits. The woman wouldn't have guessed that the same child almost had a traumatic experience as she did.
The man surveyed the situation before landing his eyes on the poor woman.
"Name?" Frymrorth got to the point.
"E– Elizabeth." the woman named Elizabeth stuttered.
Frymrorth nodded in acknowledgement. He turns to his fellow brothers.
"Wake them up… and bring her a weapon– anything would do as long as she can wield it."
They moved upon his will in silence. Frym then turns back to the woman who had a questioning face as she watched the bastards wake up. Then, a marine had on hand a blade– his blade specifically. The astartes presented it to the woman. She looked at it, not knowing what to do.
Frymrorth walked towards the sergeant and handed over the little cinnamon roll.
"Watch over her, make sure no harm is done. And you… behave." Those were his parting words as he brought his attention back to Elizabeth, "Take it, quell the flames in your heart. Bare the blade and do yourself rightful justice."
The woman understood his words as she slowly held the blade by the handle. It was heavy, like wielding a sledgehammer. She slowly arose, finding it within herself to take a step towards her trauma. As she does, Frymrorth gets a comm transmission from a distant force. He swiftly equips his helm to accept it.
~Crrck!~ "This is Assault team six to Keeper, do you read? " ~Crrck!~
"Report."
~Crrck!~ "We've found a large force heading south towards you, Keeper. Numbering five thousand with heavy armor. We don't seem to have been spotted yet." ~Crrck!~
"ETA?"
~Crrck!~ "Six minutes…" ~Crrck!~
"Noted: ready to engage from behind; let them pass you. What's the situation with the other Assault teams?"
~Crrck!~ "They've encountered heavy resistance on their end, we're the only ones available." ~Crrck!~
"I'll be there."
Frymrorth cut comms just in time to see Elizebeth standing over the now awoken man. Just by reading her face, she was disgusted. The man was on his knees and untied. As for why, the astartes that subdued them made sure to break a few things, rendering them immobile until healed.
The man snickers, finding the woman appealing even at their current situation. Goes to show how mentally lacking they have in the moral department. A bulge on the man's pants– how revolting. Elizabeth didn't know why she didn't swing right away. Maybe she was hoping for some begging. Maybe she was hoping for a bit of humanity left within the foul men. Such naivety.
Even as she raised the weapon above her head, the man had this dirty look in his eyes.
—Shing!
That was quickly corrected as the blade cut right through.
"AAHAHAHAH!"
A laugh? A cry? A scream in pain? The blade rested midway in his body, the damage more so from the blade itself and the gravity than the force the woman exerted. The man's lifeless eyes are a dull brown. The sergeant with the kid on hand shielded her eyes, unaware that the kid already saw a man getter turned to soup right before her eyes.
One down, four more to go. Same thing, no redeemable trait left amongst the five men. The one that voiced out during the attempted r**e had this hate in his eyes. The different kind compared to the one she bore. Different from the righteous ones the astartes held within their hearts. This was pure malice of no intended purpose. The kind of hate that just wanted to kill, that wanted the stain on their hands.
She ended his life just the same as the others. Like pigs to the slaughter, she slew them quickly. The weight of the blade made her winded though. Seeing her done, the brother that lended her the blade held out a gentle hand to retrieve it. She seemed almost hesitant but let go in the end.
"Escort her and the child back to safety."
"Acknowledge, Keeper."
The sergeant had the kid on one hand and a bolt pistol on the other. As they walked back to who knows where, one of the marines stopped alongside the woman. Her eyes are lifeless. He reached out a hand. It wasn't one of comfort though, "You'll only slow us down if you walk normally."
Harsh but true, she took his hand but with heavy hesitation. Normal men were able to make her feel helpless, what of them– the giants more or less– what could they do to her? He then picked her up like a child and one-handedly carried her in a princess carry. His off hand had his bolter ready. He made sure she was secured in his arms before he caught up to his brothers.
Back to Frymrorth, seeing them secured and heading back to the FOB they've temporally set up a mile from here, he faces the direction of the last known location of the force that's coming to them.
His power fist clenched as a roar of energy crackled. He was about to burst. The child, the woman, the atrocities he saw along the way… these weren't humans anymore. They were nothing but wild animals. He hated it. He despised it. He yearned for their demise and destruction. Underneath his helm was a storm reaching its peak. He marched on, storm bolter on hand.
Unbeknownst to Frymrorth himself, his eyes were glowing a bright blue.
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