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fernin
Struggling to steady his breathing and firing stance, Battle-brother Troubleshoes leveled his bolt pistol at the latest of the unending waves of changelings charging his position. It wouldn’t be long now. After all, he was the last of his squad, and he only had so many rounds.
The exhausted Lamenter grit his teeth to banish dark thoughts and pulled the trigger. His squat weapon roared once— then gave an almost animalistic shriek of shearing metal as the overstressed loading mechanisms chewed on a weak spot in the bolt casing’s metal and stuck fast. Troubleshoes glanced mournfully at the ruined weapon. “Uh.”
As the tide of chitin flowed ever closer, the towering stallion had no time for even the most basic of maintenance. Well, nothing for it. Troubleshoes signed in resignation, cocked one foreleg, and let fly. The pistol-turned-projectile sawed through the air, braining a charging ‘ling and bringing it down in a spray of greenish ichor. Any triumph the Lamenter might have felt was short lived. Heedless of the single pinprick lashing the many-bodied whole of the horde, Troubleshoes’ enemies continued their headlong rush without so much as a backward glance. It would have been nice if that had been a synapse-beast. The hive might have paused for at least a moment and given the exhausted marine a short breather. But of course, when had luck ever been on the side of a Lamenter?
Still, Troubleshoes felt a rare smile grace his muzzle as he drew his masterwork chainblade and matched its reassuring roar with one of his own. After all, hadn’t Brother-Sergeant Bulk commended his sword-work as the finest in the fourth company? At least he could put his skills to good work here smiting the Princesses’ foes. Not that anyone would know about it unless some tech-marine downloaded auto-sense records from his armor. Assuming the changelings didn’t eat it along with him after he got overrun. The smile faded. Oh well. He had work to do, regardless.
Troubleshoes revved the chainsword, feeling the reassuring vibrations through his armored hoof, and bellowed his defiance at the onrushing sea of xenos monstrosities. The seething hive-creatures made no reply to his shouted challenge— but the closest one leaped.
For a moment, everything was right with the world. Blade met ballistic xenos, and the sawing adamantine teeth ended the slavering creature’s life in less than a beat of Troubleshoes’ thundering hearts. The second went down in much the same way. The third. The fourth. Perhaps he might hold out after all. The fifth and sixth, in a single swing. In fact, he was really getting into the rhythm of it now. This might be his lucky day after all. Next was the seventh, which—
A horrible grinding and the motive engine’s pained squeal brought Troubleshoes out of his near-battle-trance as ichor-soaked chainteeth dropped from his ruined weapon. He swung the defanged blade at the eighth changeling, bringing it down with sheer blunt trauma before its borer cannon could fire.
Troubleshoes’ eyes flicked to the ruined weapon, then back to the horde of enemies. He had barely made a dent in them, and even now he was a small yellow island in a rising sea of black and green. He grit his teeth as more changelings leaped. It was just his luck, after all.
You can also check the Making of Post right here.
Please, let me know what you think of it in the comments. I appreciate and every single one I receive.
Thank you!
ferninStruggling to steady his breathing and firing stance, Battle-brother Troubleshoes leveled his bolt pistol at the latest of the unending waves of changelings charging his position. It wouldn’t be long now. After all, he was the last of his squad, and he only had so many rounds.
The exhausted Lamenter grit his teeth to banish dark thoughts and pulled the trigger. His squat weapon roared once— then gave an almost animalistic shriek of shearing metal as the overstressed loading mechanisms chewed on a weak spot in the bolt casing’s metal and stuck fast. Troubleshoes glanced mournfully at the ruined weapon. “Uh.”
As the tide of chitin flowed ever closer, the towering stallion had no time for even the most basic of maintenance. Well, nothing for it. Troubleshoes signed in resignation, cocked one foreleg, and let fly. The pistol-turned-projectile sawed through the air, braining a charging ‘ling and bringing it down in a spray of greenish ichor. Any triumph the Lamenter might have felt was short lived. Heedless of the single pinprick lashing the many-bodied whole of the horde, Troubleshoes’ enemies continued their headlong rush without so much as a backward glance. It would have been nice if that had been a synapse-beast. The hive might have paused for at least a moment and given the exhausted marine a short breather. But of course, when had luck ever been on the side of a Lamenter?
Still, Troubleshoes felt a rare smile grace his muzzle as he drew his masterwork chainblade and matched its reassuring roar with one of his own. After all, hadn’t Brother-Sergeant Bulk commended his sword-work as the finest in the fourth company? At least he could put his skills to good work here smiting the Princesses’ foes. Not that anyone would know about it unless some tech-marine downloaded auto-sense records from his armor. Assuming the changelings didn’t eat it along with him after he got overrun. The smile faded. Oh well. He had work to do, regardless.
Troubleshoes revved the chainsword, feeling the reassuring vibrations through his armored hoof, and bellowed his defiance at the onrushing sea of xenos monstrosities. The seething hive-creatures made no reply to his shouted challenge— but the closest one leaped.
For a moment, everything was right with the world. Blade met ballistic xenos, and the sawing adamantine teeth ended the slavering creature’s life in less than a beat of Troubleshoes’ thundering hearts. The second went down in much the same way. The third. The fourth. Perhaps he might hold out after all. The fifth and sixth, in a single swing. In fact, he was really getting into the rhythm of it now. This might be his lucky day after all. Next was the seventh, which—
A horrible grinding and the motive engine’s pained squeal brought Troubleshoes out of his near-battle-trance as ichor-soaked chainteeth dropped from his ruined weapon. He swung the defanged blade at the eighth changeling, bringing it down with sheer blunt trauma before its borer cannon could fire.
Troubleshoes’ eyes flicked to the ruined weapon, then back to the horde of enemies. He had barely made a dent in them, and even now he was a small yellow island in a rising sea of black and green. He grit his teeth as more changelings leaped. It was just his luck, after all.
· - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - · - ·You can also check the Making of Post right here.
Please, let me know what you think of it in the comments. I appreciate and every single one I receive.
Thank you!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Pony
Size 905 x 1280px
File Size 445.6 kB
Comments