+ He shakes his head. The killsight is simply picking up irradiated dust kicked up by the explosion.+
+ The explosion. It has killed him. There is no pain, but his organs – birth-organs and gift-organs alike – have been flash-cooked. +
+ He reaches out hesitantly with his unpinned hand. Both he and the other Astartes, prone beside him, are corpse-white with marble dust; identical in hue. The remaining fingertips of his de-powered gauntlet tremble. They touch the other's plate, the textured nub-ends of his fingers haltingly clearing rivulets of dust. +
+ It reveals both his dark iron colours and the rich yellow heraldry of his companion. The other shudders, like an engine turning over. There is a bitter edge to the action. The reaching out is not an act of solidarity in death; not of forgiveness, nor a plea for mercy. +
+ With his fingers touching the others' plate, the micro-vibrations of his voice will be transmitted even through depowered armour. It is the only way he can get the other to hear. +
+ Will he offer a benediction? A eulogy? An attempt to explain? +
+ No. +
'You and I are earth.'
+ More Iron Warriors infantry – built from a variety of parts. +
+ The Siegebreaker is on the left here. +
1 comment:
Always love your little bits of story! Makes them seem all the more believable, post-human as they might be.
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