“There is no rest for us. ‘Fore we are damned. There is no withdrawal for us. ‘Fore we have no home to come back to. So we advance. So we fight. So we kill. So we die. And that is our life. That is our duty. We shall do no more, and no less. We will never rest again. Do not weep for us, child. We will struggle so that you will never have to work. We fight so you will never have to. We will die so you will live.”
- The Penitent’s Prayer, Verse One.
Rain. Beating against the earth with the force of a hundred thousand men marching to meet their maker. And footsteps. Hundreds of thousands of footsteps resounding against the earth like a million drums all at once. But not a single voice. Just a constant, and thunderous, rhythm of rain and footfalls. There was a certain finality to it all.
And that certain finality was oddly comforting to the young man who marched at the center of the formation. The rain tinged off of his armor and splattered on the ground. His feet moved without him really having to think. The young man could meld into the noise and rhythm of it all, taking a small comfort in it. He was about to die after all. So there truly was no harm in it.
If this was the end, was it so bad? He pondered. Toying around with the question to kill time. It was a pleasant thought, to him at least, until the water in the air above him boiled and the world turned white for a moment. That’s when he realized that this was not to be a pleasant end. And like everything else in life he’d have to struggle to get the end he wanted. But that sat right with him. He was Mint. Mint Evermore. And to struggle was to live.
So, when his vision cleared Mint could only smile and shove his rusty hair back. This was the end. And he was barreling right at it with seven hundred thousand others. And it was beautiful. How the impossibly hot gouts of plasma arched overhead. Boiling through anything they touched. And the looks of utter terror on his fellow Trooper’s faces. He couldn’t really ask for more, save one thing.
But Mint doubted he’d live long enough to even think about that one thing again. He was at war. And he was losing. Mint, and roughly seven hundred thousand more Troopers were charging towards an impossibly large wall, but this wasn’t a siege. They were charging from inside the wall. All of them. Trying to reclaim it for humanity.
But the creatures who had once been yoked by humanity millennia before now stood ready and poised to wipe their masters from the face of Terra. And these seven hundred thousand “Troopers” were what stood in the way. Or that’s what Mint liked to think. But it probably wasn’t true. But he could stand to live in that fantasy.
And then he saw it. His “enemy” to be more precise. Standing twenty meters tall with a body made of metal. Writhing and convulsing metal. Metal wasn’t supposed to do that. Not as far as Mint understood, but then again, he only had around three years of education and that was lackluster at best. He could do basic arithmetic and he knew all of his letters. And Mint knew metal shouldn’t move.
But it was now. His enemy before him was proof. And Mint took the opportunity to stare at it, taking in the sheer grandeur of such a thing. The creature was made from some glittering metal that shone like a beacon in the dark and the rain. While it was tall, it was slender, with an almost serpentine body. Yet six wing-like appendages jutted out from its back. Crackling with white hot energy.
But its head was what really caught Mint’s attention. It was human, or at least tried to mimic a human head. With sharp angles and a strong jaw. Full lips and wide eyes. It looked more akin to the death mask of a noble. But it’s eyes. Mint could only marvel as he charged forwards. It had perfectly blue eyes.
The creature’s wings crackled with energy and the air seemed to boil around them. Each of the six wings pointed in a different direction. A half second later the world went white again. Mint could taste iron and could smell copper. It was glorious. And the resounding command that was bellowed out in desperation made it all the better.
“OPEN FIRE.”
And so, they all did. Everyone that was still alive and could still hear the command did. A thousand guns were raised, and a thousand guns were fired. Bright crimson streaks lit up the night as a thousand laser rifles fired at the creature. And hundreds of thousands of others fired at different targets.
There was a certain beauty to it all. How every man and woman was trying their damndest to stall the inevitable. To fight and scrape out a victory here so that their children could maybe live a better life. There was beauty in that, and how the thousands of crimson streaks lit up the night. Boiling the air and shredding through foliage just to meet their marks.
And meet their marks they did. Angry crimson beams slammed into their monstrous foes. Tearing living metal from bodies and cauterizing the wounds, not allowing for regeneration. It was a brutal approach to fighting beings so far beyond humanity. A single one could be worth ten thousand soldiers.
Mint found himself firing hundreds if not thousands of “rounds'' into the First Born. Even as it mowed down his commands around him. Those who it saw, were killed without any hope of salvation. Mint realized this and lunged to the side, narrowly dodging a white-hot gout of plasma. He rolled and took cover behind a stump.
“The head! Aim for the head so it can’t see to shoot!” Mint bellowed out, hoping that at least someone would take the initiative. But he couldn’t focus on theocraticals like that. All Mint could do was peak over his stump and open fire at what he assumed was the creature’s head. And his aim was true, he’d blow a chunk off of its head. But it had been alerted to his position.
The air around him boiled and crackled with energy. Was this what death feels like? Was it the burning of ozone and the steady thumping of one’s heart? Or was it the flash of memories as the white glow of a plasma emitter slowly burned to life? Perhaps it was a mix of both, in some twisted fashion or mechanization of a cruel God. Mint would never truly know, mainly because he immediately jumped to the side.
It was just in the nick of time too. The air behind him burned away in a brilliantly blinding flash of light. But this was no cause of celebration for the weary trooper. He could only fall into a roll and get back up. Mud covering his thin and disposable armor and rain damn near blinding him thanks to the equally thin glass visor covering his face. Three cheers for cheap and disposable armor. But it wasn’t like any armor could stop plasma, that was for E-Shields or some other legendary armament.
Mint raised his rifle yet again, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Blinding flashes of red-hot light were guided by an equally as red and angry reticle centered on the First Born’s head. Each shot connected and burned through the living metal shrouding the Angel’s form. It was oddly satisfying.
Watching as more and more Troopers joined in volley after volley. The great beast was dying, and it was dying horribly. Yet that was satisfying to Mint. The creature had killed countless of his countrymen and comrades with impunity. But something did feel off. It was the screaming.
It screamed with each hit. A horrid and deafening thing. So high pitched that it made Mint’s ears ring. He couldn’t give up though. So, he just kept on firing and firing, occasionally letting his rifle cool down for a few seconds. The rain helped with it, so the process only took a scant few seconds instead of a good minute it normally should. But the beast soon fell with one final defiant roar.
A small pit began to form in Mint’s stomach as he stood up and surveyed the battlefield. And from that he fully understood that the phrase ‘war is hell’ was wrong. In hell you had the comfort of knowing that everything there was evil. But in this. This synchronized sacrifice was all consuming. Men, women, children, the elderly, the lost, and the found.
Thousands upon thousands of lives extinguished at once. It was horrifying. But he couldn’t dwell on it for very long. The acrid stench of burning flesh and molten rock snapped Mint back to reality. He wiped the mud, rain, and blood from his visor and then tapped his helmet. But the ringing in his ears didn’t go away.
“ALL UNITS. ADVANCE TO THE WAILING WALL. DO NOT FALTER. TERRA INVICTA.”
Mint didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh, and he didn’t speak. No one did. The order rang hollow as the last of the First Born fell. Yet he still advanced with his unnamed laser rifle in hand. Troopers liked to name their gear, but these forsaken pieces of steel would bear no name. Most of the users would die anyways, so what is the point of naming it? What comfort would it offer the dead.
As he marched Mint could only wonder what was on the Wailing Wall. It was supposedly twice as large as The Wall. And he could definitely see that. It was towering above him as he thought. But was that it? Was it just big? Or did it have some ancient defense system that could rain death and destruction for hundreds of kilometers?
They marched for hours in the rain. They marched in uneven lines. Even though their boots had holes and their visors were cracked they still marched forward. It was funny. It really was, to Mint at least. It was like they were the Damned of ages past. Soldiers of fortune who’d lost their way and solely existed to fight onwards.
If they were the Damned, then Mint supposed he was Micheal Renner. The deplorable and often reviled leader of the Damned. Renner lived and died in the mud. Never once seeing the splendor of the inner walls. But he was effective, and he was remembered. Which was more than anyone in this hell of mud and iron could ever dream of.
It must have been five hours of marching when the battered and haggard surviving Troopers reached the base of the Wailing Wall. And it had never seemed so intimidating. The massive and onyx black walls made of solid adamantium seemed just so oppressive up close. And the pitch black and unlit entrances every three hundred or so meters.
But the orders came through, and the troopers could do nothing but obey. They always did. There was no other choice than mindless obedience, or so Mint thought. No one here had anything behind them to go back to. They barely had anything besides them, just more human debris left to drift alone forever. Becoming a Trooper was a way of life.
You live by your barebones and cheap equipment, and you will die by it. That’s what they were told in initiation. Or so Mint recalled. But he was thrust out of his thoughts when it was his turn to enter the darkness. He’d been standing there like an idiot while everyone else was resting and reloading. It was pathetic. But he couldn’t do anything more.
Thus he went, blindly into oblivion, at least he had a flashlight duct taped to the front of his rifle. Mint then flipped his shitty little solar flashlight on and went in with forty other Troopers. He went right with the first ten, with the second ten going left, and the last twenty going forwards.
The innards of the Wailing Wall were just as bleak and imposing as the outards. And any form of decoration, utility, or anything of the likes was strewn across the floor. But the immediate area was clear. So, Mint gave the call. “Area clear! But where are the other guys…”
Something dripped onto Mint’s shoulder, and he immediately jumped back, waiting for a burning pain that would never come. He took one breath in, one breath out, and looked up. Not even a second later Mint deeply wished he never had. He wished that his head couldn’t even move his head in the vague direction of ‘up’.
Mint saw something twisted and contorted stuck to the ceiling. It was a mass of limbs and appendages balled together and seemingly held together by bones. The pit in Mint’s stomach grew and grew. But then he heard it. A low and throaty whine of something, something in front of him.
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“Not clear. NOT CLEAR. THE AREA IS NOT FUCKING CLEAR. GET ME SOME SUPPORT HERE NOW. BY THE DUST OF MY FATHERS PLEASE.” Mint screamed and quickly began to backpedal. His training was leaving him as fear overtook him for a few seconds. Those few seconds were damning.
Mint felt pain before anything else. A sharp and burning pain right through his left shoulder. And then he could only hear the constant hissing of laser fire. Those bastards had shot him! In blind fear they had shot him. But Mint couldn’t bring himself to be angry. The pain in his shoulder was growing. He could feel how his muscles burned themselves together and he could smell the burning of his own flesh.
Mint fell onto his back and aimed his rifle in the vague direction of the whine. But he had a feeling that none of his shots were true. And the whine only got higher and higher pitched. Yet it never got closer. Like the thing was taunting them. Mint didn’t care and continued to fire from the ground, shifting to make himself prone.
His pain was only growing. It spiderwebbed across his right shoulder and seeping all the way down to his bones. It was maddening and it wouldn’t stop no matter how much Mint gritted his teeth and told himself it would be alright. Though that wasn’t the worst thing. That award went to slowly growing numbness starting in his fingertips and how it started to creep up his arm.
The whine cut out. But the overwhelming fire from the ten men in that narrow and dark corridor did not. Angry crimson bolts lit up the inky black corridor. The air was getting warmer and warmer with each shot, and so were their weapons. Mint surmised that they’d have another ten seconds to sustain fire before overheating… Then eight… Six… Four… Two… Almost in sync each weapon hissed loudly and ceased to work.
Then the world went white.
Mint instinctively knew it was plasma, but dust damn if it wasn’t still jarring. And as the world faded back to what little color was left Mint was simply shocked. He was shocked that he’d still lived despite the plasma blast that had consumed the hallway. Though he’d soon be overcome by dread again when he looked back and saw absolutely nothing save for the long corridor.
The whine sounded again, and it sent shivers down Mint’s spine. This was the end, wasn’t it? Going by virtue of plasma blast wasn’t a bad way to go. It was quick and painless, an easy way to go out. But Mint had a feeling he’d join the human glob on the ceiling, these things were intelligent to a point. They were probably smarter than him, come to think of it. Most people were.
Mint’s rifle gave a simple little chirp, indicating it was finished cooling. So, he’d at least die with some form of dignity. He once again raised his now battered laser rifle and fired down into the hallway. Lighting it up, and finally revealing the hulking mass of shifting metal that was his end. Crimson bolts revealed all in the end.
It was a long and wispy thing, still serpentine in nature, but much smaller. The constant glimmer of it was gone as well, sterling silver replaced with a dark shade of blue. Almost like a precious gemstone. But that wasn’t the most captivating part. That would be the ten or so tendrils that jutted out from its back. They arced out in a mesmerizing pattern, constantly shifting and writhing as they seemed to suction themselves onto the walls.
Again, Mint found a certain beauty to the shape of the First Born in front of him. That illusion was broken when it spoke to him in a voice like silk. Words wormed themselves into his ears, tickling his subconscious and tempting him into something.
“Little human… All alone… You are alone… Why do you struggle… Wouldn’t it be easier to simply just give in, child? I will make you anew on my pyre of orichalcum… Shrouding you in it and granting you the key to heaven… Please… Please just give in… It will be easy… Embrace me… Give in to sweets… I will make your pain go away…”
Mint heard his mother’s voice. It was a perfect replica of it. Low and velvety. She’d often pause to think mid-sentence. It had been so long. Ever so long. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to never hurt again. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? So quick and easy.
No.
A voice deep within his mind called out one blessedly simple world that snapped him out of the warmth and brought pain crashing back onto him. What little training he had kicked in, and he leveled the weapon at the creature’s head and fired. He held down the trigger harder than he’d wanted, slicing his finger open on the thin metal. There was no glee in the process, there wasn’t anything for Mint as he fired.
And as he watched the great metallic beast wither and fall in the hail of laser fire, he couldn’t feel anything save for pain. Finality. That’s what it was. Finality. Plain and simple. The finality of death, and the finality to refusing an offer he shouldn’t have refused.
But a thought was forming in the back of the Trooper’s skull. First Born were supposed to be God-like in strength. Not so easy to kill, they fell just as easily as some Awakened foot soldiers. It just wasn’t adding up. Why would a God fall to the mere weapons of a man? Why? Why? Why?
Mint was shaken out of his thoughts by a stark realization. They were being baited. That just had to be it. They were throwing the weaker units out to lull the Troopers into a false sense of security, then they’d strike. Mint put his head in his hands and simply closed his eyes. He wasn’t dead yet, but he’d probably be dead soon. Best to keep one keeping on despite those horrifying realizations, right? Right?
Mint took the time to stand and stretch after a few moments in existential dread. Best get All That Shit out in a quick breather before hell would follow. But such moments couldn’t last for too terribly long. Idle minds make for dead bodies, that’s at least what Mint remembered his mother would say.
So, he did the only thing he could possibly do. Which was to run and run fast. Run fast and far away. It isn’t cowardice- just discretion. Can’t fight for the High Lords if you’re dead, right? The thoughts and excuses slammed into the back of Mint’s mind as his composure broke. He was drenched in his own sweat, blood and piss. A nasty combination.
Mint didn’t really know how long he ran, but at one point he’d exited Wailing Wall’s horrifying interior and burst out into the open. But that didn’t stop him. He kept on running, as his leg muscles burned, and his skin finally cooled. Muscles tore and blood coagulated. It burned. It burned. It burned and burned and burned. High Lords above the burning wouldn’t stop.
And eventually Mint fell- More accurately he crashed to the ground after tripping over what he assumed was a fallen branch… He could do nothing but wince and examine his foot, now twisted at a bad angle. Tripping over branches- or more accurately, corpses, tended to do that to you.
That was all beside the point. Mint was seeing stars as he laid on the ground, broken and bleeding. There was no beauty, no respite, no honor in this. It was just him, and the early morning sky. “One hell… One helluva day…” Mint chuckled softly to himself, causing the stinging of his lips to increase. When had he cut them? A question for the ages. Or for the ponderings of broken men stranded in a world hellbent on humanity’s annihilation.
The voice in his head didn’t return either. He’d been abandoned the moment- That was a poor line of thinking. Can’t fall into that just yet, Mint idly supposed as he dragged himself from the mud. It soaked into his open wounds and only served to increase his pain. But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever.
“All right… One for the money…” The man shakily took a step forward, pain blossomed across his legs and shot up into his torso. “Two for the show…” His vision was getting blurrier... “Three- Three to get ready…” He stumbled… But caught himself… “Now- Fuckin’ … Go…” This time Mint wasn’t able to catch himself. And he simply fell, all of his efforts in vain. Leaving him slowly drifting out of consciousness as the world faded.
It was a faint whisper at first. A little nibble at the back of his skull. A nibble that quickly raised in volume and intensity with each go. “H- …………………… He- ……………… Hey- …………… Hey Trooper……… Trooper wake the fuck up… Ain’t no time to die.” The voice kept on persisting despite Mint’s best efforts to ignore it.
But once again, the weathered Trooper’s efforts were in vain, and he was shaken awake. All to be greeted with bright lights and the biting smell of alcohol. Not the most pleasant awakening, but not the worst. And even in his pain addled and groggy state Mint could surmise he was in a medical ward. High Lords bless whoever dragged his half-melted ass to an actual medical ward.
“M’up…. M’up dust damn it…” Mint rasped and covered his eyes with his good arm, High Lords above his throat burned. But after a moment of covering his eyes, Mint let his arm fall to the wayside. Revealing the stark white ceiling of a medical ward. Right on the money! Fuck.
“‘Bout damn time cowboy. You really looked like shit for a minute.” A teasing, but definitely effeminate voice called out to his right. To which Mint turned his head and saw another trooper. She was tall, almost this height, and equally as scared up. Deep burns cut across her angular face, turning her dark skin light. She wasn’t ugly, for a Trooper. But she looked the part.
“You gonna’ stop staring and tune in? I know for a fact I ain’t that pretty cowboy.” The Trooper chuckled. “Trooper First Class Eliza H. Louise. 5,712,992,981. Pleasure to meet you cowboy.” She- Eliza, extended a gloved hand with a slight smile. Which Mint took with his own hand, but his glove was long sense destroyed. More accurately, it had melted into his flesh and had to be peeled off.
“Trooper Mint Evermore. 5,710,662,231. S’a pleasure… And uhhh. Thanks for dragging me out of the mud… I think it was you at least. But I got two questions.” The Trooper- Eliza nodded, signaling for him to continue. “One. Just where the flying fuck are we? And how the hell did I survive that?”
Eliza put a hand over her mouth to hide her chuckle, albeit very poorly, and after a moment of looking at Mint like he was the dumbest creature ever she answered. “I did drag you back... And we got airlifted out... All three hundred of us. Give or take a couple dozen.” She shrugged, causing her rather broad shoulders to crack. But those numbers were alarming, really damn alarming.
“Three hundred? Like three hundred thousand-” Mint started but was cut off by a cursory glance and a hand in front of his face as Eliza spoke. “No. Three. Hundred. Seventeen. That’s it, even counting both of us. Some tough shit ain’t it?” Eliza shrugged and withdrew her hand, instead drawing a flask and taking a long pull from it.
It was Mint’s turn to simply look done with it all. This was some shit. Some shit indeed. “Well shit… That is some tough shit. Are they gonna send us back out?” That was a legitimate concern. And it would be just like command to do that anyways. Sending dead men back out to die a second time. And in the silence following that question, Mint wallowed. He was doomed. Very doomed.
“Nah. We’re all to be redistributed to Legio X. Make up a couple of clades in the first company. I’m getting pulled out the vets and into the officer corps. On the terms that I’d have to find an attache because…” Eliza took three steps back and hiked up her left pant leg. Revealing a crude metal prosthetic. “Caught a plasma blast to the upper leg. Luckily it cauterized itself.”
Eliza darkly chuckled and pulled her pant leg back down. “Expecting a little leg weren’t ‘ya cowboy?” She chuckled again, a little brighter this time, and Mint responded. “Nah. I was expecting no leg at all. And you being held up by a High Lord in the flesh. Angels signing and all that too. A right and proper living saint.”
She simply stood there, a blank look on her face. And Mint started to worry. And then she smiled. “Didn’t think you had it in you to crack a joke like that cowboy!” Eliza called the man on the shoulder, causing him to wince in pain. Guess it wasn’t healed yet. Made sense. Wounds like that were awfully hard to patch up. Assuming you survived…
“Shitsorry. Guess you haven’t fully healed up huh cowboy?” Eliza pulled her hand back and nervously smiled. To which Mint took his turn to chuckle and pat her shoulder. “S’all good man. I’m just happy that I’m alive… So, cheers I guess?” Mint shrugged and leaned back into his bed. It was nice and soft; he hadn’t had a bed this nice in a couple of years… He was still living with his mother.
“Yeah... Cheers and all that shit… One helluva week ain’t it blondie?” Mint closed his eyes again and started to slowly drift off. Not like he had anything better to do at this moment. And he could guess that there was some sort of cheap narcotic pumping into his system. “You’re here to make sure I go out like a light, and don’t cause any trouble, aren’t you?” He posed the question of the hour to Eliza. Who simply smiled.
“Ding ding ding. Right on the money… You’re also the only one of us who has honest to Emperor confirmed kills. You’re a fuckin’ legend for that. Did right by the lot of us who didn’t even get a chance to take a single fuckin’ shot.” Her expression fell, finally. “We died like fuckin’ dogs. And here you fucking come! Cutting a path for the rest of us… High Lords Above…”
“Hell… I barely got off a shot before our officers pulled the retreat order. We- We just ran and ran and ran until there were only three of us.” Her composure was finally slipping. Mint was surprised it had taken this long… He’d had his own little moment in the forest while running, it was only natural. Seeing all of that. And living. It was horrible… Really was.
But Eliza continued her rant. “I’m a dust damned coward! I ran! I didn’t even fight…. Because I can’t! And they want me to make me a dust damned officer! Ironic, isn’t it?” Eliza leaned on the medbed’s frame and covered her eyes. Hiding tears.
“I’m not gonna say it’s okay… ‘Cause it ain’t. But this ain’t the time for all that. You’ve gotta be strong. Just for a little bit anyways. Put on a brave face and look the brass in the eyes. Take your promotion and continue to move up the ranks. Because if you didn’t realize, we’re short a lot of fucking officers now. If you can’t stand by yourself, find a way to use someone as a crutch.”
Mint sighed and turned his head to the woman, even though closed eyes he could tell she was shaking. And yet again, he couldn’t blame her. “And... I’m good now. I appreciate you being here but take some time to yourself. I’ll be fine. Won’t drop dead randomly… Plus I’m drugged to all hell.” He attempted to reassure the woman, to an unknown effect.
But the haggard trooper could hear a small hum in response, and the shifting of someone’s body. He could assume that she was leaving now… Which was probably for the best- “Mint. You’re a good man. I think. So keep on keeping on cowboy.” He could hear a faint giggle as the door closed. And he was left to his own thoughts.
Yet Mint didn’t spare any more thoughts to the situation as his senses slowly left him. It was like he was floating on clouds as sleep slowly took him. Whisking him away to a deep rest that he probably hadn’t experienced in a good long while… It was nice. In a morbid way. It only took a near death experience at the hands of Humanity’s greatest enemy to get there. But even those thoughts faded as he slipped away for good.
But Mint’s dreams were not peaceful. They never were, and that fact was only reinforced by what he had seen within the past thirty-six hours of hell. And even in his dreams all the weathered veteran could think about was Micheal Renner and his legion of the damned. Was this how he spent his last night? Dreaming of carnage and bloodshed on a smokey battlefield in some far away land.
It was a new type of hell. One in which Mint was thrown headfirst into the moment he lost consciousness. And to his credit. Mint was right. This is exactly what happened to Micheal Renner every night. Even the greatest of heroes had to suffer for something so they wouldn’t forget who they were, and what they are bound by.