Retribution- Aslan's day off

R.I.K Mon Jun 20, 2011 11:10 pm

Aslan stood in the darkness of his chambers, all lights extinguished albeit for the dim glow of candlelight bathing his black and worn power armour. The Lion knelt before a makeshift altar before him; his ceremonial sword lay atop of it on a stand dressed in his robes. Sat before the sword, and below the stand, was his helm, dark and sinister in appearance and still bearing all worn damage from the time of his service with his chapter. Aslan thumbed between his fingers his rosary beads that he would keep on him at all times, every pearl bead pure white except for one, which was black and very significant.
His head was bowed down and he kept his eyes closed in deep meditation. Upon his face, however, was a scowl. The sickly incense burning from the altar tickled his nose aiding in his mediations as it lulled him deeper and deeper into his own subconscious. His teeth ground together as a bubbling anger began to leak through, his muscles twitching and his brow furrowing until his teeth then began to bear, his body shaking in anger. Eventually he let it out; breaking his meditations he rose to his feet and cast his rosary beads from his hand and to the floor. He stopped himself from crushing them beneath his colossal boot, hovering his foot just above them. He then brought back his foot and took a deep breath, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself.
After letting the deep exhale escape the giant’s lips the broad hulk of Aslan knelt back down before the altar, his hand reaching for the beads, surprisingly without blemish as he inspected them closely between his gauntleted fingers. He proceeded to thumb them and return to his meditation, whispering the name “Magron.” before falling back into his subconscious.

Hours had passed before the devastator rose back to his feet. He brought the rosary beads he held in his hand towards his face as he examined them, his face became ever more so overcome with disdain.
“I do not deserve these. He was not my, or any other Brother of my chapter’s, kill. Falling to the hands of a Blood Angel and his little toy gun... I engaged him like a true warrior, like a true Brother in despite of his twisted and corrupted ways and what he had done to me and my family... I had given up and abandoned my past to take up a duty, a duty not for revenge but in search for redemption, to save the misguided souls of my Fallen Brothers... As much as I would have loved to have taken him alive and have him tortured for my own pleasure and sick fantasies he was a force that must have been stopped no matter what... But by my hand. My team would never understand my own or even the burden of my chapter that we have carried since the fall of Horus. He was my kill; his name was etched into every single bullet in every one of my clips, his death was written in stone that it would be by my hand, but now the stone has fallen to sand because of that damned Blood Angel.”
Aslan then began to pace within his chambers, his grip pulsing around the rosary beads, gently crushing them between his hand and releasing. He had to blame someone, his anger had reached critical and the Watch Captain had worried that Aslan would put his emotions before his duty as a Deathwatch Marine. Whilst the Kill Team had departed for Fate IV Helikaon had instructed Aslan to remain upon the Agamemnon to reserve his anger and spend the time given to overcome his emotions. However to no avail, Aslan persisted to brood over the demise of Magron, Nemiel would surely have been disappointed too, thought Aslan.

“Again, run the simulation again your infernal machine!”
The servitors clicked and whirred as their numerous arms glided over the console before them. The atmosphere around Aslan twisted and distorted as the simulation began to run again. The ravenous barks of Aslan’s heavy bolter pumped mountains of shells at the oncoming simulated Tyranid horde before him, roaring as his trigger finger clamped down, sweeping the massive weapon across from side to side until eventually the weapon began to click as he had ran out of ammunition, even with his ammo supply.
“Continue with the simulation; do not end it until everything is dead! My righteous fury is for the Emperor and for the Lion!”
Without taking a second to think Aslan’s hands worked like machines, automatically reaching for the ammo feed and pulling it from the supply, dropping the weapon before his feet and drawing both his pistol and his sword. With a roar the marine charged headstrong with his sword raised high in the air, his pistol barking as it downed a few more hormagaunts before finally becoming fully emerged in melee with the xenos.
The warning signals inside his helmet blinked and flashed identifying the damage from the charge, just within the instance of contact between the first of the hormagaunts his head suffered a fatal injury and from then on after the wave of unrelenting scythes clawing and biting into his armour his right arm had malfunctioned and shut down, as did his bionic heart, his left arm was wounded and rendered unusable as well as suffering massive damage to his chest. His last beating heart ceased and the flickering runes inside his helm noted him as ‘deceased’ within seconds.
Reality twisted and distorted again as Aslan fell into a pile on the floor, dropping his weapons by his side as the simulation ended. Aslan panted heavily for a moment before pulling himself back together, gritting his teeth as he did so.
“Run it again, and get me more ammo!”

After a thorough workout simulating his demise over and over Aslan returned to his chambers. He knelt back down in preparation for his meditation but was overcome with jealousy, that his mind became clouded, that his Brothers were on a mission and he was not with them. He lusted for combat; simulations were not enough to satisfy his hunger for battle and thirst for blood.
The scenario played through his head over and over again how he had dodged out of the way for the Blood Angel’s firing line to slice Magron in twain with the multimelta from the Stormraven, Aslan knew he was losing the melee and badly at that, he could not stand against Magron’s psychic prowess or lethal combat skills having lived for millennia. Aslan regretted moving out of the way, wishing he had died by that man’s hand rather than revel in the lie that is false glory.
“I swear, by the Emperor, and by the Lion, that I, Aslan Wrex, shall live, fight and die only for the redemption of my Fallen Brothers. That is my retribution, my punishment beyond that of my Chapter’s; this is my own pledge that I will shoulder every shroud of corruption, every traitorous accusation and every heretic’s resolve. I will shoulder it all and make it my responsibility to sniff out the heretic among us. One has already fallen and he has found his retribution. Novus, you were my Brother...”
Aslan began to remove his armour, first his pauldrons and gauntlets.
“As was Magron...”
Aslan then removed his backpack ammo supply; he lowered it slowly to the floor, followed by his cuirass. Aslan’s chest was covered by a block body glove which he removed the top half of, pulling his arms out and letting it hang from the waist. His bare chest was coveted in scars, some old and worn whilst others seemingly fresh and recent.
“And every other traitor not only among chaos, but my true Brothers, those of my own Chapter, the Fallen...”
From underneath the altar Aslan pulled out a long wooden box, it was dark brown and varnished yet stained by red marks. After he opened the box Aslan pulled from it a flagellation whip, a multiple tailed metallic whip that was completely dyed in vermillion.
“For now, I will atone for your sins, Brothers... But know that your own atonement draws near, and I will be the harbinger of your retribution!”
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Yeah, he's emo, so what? XD
Thanks for reading.