38th Day, Year 988, 41st Millennium
"It seems we are having a bit of bad luck today," Arcas remarked jokingly as he swung his axe, cleaving two mutants in half with a single strike.
Eric, however, didn't find it funny at all. The mere sight of the mutants was enough to trigger traumatic memories, and if that wasn't bad enough, a group of Orks was now heading straight for them.
"Your timing for jokes is impeccable, my Lord. You sound like someone trying to explain their innocence to the Arbites," Eric retorted. He ducked to the left, narrowly avoiding a mutant's clawed swipe, then lunged forward, burying his short sword into the creature's torso before kicking the corpse off his blade.
This was a dire situation. A single mistake meant death. Fear and survival instinct sent adrenaline surging through his veins, masking his exhaustion and pain with a sudden burst of strength and a desperate will to live.
While Arcas could slaughter mutants with ease—often several at once—their sheer numbers were overwhelming. Eric, staying close behind Arcas, couldn't exactly say he wasn't a burden; he could only manage to pick off a mutant or two at a time while staying in the giant's shadow.
"You certainly have a way with metaphors... but I like it," Arcas muttered, his armored boot crushing a mutant's head into a mess of gore and bone against the sand.
Eric swung his short sword in a diagonal arc, taking down another mutant. The blade sliced through the collarbone and lodged deep in its chest.
"Thank you for the compliment, my Lord," Eric said, bracing his foot against the creature's chest to wrench the blade free.
Even without looking back, Arcas seemed to know exactly what was happening. He let out a low chuckle, even in the heat of battle.
"Ho... it seems you aren't quite used to the blade yet, and your melee skills are... lacking. But the way you speak reminds me of the Sons of the Wolf King, Leman Russ."
Eric couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride at that. Underneath his gas mask, a small smile formed. Receiving praise from a Space Marine who hailed from ten millennia ago felt significant. In the grim reality of the 41st Millennium, hard work in the Imperial bureaucracy rarely earned a kind word. One mistake could cost a person their entire status, demoting them and ruining their life. Fortunately, Hive Kathion wasn't quite that merciless—yet.
"WAAAGGHH!!!"
The Orks had arrived. Soon, a chaotic, bloody three-way melee erupted between the mutants and the Orks. Despite the obscuring sandstorm, seeing the Orks up close sent a shiver down Eric's spine. A single, crude swing from an Ork's 'choppa' could bisect a mutant instantly. Every Ork was smaller than Arcas, making Eric wonder if Arcas could truly stand against a three-meter-tall Warboss.
It wasn't just the mutants dying, though. The mutants' claws and warped limbs tore through Ork hide and bone just as easily. It was a brutal, evenly matched slaughter.
Eric noticed a mutant sneaking up to strike Arcas from behind. He didn't hesitate, driving his sword into the creature's skull before it could land a blow. He didn't know if mutant claws could penetrate Arcas's ancient power armor, and he wasn't about to let his curiosity be tested at the cost of his companion's life.
Eric continued to pick off the stragglers, unaware that an Ork named Brugg was stalking him. Brugg held a massive, clunky 'shoota'—a prize from a Mek—and aimed it at Eric, perceiving him as a weak, small target compared to the massive Arcas. Grinning with jagged white tusks, the Ork pulled the trigger, intending to shred Eric to pieces.
"Die, ya mask-wearin' gitz! Brugg's got a new boom-stick from da Mek! WAAAGGHH!!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The thunderous roar of the shoota made Eric's heart skip a beat. Time seemed to slow down. He heard his own frantic heartbeat, the low hum of Arcas's power armor, and the sound of rending flesh. By instinct, he tried to dive for the sand, a move learned during his days in the PDF. He expected to feel the impact of heavy slugs.
_But the pain never came._ It was a miracle—or perhaps just Ork craftsmanship.
"Wot?! How'd I miss ya, ya puny git?! Da Mek said dis shoota was da best 'cause it's da loudest!!" Brugg barked in disbelief.
Eric didn't give him a second chance. He snatched his scrap-metal rifle from his back and aimed. He recognized this Ork immediately—it was the one who had threatened to eat him for lunch when they first met. Back then, Eric was unarmed and terrified. Now, he had a rifle.
BANG!
The round caught Brugg square in the face, dropping the Ork instantly. Before Eric could breathe, he sensed movement behind him. He spun around just as a mutant lunged, its claws inches away. Eric kicked its leg out, sending it sprawling, then stomped on its head before finishing it off with a brutal blow from his rifle's buttstock. He quickly cycled the bolt, chambering a new round.
In the corner of his eye, he saw something small, red, and round charging Arcas. It was a Squig—a creature that was mostly mouth and legs, covered in strapped-on explosives. It ignored everyone else, darting through the chaos straight for the Space Marine.
Eric raised his rifle. His hands shook; the target was small and fast. If he missed, Arcas would be caught in the blast.
BANG!
He took the shot. The bullet pierced the Squig's leg, causing it to tumble and detonate only five meters away from Arcas. The explosion was massive, vaporizing nearby mutants and Orks. Arcas stumbled from the shockwave, but Eric remained unharmed, shielded by Arcas's massive frame. However, the blast showered Eric in a grisly rain of blood and viscera.
Arcas turned to look at Eric, who was still holding his rifle.
"My thanks... your marksmanship is impressive. It is a pity your swordsmanship is so wretched," Arcas praised, though with a sharp sting of criticism at the end. Eric felt a prick of annoyance at the remark but stayed silent as he reloaded.
_Dammit... only three rounds left,_ Eric thought, his anxiety rising. Three bullets wouldn't go far against a horde.
"You're welcome, my Lord," Eric replied.
The battle eventually wound down as the numbers dwindled. Arcas stood firm, his axe a blur of lethality, leaving a mounting pile of corpses at his feet. As the adrenaline faded, Eric felt a crushing wave of exhaustion. He had to lean on his rifle just to stay upright. Can I even keep going?
"The threats are neutralized. We must move. My Auspex shows no other life signs nearby," Arcas said casually, the tension leaving his voice as he decapitated the final Ork. His armor was now almost entirely coated in dark crimson blood.
"Ye... yes, my Lord," Eric stammered, his voice thin from fatigue.
Arcas didn't need to see Eric's face to know he had reached his limit. Seeing as the human had saved his life twice now, the Space Marine decided on a solution. Arcas mag-locked his axe to his thigh and knelt down. Before Eric could react, the giant scooped him up with one massive arm.
"What are you doing, my Lord?!" Eric cried out, frantically grabbing onto the armor to avoid falling. He found himself perched on Arcas's forearm, which was wider than Eric's own thigh. He could feel the wet blood of their enemies soaking into his clothes from the armor.
"If you complain, I shall leave you to walk," Arcas warned sternly. "You are exhausted. Continuing on foot would make you a liability to us both."
Eric lowered his head in shame. He had snapped at someone who was only trying to help. "I'm sorry, my Lord... I was just worried that carrying me would put you at risk if we were attacked."
"You are forgetful. Have you already forgotten that my armor is equipped with an Auspex?"
"Forgive me, my Lord... it slipped my mind," Eric replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment.
Safe for the moment and spared from the grueling trek, Eric reached into his pack for some water and nutrient paste to ward off the hunger. Once finished, he checked his rifle one last time. His heart sank as he counted his remaining ammunition.
_Only one round left... _he thought, staring at the lone brass casing in his palm.