| Subject: I got bored so I'm doing a future RPG |
Author:
Mage o' War
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Date Posted: 18:35:12 09/25/02 Wed
Ducking behind the rock formations, the still smoking Mk3 Needler Anti-Personnel Defense Weapon(Needler APD for short) humming in his hand from the most recent burst, the soldier mutters a few select curses as the return-fire batters his cover. With a sigh, the young man checks his clip and when he discovers there's still 20 rounds left, he slaps it back in with a satisfied nod.
He was getting tired of this. These missions that set him and him alone against hundreds of enemies. It never ceased to amaze him how much faith his superiors placed in him, but he was getting fed up with it. This wasn't the first time he'd been pinned, and not his fault either. The enemy psykers, with their honed pyschic abilities, could read the field taticians minds with ease, unless they were wearing specialized equipment that would block their powers. But that equipment was rare, especially out here in the midsts of this ass-hole end of the universe.
Deep in thought, when the rail shell zipped through the rock right beside his shoulder, the soldier screamed in surprise and fell back.
"They aren't supposed to have gauss weaponry here!" he thought feverishly. "This is bullshit! They expect me to survive with this kind of shit intel?! God damn it!" He cursed the Intellegence Officers and added a few names to his mental hit list.
Without warning, he rolled to the left and leveled his gun. In an instant, he picked up the soldier with the heavy Gauss Cannon. Without waiting a second, the young soldier squeezed off a 2-round burst then rolled back into cover without waiting to see if he hit him. The soldier knew he did...he always hit.
He was getting sick of it all, more than ready to go back on orders and end it all. He's more powerful, more dangerous than the Needler SMG in his hand, more dangerous than the beam saber at his hip, more dangerous than the honed psykers on the enemy's side. He commanded a power more ancient than anything...and he did it with the prestige and authority of the Seven Emperors themselves! He was a sorcerer, true bred and true trained. A high sorcerer of prestige beyond his years, of power almost beyond his dreams. He was a War Mage.
With a cold smile, he holestered his weapon and cooly stood up, only his head sticking out from the boulder. He gave a bitter laugh as he noticed the quizzical looks on the enemy infantrymen's faces, 100 to 400 yards away. Before the first could even attempt to raise his rifle to snipe him, the sorcerer of descruction was preparing his spell; the arcanic words spilling from his lips and his hands weaving eccentric patterns in the now-shimmering air.
Before the enemy even knows what's happening, the very earth below them explodes into pillars of flame. Their screams of agony spill over his highly-attuned ears, but they pass without a care. The youthful wizard smiles in ecstasy, the very meaning of bliss flowing through him as he weaves the complicated spells of death. He counts the enemies his kills by the feeling of their souls passing on. As an automatic response to this, he mentally recites a prayer, speeding them towards whatever afterlife they have accepted.
His joy was interrupted as something brushed his mind, a small tickle. With a grunt, his concentration broke and the flame pillar spell subsided. He took a quick look around the battlefield, nodding at the almost absolute descruction. Then he looked towards the psyker, 300 yards off, staring at him. The too looked at each other, and their eyes locked. Normal people didn't have that kind of sight, of course, but the training that the two special young men had received gave them more than enhanced attributes.
Seconds passed, then the psyker grinned. The magician blinked then pain flooded his senses. He shouted and fell to his knees, clawing at his temples, then rolled over. The pain only grew worse...and worse. He could feel his mind being torn at the seams.
"I'm going to die...I'm actually going to die!" the mage thought. "How...why...now...?! To a psyker! ...TO A PSYKER?! NO! I can not allow one of these new-age whelps to best me! NEVER!"
With a roar, he forced himself up to his hands and knees and glareed death at the psyker. The insolent psychic was grinning, already congradulating himself on his victory. With a roar of disgust, the sorcerer raises his hand and made a series of gestures and muttered the darkest, foulest arcane words. The psyker's smile slipped quickly as the ground around him turned black...then it slide even further down when he noticed the purple pentagram pulsing around him.
The psyker threw back his head and screamed as the demon appeared infront of him. Blood-red and made of no real solid mass, the demonic figure snarled and grunted a string of inhuman wordages. The demon grabbed the psyker, and with a roar, tore a chunk from his side. With a laugh, the demon descended back into the planet...dragging the psyker down with it.
The pain subsided as if it were never there. With a sigh of releif, the sorcerer rolled and layed on his back, breathing deep and relaxing. He didn't know how he did it...but it felt great. The power that surged through him during the summoning...it was pure, untainted. He smiled at the irony of that, then shook his head and stood back up. With a final thought to the demon he had summoned, he whipped up a few quick spells and finished off the survivors from his initial barrage.
He smiled, then sighed. He was going to get bitched at....he always did whenever he cast his spells. But this time, he didn't care. He had destroyed an entire base by himself, and rid the planet of one more psyker! No matter how much they were going to chew him out, they'd give him at least a ribbon as well...maybe even a medal.
That thought brought a smile to his lips. How he loved the honor of it all. He had asperations to become the greatest of Imperial Sorcerers one day. And he'd make sure he got that title, no matter what. Even if he had to use his clout, he'd get it.
As First Son of the Seventh Emperor, wasn't it his rightful place? First of the Seventh, Lord Marcius Zexan, Lord High Sorcerer of the Imperial Marines. The thought brought a smile to the ambitious young man's face.
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