Farmer Soldier
Tithean held his shuriken catapult close to his chest, trying to steady himself.
It had been two long decades since he had cast aside the armour of the Dire Avenger aspect. It had been two decades since he had last seen war. In the time since, he had taken to tending to the food growth jobs on the Craftworld. A farmer, of sorts, he had become. But now he was again a warrior.
But he had no ambition to be a warrior again. Much of his skill had left him. He wasn't as well verse in the art of war, and he had no aspect armour to augment his abilities.
Around him, similar ex-warriors sat, holding their own weapons. They knew that soon the hatch of the Wave Serpent would swing open and deposit them in the midst of a swirling combat, a hellish scene of death and devastation.
The time had come. The Wave Serpent slowed and descended, almost touching the ground. The rear hatch swung open, acting as a ramp for the Guardians to run down.
They ran out of the vehicle, bringing their guns up to the ready. They quickly ran to join some other Guardian squads, with whom they could launch a much larger, and likely more successful assault than ten citizen-soldiers could launch.
Behind them, their transport was hit with a mon-keigh missile. Its field could not stop its impending doom, and the missile slammed through the turret, exploding the energy cells of the
bright lances that were the tank's armament. The energy fed the growing fireball, which engulfed the engines, superheating their fuel and causing them to explode as well.
Other grav-tanks suffered a similar fate, some they were slowing to unload. Tithean did not like the scene. Too many Eldar were dying, and not enough mon-keigh.
A squadron of Falcons fired a concentrated burst of shots at a building, collapsing it and quieting the weapons of the stubborn mon-keigh that had been hiding it in.
They rushed toward the pile of rubble that had been that building, thinking to use it to shield their advance. But as they did, a mon-keigh moved from an alley to rescue a trapped comrade in the rubble. Tithean felt a small amount of respect for a person who would risk their own life to save that of a fallen comrade, even if they
were a mon-keigh.
Six more mon-keigh warriors stepped out of the alley, but they seemed intent on opening fire on the advancing Eldar, shielding
their battle brothers.
Tithean brought up his shuriken catapult, with some regret, and opened fire. He found that his aim wasn't as good as it used to be. He began to shift his aim.
He had no chance to do it. A mon-keigh's rifle penetrated his armour, once, then twice, then a succession of times. Many of the rounds hit vital organs.
Tithean fell to his knees, then fell sideways and rolled onto his back. He stared at the sky above.
How beautiful. Like the artificial skies of the craftworld.
He saw himself once again tending to the plants, making sure they were growing healthy foods for the people of the craftworld. It was a peaceful living, but one that had been shattered again by war,
And, ultimately, ended by it.
THE END
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