Pity The Guardsman (Male Reader x Warhammer 40K)

Chapter 3- The Governor's Gambit

Segmentum Ultima
Panzer, Agricultural World
Manas's Southern Wall, 1st Trench Line No One's POV

For just a moment time seemed to slow for Corporal Y/N Sola-Anima, the seconds dragging on as he fall backwards into the muddy trench he had helped dig not a day prior. The enemy that had so mindlessly thrown himself at the young man was now nothing but a limp, bleeding corpse impaled on the end of the guardsmen's bayonet.

The air was forced out of his lungs when he finally hit the bottom of the tench, sticky brown mud coating the voxcaster on his back as it collided with the ground while the corpse landed unceremoniously next to him, the blood flowing out from the ever growing hole in his gut. Pulling his weapon free Y/N shoved the corpse away and began to scramble to his feet, his breathing was hard and uneven while his heart beat like a war drum in his chest. His visor painted the world crimson, and he watched in horror as what had to be an endless mass of screaming, crazed madmen slammed into the trench and onto his fellow guardsmen within it.

His squadmates had been standing on either side of him, but now they were lost admits the melee. Sergeant Rugen was closest to him, and had just buried her entrenching took into the neck of a cultist, while Jacub was on his side, desperately scrambling for his lasgun, which was hand buried in the mud.

The PDF in the second trench were firing their autoguns over the head's of their allies and kinsmen, cutting down more of the heretics as they leaped into the first trench. They were dying by the dozens with every volley, and now the cultists were having to clear mounds of their own dead before they could reach the trenches. The 1st regiment was killing almost as much in melee, but did didn't matter. Y/N could see that, even as he aimed at the top of the trench line and set his lasgun to full auto. Squeezing down on the trigger he let the enemy charge into his shots. Half a dozen more cultists dropped this way, the lasbolts were unhindered by  their makeshift armor and holes were burned through them as they fell. Y/N kept up his barrage until an empty click reminded the young soldier that he was carrying a rifle, not a machine gun, and now he had to scramble to reload before the enemy could close the distance and proceeded to stab him with a sharp object until he stopped moving.

But no matter how many the guardsmen killed more and more of the enemy came pouring over the top of the trench, cutting down Manas's defenders left and right as they screamed at the top of their lungs. Carrying their praise into the sky, where they hoped their dark master's could hear them.

Slamming a fresh power pack into his lasgun Y/N looked up, getting ready to start firing again when a new foe made it's presence known. The tide of cultists seemed to spilt in front of him as Y/N watched a figure draped in a black robe leaped into the trench, landing almost gracefully despite his tattered attire. Instead of wielding a makeshift gun or crude melee weapon he carried a simple wooden staff. The shaft was warped and bent, and placed on the top of it was the upper part of a human skull. The jawbone belonging to it hung from the man's neck by leather straps.

Before Y/N could take aim at the man he raised his free hand, aiming his open palm at the corporal. What looked like sparks of electricity danced between his thin, boney fingers before a bolt of lightning exploded out of his hand arched across the trench, snaking its way the the air as if it had a life of it's own.

It's light illuminated the Guardsman's armor and the ground around him, reflecting in the ever growing pools of blood that dotted the battlefield just as Y/N raised his left arm. Attempting to shield his face as he closed his eyes and waited for the impact. Waited for the pain.