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Artfight submission of @pythosart's Lark and my Veteran Sarine!

#art #oc #my art #artfight #darktide #pythosart #lark #sarine #warhammer #warhammer40k

The crack of lasgun fire rang out. Two, three, four, five shots.

"Rager down!" Maia shouted, without taking her eyes off the incoming hoard.

Liara rocketed forward, screaming praise to the God-Emperor as she swung her Eviscerator, cleaving the poxwalkers as they staggered forward, their makeshift weapons raised. She was joined quickly by Pidge, the massive Ogryn swinging a cleaver the size of his comrades through the enemy. Anything not immediately torn in half by the force of it was thrown aside, their bodies broken. Easy cleanup for Sarine, who's Force Sword tore their flesh like paper.

As the Psyker of this particular fireteam, she had more insight into what exactly these things were. Yes, the others had a general understanding. They were the bodies of the citizens of Atoma, twisted beyond belief by the Blight. The Inquisitor's lackeys insisted they were dead, bodies puppeted around by a disease.

But Sarine knew more. It wasn't just a body. The damned souls, screaming in agony and fear and despair, were anchored to the bodies. They could not pass into the Immaterium without the bodies being killed. And they were forever lost to the Emperor's light. Their souls were tainted by whatever it was that infected them, something the Dregs referred to as "the Grandfather."

The sound of a net gun snapped Sarine out of her rhythm. She heard the grotesque giggling of the Trapper as he rounded the corner. He gave a shocked start, as if he didn't expect someone to have already noticed him. Sarine reached into the Warp, her arm outstretched, palm out, projecting a barrier between her and the disgusting cultist. Then, as her rage boiled over, she clamped onto him with her mind. In one smooth motion, she slammed him into the floor, grabbed the Vraks pattern autogun that hung near her hip, brought the barrel up just high enough, and pulled the trigger.

Slug rounds exploded from the barrel, twelve of them slamming straight into the back and head of the Trapper. Sarine knew it was overkill, his head looked like a burst melon after the first three, but she didn't care. She could never take enough retribution from these cultists for the souls of Atoma.

"The Trapper will trouble us no longer!" She called out, turning back to her team.

"You alright?" Maia asked, loading a fresh power cell into her Kantraal pattern lasgun. It was only then that Sarine realized she'd been screaming.

"I'll be better back aboard the Mourningstar. Let us go." Sarine replied, the rage in her voice replaced by a sad note. She dropped the autogun, letting it hang from the strap over her shoulder again. It bounced against her leg as she walked, sword in hand. As ordered, she removed the heads from any bodies that had fallen. Assurance that they couldn't mutate and rise again. The cacophony of screaming souls had quieted ever so slightly. But it would never fade entirely from this place until the work of the Cult was expunged from the city.