In the Grim Darkness of the Far Future, Bring a Flashlight - Volume I

## Transhuman

The Guardsman had manned his station for hours, repelling wave after wave of cultists. The bodies of his comrades littered the trench, and the air felt thick with the stench of death and decay. His arms ached from gripping his weapon so closely, his throat raw from shouting to the other soldiers. Just as the Guardsman thought they had repelled the last wave, the cultists launched another charge. Again, the Guardsman fought with everything he had, his lasgun a blur as he fired shot after shot into the oncoming horde. But it was no use: red lasers seemed to disappear into the tide of flesh. Cultists poured over the trench, their weapons flashing in the dim light of the battlefield.

The Guardsman stumbled in the mud of the trench, his lasgun torn from his grasp by a rusty blade. The enemy was upon him, screaming their twisted prayers and brandishing sacrificial knives. He braced himself for the killing blow, but it never came. A blur of ceramite and purple crashed beside him, crushing a heretic beneath its weight; the Space Marine swung his two-handed chainsword with ferocity. The cultists’ zeal proved no match for the Astarte’s fury: the Guardsman watched in awe as the Space Marine hacked his way through the enemy ranks, his attacks ruthless and unrelenting.

But as the last cultist fell, the Guardsman held his breath. The Space Marine's armor was spattered with gore, and his gauntlets dripped with blood. He turned to the Guardsman and, for a moment, the Guardsman felt a flicker of dread. The Astarte was not human; he was something more. Something else, and the Guardsman could not help but feel a surge of revulsion.

The Space Marine's voice sounded deep and resonant, like the growl of a predator. "Are you injured?" he asked, his glowing red eyes fixed on the Guardsman.

The Guardsman shook his head, unable to speak. He could only stare in awe and terror at the towering giant before him.

The Space Marine seemed to sense his discomfort. "I am Brother-Sergeant Bathykles of the Starborn Giants," he said, his voice softening slightly. "I will hold this position. Fall back."

The Guardsman nodded, grateful for the Space Marine's protection. But as he watched the Astarte lumber away, he could not shake the feeling of dread gnawing at his gut. He had witnessed the true nature of the Astartes, and he knew they were different. He only hoped he would never have to see one again.

## Survival

The Imperial Guard had been trapped underground for hours, the result of an errant artillery barrage from another regiment. They had managed to find refuge in a small chamber, but the flickering of their failing flashlights revealed a sight that filled them with horror: the walls of the cave were covered in strange, fleshy growths that pulsed with sickly green light. The stench of decay and alien spores filled their nostrils, their stomachs churning with revulsion. As they huddled together, they could hear the screeching and chittering of xenos nearby, searching for any sign of prey.

The Tyranids were relentless, and the Guardsmen knew they could be attacked at any moment. The initial cave-in had crushed their comm-links and sergeant; his screams still echoed in their minds, a reminder of the horrors that awaited them. They were cut off from the rest of the world, alone in a place where no human was ever meant to tread.

As the hours ticked by, the men grew increasingly aware of their own mortality: they were trapped in a place where death could come at any time, from any direction, and there was no escape. Their weapons were nearly depleted, and they had no way of communicating with the outside world. They faced an implacable enemy, born of a universe that cared not for their existence. The realization that they were ultimately insignificant, that their lives were just a fleeting blip in the grand scheme of things, filled them with a sense of despair and hopelessness. And as they cowered in the damp darkness, they realized the true terror of their situation: they were not just fighting to survive, but against the very nature of the universe; the Tyranids were an embodiment of the cold, merciless reality they found themselves trapped in. All of them were merely pawns in a cosmic game of life and death.

In the end, the Lindwyrm Tyranids did not find them. However, the soldiers paid a heavy price for their survival: several of them had succumbed to infections caused by the spores permeating the chamber. Others developed respiratory problems from the noxious air; they were too weak to make it back to the surface and perished in the underground tomb.

The rest of the Guardsmen were forced to wait in the chamber for days, surviving on dwindling rations and hope. Eventually, a team of Space Marines arrived and freed them from their underground prison. But the Guardsmen were forever changed by their experience; they had seen the true nature of the universe and had felt its cruel indifference. They would never forget the horrors they had faced in that underground chamber, nor the sacrifice of their fallen comrades.

As the Guardsmen emerged from the tomb, they looked upon the Space Marines with awe and gratitude. They owed their lives to the Emperor's Angels and would forever be in their debt. And as the Saurians Chapter returned to the subterranean lair, the Guardsmen whispered a prayer of thanks to the Emperor for sending his mighty warriors to save them.