INSTALLATION 02: LUPUS REX
The hiss of servos was a welcome sign.
Although the battle had been won, Titus could still feel the heat upon his body. Still hear the rattling of blaster bolts shattering against his armor's plating. Still remember the cries roaring over the comm. Once more, the Khanate had reared their ugly heads - and once more, the Legion had been sent to beat them back down. But the day had not come without its costs. It was a victory of course. The raiders were sent scurrying back to the stars with their tails between their legs. The citizenry surrounding Solium - a mining city - were free to live another day.
But the Legion knew loss in their victory. Their faith in the Throne kept them moving forward, but their faith in each other caused them to feel every fallen soldier. In the case of Titus, the explosion had been meant for him. A rocket which had been on a collision course was intercepted by a young recruit. He had to be no older than eighteen - perhaps younger. Perhaps he lied to get into the Legion. But regardless, he dove in front of the ordnance and was reduced to a sack of meat.
In a flash, life was gone. Robbed. This was the nature of their enemy.
But as the helm was removed from Titus' form - as he departed from the armory devoid of armor - his thoughts were on what could have been. He could have been killed. Should have been killed. Perhaps then the young recruit would have lived to see the end of this strife. Over the past seven years, so many had perished against their foe...when would it end?
Titus found himself at the Installation's mess in short order. He slid into a booth and buried his face in his hands, exhaling solemnly.
Although the battle had been won, Titus could still feel the heat upon his body. Still hear the rattling of blaster bolts shattering against his armor's plating. Still remember the cries roaring over the comm. Once more, the Khanate had reared their ugly heads - and once more, the Legion had been sent to beat them back down. But the day had not come without its costs. It was a victory of course. The raiders were sent scurrying back to the stars with their tails between their legs. The citizenry surrounding Solium - a mining city - were free to live another day.
But the Legion knew loss in their victory. Their faith in the Throne kept them moving forward, but their faith in each other caused them to feel every fallen soldier. In the case of Titus, the explosion had been meant for him. A rocket which had been on a collision course was intercepted by a young recruit. He had to be no older than eighteen - perhaps younger. Perhaps he lied to get into the Legion. But regardless, he dove in front of the ordnance and was reduced to a sack of meat.
In a flash, life was gone. Robbed. This was the nature of their enemy.
But as the helm was removed from Titus' form - as he departed from the armory devoid of armor - his thoughts were on what could have been. He could have been killed. Should have been killed. Perhaps then the young recruit would have lived to see the end of this strife. Over the past seven years, so many had perished against their foe...when would it end?
Titus found himself at the Installation's mess in short order. He slid into a booth and buried his face in his hands, exhaling solemnly.
