Wounds

The last man standing in the old cathedral on a reclusive planet. Is the treasure safe? Is there anyone left?

He hobbled forward past the ancient statues with bent heads peering down at him. It was an ominous feeling, the slipping of one’s lifeblood, the faint pull of sleep playing at his mind as he dragged his feet along the stone. Rubble fell from the ceiling where holes now gaped open from the shelling. Corpses dotted the floor some were inhuman warped and battered others regal and beautiful as if resting. The alloy armor that bore his comrades were works of art and engineering. Swooping strokes of gold and blue now splattered with red.

The figure of Lorthin was hunched, gripping at his side a red gash having been torn in his side. He continued down the hall, his laser rifle slung over his shoulder. Weezing gasps and grunts of pain seemed to last for eternity each step bringing him closer to the large wooden doors slightly ajar a dozen broken bodies of the inhumans lay around it. Their bodies were of bone and pink flesh stretched thin over broken teeth. Their eyes even in death seemed to show hunger. Pushing the corpses out of the way he pushed open the door leaving a red handprint on its exterior. Fits of coughing caused drops of blood to splatter on the floor from his mouth. He entered the circular room looking about. His heart fell, his head resting in his free hand that did not grip his side.

“No one” he said in a weak whisper.

The room was an immense structure that lay in the heart of the cathedral. A wide circle with marble pillars running the circumference. At the center stood the 7 lady virtues adorned in their fashion heads bowed as if praying in a circle of their own centered in the room.

A few stray tears fell down Lorthin’s face leaving clean trails down his soot stained mask. Dozens of his brothers lay throughout the massive room each having scores of inhumans dead in their company. A true heroic stand was made here Lorthin knew, but there would be no one to speak of his brother’s deeds, and no one to write them songs.

Lorthin took another shaky breath. He felt the blackness play his visions corners. He felt the tiredness rack his body. Sleep seemed so easy. He knew it would come.

No he thought, no he had a purpose and he had to finish it. His head rose with what remained of him. His slow steps moved him towards the center of the virtues attention, a mosaic that decorated the floor, now covered in red, no longer visible. His boot caught a body as he walked and he stumbled to the hard marble floor. It was so easy to do he felt as the slight thud of pain coursed through his chest. He lay on the floor as he felt the burning in his heart push him on. His brothers gave him this chance and he would not make their deaths be in vein.

Opening his weary eyes he touched a small piece of the mosaic as he had trained. It rose from the earth and a slow grating of stone soon could be heard as a pedestal rose from the ground topped with a pair of stone carved cupped hands. Reaching for his neck he pulled at the cord around it, a black stone orb upon it. He gazed at it one last time and reached up from the ground and placed his charge in the stone hands of the Virtues. The pedestal slowly began to retract back to its resting place in the floor, the necklace in its hands. The mosaic closed around it and silence took over the room once more.

Lorthin lay there for several moments and felt the darkness enclosing him. A smile played on his lips. It would be good to see his brothers again, he thought to himself. He rested his head on the mosaic. It felt cool and inviting as he closed his eyes for the last time.