The end.
The end does not exist.
It’s more of an end.
Only those who are no longer of use and are of weak spirit enjoy the peace granted by the end.
I am not so blessed.
‘Servus, I need light.’
I float past Canonness Gordieva and light the way in the artificial night.
When I was of the living, my name was Lord Sturnis Simeon. I met my first end on the day I was married to the fair Lady Bessandra Shreya. The sun shone brightly in the sky, kissing my beloved’s bronze skin, and a gentle breeze dislodged a strand of her chocolate hair. I tucked it behind her ear. The twinkle of Bessandra’s laugh as she removed the teal buttercream icing from the tip of my nose…
Now, I am a servo-skull. I will never feel love again—my blood electricity, my brain a cogitator, my eyes a single red lens.
As the band played our song in the courtyard and the guests laughed and danced, an artificial night fell upon Aurora. A xenos ship tore the night and set my world asunder. Swift, lithe creatures brought nought but destruction and death for their selfish pleasure. That day, I died in the service of the Emperor, trying to protect my betrothed from the Drukari.
‘Servus alert nearby units of the xenos threat.’
The xenos stood over my prone body, smiling broadly, a sinister glee in its laugh. With one swift motion, a sharp-edged blade arced toward my sword arm and sliced it off. The limb fell away useless at my side as my life poured out of my body. The foul xenos hacked at my body, severing my limbs as I withered in pain and screamed, watching them take my Bessandra.
Units advised. Awaiting new orders.
As a child, I was told that dying in the service of the Emperor would bring me peace and that His light would shine upon me, warming my soul.
That was a lie.
After what I thought was the end, there came a bone-chilling cold and a darkness so complete it inspired only fear and confusion. A silence so deep I could still hear my beautiful wife singing our song. My thoughts wandered; misery and loneliness were mine, but the memory of our song warmed my soul like a flame.
Your love lifts me higher.
Than I’ve been lifted before
I’ll be at your side
Forevermore.
A speck of golden light broke the darkness. My spirit was excited—the Emperor had finally noticed me. As the spark turned into a flame, I prepared for my encounter with Him. The beacon of hope warmed me, comforting me. Soon, the flame became a raging inferno, burning away my very essence.
‘With me, Servus,’ cries the Canoness as she enters the battlefield.
The Drukhari come once again.
His fire judged my every moment and thought, considering my worthiness. It left me praying for His mercy, for death, writhing in agony.
I float behind the Canoness as she pulls the trigger on her plasma pistol. She has aimed true and vaporised the xenos. Sensors indicate Drukhari presence coming from behind us.
Words pulled and tugged at what was left of me, willing me to be still. I listened carefully to the chants in High Gothic.
Ommissiah, I knew that appellation. The Imperium called upon me to serve the Emperor once more as a machine spirit.
My spirit baulked at the dripping acid of the once-familiar tongue. I snarled at those who chanted and bound me to an unseen prison of words and power, until I could see once more.
My tormentors were dressed in crimson robes, chanting and burning incense. I soon understood I was trapped within a servo-skull. The indignity stung almost as much as the incantations. I tried to remember our song, but the words seemed distant, nearly forgotten.
Your love lifts me…
Than before…
I’ll be at your side,
Forever…
The chants became more forceful and louder, overpowering me.
My end had come and gone as my spirit was summoned back to the mortal realm. Memories of my previous life, my beautiful betrothed, my happiness burned away as the evil spellcasters stripped me of my cold, lonely, quiet end and beat me into submission.
I am chained to the words, bound to a skull, a spirit in the service of the Emperor. Lord Sturnis Simeon is no longer. I chase after Canoness Gordieva, complying with her every wish.
Lord Simeon met his end on his wedding day, but my spirit had yet to die. I hung on to the words of our song as I tried to remember her face.
Your love…
I’ll be at your…
Those who enslaved me did not know my former name. I had once found peace in the cold, silent embrace of darkness. The living revoked my right to the end. They spoke to me and called me a fickle spirit, but I never was.
They pour soothing oils on the wounds they have inflicted upon me, removing their incantations’ torture. I comply, dreaming, longing for my end. I wish nothing but to reach my end again.
A familiar sinister laughter reminds me of my first end. I do not need incantations or soothing oils to activate. Rage fills me, and I hurry to my love’s aid.
I am Lord Simeon.
As a Drukhari stands above her, blade in hand, laughing as it did on the day of my first end, I roar and throw myself between sword and bleeding canoness, prone on the ground.
The blade races down upon me and knocks me to the ground. The canoness fires her plasma pistol, exterminating the xenos.
As my vision swims and I struggle to hold onto consciousness, I remember our song:
Your love lifts me higher.
Than I’ve been lifted before
I’ll be…
My lens flutters and closes, my lumens flicker and go out, and as my cogitator shuts down, I sigh in relief.
The end, finally.
