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Description
The two bodies crashed trough the concrete wall, landing on the debris filled street. The charred asphalt cracked on the impact with the two heavy figures.
He quickly stood up and before the enemy could react he place a single shot of his plasma pistol on the enemy's forehead.

A cold wind blew through the destroyed cityscape, scattering the ashes from the burnt buildings into the air. The sound of broken glass and twisted metal echoed off the walls of the ruined structures.
As the warrior watched the approaching horde of enemies, he felt his adrenaline surge. He could sense his heartbeat quickening and pounding in his ears.

In the distance, the cries of agony from the fallen echoed through the desolate streets. War had ravaged the city, leaving it a barren wasteland.
As he looked around, he remembered the memories that had brought him to this place. His duty was to protect those who had no strength to fight, and to restore justice to this planet.

No matter how many times he had fought, he never grew tired of the thrill of the battle. It was what defined him.
It was what he has been trained for, actually engineered for. It was what gave him a larger purpose, a purpose filled with the elation coming from each of the countless battle he fought. It was what made him feel alive.

The wind howled through the crumbling ruins, as the rain began to fall. The smell of burnt flesh and blood hung heavy in the air.
The enemy horde was encircling him and he smiled beneath his helmet. "Now the real fun begins" he whispered to himself.
One of the enemy soldiers walked toward him. He was wearing a scythe which monomolecular blade reflected the dim light that lit the street.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he sarcastically asked to the enemy soldier.
The enemy replied by swinging his scythe at him.
The warrior ducked as the blade whistled past him. He quickly rolled on the ground and came up behind the enemy.
The enemy turned around just in time to see the warrior grab his arm. The warrior twisted the enemy's wrist, forcing him to drop the scythe.
The warrior grabbed the falling scythe before it hit the ground and he swung the blade in a wide arc, slicing the enemy's head clean off.
The body fell to the ground with a thud.

“I suppose the answer is yes." he commented, as he threw the scythe away with a gesture of contempt.
He unsheathed his sword: a surge of energy enveloped the blade, creating a blazing aura that emitted an eerie hiss as the raindrops struck the burning plasma.

One of the enemy soldiers tried to slash his arm with a monomolecular sword. He parried the thrust with his sword and drove the blade directly into the soldier's skull.
The burning energies of his blade cauterized the fatal wound, leaving no blood.
The remaining enemies charged at him. He swung his sword with deadly elegance.

They fell before him like a wave breaking on a shore. They were no match and soon the only thing that remained was the smoking remnants of the fallen horde.
The rain continued to pour down, and lightning flashed across the darkened sky. In the distance, the rumble of thunder echoed through the crumbling buildings.
He stopped for a moment to observe the destruction that has befallen the city.

It was an all too familiar sight. The scarred and broken landscape was testimony to the savagery and brutality of the war that had been constantly engulfing the galaxy since his memory could recall.

His memories. Such is the weight they carry.
He was once one the Emperor's finest warriors, a living legend.
Now the Imperium is fractured, divided among warring factions, torn by the clash of ideologies and greed.

Once he was a living legend. Now he is just a warrior without his Lord, like a ronin wandering through a Galaxy set aflame.
Yet he has a purpose and he will stand against the darkness, an enduring bastion for those huddling in the light.

This is now the Will that drives him, the purpose that he chose to follow, to stand for others where they cannot stand for themselves.

When the Emperor will return, he will look him in the eye knowing that in his absence he fulfilled his Oath: he kept watch, kept his blade sharp and preserved the light that shone ever defiant in the face of the endless abyss of the Darkness that relentlessly stalks the Galaxy from beyond the light of the stars.

-- --

I realized the stoty turned out to be rather long for a description but I liked it and I wanted to share it with you.

Description
The two bodies crashed trough the concrete wall, landing on the debris filled street. The charred asphalt cracked on the impact with the two heavy figures.
He quickly stood up and before the enemy could react he place a single shot of his plasma pistol on the enemy's forehead.

A cold wind blew through the destroyed cityscape, scattering the ashes from the burnt buildings into the air. The sound of broken glass and twisted metal echoed off the walls of the ruined structures.
As the warrior watched the approaching horde of enemies, he felt his adrenaline surge. He could sense his heartbeat quickening and pounding in his ears.

In the distance, the cries of agony from the fallen echoed through the desolate streets. War had ravaged the city, leaving it a barren wasteland.
As he looked around, he remembered the memories that had brought him to this place. His duty was to protect those who had no strength to fight, and to restore justice to this planet.

No matter how many times he had fought, he never grew tired of the thrill of the battle. It was what defined him.
It was what he has been trained for, actually engineered for. It was what gave him a larger purpose, a purpose filled with the elation coming from each of the countless battle he fought. It was what made him feel alive.

The wind howled through the crumbling ruins, as the rain began to fall. The smell of burnt flesh and blood hung heavy in the air.
The enemy horde was encircling him and he smiled beneath his helmet. "Now the real fun begins" he whispered to himself.
One of the enemy soldiers walked toward him. He was wearing a scythe which monomolecular blade reflected the dim light that lit the street.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he sarcastically asked to the enemy soldier.
The enemy replied by swinging his scythe at him.
The warrior ducked as the blade whistled past him. He quickly rolled on the ground and came up behind the enemy.
The enemy turned around just in time to see the warrior grab his arm. The warrior twisted the enemy's wrist, forcing him to drop the scythe.
The warrior grabbed the falling scythe before it hit the ground and he swung the blade in a wide arc, slicing the enemy's head clean off.
The body fell to the ground with a thud.

“I suppose the answer is yes." he commented, as he threw the scythe away with a gesture of contempt.
He unsheathed his sword: a surge of energy enveloped the blade, creating a blazing aura that emitted an eerie hiss as the raindrops struck the burning plasma.

One of the enemy soldiers tried to slash his arm with a monomolecular sword. He parried the thrust with his sword and drove the blade directly into the soldier's skull.
The burning energies of his blade cauterized the fatal wound, leaving no blood.
The remaining enemies charged at him. He swung his sword with deadly elegance.

They fell before him like a wave breaking on a shore. They were no match and soon the only thing that remained was the smoking remnants of the fallen horde.
The rain continued to pour down, and lightning flashed across the darkened sky. In the distance, the rumble of thunder echoed through the crumbling buildings.
He stopped for a moment to observe the destruction that has befallen the city.

It was an all too familiar sight. The scarred and broken landscape was testimony to the savagery and brutality of the war that had been constantly engulfing the galaxy since his memory could recall.

His memories. Such is the weight they carry.
He was once one the Emperor's finest warriors, a living legend.
Now the Imperium is fractured, divided among warring factions, torn by the clash of ideologies and greed.

Once he was a living legend. Now he is just a warrior without his Lord, like a ronin wandering through a Galaxy set aflame.
Yet he has a purpose and he will stand against the darkness, an enduring bastion for those huddling in the light.

This is now the Will that drives him, the purpose that he chose to follow, to stand for others where they cannot stand for themselves.

When the Emperor will return, he will look him in the eye knowing that in his absence he fulfilled his Oath: he kept watch, kept his blade sharp and preserved the light that shone ever defiant in the face of the endless abyss of the Darkness that relentlessly stalks the Galaxy from beyond the light of the stars.

-- --

I realized the stoty turned out to be rather long for a description but I liked it and I wanted to share it with you.