Editing Spared (section)

==Subprocessor DM's version==

Brother Iratus swung forward on his stubby legs, mowing down dozens of blue soldiers with a sustained burst from his Assault Cannon. As oncoming fire scorched his armor, Iratus remarked loudly to himself on how pitiful Xenos weapons were, while waddling steadily forward and sweeping the battered ground with his Flamer. The Tau fell back continuously, faltering before the Dreadnought's unrelenting assault, unable to bring the well-armored machine down without heavy support. Though he was alone, his Battle Brothers having fallen long before, Iratus refused to give in, trusting in the Emperor to guide his fury to those most deserving. Rows upon rows of Xenos fell to his shells, rapidly becoming precious as his magazine ran dry. Sniper teams, bogged down in the tank-churned, bloody ground, were gunned down by Iratus's Storm Bolter as he climbed the hill he had marked for conquest; he pledged to the Emperor his last stand on the high point as his ammunition was expended.

The Assault Cannon, its barrels glowing red from constant fire, stopped spinning. The Storm Bolter fell silent without rounds, and even the Flamer ceased to offer the light of its holy flame. The only weapons left to Iratus were his arms and his legs, and as he climbed the hill of his triumph, his armor scored and cratered by the fruitless efforts of the enemies of man, he saw his doom.

Thousands of soldiers, well-armed, with clean armor, unbroken ranks, and unchallenged resolve, awaited him at the bottom of the hill. Their rifles and carbines pointed upwards toward his mighty bulk, while drones of all kinds floated in a pattern about his shoulders, encircling him. It was not these meager things that bothered him, however. With the Emperor's strength behind him, Iratus would wade through their useless pillars of fire, and grind them into the earth, one by one. But he knew that he would never get close enough to unleash his fist upon the face of the foul Xenos, for they had brought their most expensive toys. They had brought their own ridiculous parody of man's ultimate sacrifice and most holy machine. They had brought Battlesuits.

The suits were lined up in formation, directing their heavy weapons at the scarred and staggering Dreadnought standing on the hill. Their shots would tear him apart through sheer volume alone, wearing him down long before he could reach them. He was finished, as he had been so many centuries before. In death Iratus had continued to serve, gladly, for his life was not his own, but the Emperor's, to do with as he pleased. As a living weapon Iratus was nothing more than a thing, a construct to be wielded by the Imperium as a bludgeon to break the backs of the vileness that threatened it. From his walking tomb the hardened Space Marine had dispensed justice for hundreds of years, but his time had come. His last stand, on a world claimed by the upstart Tau, out of ammo, and out of time. He raised his fist, and shouted:

I PURGE THEE IN HIS NAME

And the enemy line exploded.

Hundreds upon hundreds of shells detonated above the heads of the worthless Tau, shattering their armor into splinters and setting them aflame. The drones fell in seconds to concentrated fire, their thin, poorly-made armor no match for the holy Bolter and consecrated Lascannon. The Battlesuits whirled about, spraying shots wildly all over the battlefield, even as the unerring aim of the Brother Marines tore them to shreds with the Emperor's Will. Thunderfires far beyond the battlezone belched flame and destruction with accuracy unrivaled, raining steel and Promethium down on the Xenos position. As Iratus charged down the hill, lost in the glory of his fight, a single Land Raider punched its way through the terrain, its weight too great to allow it to tilt. Two squads of Marines poured out of it, rolling backwards as the Raider crushed burning and melted corpses in its wake. The Marines, easily regaining their balance, stomped forward, unleashing hell upon the scattered survivors of the assault.

Iratus had reached the enemy, despite his self-defeating thoughts. He cursed himself for his lack of faith, and prayed to humanity's protector to forgive him his transgression, and allow him to redeem himself. With his powered fist he brought the Xenos low, slamming his spent Cannon into a crippled suit and crushing survivors into bloody pulp. He reveled in it, relishing the feeling of being free, no longer needing to soak up fire with his massive form, able to indulge in the mess of close combat like he had in his younger years. He laughed in victory as the senseless, demoralized Tau fell before his armored shell, pleading with whatever forces they worshiped to save them from his wrath. Iratus marched on, diligently giving all what was their due, even as his Brothers approached, ushering those remaining into the grasping hands of the Warp. His vox crackled and sputtered for the first time in days, carrying him the words of his brethren soldiers.

"Iratus, are you alright?"

The Dreadnought held one of the blue creatures up, displaying him to the tens of injured and disabled wastes of flesh that remained. As the poor thing screamed, Iratus crushed him, and shouted back:

THE EMPEROR PROTECTS

The Dreadnought's Brothers easily secured the field, sparing no measure of force while they returned the Tau to their rightful place in the pits of the earth. Iratus refused any aid of any sort until all of the Xenos had been felled, despite the frustration this caused the Techmarines, who felt his pain. Days and days of continuous wear and damage had taken their toll, but the sarcophagus-bound Marine felt none of it at this moment. He stalked the mounds of bodies like a young man, picking them apart with precision and removing those that still lived. His Brothers left him to his work, and he finally reached the Battlesuits that had formed the back of the line. He inspected their crude, splintered forms, laughing to himself over their unsophisticated copies of superior Imperial technology. Most of them had been smashed quite thoroughly by the artillery barrage, but a few remained more-or-less intact. Tearing them open like ration cans, Iratus found that the pilots inside had already perished, without exception. And he moved to the last, lying on its back, its arms and legs torn asunder. He flipped it over, and found its cockpit to be open, and empty.

Iratus peered through the armor slit that served as his eyes, searching for the suit's lost occupant. The thought of missing a target, even one, bothered him greatly. At long last, he discovered a set of soft footprints in the mud, almost too light to see. He followed them a short distance, noticing that they were uneven, probably due to a limp. The Dreadnought finally came to their end, where a tiny blue Xenos sat shivering in the dirt, her arms pulling her knees to her chest. She looked up at the mighty machine, her red eyes without expression, and looked back to the ground, pulling her legs closer. Iratus raised his fist, thankful to the Emperor for allowing him to find the last of his enemies, but he stopped. He told himself it was because he wanted to savor her pain, to make her pay for the unabsolvable sin of killing his own Brothers, but he knew in his lifeless heart that it was a lie. His fist inched closer, but it would not drop. He could not bring himself to kill a being so helpless, so obviously unable to defend itself. The rage and fury of battle faded, and Iratus felt himself calm for the first time since planetfall. His fist lowered, though he did not tell it to do so. Praying to the Emperor, that in his eternal wisdom and mercy he could find fit to forgive him, Iratus activated his vox.

WE ARE CLEAR

He lied, the least of his sins. He rationalized it, telling himself that the broken thing before him could not possibly survive another hour, let alone long enough to give its short existence meaning. But he spared it, and he did it willingly, no matter if he accepted it or not.

The Brother Dreadnought returned to his fellows, leaving the Tau pilot to crawl in the dirt until it perished from the elements. He attempted, through the most rigorous meditation, to forget her, and to make himself believe that he left her to die slowly, to torture her. But the Emperor would not let him forget. For years, through incredible purges, unending battles, endless voyages, he remembered her in his dreams. It was not until he and his Chapter faced the Tau again that he felt he had any chance of erasing his transgression.

When Iratus made the drop he felt as a new man, filled with righteous fury and fully loaded for war. He killed countless Xenos with a glad heart and a blank mind, never once thinking of his crime as he murdered her fellows without a second thought.

Finally, he came to a hill, where fortified Snipers were picking off his Brothers with an ease he could not allow. Flamer and Bolter broke them easily, and as he climbed the hill to finish them completely, he felt vindicated. Despite his uncleanliness, he still served, and kept his faith. But that feeling did not last. As he reached the top of the hill, he came face-to-face with a lone Battlesuit, waiting for him. Its Railguns pointed at his stocky body, easily able to tear him to pieces at such close range. The Assault Cannon began spinning, but Iratus was suddenly jarred out of his focus. The Battlesuit spoke, three words that Iratus recognized as Gothic, even through the pilot's heavy accent.

WE. ARE. CLEAR.

And the suit backed down, walking down the hill without firing a shot. Iratus resisted the urge to hit it in the back, despite the voice in his head screaming at him to redeem himself.

The Brother Dreadnought left that planet a confused and flustered man, and for the rest of his life he could not get the memory out of his head. An honorable Tau. He laughed at the thought, and it warmed his heart. Perhaps man did not have as many enemies as it thought?

End.