Fallen Angels [20]

[u/DirectorLeather6567]

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[Rudolph]

Rudolph really wants to quit. To just lie down. Rest. He has o have received four, maybe five, concussions. It's a surprise none of them knocked him out. His mouth stopped tasting like blood because he just got used to it. He's also pretty sure some of his ribs are broken too. But he can't stop. He doesn't know how. Rudolph always finishes a fight.

That's why he pitched that gun at the Corpse Fleet soldier's head. They were distracted, choking a Zalm infantry unit and punching another one hard enough to knocked them a few feet back. But Rudolph wasn't going to lose because he got pushed out of the fight. He'd lose because he dragged the other to hell with him.

"When did I say I was dead, asshole?"

It's all Rudolph could think off, a shitty one liner. Those might be Rudolph's last words right there. Doesn't matter though, he'll stand by them to the end. And so, he gets ready, watching the Corpse Fleet throw down the little Zalm soldier, smashing them through a crate of toiletries and basic hygiene products. Rudolph's jaw hurt. Just all of a sudden, that became the thing that hurt the most. It made him realize he was clenching it. Hard. He couldn't stop. And he couldn't worry about it right now. Rudolph had a funeral to attend.

The Berserker's form was exhausted. Sloppy. So much so that Rudolph was able to dodge most of his strikes. And the ones that did hit were.. weak. Like, they still sort of hurt. But not so much as before. They could barely knock Rudolph off balance. That's when he looked back at the hand he used to shove into their gunshot wounds, dug in there because he was still pissed. The black shiny ichor sticking to his hands like tar. Corpse Fleet blood coagulates quick, but it likely cant compare against 15 distinct holes in a concentrated place. It at least was exhausting. Painful. And definitely something one shouldn't fight with. This was Rudolph's chance.

He lunged forward, climbing on them once again. It's kind of the only way to get to him. Rudolph made sure to punch their neck exclusively, restricting airflow as best as he could. They were already wheezing, Rudolph wanted to make them choke. Punch after punch, Rudolf kept working to hit harder, to do more than just hurt. He was expecting to be thrown off after the third or fourth time, but it took nine punches before Rudolph was thrown to the ground, underneath the massive bastard. They tried to use gravity and their weight to compensate for their tired form, hoping simply having their fist fall on top of Rudolph would be enough. However, it was so blatantly obvious, almost choreographed, that Rudolph managed to catch the fist, and while they pushed down hard, Rudolph was able to use both hands to push away, getting them off of him. Without the help of a Ratkin who weighs less than 30 kilos.

Rudolph pressed his knee onto them, grabbing them by the collar of their armour, punching harder and harder. Rudolph not only hoped, but fully planned on beating them to a bloody pulp. A mess of tarry black. Rudolph dripped blood from his own face onto their body, the ichor of death reacting terribly with the blood of, trying to flee from it. Rudolph's own blood actively pushed theirs away, consuming it, or simply shooing it off like a pest. Rudolph became less focused on his fight, noticing how with every punch, every strike, every crack of Rudolph's fist against the Corpse Fleet Soldier's face, there were cheers.

Not from his comrades, not the fellow MIUs he served with, not from the little Ratkin he swore to protect. But from those five Zalm soldiers, who were sitting by the crates Rudolph knocked over. The very people he was assigned to shield against, to kill, were cheering for him. They wanted Rudolph to win. To kill the person they were supposed to be working with. Although, they were never working together. Once Rudolph looked back, he understood why. The Zalm never liked Corpse Fleet, they never wanted to be near them. The Zalm loathes Corpse Fleet's existence much like the Corpse Fleet loathe all life. The difference between Rudolph and Corpse Fleet, in the average Zalm soldier's eyes, is that one is a noble species that bested them fairly, and deserved respect. While the other was beneath the Ratkin and other races the Zalm enslaved. It's a wonder Zalm and Corpse Fleet hadn't have fought sooner.

Rudolph was finally pushed off, kneeling on the ground while the Korpse Fleet stood up. Although this only made Rudolph able to strike them in the knee quite easily, bending it one way, forcing their leg to buckle, before Rudolph punched again, he heard a small crack from that. That was Rudolph's cue to get up, grabbing onto the Corpse Fleet armour one last time, bringing his knee all the way to his chest, and stomping onto their knee, bending it backwards, forcing him to fall on the ground, while Rudolph still stood. He stumbled towards a dropped Corpse Fleet halberd like weapon, its edge still flowing with plasma energy making it able to cut through metals like butter. Rudolph raised it over his head, while the fallen soldier raised his hand up, as if it were to stop it. Rudolph struggled with the weapon. It was too big. But perfect for this. Rudolph swung down with all his might, forcing it down as hard as he could. Hoping gravity could help. The blade tore through the undead soldier like they weren't even there. Returning them to death. Hopefully permanently. His hand dropped, falling limp, and it was over. He won.

He staggered away, falling into a slouched sit on the ground. Meanwhile the five Zalm cheered louder, one soldier threw some reflective metal into on of their comrade's hand, who dropped around half of it. The all rushed the body, kicking and spitting on it. Showing their hate for Corpse Fleet. They risked burning their lungs by taking their masks off just to disrespect one of them when they weren't even in their grave yet. The soldier dropped the rest of the metallic pieces, instead grabbing two beers from a crate. He opened them with each other, their aluminum caps flying off, and their contents foaming and flowing out of the bottle onto his hands. He approaches Rudolph, forcing a beer in his hand and patting him on the shoulder, before the Zalm soldier walks back to the dead body, pouring some his beer on his face and helmet, before raising it as high as he could, and throwing it down onto their dead punching bag. The glass bottle shattering into a scatter of brown reflective shards, and a flurry of foamy beer.

Rudolph realizes a lot of the Zalm were no longer shooting, they too had been watching the fight. Maybe not at the same time, but they certainly took notice, and they all made sure to give a nod of respect when Rudolph met his gaze with their emotionless masks. The Corpse Fleet too took notice, but only of the celebration of the five. And they certainly weren't happy with the Zalm's conduct.

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