Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20180205202802/@comment-30488984-20180302034052

Pulling his helmet off, a slurry of blood falls from it like a bowl finally allowing him to see clearly as the now hopeless battle unfolds infront of him. His face is covered by his own blood and his bald head feels the burnt air of the planet they now fight on and so too does he intake the smell of corpses; mortal, xenos, and Astartes fill his nose. He sees the two warriors who came to his aid and would have thanked them should the situation have been different, but now was not the time for such pleasantries. He stands with the help of Sun'Haku and is able to maintain it without need of further aid, though his nerves are screaming in pain from his wounds.

Jarik wants to join the fight but he knows he cannot, his wounds would leave him lying dead on the floor in a second should he attempt to join the fray once more. However, he can walk and if he can walk he can run, though to do so would mean he would need to pull the blade from his chest or risk it lacerating more of his organs beyond repair.

Utilizing the short amount of time he has due to the selfless acts of his men, Jarik braces himself, grabbing the hilt of the sword in his chest as blood drips from his lips and patters onto his bloody chestplate. He heaves the blade from his chest with great effort and voices a gurgling growl due to the pain as more blood spills forth from the hole in his chest and from his mouth.

He would live, but not for long if he stayed here, nor would the remainder of his squad. Shouting in pain,

"Fall back!....To the ruins!"

He holds onto the blade, for it was the only weapon he had now, and with a fist he forcefully taps Haku's and Vardes' pauldrons as he begins moving back to the ruins. He hopes that this battle might have gotten the attention of other Astartes squads who they might rendezvous with and make a new battle plan. As he retreats, Jarik looks to grab a bolter from one of his fallen cousins.