Pity the Guardsman

You would laugh monster, but let me remind you: within that weak sac of meat and bone, uncared for by his god and wept for by none, beats a heart. A human heart, that carries with it all the strength and courage of all mankind.

Within that sac of meat is ensconced the hope, the will, and the fury of every man, woman, and child from every corner of the Imperium.

Within that weak sac of meat, festooned in thin armor and weapons only powerful in numbers, beats the heart of a man. And for ten thousand years, the hearts of men have beaten, strongly, in defiance of your so-called "powers".

For ten thousand years, the hearts of men have stood united against a galaxy that despises them for no reason save that they had the audacity not to lay down and die. For ten thousand years, your black crusades have been pushed back, beaten down and made a mockery of, by weak sacs of flesh with cheap weapons and disposable equipment.

For that weak sac of flesh that you so gleefully mock is no super soldier, no immortal warrior, no creature cursed by chaos like you. He is a man, an imperial guardsman, drawn from some forgotten corner of the Imperium to fight for his species for the safety of the people he loves. He is a factory worker, a farmer, a storekeeper, a father, a brother, a son, and a mere man.

And against creatures like you, teeming and numblerless, powered by the very will of thirsting gods: he holds the line. He has held the line for ten thousand years.

So what's your excuse, monster?