Sterbelicht - One Sacrifice At A Time Against The Galaxy (40K)

Chandrk Hir-Ati had been on Droma III for less than two weeks, and he had already found his stay on the planet to be a tiresome affair, not helped in the least by the dampness of the air. At the very least, the water should have had the decency to be frozen like back home rather than exist in fluid form and thickly within the air. With a barely suppressed growl, he once more focused on the troops training on the field of the island below, noting that, despite the influx of fresh blood from home and the colonies, the regiment did no less than he expected of them.

"Kara," he snapped with displeasure, making the female serf behind him jump as if he had drawn a weapon and leveled it at her. Another irksome development, but first... "Schedule a meeting with the officers. The regiment is slipping in their skill, and I will not have the High King shamed by a lacking performance brought by them neglecting their duties."

"A-at once, my Chandrk," she replied fearfully, bowing while half-saying, half-mumbling her words, rapidly working away at a data-slate she had brought. It allowed him enough time to watch her and enough time to frown. She caught this, and the tapping of her fingers increased as her posture began to crumble into itself, making him turn away in disgust.

Really, what did his father think of him to send him such a sorry excuse for a servant? She could barely wield a weapon and was only adequate in her other duties. If he wished him to sire an heir, he should have sent a woman able to hold her own and not crumble at the first sign of their better's displeasure. Then again, he probably thought him a tail-chaser like himself, only able to lust after beauty, and not skill and ability found within one's blood.

"Make another note," he spoke again, making the girl do a full-body flinch that nearly launched her data-slate over the railing had she not caught it quickly. Pathetic. "Send Lord General Tokalius von Huss the information we have gathered on the irregularity in the system," he spoke, looking at the religious leaflet stamped with a symbol he didn't recognize, "and inform him that we will be able to sail in a month after the local tithe-regiments have been brought to adequate levels. Two weeks if the remedial training is to be expedited."

"At once, my Chandrk," she replied a bit firmer, though her folded back ears told him that where she had her voice under control, her body didn't follow. Ugh, why couldn't his father have sent him a veteran three steps from ripping his arms out?

---

Heavy breaths ruptured out of I-676's lungs, the leaden munitions drum within their arms dragging on the strength of their fleshy arms even as their mechanical legs pumped away beneath them, each of the four spikes ramming themselves into the ground of the forsaken factory one after another, faster and faster, their frantic pace unbothered and unheeding of the screams of their comrades and the impact of lasers all around them with the stink of ozone and heated metals.

"Motive Force, stand by me," I-676 laboriously breathed out, skittering to a stop in front of a turret busy spitting death and defiance at the mass of tendrils and fleshy maws connected to a hundred simulacrums that refused to die from its fire. "Machine-Spirit, heed my plea," they chanted, quick hands slamming into buttons and levers from positions, heavy coils disengaging and clamps releasing a drum running empty since three seconds ago. "Star Child, set them free," I-676 continued, arms ramming the heavy drum upward into its socket where automatic mechanisms and immaterial directives took hold, bolter rounds flowing from one receptacle to the empty barrels of the turret. Systems recognized the changing of munitions, ancient programs locked onto a dozen bodies holding guns and weaponry, firing solutions were given, and a defiant roar overshadowed all else.

"BREAKTHROUGH AT DECK IKKATA-14C!" A Sergeant roared behind I-676 through the noosphere receivers within their suit; the news heard
by one and all, causing some to fight all the harder to keep the pressure up against this monster that had already killed fifty-three of theirs. "KEEP IT PIN-GHAA-," they tried to scream, though a throat could not produce such sounds without lungs to push the air through it, the latter splattered all over the factory floor. A tentacle had ripped itself through the Warp to strike at the sergeant, the triumphant roars of the Experiment they were trying to keep pinned slick with sadistic satisfaction at another life claimed and soul devoured...

It paused.

Something bulged within its frame, and the simulacrums as its end twitched, their forms suddenly no longer as resistant to laser and bolt as they vanished under the weight of fire thrown against them and a keening wail was heard. Louder and louder it went until even the helmets and augmented auditory systems of the soldiers couldn't filter it out, and it pierced higher and higher before, with a snap, it fell limp.

The soldiers didn't stop shooting for a moment, sure that this must be some trick like with some others they had fought before and more than confused as this part of the Experiment they had fought seemed too intact to have been destroyed by the explosives brought by the Lamenters for it.

But even the thickest among them stopped after a minute, alert for any trickery but not stupid enough to walk closer.

And then they saw...it.

Four limbs, digitigrade legs of molten metal, a head of fangs, and without any eyes on a maw split five times. Onyx muscles bulged within steely tendrils, and the buzz of augments spun to a shrieking pitch as it emerged from behind the Experiment by climbing atop its corpse, looking at the soldiers fingering their triggers again.

Burning, burning, BURNING its gaze into the fears and minds of those leveling weaponry and firepower that could destroy tanks at it...before sitting down, waiting.

The other times when it had aided the soldiers of the Candle Keepers, it had fled, yet each time, it had returned and aided in killing another Psykana Experiment, and it had not been alone.

Five of its like had appeared throughout this extermination, and each had, until now, fled before any could fire or shout questions over the chasm of a hundred guns aimed at them.

"WHAT ARE YOU?" One of the soldiers screamed at the thing, unwilling to draw nearer for conversation. "FRIEND OR FOE?"

"Pain of Soul," it answered, slowly laying itself onto the ground as the soldiers just now noticed a seeping wound on its left flank, weeping echoes leaving a body of meat and metal.

"Commander, the Experiment was slain by one of the Five, and it's talking," one of the soldiers quickly whispered and paused to listen to orders. "It is wounded; we need the Choir."

"I am pain." The being continued with a head lying on the fleshy beast, its body rapidly cooling after its anima had been devoured. "It hurts, hurts. Hurts always." The thing sang, a humm escaping its maw with the rattling of teeth. "Creature of Light, sing me a song of better days. Child of Cradle Slumber, weep for me once I am gone."

"..."

Ears previously unfolded perked up, six antennae swiveling and directing themselves into a direction where nothing but walls was. "Yearn for skies of blue, fight for grounds so green, die for water clear," it continued its dirge, breaths coming shorter and weaker with every word.

":::"

"Grind, oh gears; this body is naught but inert once more. Move, oh Force, these weary limbs no more, for no strength shall answer the call."

"|||"

"Keep my flame...for it is all...I have..."

The Warp Stirs. A Slumbering Eye Opens. Five Are Seen By One.
[] A lullaby returns, singing of better days to come, yearning for a time of peace and an Age of joy. Mourning for one born by callous hands and slain by the march of time.
A last breath leaves a body, and a mind stirs no more. A candle flickers out.
(Nothing happens.)

[] A dream declared, showing what will come to pass, the stands to come that need heroes to make them, the defiance requiring minds to spit it, and the Age of Stars that shall unmake the Age of Ending.
A breath returns, Motive Force thrums its endless beat again, wounds weep no more, and a candle shines. Immaterial Eyes open to behold a Choir seeking foes. They shall find friends instead.
(Gain: A Miracle given from one Unborn to one Created. A time when no prayers can be heard begins.)