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

+++ALL CREW! ALL CREW! WARP TRANSITION IMMINENT! WARP TRANSITION IMMINENT! REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST CHAPEL NOW! I REPEAT! WARP TRANSITION IMMINENT! REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST CHAPEL NOW!+++ The speakers blared throughout the ship, the last warning before the vessel would transition, one given an hour after the first. Any crew found outside a chapel when the ship entered the Warp would be harshly punished unless they were one of the few skeleton crew members chosen or volunteered to remain at their posts. In contrast, the rest of the crew sequestered itself in prayer and hymn in a bastion of faith away from the corrupting tendrils of Chaos.

Cykene-Theta-9 was one of those unfortunates, though they had volunteered; their duty was to remain at the Lance and remain vigilant against any ambush once they left the Warp...or if something entered through the flickers of the Gellar-Field, weapon near their cybernetic arms. Nothing fancy, nothing that would go amiss should they fail to vanquish whatever came through, and nothing that would spell doom and disaster should they be the one to become other.

The jump would be nothing more than a short dip, barely half a light-year, barely enough to skim atop the realm of broiling doom and wrongness, and yet...one did not dip their hands into death and danger and expect nothing to come out unscathed. Especially when combat and death lay on the other end, Ubraka in sight.

+++ALL CREW! ALL CREW! WARP TRANSITION IMMINENT! WARP TRANSITION IMMINENT! BEGIN SERMONS NOW! ENTERING WARP IN 10...9...8...7+++ The speakers continued with their clarion call, and those who remained outside the chapels clasped hands in prayer, Cykene-Theta-9 bringing their first pair up in steepled hands, finger splayed, before the great coolant pump in supplication, their lower pair folded in reverence before the symbols of faith adorning the grand machine, frost dancing and wafting off of those representing the Five. The reason why they had stayed behind, for a Particularist to pay reverence to each in plain view, was dangerous. +++...6...5...4...3...+++ The voice of the Captain continued, the tinny quality of their words long since a soothing balm to Ckyene, their head bowing deeply, words of faith whispered across lips that had never known the tender kiss of a sun, only ever beholden to the fury of the hearts of stars born within the ship and used to spit fury and defiance against the Five's foes. +++2...1...TRANSITION!+++

The effect was immediate.

Walls bulged within the mind, the screams of things unheard scraped across the entry of the fleet, burning fuel to race across the top-most layer of the Warp, tendrils of furious incoherency reaching from the never-turning waves in their fractal-gas flowers. At the same time, thousands prayed reverentially to the salvation of the galaxy incarnate, nothing on the minds of 1.3 million people but unshakable faith and prayer, led by those with minds long since violently turned upon the path of the Zealot, the Preacher, the Fanatic, the Exorcist, the Enginseer, alongside a hundred apprentices.

Cykene-Theta-9 knew not what time passed while in prayer, but they knew that nothing had entered their hallowed halls, even if the sight of two of their much-treasured icons turning into freezing slag halfway through had been distressing beyond anything they had encountered before.

Yet, the ship left the Warp, the fleet in one place, shockingly enough, and orders quickly raced throughout the vessel, masses of crew racing back through the corridors and hallways to reach their stations. Cykene swiftly hid the symbols of the Five that had frozen themselves to the machine they were placed upon, a swift strike with a chisel removing them as the frost swelling where they had been removed the evidence of their placement.

The fleet had arrived in Ubraka.

The Orks had been sighted.

Combat was upon them.

---

61-Thul kneeled, her head bowed, as the priestess wafted the burning incense within its holy thurible across her kneeling sister-pilots, prayers of binharic cant beseeching the machine spirits within their implants to rouse themselves from slumber, to allow her and hers to guide the fighter-craft and bomber-machines adorned with weaponry and armor of holy patterns still yet sleeping to rise against the foe and return whole.

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66-Thule beside her seemed particularly deep in prayer, hands clasped with fervor and shakes suppressed by blessed steel, yet she knew her mind was shaken with fear and worry. One of her hands reached out and touched her shoulder, squeezing it once. There was no need to speak, for their minds talked within the immaterial Noosphere in thought pure and unshaken. 61-Thule was of the first generation, the one who had created the ways and paths for future sister-siblings to follow in the centuries to come, and she would not let one-after-her stumble when she could guide them yet.

A great bell was struck, its tone thrumming within the bones of flesh and machine.

The shakes of 61-Thule's sister-sibling ceased eyes of yet-flesh turning for but a moment to behold her sibling-sisters's face in gratitude, eyes of machine-flesh staring back unblinkingly from a face she would wear in three years, both decanted of the same gene-line born millennia ago.

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Both returned to their prayers, hands clasped once again, and a mind guided down the path to come with steady will and surer faith. The priestess continued with her binharic cant; eyes closed fully as two pairs of her machine-arms were clasped in silent prayer, two more moving silently and with deceptive calm across the heads of the kneeling pilots. One hand carved symbols of protection across the air. One hand dropped a single drop of holy ointment across heads of metal, skin, or hair. One hand touched brows and delivered upon the pilots their duty and charge. One hand recorded each sibling-pilot's name that would leave on a tablet carried by another pair of hands, its duty to remember those hallowed martyrs that would never return or celebrate the heroes who shall be honored alive.

The bell struck once more, its sound felt and heard in equal measure by ear and mind.

The priestess returned to the front of the sibling-pilots kneeling before the great symbol of the Star Child, its radiant dawn and ever-turning cog staring upon the assembled fighters as they circled the burning star sleeping within their embrace.

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She chanted, each sibling-pilot standing as one, each woman assembled crashing fists against chests in salute as one, each turning with matchless efficiency to the side of the Taurus where their fighter and bomber craft yet lay, rousing themselves from slumber with the thrum of war and the clarion-call of the bell striking true.

The bell struck. And the vessel seemed to shake in roused fury at its charges having to leave its ever-protective embrace, the grand machine spirit residing within the ship possessive of its children and duty.

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Thus, it was said. Thus, it shall never be.

---

The Orks came in their multitudes, Roks charging with no consideration or strategic coordination upon the fleet of unknown vessels that had entered, their forms unlike any their genetic memory whispered of...bar one.

Winged and elegant, a whisper of cloaked death and lethal silence upon the solar winds, the Void-stalker danced where the Candle Keepers marched.

Lances and Macro-Cannons screamed their murderous hatred against the Orks, energy that would turn cities into ash splattering across asteroids turned into flying ships of guns, engines, guns, armor, guns, hangars, and yet more guns, each Rok burning through more munitions than it should have been able to carry just getting closer to the fleet, intending to close distance and smash against its foes, literal or otherwise.

Admiral K-529 of Task Force Alpha scoffed at that notion, Aries burning across the void with deadly efficiency, Lance and Cannon thundering against each foe that foolishly left their brethren behind in its furious desire to seek combat at all cost, only to be carved up by a swarm of vessels dancing between the raging dakka thrown against them, and the Fighta and Fighta-Bommer's tussling with the Attack and Bomber-Craft of the Keeper's own.

Explosions littered the fields of battle, drawing ever nearer into the system. Roks shattered and spilled their guts, Orks, machines, Grots, metal, promethium, and munitions in trailing paths. At the same time, providence and an Eldar Battleship ensured that the worst damage taken was Aries-002 getting its Lance shattered and pulped, with only a hundred crew instantly killed. Yet, onboard supplies would restore two hundred seventy-eight injured by the damages to nominal efficiency within an acceptable time frame.

In contrast to the seeming contempt at which Task Force Alpha's ships evaded severe damage, the fighter and bomber craft of the lone Taurus fought with valor and ruthless maneuvers, twitches of hands and eyes belying how their vessels had become them, each sister-pilot melding into a union of machine and flesh even more than before. It was not minutes beforehand that decided death or life, but the fractions of seconds where the mere shot of your gun would decide if your momentum would carry you far enough to skim the salvo by an Ork or pepper yourself with scorching-pain wounds and death was reaped in alien joy and righteous fury.

For the mighty leviathans swimming across the space between worlds, this fight was one of position and precision, timed shots carving through popped shields and spelling doom.

In contrast, the minute ants clambering across and between these giants fought to the knife, no mercy given, none expected, each life sold at a price ruinous for any other foe, yet only bringing more delight to the Orks fighting against the humies attacking them, for no other species could match such a near-orky tenacity.

In the end, even though the Candle Keepers fought viciously and were supported by the veteran crew of an Eldar Battleship, their first fleet action would have been deemed "lacking, even for novices" by their Imperial counterparts, mistakes upon mistakes costing lives and opportunities wasted by inexperience against a foe only fought twice. And yet, though their captains and crew would have been punished and forced to undergo grueling training once more, their pilots returned into the gentle embrace of the Taurus once more, only two-thirds slain by the hands of the vile, the inhuman, the despicable and the soon exterminated Orks, a ratio of survivors and dead more reminiscent of veterans than unbloodied recruits who had only ever fought in simulations.
Veteran Pilot Gene-Lines Gained
Nonetheless, of the lessons to be learned after their first large-scale action and the minor repairs now required by all Aries', the orbitals of Ubraka had been cleared, and the system was all but theirs...with the sole exception of the sole planet within.

---

Admiral K-529 stood upon the bridge of the Taurus, his eyes scanning what the connection to the Noosphere of the fleet had already told him. Still, he felt that seeing with his own eyes held more significance than data alone could convey, and he had once again been proven right in that regard. Khara held a stark beauty that belied its war-torn reality; the sweltering jungles around the equator and the gentle fields in the north gradually giving way to stark tundras seemed so unlike Droma III and the Frozen Moon, neither offering the differences in scenery this small planet held upon its surface.

It was too bad that none of that would survive for much more, as the fleet had taken positions and would begin its grisly works. "Admiral, the last ship is in position," a crewmember told him, and he nodded.

"Then I see no reason to wait. Initiate orbital bombardment of the Ork population centers at once and ready the troops for surface deployment and eradication of the survivors. Have the Eldar decided when they will leave yet?" He asked as the first beams and shots of fire began to race to the surface, his words mere theatrics after all. The command had been sent via implants, which was much more efficient.

"Negative, they have indicated the desire to train their gunnery crews in orbital bombardments and-ah, there they go," the same crewmember said, and a section of the bridge's screens displayed the Eldar Battleship, angled toward the planet, with all weapons firing.

"...does their captain have a particular hatred against mountains, or why are they firing at an unpopulated island?" K-529 asked, eyebrow raised as another screen zoomed in on the mountain in question being turned into lava under the concentrated beams of energy crashing against it.

"One moment, raising the ship," a vox-operator spoke, hailing the ship as the fleet continued to pour its titanic energies onto the planet, burning millions of orks as landing craft began their slow descent onto the world escorted by the remains of the Taurus' fighter and bomber-craft.

Minutes ticked by until, with a short notice by the vox-operator, the main screen changed from the rising ash clouds of the planet to the alien visage of the Eldar Farseer Farruin. "Mon'keigh," the voice of the male Xenos rang out, something within its tone causing a visceral reaction of dislike to rear its head within K-529, though one ruthlessly suppressed. They had been courteous thus far, and he would return such for as long as they worked in unison to further the goals of the Star Child. A part of him hoped that the Farseer would bow before the Five before they left, but it was unlikely that this Xenos would; physical might was seemingly far more meaningful to them than immaterial devotion. "I can assure you that our bombardment served a purpose," he blatantly lied, an image of a horrendously ugly...ship? Aircraft? Flickering onto the screen for a few moments. "You see, the local Ork Boss had intended to use their newly created Megabommer to surprise you," Farruin spoke deceptively, as none of his words were true. "Unfortunately, they are now dead, and the local Ork population will thus fall into massive infighting," a half-lie, the only truth being the Ork Boss had been slain, but by the blade of a squad of Eldar to sell the lie, rather than by orbital fire.

K-529 momentarily pondered upon the alien's words before nodding, satisfied with the answer. It's not like the Eldar slagging a mountain would have been that outrageous; it would have just been a bit odd. That it served to aid them yet more was only another point in their favor. Who knew? Maybe they would bow without the Candle Keepers having to fire a shot against them? "Then thanks are in order, should the period of confusion last long enough to liberate a large enough portion of the planet from their spores and ilk."

"Oh, do not worry about that. I think it will," the alien responded somewhat ominously, and the connection was cut. And with that, eyes turned back to the planet and the mushroom clouds blooming with every shot.

---

Angels strode across the battlefield.

At least, that is what Mordo Ottgar thought, seeing the armored forms of His Holy Angels race with inhuman speed across the battlefield, swords flashing in and out of Killa Kans and Deff Dreads doing their best to kill them and his regiment in turn.

They were largely unsuccessful, as they seemed more occupied with fighting each other than fighting them, yet he would not be caught dead complaining about that.

"BACKBLAST CLEAR!" His loader shouted, and Mordo pulled the trigger of his rocket launcher, dust immediately coating his goggles as the rocket raced out and against one of the Grot Tanks trying to ram themselves through their prepared lines, with absolutely none successful and many exploding before ever reaching the frontline...or being fired at.

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" Sarge screamed, and the entire squad obeyed at once, Mordo's legs pumping away at the ground of the utterly wrecked scrap-town before he consciously became aware of the command in full, a decision that proved to be the wise one as a stikkbomb thrown by a now-dead Ork exploded where the squad had previously been.

"BUILDING!" Sarge shouted, and the squad followed, the surprisingly largely intact structure promising a reprieve from the fierce battles and an elevated position for further attacks against the Orks not-yet dead.

"Mordo, Wilona, upper floor! Grovepa and Vikki secure the upper floor with them! Amakeso, Lula, Tellermon, with me, let's waste no time!" Sarge shouted, and off the group went, rifles raised and weapons ready.

Yet, when Mordo stepped up the stairways, a creaking went through the structure, and his eyes widened as they gave way. "MORDO!" Wilona shouted, a hand reaching out to catch him as the entire thing collapsed, and darkness swallowed him.

"Gah!" He shouted, having landed further down than he should have, a basement underneath the building catching him upon a confusingly spongy floor...and a noisy one. "Ugh, Emperor!" He gagged, standing up with haste as the sheer smell of shit, piss, sweat, blood, and puss reached his nose, the shouting voices of his comrades above momentarily forgotten as he activated the lamp on his helmet...and ceased.

His subconscious mind comprehended the view.
His conscious mind refused.
It gave way seconds later.

And Mordo puked upon the floor, the men and women standing in the room barely moving, and primarily due to the light shone upon them than the puke.

The remaining survivors of the local human populations had been found.

What now?
[] Give Them The Final Mercy
These people have been subjected to torture and atrocities beyond reckoning, most of their minds shattered, and none of the survivors in any shape to act in a manner that would elevate them from the pits they were thrown into. Many who were rescued have chosen Free Death already, and only a fraction of a fraction remain somewhat sane. None of the things they have endured should have happened, and none deserve to be forced to remember them. Better we give mercy upon all who will not continue than force them to live.
(Most Khara survivors are given the Final Mercy, and Khara becomes effectively depopulated.)

[] Try Your Best To Aid Them
Although these people have been treated as livestock for decades, subjected to torture mental and physical, left to rot, and abused beyond the pale as disposable experimentation subjects of both weapons and medical practices, we should do our best to help them, no matter the cost, no matter what this course demands of us.
(The survivors are treated as best as possible, and the Candle Keepers resolve themselves to aid Khara as best as they can in industrial and humanitarian matters. Unknown Action cost, Unknown Duration, Unknown Effects. Khara remains settled by Humanity.)

AN: Places of Importance and Void Ship Construction And Design Updated.