WARHAMMER 40,000: A Thousand Tiny Suns (40k/Exalted Crossover!)

"Valor and skill?" you asked.

"Valor!" Amberly thrust out her finger, dramatically. "And skill! And for you two, it will require stealth and guile as well."

"All right, what's the plan?" Kit asked.

"You two advance underground in the sewer network between us and the enemy forces, reinforced by my carefully selected Cadian Shock Troops. You will arrive within the internal structure from beneath, then free the hostages and reveal...your ANIMAS!" She swept out her palm dramatically, her voice full of eagerness. "With the blazing light of the Emperor himself at their back and their leaders within range of your mighty pussiance, their common troops will be thrown into disarray! Then it is merely a simple matter of enfilading them using the old trenches that sprawl around their fortress of evil, led primarily by our most experienced troopers. The biggest danger shall be their tanks, which I shall destroy myself, using my own might and abilities."

You blinked. "Is that a good plan?" you whispered to Kit.

Kit shrugged. "The old general's plan was mostly just throwing troops at the problem until the troops were dead or the problems were gone," he said.

"...okay," you said.

You swore Amberly breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

The Cadian Stormtroopers - led by Barik - walked behind you as you stepped down the sewage tunnel, your Lens Lance gripped in your hands. Their stablights shone along the walls and floors, showing the gratings, the curved ceiling - cracked by the orbital impacts, but for the most part intact. There were a lot of desiccated bodies down here, meaning even the Cadians had to put on breathers. Kit stepped over a corpse that was clutching something small that you didn't want to think about. "Why did they die? They had shelter?"

"The fires," you murmured. "The, um, sewers don't have enclosed ventilations. So...oxygen. Gone. Smoke goes down."

"...right," Kit said. Then, softer still. "Bastards."

"What?" You looked at him.

"High Command," he said, shrugging. "They're bastards for doing this."

"I..." You hesitated. Even without much training in the field of war, you had to admit, you couldn't see the logic beyond...well, the orbital drop would have caused what the ancients called a Kessler Syndrome. It would have obliterated any small craft, or non-shielded voidships. That'd have forced the enemy to deploy slower, and would have caused many casualties. It had probably gutted a bunch of the enemy forces. It also meant if they had won...and it had looked as if they had overwhelming numbers...then they would have gained a planet that would not have produced nearly so much. Protect what you can destroy - the manufactorums and habs that the Guard had shielded were small in number, enough to maintain planetary production until recolonization and reconstruction...but also, small enough that the Guard could destroy them if they were going to be...taken...

You stepped on a body in distraction - and Kit grabbed your arm as you almost fell. "You okay?" he asked.

"Y-Yeah," you whispered, jerking your boot free. Just bodies, you thought. THey died for the Emperor. It's an honor.

Right?

Right.

Right!

You pushed forward and, fortunately, came around a corner that led to a corridor that wasn't choked full of corpses. As you walked, you stammered. "S-So, uh, about that Amberly. What a...what a silly, um, person."

Kit chuckled. "She's what my old DI would have called a Section-9."

You chuckled. "My DI would have called her a Batch Faliure."

Kit grinned. "Oh, she's not that bad. Did you notice how scared she smelled the whole time she was talking? I think she was compensating."

"...smelled?"

He coughed. "Well, uh...I guess my sense of smell's a bit better than it used to be. Also, not wearing a mask."

Your hand went to your face mask, adjusting it slightly. Not that it needed it.

Kit brushed your shoulder with his hand, then squeezed.

You smiled with your shoulders, then started forward again. Kit and you walked in amiable silence. Then, playfully. "So, you know, Cadians have a normal ratio of five to one for their men," he said. "Wives, I mean. It's a population thing."

You choked on nothing at all. "Kit!"

"Just sayin', it's the most normal part of this whole...whatever is going on with us," he said, grinning impishly at you. You were fairly sure it was impish. You wanted to kick his shin, but glanced back at the stormtroopers. They were all looking around alertly - though you were pretty sure Barik was smiling, his shoulders had the right twist to them.

"Not in front of the stormtroopers!" you hissed.

"Sorry," Kit leaned over and kissed your plasleather-clad cheek.

"Kit!" you squeaked.

"Sorry again!" he kissed your other cheek.

You stalked off as fast as you could - and were sure the stormtroopers were snickering now.

After a few more minuets - checking your chron along the way just to make sure you were on time - you came at last to the area that you hoped to find: The subterranean entrance into the hydroponics bay. You peeked around the corner, then jerked back. There was something at the end of the corridor...and the strangest thing was that you...swore you recognized it. You peeked around the corner. The end of the corridor was guarded by a kind of...manta-ray looking creature, which writhed and twisted in the air, bending back in on itself again and again - with a kind of metallic chain wrapped around its throat and driven into the metal before the stairwell.

"That's a Screamer of Tzneetch," you whispered. "Driven to hunt souls...it's a daemon, first circle, creation of the outer souls of Tzneetch to be used as their agents in the Wyld. Hurm." You rubbed your mask. "I wonder if the old treaties still apply..."

"...what?" Kit asked.

"What?" you asked him, looking back. "When the Primordials were first cast back into the Wyld, ancient treaties were carven into their innermost Fetish-Souls. Surrender oaths. If they still apply, I can probably just capture it."

"...what!?" Kit asked, even more forcefully.

---
...well, that was an odd intrusive thought
[ ] Spend X motes to buff your Occult with your Excellency and try and claim the Screamer for yourself. (Write in how much, the max is 6)
[ ] Kill it.
[ ] Have Kit kill it.
[ ] Write in.

STATS
Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 7 | Solar XP: 8
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 46 | GXP: 15 | WXP: 3