Many thanks to Valiran for editing this chapter!
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Dr. Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC...
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Dr. Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC...
Rip and Tear (DOOM/40k)
- Thread starter Pastah_Farian
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The Beginning
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
Many thanks to Valiran for editing this chapter!
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Dr. Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC, project director of the Argent Facility stalked the hallways of the complex that had once been home to thousands of employees and security members. Now, most of them were either dead or possessed, with the latter soon maimed, decapitated, dismembered, vaporized or otherwise destroyed in any number of creative and grisly ways by the one person Hell feared.
The man his employees had called the DOOM Marine was one of his greatest discoveries, and he had sent the warrior somewhere that was more his forte. Ever since Hayden had begun his work with the Argent Facility, he had received visions. Terrible visions. At first he wrote it off as symptoms akin to those that plagued the other Argent energy researchers, but as they progressed he had begun to understand them for what they were. Messages from the far future.
The future wasn't as bright and hopeful as most of humankind hoped it to be. It was dark, chilling and echoed with the laughter of dark gods.
He saw battles waged by future humans and legions of hellspawn. He saw men clad in enormous green armour clash against similarly armoured men. Among those visions, the brightest one that he could remember was that of a decrepit corpse seated on a massive golden throne. He saw the corpse glowing with a light so vast and powerful that Samuel thought it might blind him. Yet he also saw that the light was fading, and quickly.
And so, he begun his work.
He glanced at the glowing artifact he held in his hand and pondered. Had he betrayed the Doom Marine?
The more he stared at it, the more the answer became clear to him. It wasn't a matter of betrayal.
It was a matter of insurance.
+++
Across the stars and planets and skies, a battle was raging.
On a planet not so different from our own, across raging battlefields the corpses of man and machine littered its green surface. Armies of both loyalists and traitors clashed against each other, each faction vying for control of this world.
First Lieutenant Thallia Hall of the 212th Cadian Regiment cursed under her breath as she heard the volley of rockets screaming through the air. She turned to her platoon and yelled, "GET DOWN!" before following her own advice and dropping onto her knees.
Her soldiers ducked just in time as the artillery rained upon their position. Explosions boomed as the rockets struck, yet a few unlucky souls were hit by shrapnel, tossed down onto the floor of the trench, thrashing and screaming in agony as their squad-mates attempted to bind their wounds.
The barrage of rockets quickly stopped, but it was soon followed by something much worse.
"CHARGE MY BRETHREN! CHARGE!" roared a voice heavily distorted by electronic speakers, "TAKE THEIR HEADS FOR KHORNE!"
A loud war cry howled by an untold number of traitors echoed from the other side of the battlefield, quickly followed by the sound of men rushing from fighting positions. Thallia stood up, turned to her men and cried "Cadians! Let them have taste of our light!"
Her soldiers roared a battle cry of their own as they rushed to defensive positions, lasguns primed and at the ready.
As her subordinates prepared for the enemy charge, Thallia cast her gaze across the field, analyzing their situation. Her captain had died whilst leading a failed counter-charge, significantly reducing their company's combat effectiveness as multiple platoons attempted to coordinate without a clear leader. An artillery regiment was providing Basilisk support for this battle, but would be unable to help her men as they were currently shelling another sector. It would be a minimum of fifteen minutes before they were available. Reinforcements had been vectored to assist them, but it would take them ten minutes to arrive. They would all be dead in three.
It was in this moment where she made the sign of the Aquila and prayed to the Emperor, Undying Lord of Terra, for deliverance.
Little did she know that the He would answer her prayers.
+++
Huoron the Defiler laughed maniacally as he charged alongside his army of cultists and daemons. Their clash with the Loyalist forces had taken longer than he expected due to the Cadians' stubborn resistance, but now the advance of his warband would not be denied. He could not bring himself to mind, anyway. To fight was to worship Khorne, and all the battles waged pleased his god immensely. The ferocity of this one in particular had drawn the attention of many lesser daemons, a sign of his god's favour.
"CHARGE! DROWN THESE FIELDS WITH BLOOD!" He yelled. His forces roared their approval, putting more effort in their charge to break the Loyalist line.
It was this particular Loyalist force that Huoron most enjoyed, for they were commanded not by a Lord General or heroic Commissar, but an ordinary woman whose name had been unknown to him or his servants. For her to coordinate a defense against his warriors and succeed as long as she had spoke highly of her skill. She was worthy of dying by his axe and her skull offered to Khorne.
But it was not to be, for as they neared the trench line where the Imperials had dug in the skies suddenly grew dark. Many - both Loyalist and Traitor alike - paused in their battle, turning their gazes to the sky as a circle formed amongst the clouds. Suddenly the fabric of reality was torn as if someone had taken a blade and cut open the sky like a sheet of paper. From this rift in space a comet of light thundered down upon the battlefield, crashing to the earth between the two factions with a force that threw all who stood too close upon the ground.
As the dust settled and both sides scrambled to their feet, they beheld a figure wearing a green-plated suit of armour with a visored helmet kneeling amidst embers of rock and dust, clasping in its hand a double-barrelled gun that looked to be both primitive and powerful. As it stood, Huoron glimpsed the figure's eyes beneath the visor.
Never before had he seen eyes that nearly glowed with with the sheer magnitude of rage within them, not from any mortal or daemon he had ever matched gazes with. He knew that there were mighty servants of Khorne who were said to have such wrath within them that they could flay a man with but a single glance, yet whatever this being was, Huoron knew it was no servant of the Dark Gods.
As the moment passed the Khornate warlord realized that the being had never directed those hateful eyes at the Imperial lines. Nothing else received even the slightest glance.
Nothing but them.
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A/N: Taken from SB with the same account name.
As I am much more active in SB, head over there for faster updates.
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Dr. Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC, project director of the Argent Facility stalked the hallways of the complex that had once been home to thousands of employees and security members. Now, most of them were either dead or possessed, with the latter soon maimed, decapitated, dismembered, vaporized or otherwise destroyed in any number of creative and grisly ways by the one person Hell feared.
The man his employees had called the DOOM Marine was one of his greatest discoveries, and he had sent the warrior somewhere that was more his forte. Ever since Hayden had begun his work with the Argent Facility, he had received visions. Terrible visions. At first he wrote it off as symptoms akin to those that plagued the other Argent energy researchers, but as they progressed he had begun to understand them for what they were. Messages from the far future.
The future wasn't as bright and hopeful as most of humankind hoped it to be. It was dark, chilling and echoed with the laughter of dark gods.
He saw battles waged by future humans and legions of hellspawn. He saw men clad in enormous green armour clash against similarly armoured men. Among those visions, the brightest one that he could remember was that of a decrepit corpse seated on a massive golden throne. He saw the corpse glowing with a light so vast and powerful that Samuel thought it might blind him. Yet he also saw that the light was fading, and quickly.
And so, he begun his work.
He glanced at the glowing artifact he held in his hand and pondered. Had he betrayed the Doom Marine?
The more he stared at it, the more the answer became clear to him. It wasn't a matter of betrayal.
It was a matter of insurance.
+++
Across the stars and planets and skies, a battle was raging.
On a planet not so different from our own, across raging battlefields the corpses of man and machine littered its green surface. Armies of both loyalists and traitors clashed against each other, each faction vying for control of this world.
First Lieutenant Thallia Hall of the 212th Cadian Regiment cursed under her breath as she heard the volley of rockets screaming through the air. She turned to her platoon and yelled, "GET DOWN!" before following her own advice and dropping onto her knees.
Her soldiers ducked just in time as the artillery rained upon their position. Explosions boomed as the rockets struck, yet a few unlucky souls were hit by shrapnel, tossed down onto the floor of the trench, thrashing and screaming in agony as their squad-mates attempted to bind their wounds.
The barrage of rockets quickly stopped, but it was soon followed by something much worse.
"CHARGE MY BRETHREN! CHARGE!" roared a voice heavily distorted by electronic speakers, "TAKE THEIR HEADS FOR KHORNE!"
A loud war cry howled by an untold number of traitors echoed from the other side of the battlefield, quickly followed by the sound of men rushing from fighting positions. Thallia stood up, turned to her men and cried "Cadians! Let them have taste of our light!"
Her soldiers roared a battle cry of their own as they rushed to defensive positions, lasguns primed and at the ready.
As her subordinates prepared for the enemy charge, Thallia cast her gaze across the field, analyzing their situation. Her captain had died whilst leading a failed counter-charge, significantly reducing their company's combat effectiveness as multiple platoons attempted to coordinate without a clear leader. An artillery regiment was providing Basilisk support for this battle, but would be unable to help her men as they were currently shelling another sector. It would be a minimum of fifteen minutes before they were available. Reinforcements had been vectored to assist them, but it would take them ten minutes to arrive. They would all be dead in three.
It was in this moment where she made the sign of the Aquila and prayed to the Emperor, Undying Lord of Terra, for deliverance.
Little did she know that the He would answer her prayers.
+++
Huoron the Defiler laughed maniacally as he charged alongside his army of cultists and daemons. Their clash with the Loyalist forces had taken longer than he expected due to the Cadians' stubborn resistance, but now the advance of his warband would not be denied. He could not bring himself to mind, anyway. To fight was to worship Khorne, and all the battles waged pleased his god immensely. The ferocity of this one in particular had drawn the attention of many lesser daemons, a sign of his god's favour.
"CHARGE! DROWN THESE FIELDS WITH BLOOD!" He yelled. His forces roared their approval, putting more effort in their charge to break the Loyalist line.
It was this particular Loyalist force that Huoron most enjoyed, for they were commanded not by a Lord General or heroic Commissar, but an ordinary woman whose name had been unknown to him or his servants. For her to coordinate a defense against his warriors and succeed as long as she had spoke highly of her skill. She was worthy of dying by his axe and her skull offered to Khorne.
But it was not to be, for as they neared the trench line where the Imperials had dug in the skies suddenly grew dark. Many - both Loyalist and Traitor alike - paused in their battle, turning their gazes to the sky as a circle formed amongst the clouds. Suddenly the fabric of reality was torn as if someone had taken a blade and cut open the sky like a sheet of paper. From this rift in space a comet of light thundered down upon the battlefield, crashing to the earth between the two factions with a force that threw all who stood too close upon the ground.
As the dust settled and both sides scrambled to their feet, they beheld a figure wearing a green-plated suit of armour with a visored helmet kneeling amidst embers of rock and dust, clasping in its hand a double-barrelled gun that looked to be both primitive and powerful. As it stood, Huoron glimpsed the figure's eyes beneath the visor.
Never before had he seen eyes that nearly glowed with with the sheer magnitude of rage within them, not from any mortal or daemon he had ever matched gazes with. He knew that there were mighty servants of Khorne who were said to have such wrath within them that they could flay a man with but a single glance, yet whatever this being was, Huoron knew it was no servant of the Dark Gods.
As the moment passed the Khornate warlord realized that the being had never directed those hateful eyes at the Imperial lines. Nothing else received even the slightest glance.
Nothing but them.
+++
A/N: Taken from SB with the same account name.
As I am much more active in SB, head over there for faster updates.
Finishing the FIght
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
Edited with the literary genius of Valiran
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It happened in the blink of an eye.
Gifted with speed and strength beyond those of mortal men, first as an Astartes and then by the blessings of Khorne, Huoron could react to events most men could barely perceive. To meet an opponent that could match him was not something that happened often
The cultists who had the ill fortune of being closest to the interloper were the first to die. The green-armored being raised its weapon in a blur that only Huoron and his fellow traitor marines could follow, aiming the gun squarely between the eyes of the nearest cultist; a man holding an axe in one hand and an autopistol in the other, clad in the hides of those he had slain.
The interloper's finger twitched and the weapon barked, one barrel flashing a micro-instant before the cultist's head exploded. A slight adjustment brought the gun in line with the man directly behind him, a ragged and wiry individual clutching a lascarbine. The gun's other barrel fired and obliterated the cultist's skull. As their bodies fell, the interloper snapped open the breech of their gun, two red shells dropping out.
The moment ended, the two armies regained their senses, and chaos in the literal sense erupted around them.
+++
The earth shook as the he rushed forward, grabbing the fallen cultists' weapons and securing them to his armor more quickly than a mortal eye could follow. Armaments secured, he reloaded his shotgun and sighted another target, a heavily tattooed man armed with nothing more than his own two fists. The shotgun's pellets dug a bloody crater in his chest, his back erupting in a fountain of blood and pulverized heart.
The mass of demons and their lackeys appeared to regain their senses after seeing their comrades die. Cries of wrath and promises of death bellowed from their throats as they charged him, a demonic beast at their forefront, it horns bared and deadly. Seeing this, he rushed to take the charging beast head-on as the humans behind him opened up with their own weaponry.
He was the last of the Night Sentinels, the Unchained Predator, the Hell Walker.
The Doom Slayer.
And he was not happy.
If one could feel his anger, one would be roasted alive. What Doom Guy had in him was complete and utter rage. Rage for the fact that Hayden had betrayed him. Rage because he had been dropped with a simple double-barrelled shotgun as his only weapon. Rage that the hellspawn before him simply existed.
Thankfully, they appeared to be happily volunteering themselves as his stress relief.
An instant before they collided with the charging demon he reached out and grappled its horns. Man and beast stared at each other with absolute fury. Their rage gave them strength. Unfortunately for the beast, The Doom Slayer's wrath had carried him on a rampage through every corner of hell, an avatar of unceasing vengeance that nothing could stop, let alone kill. Against him, its frothing anger would avail the beast nothing.
The Doom Slayer brought his head back and slammed his helmet into the beast's head with such force that even the thick daemonic bone of the creature's skull could not prevent it from being stunned. He shifted his grip, focused his strength, and in a single motion twisted its neck a full 360 degrees. It gave a low, pathetic whimper as it passed, and he ripped the animal's horns off with a bloody crunch.
A single glance at the forces arrayed against him had given him all the information he needed. First and most numerous were the horde of ragtag humans charging the trenches behind him. That enraged him even more that the presence of the demons did. Vile as they were, demons were evil simply because it was in their nature. They had no choice in what they were, could be nothing else than monsters who ravaged civilizations and worlds. To see people fighting alongside them, humans that had freely chosen to align themselves with evil, stoked the fires of his wrath to greater heights than even the foulest beast of hell could manage.
Next were the demons themselves. They were different from those he was familiar with, that he had faced throughout eons in Hell and on Mars. Many of them bore a strange rune he did not recognize upon their bodies, yet the moment he saw it he knew it signified bloodshed and carnage, for their meaning radiated from these marks like heat from a furnace.
They were simultaneously chaotic and coherent, with their forms varying wildly yet all sharing a common theme of creatures which lived for combat and slaughter. Tallest among them were red-skinned fiends with forked tongues spilling from between their mouthful of sharp teeth, horns framing both their mouths and elongated skulls, their hands gripping what he instantly recognized as weapons imbued with dark power. Their bodies were thin and lanky, but the rippling of muscle beneath their crimson flesh spoke of great strength.
Last were the ones in armor, who seemed to blur the line between man and demon. They stood head and shoulders above even the tallest cultist, their thick and bulky armor festooned with skulls, etched in brass and adorned with spikes. No two were exactly alike in appearance, but there was more commonality in their appearance than either the cultists or demons possessed. Some had horns emerging from their helmets, others adorned with metal fins that held a brass skull above their heads. A few were worked to look like skulls themselves, with an ornament taking the shape of the demons' marks framing their heads.
They moved and fought like men, yet they moved more swiftly than himself and but a few of the demons present. In their hands were oversized weapons that most would find too bulky to wield, and to his senses they seemed to possess some of the same dark power as the demons.
Furthermore, none of them - be they armored warrior or spitting fiend - were showing any of the telltale signs of fear he had grown to recognize whenever a demon caught sight of him. The terror he had inflicted upon Hell's inhabitants was so great that even after his long imprisonment, they still recognized him on sight. The knowledge that all of Hell considered him an immortal killing machine, and that bloodthirsty demons would scream in panic and terror at the mere thought of the Doom Slayer unleashed once more was a source of grim satisfaction for him. To not be recognized by any of them...
He filed that detail away in his mind. It could investigated later. For now, he had demons to kill.
Armed with the demon-beast's horns, he began to rampage amongst the cultists' ranks, crushing the bones and rupturing the organs of any who came within reach.
He felt a small weight settle on his leg where a smaller beast had latched onto his armour, energetically attempting to bite through and reach the flesh beneath. A contemptuous strike with one of the horns crushed its skull and flung the creature into the melee surrounding him.
Finally, he got a clear view of his intended target; one of the tall red-skinned demons, its eyes glowing with malice as it hissed at him. The Doom Slayer tucked one of the horns under his left arm, drawing the machine pistol he had appropriated with his now-free hand. Time to test this demon's capabilities.
He raised the pistol and opened fire, bullets ripping into the cultists in front of him, sending them to the ground with bloody holes in their foreheads. He adjusted his aim as each bullet left the barrel, killing each cultist with a single round until nothing obstructed his line of fire to the demon in front of him. It bounded forward quickly, blade moving to deflect a few of the bullets, but allowing the rest to impact against its body to little effect. Holes appeared in the demon's skin and leaked boiling blood, but they seemed to hinder it little.
Throwing the empty gun at a nearby cultist hard enough to break the man's ribs, the Doom Slayer grabbed the horn from under his arm and counter-charged the demon. As soon as they were close enough it attempted to take his head off with its sword, but he slid under it, the blade passing above his face as he leaned backwards. One of the horns met the edge of the blade that hadn't been facing him, striking with enough force to unbalance the demon as its sword swung further than it had intended, and now with a demon-beast's horn lodged upon the blade.
The Doom Slayer now grabbed from his hip the axe he had taken from the first cultist he killed, lowering his stance as the demon whirled about, glaring at with seething hatred. It grabbed the horn and pulled, the blade slicing it into two pieces which fell to the ground as the demon grasped its hell-sword with both hands. Not even a moment passed before it swung again, this time at his midsection.
The Doom Slayer vaulted above the blade, swinging the axe as he spun in the air, embedding the steel blade into the flesh of the demon's right forearm.
The demon screamed, a noise of utter rage and pain tearing from its throat with such vehemence it ruptured the eardrums of what few cultists remained within ten paces of the fight. As the Doom Slayer landed on his feet he clubbed the demon across the face with the second horn, wrenching the axe free of its arm in the same movement. The demon's head snapped to the side, and he took the opportunity to bring the horn down upon its uninjured arm, snapping it at the wrist.
Another scream heralded the demon's sword falling to the ground, sinking into the dirt blade-first as its owner lost its grip upon the handle. A glance at the axe's blade told the Doom Slayer it would not last much longer, the bubbling and hissing indicated this demon's blood was either caustic or hot enough to ruin the edge. Good to know.
His arm blurred in an underarm swing that took the axe's head through the demon's fallen sword, hell-forged metal cutting through mortal steel with a screech, the angle of his swing cutting the blade in half diagonally and leaving a pointed wedge attached to the haft. One his swing carried past the demon's flailing arms and into its lower jaw.
Following the axe was the horn club, slamming into the rear of what remained of the axe's blade and forcing it even further into the wound. As the demon's arms rose in an attempt to grasp the piece of sharpened metal lodged in it mouth, the Doom Slayer raised the hand that had once held the axe and now held his shotgun, which he leveled at the demon's exposed neck. Twin barrels erupted in fire and shot, severing the fiend's head.
As the Doom Slayer snapped open his shotgun and ejected the two spent shells, instincts born from eons of unrelenting battle alerted him. Without bothering to reload, the closed the breech and spun to face his new attackers. Two men had come at him from behind, one holding a large machete and charging headfirst, lips frothing, and the other holding a chainsaw-sword in an overhead chopping position.
Before either could get within melee range of the Doom Slayer, he secured his shotgun to his lower back in exchanged for the strange carbine he had picked up earlier. Leveling the weapon at the machete-wielder, he pulled the trigger and was pleased to see a beam of coherent light blow his skull into chunks of steaming offal. A gun with perfect accuracy, and whose fire couldn't be evaded due to moving at the speed of light? He was going to enjoy using this.
The second man paid no heed to his fallen comrade, not even looking away until the Doom Slayer flung the second horn point-first into the cultist's chest. The man's eyes bugged and his grip on what the his killer mentally dubbed a "chainsword" slackened, the weapon falling from nerveless fingers and toward the ground before the Doom Slayer snatched it from the air.
Scanning his newfound weapon with a practiced eye, the Doom Slayer noted every last detail of the weapon, from the trigger that would activate its blade to the obvious care it had been shown by the man now expiring on the ground. Lighter than the chainsaw he had picked up on Mars, it was without a doubt still deadly. Hopefully it would be just as effective at exsanguinating demons as the chainsaw had been.
The entire fight, from engaging the demon to his examination of the chainsword, had taken less than five seconds.
With fire and noise filling the air around him, the Doom Slayer turned to the horde of demons and soldiers surrounding what he immediately identified as their leader. He pointed the chainsword at the armored giant in a clear challenge, one that needed no words to understand.
COME AT ME!
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The entrenched men and women of Lieutenant Talia's platoon watched as the green Astartes - for what else could he be? - tear into the traitors' ranks with a ferocity that drew the eye of all around him. They cheered as they witnessed the Astartes tear off the horns of a daemonic beast before killing a Bloodletter so quickly none of them could tell how he had done so. They cared little for details such as his method of arrival, the strange armour he wore, or his lack of a boltgun. What they cared about was seeing one of Humanity's foremost defenders join their battle.
In their minds, they knew that they had already won.
Faith renewed and hope rekindled, she turned to her squad and yelled.
"Alright men! Support the Astartes! Kill as many traitors as you can! Let these curs rue the day they turned their backs on the Imperium! AVE IMPERATOR!"
Her men, grinning as they raised their weapons, roared along with her.
"AVE IMPERATOR!"
+++
Huoron cursed as the interloper drew nearer to him. Every demon, cultist or traitor marine that got near him either died quickly or by methods even a veteran of the Blood God's forces had rarely seen, and some that were new even to him. He saw the interloper dip past a Berzerker's strike before grabbing the marine's helmet and tearing it from the traitor's shouders with his head still inside, use it to smash an unfortunate cultist into the air where they landed on the horns of a dying daemonic beast, and then throw the helmet with the head still inside at another traitor marine with such force that the power-armoured superhuman was knocked flat!
The ferocity, the skill, the pure savagery of the interloper's actions would please Khorne greatly. It mattered not that the green-armoured being was massacring the Blood God's own followers, Khorne cared only that blood flowed in the heat of battle. If Huoron were to continue spreading Khorne's word throughout the galaxy he would have to survive against this creature, but as he watched it kill everything between them, instincts honed by millennia of unholy war began to tell him this was an opponent he could not defeat.
To make matters even worse the loyalists had resumed their fire with an intensity kindled by hope, hope that he had taken great pains to crush ever since he had arrived on this world. Furthermore, this grand display of bloodshed was gaining the attention of the rest of his warband, drawing their efforts away from the Imperial lines and giving the loyalists vital time to regroup and reorganize!
Gritting his teeth as the interloper reached him, the Chaos Space Marine raised his own chainsword to lock blades with the green-armoured being. Both chainblades whirred wielders held their ground. Finally, Huoron was able to match gazes with the interloper, the traitor marine meeting the golden irises of the man that stood against him.
Those eyes...
He could feel the rage in them like a palpable thing, the fury directed at him only a small fraction of the wrath this man held within his soul.
"You have done well!" He growled, looking down upon the man that was somehow matching the strength of a Chaos Marine blessed by Khorne despite lacking any sign of similar enhancements! "Swear loyalty to Khorne and you shall be-"
And then the Doom Slayer hit him.
A mighty crack echoed across the battlefield as Huoron tumbled through the air. Looking down he could see that the interloper had struck him in the chestplate with such force the ceramite had broken. Cracks radiated outward from a shattered crater in his armor. He struck the ground and bounced twice before rolling to a halt. Huoron desperately tried to get to his feet only to feel his helmet yanked from his head. The Chaos warlord raised his eyes to see the approaching fist of the man that he now knew could not be killed, teeth shattering as a boxy object was forced down his throat before the interloper picked him up and bodily hurled the traitor at a nearby group of his fellow Chaos Marines. Just before impact, Huoron the Defiler's head burst apart as the Doom Slayer's grenade detonated.
+++
Talia's breath left her as she saw the Astartes finish off the Traitor's champion. A part of her felt grim satisfaction at the death of the bastard responsible for killing so many of her comrades. With him dead, their souls could finally go to the Emperor knowing they had been avenged.
By the time reinforcements arrived the traitors were in full retreat, and there, in the middle of the battlefield, stood the Astartes. Feet planted among a veritable mound of traitor marine corpses, the head of a Berzerker in his left hand, his chainsword to his right, armor scuffed and visor stained with blood, he looked every inch a victorious Angel of Death.
For the first time since the traitors had arrived on this world, she smiled and cheered along with her men.
"ASTARTES! ASTARTES! ASTARTES!"
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
+++
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Gifted with speed and strength beyond those of mortal men, first as an Astartes and then by the blessings of Khorne, Huoron could react to events most men could barely perceive. To meet an opponent that could match him was not something that happened often
The cultists who had the ill fortune of being closest to the interloper were the first to die. The green-armored being raised its weapon in a blur that only Huoron and his fellow traitor marines could follow, aiming the gun squarely between the eyes of the nearest cultist; a man holding an axe in one hand and an autopistol in the other, clad in the hides of those he had slain.
The interloper's finger twitched and the weapon barked, one barrel flashing a micro-instant before the cultist's head exploded. A slight adjustment brought the gun in line with the man directly behind him, a ragged and wiry individual clutching a lascarbine. The gun's other barrel fired and obliterated the cultist's skull. As their bodies fell, the interloper snapped open the breech of their gun, two red shells dropping out.
The moment ended, the two armies regained their senses, and chaos in the literal sense erupted around them.
+++
The earth shook as the he rushed forward, grabbing the fallen cultists' weapons and securing them to his armor more quickly than a mortal eye could follow. Armaments secured, he reloaded his shotgun and sighted another target, a heavily tattooed man armed with nothing more than his own two fists. The shotgun's pellets dug a bloody crater in his chest, his back erupting in a fountain of blood and pulverized heart.
The mass of demons and their lackeys appeared to regain their senses after seeing their comrades die. Cries of wrath and promises of death bellowed from their throats as they charged him, a demonic beast at their forefront, it horns bared and deadly. Seeing this, he rushed to take the charging beast head-on as the humans behind him opened up with their own weaponry.
He was the last of the Night Sentinels, the Unchained Predator, the Hell Walker.
The Doom Slayer.
And he was not happy.
If one could feel his anger, one would be roasted alive. What Doom Guy had in him was complete and utter rage. Rage for the fact that Hayden had betrayed him. Rage because he had been dropped with a simple double-barrelled shotgun as his only weapon. Rage that the hellspawn before him simply existed.
Thankfully, they appeared to be happily volunteering themselves as his stress relief.
An instant before they collided with the charging demon he reached out and grappled its horns. Man and beast stared at each other with absolute fury. Their rage gave them strength. Unfortunately for the beast, The Doom Slayer's wrath had carried him on a rampage through every corner of hell, an avatar of unceasing vengeance that nothing could stop, let alone kill. Against him, its frothing anger would avail the beast nothing.
The Doom Slayer brought his head back and slammed his helmet into the beast's head with such force that even the thick daemonic bone of the creature's skull could not prevent it from being stunned. He shifted his grip, focused his strength, and in a single motion twisted its neck a full 360 degrees. It gave a low, pathetic whimper as it passed, and he ripped the animal's horns off with a bloody crunch.
A single glance at the forces arrayed against him had given him all the information he needed. First and most numerous were the horde of ragtag humans charging the trenches behind him. That enraged him even more that the presence of the demons did. Vile as they were, demons were evil simply because it was in their nature. They had no choice in what they were, could be nothing else than monsters who ravaged civilizations and worlds. To see people fighting alongside them, humans that had freely chosen to align themselves with evil, stoked the fires of his wrath to greater heights than even the foulest beast of hell could manage.
Next were the demons themselves. They were different from those he was familiar with, that he had faced throughout eons in Hell and on Mars. Many of them bore a strange rune he did not recognize upon their bodies, yet the moment he saw it he knew it signified bloodshed and carnage, for their meaning radiated from these marks like heat from a furnace.
They were simultaneously chaotic and coherent, with their forms varying wildly yet all sharing a common theme of creatures which lived for combat and slaughter. Tallest among them were red-skinned fiends with forked tongues spilling from between their mouthful of sharp teeth, horns framing both their mouths and elongated skulls, their hands gripping what he instantly recognized as weapons imbued with dark power. Their bodies were thin and lanky, but the rippling of muscle beneath their crimson flesh spoke of great strength.
Last were the ones in armor, who seemed to blur the line between man and demon. They stood head and shoulders above even the tallest cultist, their thick and bulky armor festooned with skulls, etched in brass and adorned with spikes. No two were exactly alike in appearance, but there was more commonality in their appearance than either the cultists or demons possessed. Some had horns emerging from their helmets, others adorned with metal fins that held a brass skull above their heads. A few were worked to look like skulls themselves, with an ornament taking the shape of the demons' marks framing their heads.
They moved and fought like men, yet they moved more swiftly than himself and but a few of the demons present. In their hands were oversized weapons that most would find too bulky to wield, and to his senses they seemed to possess some of the same dark power as the demons.
Furthermore, none of them - be they armored warrior or spitting fiend - were showing any of the telltale signs of fear he had grown to recognize whenever a demon caught sight of him. The terror he had inflicted upon Hell's inhabitants was so great that even after his long imprisonment, they still recognized him on sight. The knowledge that all of Hell considered him an immortal killing machine, and that bloodthirsty demons would scream in panic and terror at the mere thought of the Doom Slayer unleashed once more was a source of grim satisfaction for him. To not be recognized by any of them...
He filed that detail away in his mind. It could investigated later. For now, he had demons to kill.
Armed with the demon-beast's horns, he began to rampage amongst the cultists' ranks, crushing the bones and rupturing the organs of any who came within reach.
He felt a small weight settle on his leg where a smaller beast had latched onto his armour, energetically attempting to bite through and reach the flesh beneath. A contemptuous strike with one of the horns crushed its skull and flung the creature into the melee surrounding him.
Finally, he got a clear view of his intended target; one of the tall red-skinned demons, its eyes glowing with malice as it hissed at him. The Doom Slayer tucked one of the horns under his left arm, drawing the machine pistol he had appropriated with his now-free hand. Time to test this demon's capabilities.
He raised the pistol and opened fire, bullets ripping into the cultists in front of him, sending them to the ground with bloody holes in their foreheads. He adjusted his aim as each bullet left the barrel, killing each cultist with a single round until nothing obstructed his line of fire to the demon in front of him. It bounded forward quickly, blade moving to deflect a few of the bullets, but allowing the rest to impact against its body to little effect. Holes appeared in the demon's skin and leaked boiling blood, but they seemed to hinder it little.
Throwing the empty gun at a nearby cultist hard enough to break the man's ribs, the Doom Slayer grabbed the horn from under his arm and counter-charged the demon. As soon as they were close enough it attempted to take his head off with its sword, but he slid under it, the blade passing above his face as he leaned backwards. One of the horns met the edge of the blade that hadn't been facing him, striking with enough force to unbalance the demon as its sword swung further than it had intended, and now with a demon-beast's horn lodged upon the blade.
The Doom Slayer now grabbed from his hip the axe he had taken from the first cultist he killed, lowering his stance as the demon whirled about, glaring at with seething hatred. It grabbed the horn and pulled, the blade slicing it into two pieces which fell to the ground as the demon grasped its hell-sword with both hands. Not even a moment passed before it swung again, this time at his midsection.
The Doom Slayer vaulted above the blade, swinging the axe as he spun in the air, embedding the steel blade into the flesh of the demon's right forearm.
The demon screamed, a noise of utter rage and pain tearing from its throat with such vehemence it ruptured the eardrums of what few cultists remained within ten paces of the fight. As the Doom Slayer landed on his feet he clubbed the demon across the face with the second horn, wrenching the axe free of its arm in the same movement. The demon's head snapped to the side, and he took the opportunity to bring the horn down upon its uninjured arm, snapping it at the wrist.
Another scream heralded the demon's sword falling to the ground, sinking into the dirt blade-first as its owner lost its grip upon the handle. A glance at the axe's blade told the Doom Slayer it would not last much longer, the bubbling and hissing indicated this demon's blood was either caustic or hot enough to ruin the edge. Good to know.
His arm blurred in an underarm swing that took the axe's head through the demon's fallen sword, hell-forged metal cutting through mortal steel with a screech, the angle of his swing cutting the blade in half diagonally and leaving a pointed wedge attached to the haft. One his swing carried past the demon's flailing arms and into its lower jaw.
Following the axe was the horn club, slamming into the rear of what remained of the axe's blade and forcing it even further into the wound. As the demon's arms rose in an attempt to grasp the piece of sharpened metal lodged in it mouth, the Doom Slayer raised the hand that had once held the axe and now held his shotgun, which he leveled at the demon's exposed neck. Twin barrels erupted in fire and shot, severing the fiend's head.
As the Doom Slayer snapped open his shotgun and ejected the two spent shells, instincts born from eons of unrelenting battle alerted him. Without bothering to reload, the closed the breech and spun to face his new attackers. Two men had come at him from behind, one holding a large machete and charging headfirst, lips frothing, and the other holding a chainsaw-sword in an overhead chopping position.
Before either could get within melee range of the Doom Slayer, he secured his shotgun to his lower back in exchanged for the strange carbine he had picked up earlier. Leveling the weapon at the machete-wielder, he pulled the trigger and was pleased to see a beam of coherent light blow his skull into chunks of steaming offal. A gun with perfect accuracy, and whose fire couldn't be evaded due to moving at the speed of light? He was going to enjoy using this.
The second man paid no heed to his fallen comrade, not even looking away until the Doom Slayer flung the second horn point-first into the cultist's chest. The man's eyes bugged and his grip on what the his killer mentally dubbed a "chainsword" slackened, the weapon falling from nerveless fingers and toward the ground before the Doom Slayer snatched it from the air.
Scanning his newfound weapon with a practiced eye, the Doom Slayer noted every last detail of the weapon, from the trigger that would activate its blade to the obvious care it had been shown by the man now expiring on the ground. Lighter than the chainsaw he had picked up on Mars, it was without a doubt still deadly. Hopefully it would be just as effective at exsanguinating demons as the chainsaw had been.
The entire fight, from engaging the demon to his examination of the chainsword, had taken less than five seconds.
With fire and noise filling the air around him, the Doom Slayer turned to the horde of demons and soldiers surrounding what he immediately identified as their leader. He pointed the chainsword at the armored giant in a clear challenge, one that needed no words to understand.
COME AT ME!
+++
The entrenched men and women of Lieutenant Talia's platoon watched as the green Astartes - for what else could he be? - tear into the traitors' ranks with a ferocity that drew the eye of all around him. They cheered as they witnessed the Astartes tear off the horns of a daemonic beast before killing a Bloodletter so quickly none of them could tell how he had done so. They cared little for details such as his method of arrival, the strange armour he wore, or his lack of a boltgun. What they cared about was seeing one of Humanity's foremost defenders join their battle.
In their minds, they knew that they had already won.
Faith renewed and hope rekindled, she turned to her squad and yelled.
"Alright men! Support the Astartes! Kill as many traitors as you can! Let these curs rue the day they turned their backs on the Imperium! AVE IMPERATOR!"
Her men, grinning as they raised their weapons, roared along with her.
"AVE IMPERATOR!"
+++
Huoron cursed as the interloper drew nearer to him. Every demon, cultist or traitor marine that got near him either died quickly or by methods even a veteran of the Blood God's forces had rarely seen, and some that were new even to him. He saw the interloper dip past a Berzerker's strike before grabbing the marine's helmet and tearing it from the traitor's shouders with his head still inside, use it to smash an unfortunate cultist into the air where they landed on the horns of a dying daemonic beast, and then throw the helmet with the head still inside at another traitor marine with such force that the power-armoured superhuman was knocked flat!
The ferocity, the skill, the pure savagery of the interloper's actions would please Khorne greatly. It mattered not that the green-armoured being was massacring the Blood God's own followers, Khorne cared only that blood flowed in the heat of battle. If Huoron were to continue spreading Khorne's word throughout the galaxy he would have to survive against this creature, but as he watched it kill everything between them, instincts honed by millennia of unholy war began to tell him this was an opponent he could not defeat.
To make matters even worse the loyalists had resumed their fire with an intensity kindled by hope, hope that he had taken great pains to crush ever since he had arrived on this world. Furthermore, this grand display of bloodshed was gaining the attention of the rest of his warband, drawing their efforts away from the Imperial lines and giving the loyalists vital time to regroup and reorganize!
Gritting his teeth as the interloper reached him, the Chaos Space Marine raised his own chainsword to lock blades with the green-armoured being. Both chainblades whirred wielders held their ground. Finally, Huoron was able to match gazes with the interloper, the traitor marine meeting the golden irises of the man that stood against him.
Those eyes...
He could feel the rage in them like a palpable thing, the fury directed at him only a small fraction of the wrath this man held within his soul.
"You have done well!" He growled, looking down upon the man that was somehow matching the strength of a Chaos Marine blessed by Khorne despite lacking any sign of similar enhancements! "Swear loyalty to Khorne and you shall be-"
And then the Doom Slayer hit him.
A mighty crack echoed across the battlefield as Huoron tumbled through the air. Looking down he could see that the interloper had struck him in the chestplate with such force the ceramite had broken. Cracks radiated outward from a shattered crater in his armor. He struck the ground and bounced twice before rolling to a halt. Huoron desperately tried to get to his feet only to feel his helmet yanked from his head. The Chaos warlord raised his eyes to see the approaching fist of the man that he now knew could not be killed, teeth shattering as a boxy object was forced down his throat before the interloper picked him up and bodily hurled the traitor at a nearby group of his fellow Chaos Marines. Just before impact, Huoron the Defiler's head burst apart as the Doom Slayer's grenade detonated.
+++
Talia's breath left her as she saw the Astartes finish off the Traitor's champion. A part of her felt grim satisfaction at the death of the bastard responsible for killing so many of her comrades. With him dead, their souls could finally go to the Emperor knowing they had been avenged.
By the time reinforcements arrived the traitors were in full retreat, and there, in the middle of the battlefield, stood the Astartes. Feet planted among a veritable mound of traitor marine corpses, the head of a Berzerker in his left hand, his chainsword to his right, armor scuffed and visor stained with blood, he looked every inch a victorious Angel of Death.
For the first time since the traitors had arrived on this world, she smiled and cheered along with her men.
"ASTARTES! ASTARTES! ASTARTES!"
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
Respite
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
Edited with the genius of @Valiran
+++
It had been two weeks since the mysterious Astartes had slain Huoron the Defiler. Despite this, the strategic situation remained much the same. After Huoron's death the traitors simply regrouped, found a new bloodthirsty madman to lead them, and then renewed their attacks with the unrelenting zeal typified by the Blood God. Intelligence on this new leader was sparse, but she felt as if they were a constant presence on the field of battle despite never appearing in person, like a puppet master controlling the strings.
That said, she was confident the Imperium would prevail in this conflict. Come one and come all, they had an Astartes fighting with them. An Angel of Death, The Emperor's Finest, the greatest warriors the Imperium possessed. Their corrupted kin may have had the fell strength of the Ruinous Powers, but the purity of those who fought for the Emperor made them stronger still. Seeing him annihilate every enemy he faced made her feel as if he could take the Eye of Terror itself!
It was an honour just to see an Astartes, let alone witness one fight. Though she had never had the good fortune to see one before now, she had seen the murals on Cadia and in chapels depicting their battles against the foes of humanity. This one had defied many of her expectations; he was no giant like the traitor Marines they had been fighting, and his armor was unlike any depiction of the Astartes she had seen. He did not speak with a booming voice, decrying his traitorous counterparts while exhorting his allies to greater feats.
He was taciturn, keeping to himself unless he had to, and his interactions with the Guard forces were usually short. The longest he had interacted with any one group had been his first visit to the armory, where he had taken enough armaments to equip a squad of her fellow soldiers. He would ask her or one of the other officers to point out out areas where the traitors were causing the most trouble, then depart for a few days before returning. Each and every time, the traitors' forces were annihilated down to the last man.
When the battlefield was quiet, when reconnaisance teams had yet to locate the next largest concentration of traitor forces, the Astartes would stand amidst the trenches and fortifications and cast his gaze across the expansive waste in front of them. Passing guardsmen would pay their respects to him and he would nod. Her men had thought that the Astartes was simply taking vigil and making sure the enemy would not catch them unawares. But she knew the truth.
He was avoiding them.
Whatever the reason for his behavior, she could not let this continue. She trusted her men with her very soul, a trust she knew they returned. It was part and parcel of being Cadian. They had in turn forged bonds with the other regiments they fought alongside, a kinship forged in the heat of battle. This is what had allowed them to fight with the tenacity and coordination required to last as long as they had against the traitors' forces. If they were to fight alongside the Astartes with full effectiveness, communication would be absolutely vital.
It was with these thoughts driving her that she approached him now. He was very heavily armed. In the time since his arrival he had turned over the lascarbine and chainsword he'd acquired on the battlefield to the enginseers in exchange for two lasguns - an M36 Kantrael and a Lucius Pattern no. 98 - and a laspistol, and her captain's power sword. As time passed he had added a bolter, a meltagun, and a truly enormous amount of grenades and explosives to his arsenal. Sweat beaded upon her brow as she neared the warrior, a lump forming in her throat as he took notice of her. She took a deep breath before addressing him.
"My lord," she began "the men are currently taking their rations. We would be honored if you would join us." It was at this moment that she realized he had never once removed his helmet since he had first appeared. Even the stoic Kriegers took their masks off every once in a while. She hadn't seen the Astarte eat anything since his arrival, and had no idea if Space Marines even neededthe same food as normal humans, but it wouldn't hurt to offer.
The Astartes simply stared at her, golden irises seeming like they were gazing into her soul.
Looking to end the silence, she glanced at the battlefield and spoke once more.
"This world wasn't so bad before." She paused to look at the churned-up terrain pitted with craters, "This used to be a verdant green field, long grass reaching all the way to the sea. My regiment would conduct some of our exercises there. Afterwards, we would feast on freshly caught fish and take a swim." She smiled at the memory. "And sometimes, we would even invite the Krieger tank regiment to a game of volleyball. The Kriegers would usually win. Then we would challenge them to a game on who could build the biggest sand castle. The Kriegers won that one too."
Her regiment had not taken the news well at first. They were Cadians, it was their purpose in life to slay the enemies of the Imperium. To be mistakenly sent to a peaceful civilized world far from any conflict had been galling. Furthermore, this world's people lived so unlike the strict and organized Cadians that culture shock had set in, isolating them from the local populace even further.
And yet, of all the times that the Depatmento Munitorum had frakked up, this was one where she could say their mistake had a silver lining. Seeing the people of this world live happy lives free of the unending toil that Cadians lived and died by had been an eye-opening experience. It was for them that she and her comrades fought and died on worlds they had never heard of. By their sacrifice would this world and thousand of others like it never know the conflict that tore the galaxy apart.
A soft breeze swept the trenches, whipping her hair. The violet-eyed woman sighed. Until now, at least.
"Then the traitors came. They ravaged the planet and its citizens. It would have fallen sooner if my regiment and the Kriegers hadn't put up the resistance we had."
The Astartes was silent as he continued staring at her. And so she continued.
"I had befriended an orphaned child in one of the towns here. Her parents were both in the PDF and were some of the first to die when the traitors arrived. I had taken her under my wing and given her what solace I could. Every single time we'd pass in that town, she would be the there with her relatives to greet me with a freshly baked pie and the brightest and happiest smile you could see on a child. She was so strong, I could almost forget that she wasn't born a Cadian."
She clenched her fist as she recalled her most hated memory.
"My men and I were in the capitol when news reached us that the town the girl lived in was attacked. When we arrived…the town was in flames. Its inhabitants and the PDF guarding it, massacred." Tears formed of rage and anguish leaked from her eyes, and her voice began to crack ever so slightly.
"Not a single person in that town survived the attack. It was later that I learned the identity of her murderer. The traitor that you had slain, Huoron." She faced him, her eyes watery but firm, a smile on her face.
"He was the monster that had led the attack that stole her life. I may not have been the one that ended his miserable existence, but seeing you enact the Emperor's justice on him was more than enough."
She gave him a low bow. "You have avenged the girl that I had come to view as a younger sister, and every single person that madman had slaughtered for his wretched god. For that, I owe you my thanks."
Moments later, she heard the hissing of pressurized air. Looking up, she saw the marine staring down at her, his eyes glowing with the flames of purpose. It took her considerable effort to not be lost gazing into them. His face, though scarred, was well-chiseled and handsome.
"I accept your offer." Rumbled the Astartes. It was deep and rich. Fitting for an angel of death.
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
+++
It had been two weeks since the mysterious Astartes had slain Huoron the Defiler. Despite this, the strategic situation remained much the same. After Huoron's death the traitors simply regrouped, found a new bloodthirsty madman to lead them, and then renewed their attacks with the unrelenting zeal typified by the Blood God. Intelligence on this new leader was sparse, but she felt as if they were a constant presence on the field of battle despite never appearing in person, like a puppet master controlling the strings.
That said, she was confident the Imperium would prevail in this conflict. Come one and come all, they had an Astartes fighting with them. An Angel of Death, The Emperor's Finest, the greatest warriors the Imperium possessed. Their corrupted kin may have had the fell strength of the Ruinous Powers, but the purity of those who fought for the Emperor made them stronger still. Seeing him annihilate every enemy he faced made her feel as if he could take the Eye of Terror itself!
It was an honour just to see an Astartes, let alone witness one fight. Though she had never had the good fortune to see one before now, she had seen the murals on Cadia and in chapels depicting their battles against the foes of humanity. This one had defied many of her expectations; he was no giant like the traitor Marines they had been fighting, and his armor was unlike any depiction of the Astartes she had seen. He did not speak with a booming voice, decrying his traitorous counterparts while exhorting his allies to greater feats.
He was taciturn, keeping to himself unless he had to, and his interactions with the Guard forces were usually short. The longest he had interacted with any one group had been his first visit to the armory, where he had taken enough armaments to equip a squad of her fellow soldiers. He would ask her or one of the other officers to point out out areas where the traitors were causing the most trouble, then depart for a few days before returning. Each and every time, the traitors' forces were annihilated down to the last man.
When the battlefield was quiet, when reconnaisance teams had yet to locate the next largest concentration of traitor forces, the Astartes would stand amidst the trenches and fortifications and cast his gaze across the expansive waste in front of them. Passing guardsmen would pay their respects to him and he would nod. Her men had thought that the Astartes was simply taking vigil and making sure the enemy would not catch them unawares. But she knew the truth.
He was avoiding them.
Whatever the reason for his behavior, she could not let this continue. She trusted her men with her very soul, a trust she knew they returned. It was part and parcel of being Cadian. They had in turn forged bonds with the other regiments they fought alongside, a kinship forged in the heat of battle. This is what had allowed them to fight with the tenacity and coordination required to last as long as they had against the traitors' forces. If they were to fight alongside the Astartes with full effectiveness, communication would be absolutely vital.
It was with these thoughts driving her that she approached him now. He was very heavily armed. In the time since his arrival he had turned over the lascarbine and chainsword he'd acquired on the battlefield to the enginseers in exchange for two lasguns - an M36 Kantrael and a Lucius Pattern no. 98 - and a laspistol, and her captain's power sword. As time passed he had added a bolter, a meltagun, and a truly enormous amount of grenades and explosives to his arsenal. Sweat beaded upon her brow as she neared the warrior, a lump forming in her throat as he took notice of her. She took a deep breath before addressing him.
"My lord," she began "the men are currently taking their rations. We would be honored if you would join us." It was at this moment that she realized he had never once removed his helmet since he had first appeared. Even the stoic Kriegers took their masks off every once in a while. She hadn't seen the Astarte eat anything since his arrival, and had no idea if Space Marines even neededthe same food as normal humans, but it wouldn't hurt to offer.
The Astartes simply stared at her, golden irises seeming like they were gazing into her soul.
Looking to end the silence, she glanced at the battlefield and spoke once more.
"This world wasn't so bad before." She paused to look at the churned-up terrain pitted with craters, "This used to be a verdant green field, long grass reaching all the way to the sea. My regiment would conduct some of our exercises there. Afterwards, we would feast on freshly caught fish and take a swim." She smiled at the memory. "And sometimes, we would even invite the Krieger tank regiment to a game of volleyball. The Kriegers would usually win. Then we would challenge them to a game on who could build the biggest sand castle. The Kriegers won that one too."
Her regiment had not taken the news well at first. They were Cadians, it was their purpose in life to slay the enemies of the Imperium. To be mistakenly sent to a peaceful civilized world far from any conflict had been galling. Furthermore, this world's people lived so unlike the strict and organized Cadians that culture shock had set in, isolating them from the local populace even further.
And yet, of all the times that the Depatmento Munitorum had frakked up, this was one where she could say their mistake had a silver lining. Seeing the people of this world live happy lives free of the unending toil that Cadians lived and died by had been an eye-opening experience. It was for them that she and her comrades fought and died on worlds they had never heard of. By their sacrifice would this world and thousand of others like it never know the conflict that tore the galaxy apart.
A soft breeze swept the trenches, whipping her hair. The violet-eyed woman sighed. Until now, at least.
"Then the traitors came. They ravaged the planet and its citizens. It would have fallen sooner if my regiment and the Kriegers hadn't put up the resistance we had."
The Astartes was silent as he continued staring at her. And so she continued.
"I had befriended an orphaned child in one of the towns here. Her parents were both in the PDF and were some of the first to die when the traitors arrived. I had taken her under my wing and given her what solace I could. Every single time we'd pass in that town, she would be the there with her relatives to greet me with a freshly baked pie and the brightest and happiest smile you could see on a child. She was so strong, I could almost forget that she wasn't born a Cadian."
She clenched her fist as she recalled her most hated memory.
"My men and I were in the capitol when news reached us that the town the girl lived in was attacked. When we arrived…the town was in flames. Its inhabitants and the PDF guarding it, massacred." Tears formed of rage and anguish leaked from her eyes, and her voice began to crack ever so slightly.
"Not a single person in that town survived the attack. It was later that I learned the identity of her murderer. The traitor that you had slain, Huoron." She faced him, her eyes watery but firm, a smile on her face.
"He was the monster that had led the attack that stole her life. I may not have been the one that ended his miserable existence, but seeing you enact the Emperor's justice on him was more than enough."
She gave him a low bow. "You have avenged the girl that I had come to view as a younger sister, and every single person that madman had slaughtered for his wretched god. For that, I owe you my thanks."
Moments later, she heard the hissing of pressurized air. Looking up, she saw the marine staring down at her, his eyes glowing with the flames of purpose. It took her considerable effort to not be lost gazing into them. His face, though scarred, was well-chiseled and handsome.
"I accept your offer." Rumbled the Astartes. It was deep and rich. Fitting for an angel of death.
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
He Comes
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
It had been days since the Chaos Warband arrived in the planet. They had been making remarkable progress in pushing the Loyalist forces to the planetary capital. But strangely, lands still remained in the hands of the Loyalists. Based on the reports and rumors he received, a lone Astartes had been assisting the Imperial Guard assigned in that sector. This solitary Astartes of an unidentified Chapter was said to have been the one responsible for utterly massacring daemon and cultist alike.
This brought him, Kelredan the Wrathful to personally inspect the affected sector and if need be, kill the one responsible for halting their advance.
It wasn't strange for Astartes to hold a sector for weeks. But by his lonesome and without support from fellow astartes? That Space Marine should be commended and slain in personal combat by him.
But before he could do so, he had a bunch of fools to talk to.
When he arrived at the facility that his forces were using as a staging point, he found the mood...down.
He spotted a cultist lying with his back against the wall. The man had a hollow look about him. Like a child who had her pet feline trampled by a mob of cultists.
"Cultist." His voice boomed, amplified by electric speakers. "What has happened here?"
The cultist looked up. His eyes were haunted. His voice was low and raspy.
"He came from the Loyalist line, a torrent of flame and death, a storm of las and bolt. We'd heard stories from other bands. But none of my group had expected him to be near, or strike so ferociously. He descended upon us, blanketing our position with las, slaughtering anyone in sight with his sword, taking everything he could and burning everything else. The nightmarish booms of his bolt pistol...his silence amidst our screams and yells. We fought, of course, but none of us were prepared for anything like this. We tried to fortify our position, but he circled all around us, his attacks finding their way between our defenses. One by one my brothers in arms fell, until there were scarcely a few dozen of us left. And when he fell upon us, the blades of his sword flashing...we shamed our fallen brothers...and dishonored Khorne. We threw down our weapons and ran. But none of us got far. My friend had scarcely gone fifty paces before he was cut down."
The cultist's fist trembled as he recalled his memory.
"I managed to drag my friend and we both hid. And as he walked away, I tried to tend to my friend, blood pooling from his side, his vision slowly darkening. The air was filled with smoke and blood. And against the light of our burning fortress, all I could see were the silhouette of him, loosing bolt and las into the backs of the few survivors, as embers from the raging inferno swirled through the air, and I felt the life of my friend slowly slipping away..."
He never finished. For Kelredan took his bolt pistol and shot the cultist square, leaving only half his head.
He turned to a couple of cultists milling near him and gestured to them to take away the dead cultist's body. He then barked orders for the survivors to gather. He would have to bring their morale up if they were going to break the Imperial lines. As he stood and watched the two daemons drag the body away, the words of the dead cultist echoed in his mind.
And for the first time in his life, Kelredan felt uncertain.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account
It had been days since the Chaos Warband arrived in the planet. They had been making remarkable progress in pushing the Loyalist forces to the planetary capital. But strangely, lands still remained in the hands of the Loyalists. Based on the reports and rumors he received, a lone Astartes had been assisting the Imperial Guard assigned in that sector. This solitary Astartes of an unidentified Chapter was said to have been the one responsible for utterly massacring daemon and cultist alike.
This brought him, Kelredan the Wrathful to personally inspect the affected sector and if need be, kill the one responsible for halting their advance.
It wasn't strange for Astartes to hold a sector for weeks. But by his lonesome and without support from fellow astartes? That Space Marine should be commended and slain in personal combat by him.
But before he could do so, he had a bunch of fools to talk to.
When he arrived at the facility that his forces were using as a staging point, he found the mood...down.
He spotted a cultist lying with his back against the wall. The man had a hollow look about him. Like a child who had her pet feline trampled by a mob of cultists.
"Cultist." His voice boomed, amplified by electric speakers. "What has happened here?"
The cultist looked up. His eyes were haunted. His voice was low and raspy.
"He came from the Loyalist line, a torrent of flame and death, a storm of las and bolt. We'd heard stories from other bands. But none of my group had expected him to be near, or strike so ferociously. He descended upon us, blanketing our position with las, slaughtering anyone in sight with his sword, taking everything he could and burning everything else. The nightmarish booms of his bolt pistol...his silence amidst our screams and yells. We fought, of course, but none of us were prepared for anything like this. We tried to fortify our position, but he circled all around us, his attacks finding their way between our defenses. One by one my brothers in arms fell, until there were scarcely a few dozen of us left. And when he fell upon us, the blades of his sword flashing...we shamed our fallen brothers...and dishonored Khorne. We threw down our weapons and ran. But none of us got far. My friend had scarcely gone fifty paces before he was cut down."
The cultist's fist trembled as he recalled his memory.
"I managed to drag my friend and we both hid. And as he walked away, I tried to tend to my friend, blood pooling from his side, his vision slowly darkening. The air was filled with smoke and blood. And against the light of our burning fortress, all I could see were the silhouette of him, loosing bolt and las into the backs of the few survivors, as embers from the raging inferno swirled through the air, and I felt the life of my friend slowly slipping away..."
He never finished. For Kelredan took his bolt pistol and shot the cultist square, leaving only half his head.
He turned to a couple of cultists milling near him and gestured to them to take away the dead cultist's body. He then barked orders for the survivors to gather. He would have to bring their morale up if they were going to break the Imperial lines. As he stood and watched the two daemons drag the body away, the words of the dead cultist echoed in his mind.
And for the first time in his life, Kelredan felt uncertain.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
Edited with the help of filipinosberman and UltimatePaladin
+++
Two men watched with interest as the green-clad Astartes took apart his primitive shotgun and inspected its insides.
"He's an interesting one, isn't he? Not like any other Astartes we know," observed Sergeant Terrance Sisko as he brought a cigar into his mouth. To describe their saviour as an Astartes was an understatement. The warrior was no Astartes. He was no hulking warrior in power armor. The warrior they were with was greater than that. His mere aura was more than what an Ultramarine could dare to emit. Some Guardsmen even suggested that he was simply a Champion that was molded by the Emperor himself to aid them.
But many others, especially those that had the rare honour of seeing Astartes, had no idea what he was and so simply thought of him as an Astartes of an unnamed Chapter out of respect and also because it was easier to think that way and was guaranteed to make one's head hurt less.
"What do you think of him?" asked Sergeant Jonas Iscariot. The two men were huddled in a somewhat isolated corner of the trenches that offered them an excellent view of the Astartes. Sergeant Iscariot had his back against the wall of a trench, hands folded while Sergeant Sisko was seated on a crate, a Vostroyan brand cigar in his mouth.
"I think he may be the most terrifying and the most awesome Astartes that I had the honour of speaking with in my entire life," replied Sergeant Sisko, cigar in mouth. Sisko had been across hundreds of battlefields in the galaxy and he had seen things that would leave a weaker man foaming at the mouth. But so far, the Astartes was the most intriguing, inspiring and scariest sight that he had ever seen. The last time he felt this awed was when an Ultramarine sacrificed his life by charging through enemy fire with two chainswords and screaming bloody murder at a line of cultists. The Ultramarine's presence was uplifting and urged many of the guardsmen to fight even harder. But the green armoured Astartes? He was literally overwhelming.
Sisko took his cigar out of his mouth and puffed out thick black smoke into the air. He suddenly fell into a hacking fit that seemed serious but the man in front of him only spared him a second glance. As he recovered, Sisko looked up at him. "How about you Jonas? What do you think?"
Sergeant Iscariot turned to the Astartes in question. The Space Marine was seated on a box similar to what Sisko was using but heavily reinforced with tough metals. The Astartes was cleaning his weapon, his famed primitive two-barreled shotgun. Passing guardsmen gave the Astartes their respects and the armoured giant simply nodded at them.
"Not a chatty one, is he? Not like an Ultramarine or a Salamander," observed Jonas.
"What Chapter do you think he belongs to?" asked Sisko. Jonas turned to his friend and gave him a smile.
"Didn't you hear it from his mouth? He belongs to no chapter but to his own."
+++
"What Chapter of Space Marines do you belong to, Lord Astartes?" asked Thalia. She, the surviving sergeants of the regiment, and the CO of their Krieger reinforcements were seated at a circular table. Smack dab in the middle of them was the Astartes, seated on a specially modified crate. Their meal was a glorious combination of hash browns and corned beef. Hardly a meal fit for an Astartes but supply lines were tight and they all needed the necessary proteins to survive.
So hash browns and corned beef it was.
Ever since the Astartes had joined their meal, the table had been quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. And so, Lieutenant Thalia took the first steps in breaking the ice.
The Astartes, finally clear of his helmet, took time to think before answering in a deep rich voice.
"I belong to no Chapters of your Space Marines. I simply am."
+++
The lunch they had with the Astartes was an eye-opener for the sergeants as it revealed quite a few things about him. For one, he rarely spoke and only answered in short, coherent sentences. He selected his questions well and chose to answer those questions that were...normal and not intrusive to his privacy. The questions that were too intrusive or, dumb would be met with a stern look of disapproval.
Of course, some of the questions asked by the officers came from the troops. The soldiers, the men, and women who saw the Astartes as an Imperial Saint approached their sergeants when word spread that the Astartes would be dining with them and piled their sergeants with questions. Some of these questions were sensible such as:
"What is the best weapon to use to eliminate your foes?"
"What do you think of the 212th?"
"Is it true that you were sent here on the divine orders of the Emperor of Mankind?"
Others were a bit unorthodox such as requests that they train with him and requests for…autographs. The Astartes was visibly surprised at the requests and answered: "If they can keep up" for the former and "As long as it is an appropriate personal effect." for the latter. And lastly, there were the more…special questions such as if he had male genitalia and the sergeant's personal favourite:
"Is it true that you and the lieutenant have a relationship?"
Of course, the special questions weren't asked but it was so incredibly amusing to the sergeants that they informed Thalia about this specific question and the woman turned a bright red before storming off and threatening to "PT the asses of the idiots who asked that stupid question until they die"
That was a sight to behold.
Another round of coughing broke out. This time, it sounded really serious. Iscariot walked over to his friend and handed him his canteen of water. Sisko took out and gulped it down. It was here that Iscariot noticed the brand that Sisko was smoking.
"You're still smoking that junk?" asked an incredulous Iscariot. "I thought you dropped that after Geroia III"
"It's… It's an acquired taste…" wheezed Sisko. To an outsider, this would just be normal banter between two friends. But to both men, it was something deeper. Something personal. Iscariot understood that. But he was still concerned.
"Terrance. I know that cigar means a lot to you but if you keep smoking that, you'd die from it. I doubt that she would want to see you this way." said Iscariot as he knelt next to his friend. Sisko brought the canteen down and looked at Iscariot. "I know that, Jonas. But…this is the only reminder I have of her…I…I just can't stop. I don't know how to stop."
Iscariot then laid a hand on Sisko's shoulder and smiled.
"Then I will help you."
As both men clasped arms, the distinct sound of an artillery barrage was heard in the distance. The two men figured that it was their Artillery firing at some designated target. But that was when they heard an extremely loud whistle that was suspiciously heading for their lines. Sergeant Sisko's eyes became wide as saucers as he knew what was about to happen and yelled, "INCOMING! GET TO COVER!"
Just as he yelled, a shell screamed down at their position and impacted on a stationed Leman Russ tank which exploded in spectacular fashion that sent men and metal flying.
+++
The world thundered as hundreds of Chaos batteries unloaded salvos at the Loyalist position. Following it were the battle-cries of thousands of cultists who upon the prodding of their leaders charged at the Loyalist Position. The world shook as thousands of boots trampled on the dirt. Mixed with the inhuman battle-cries of the Chaos troops, it created quite a nightmarish scene of a horde coming out of the gates of Hell.
Kelredan the Wrathful observed all of this at the back of his lines. Normally, the Khornate Warlord would join his troops at the front line to shed blood in the name of Khorne but today, he would not join the melee. Instead, he would watch and wait. Hearing stories about the 'legendary' Astartes that had slain countless of daemons and cultists had intrigued him and filled him with feelings of anticipation, excitement and a little bit of apprehension though he would never admit that he felt the last emotion.
Reading reports made by those who still were sensible enough to write them greatly increased his understanding of the situation. Apparently, this line of Loyalists was stubbornly holding despite days of fighting and was proving quite problematic that it even forced his predecessor to intervene. And that was when it went wrong for him when the Astartes suddenly appeared and shoved a grenade down his throat. Now the Loyalists were becoming emboldened with the appearance of their new champion and were resisting with unrelenting zeal. Kelredan knew Huoron by reputation and knew that the marine would never go down quite an inglorious end as Huoron was quite skilled in melee and was blessed by Khorne himself. To hear that a mere Loyalist Space Marine could achieve something such as that was unbelievable and Kelredan had to see this Space Marine himself.
Kelredan was a cut above those who had served Khorne. He was not one to 'seize the mettle' as the rest of his brethren. He was the very few who waited and gathered intelligence on their foes before delivering the final blow that would utterly decimate his enemies and shed the most blood. He considered it wasteful that warlords would send their soldiers en masse to die wasteful deaths when those troops could be used to their full capacity and talents. And so, here he was, far away from the battlefield but close enough to observe. Some might call him craven for using such tactics but in the end, he would give the Blood God a worthy victory and a generous gift in blood.
For now, he was letting one of his minions lead the charge and give him the results he wanted to see.
+++
Rahk-Zul was not a Space Marine. He used to be a pitiful servant of the Corpse Emperor and served under the Anathema's Imperial Guard. Ever since the first day he fought, he felt empty. What did it mean to fight for the Corpse Emperor? To die under an uncaring lord did not strike well with him. And then Rahk-Zul learned of the truth of Khorne. It resonated deep within him that he was fighting for something greater than the Corpse Emperor himself. And from then on, he served proudly under the Blood God and fought as a low-level cultist. He did not care though. He was...happy.
And now, here he was charging the fields of this planet to a line of cowardly Loyalists. With bolt pistol in hand and chain sword in the other, he screamed a battle-cry that heightened his senses to the state of euphoria.
'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
The Loyalist line replied with concentrated fire from their Lasrifles and Heavy Bolter emplacements that sent many cultists down the earth with holes in their body. Those unfortunate enough to survive were later trampled by their rampaging brethren. Despite the onslaught, they trudged on. Soon, they were close enough that they were able to fire their weapons but then they came upon the layers of barbed wire that slowed their advance. And this meant they were targets for the Loyalists.
"CUT THE WIRES!" ordered a Rahk-Zul, "DO NOT SLOW DOWN YOUR ADVANCE! CHARGE!" Those who had chainswords immediately went to work and cut open the long-laid line of barbed wire. Rahk-Zul cursed loudly that the Loyalists would set up a cowardly barrier that would delay their deaths. The cultist next to him fired wildly at the loyalists with his bolt-pistols and screamed bloody murder. But an Imperial marksman caught sight of him and shot him clean through the head that sent his body crumpling down unceremoniously. Slowly but surely, the cultists advanced. Out in the open, they had no cover but they didn't care. They were too blood-lusted to even care for such trivialities.
Finally, Rahk-Zul was able to cut through gaps that lead to the Imperial lines unimpeded.
"THROUGH THE GAP! NOW!" he ordered as he charged first through the cut barbed wires, pistols firing. The cultists roared as they followed the lead cultist and began unloading their own rounds at the Loyalists. Soon, a considerable number of cultists were able to storm the breach and were nearing the Imperial lines. Adrenaline coursed through Rahk-Zul's body as he came nearer and nearer to the Imperials. Finally, he could use his chains-sword to slay and maim. He could finally ser-
Rahk-Zul's last thoughts were of hacking a filthy Loyalist to bits when his head was separated from his shoulder by one clean swipe of a chainsword.
+++
"So that's the Astartes." pondered Kelredan.
Finally, after hearsay and reading reports, he saw the fabled Astartes in the flesh.
That warrior was no Astartes.
For one, he did not have the build of one. Astartes were bulky and huge in their power armor. That warrior was not. Secondly, he had never seen power armor like that before. Perhaps a new type of Power armour? Impossible. The Mechanicum would rather short-circuit themselves than innovate. The Chaos Warlord observed the warrior move about the battlefield like a swift angel of death, disposing of his cultists with relative ease and gory fashion. One cultist attempted to bring down his chain-sword to try and open a gash at the warrior's back. But the green-clad warrior made a back-hand move that twisted the cultists' head around.
He left the cultist dead and advanced into the charging horde, decapitating heads and separating limbs as he passed.
Two cultists charged at him with what seemed to be explosives strapped to their chests. With his superior hearing, Kelredan heard them scream the usual battle-cry of the blood god before lunging at the warrior. The warrior however delivered a powerful slap that sent the men flying and exploding into their own ranks. He holstered his chain-sword and brought out his primitive but powerful shotgun to unload its shells onto a group of charging cultists. The shells passed through with ease taking skin, bone, and blood flying outward. Then, he charged and used the end of his own weapon as a club to beat senseless those that dared stand in his way.
As Kelredan watched, he became suitably impressed with the warrior. He carried with him an inexorable aura that made lesser men kneel and foes running. His battle prowess was certainly up to his reputation as well as the savagery of his attacks. But the thing that stood above the warrior's qualities was his rage.
The warrior was fury incarnate. His wrath burned those around him and inflamed those that fought with him. The only ones that Kelredan knew who could emit such anger were those above him.
The likes of a Primarch.
Kelredan chuckled darkly. This was going to be an interesting fight.
He turned to his lieutenant and said.
"We've seen enough. Let us go. We still have preparations to make"
The Chaos Space Marine gave him a questioning look. "But the battle has started? We sho-"
The Khornate Warlord strode back. "This is not a battle. This is only a skirmish." He smiled under his helmet.
"The real battle has not yet begun."
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
+++
Two men watched with interest as the green-clad Astartes took apart his primitive shotgun and inspected its insides.
"He's an interesting one, isn't he? Not like any other Astartes we know," observed Sergeant Terrance Sisko as he brought a cigar into his mouth. To describe their saviour as an Astartes was an understatement. The warrior was no Astartes. He was no hulking warrior in power armor. The warrior they were with was greater than that. His mere aura was more than what an Ultramarine could dare to emit. Some Guardsmen even suggested that he was simply a Champion that was molded by the Emperor himself to aid them.
But many others, especially those that had the rare honour of seeing Astartes, had no idea what he was and so simply thought of him as an Astartes of an unnamed Chapter out of respect and also because it was easier to think that way and was guaranteed to make one's head hurt less.
"What do you think of him?" asked Sergeant Jonas Iscariot. The two men were huddled in a somewhat isolated corner of the trenches that offered them an excellent view of the Astartes. Sergeant Iscariot had his back against the wall of a trench, hands folded while Sergeant Sisko was seated on a crate, a Vostroyan brand cigar in his mouth.
"I think he may be the most terrifying and the most awesome Astartes that I had the honour of speaking with in my entire life," replied Sergeant Sisko, cigar in mouth. Sisko had been across hundreds of battlefields in the galaxy and he had seen things that would leave a weaker man foaming at the mouth. But so far, the Astartes was the most intriguing, inspiring and scariest sight that he had ever seen. The last time he felt this awed was when an Ultramarine sacrificed his life by charging through enemy fire with two chainswords and screaming bloody murder at a line of cultists. The Ultramarine's presence was uplifting and urged many of the guardsmen to fight even harder. But the green armoured Astartes? He was literally overwhelming.
Sisko took his cigar out of his mouth and puffed out thick black smoke into the air. He suddenly fell into a hacking fit that seemed serious but the man in front of him only spared him a second glance. As he recovered, Sisko looked up at him. "How about you Jonas? What do you think?"
Sergeant Iscariot turned to the Astartes in question. The Space Marine was seated on a box similar to what Sisko was using but heavily reinforced with tough metals. The Astartes was cleaning his weapon, his famed primitive two-barreled shotgun. Passing guardsmen gave the Astartes their respects and the armoured giant simply nodded at them.
"Not a chatty one, is he? Not like an Ultramarine or a Salamander," observed Jonas.
"What Chapter do you think he belongs to?" asked Sisko. Jonas turned to his friend and gave him a smile.
"Didn't you hear it from his mouth? He belongs to no chapter but to his own."
+++
"What Chapter of Space Marines do you belong to, Lord Astartes?" asked Thalia. She, the surviving sergeants of the regiment, and the CO of their Krieger reinforcements were seated at a circular table. Smack dab in the middle of them was the Astartes, seated on a specially modified crate. Their meal was a glorious combination of hash browns and corned beef. Hardly a meal fit for an Astartes but supply lines were tight and they all needed the necessary proteins to survive.
So hash browns and corned beef it was.
Ever since the Astartes had joined their meal, the table had been quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. And so, Lieutenant Thalia took the first steps in breaking the ice.
The Astartes, finally clear of his helmet, took time to think before answering in a deep rich voice.
"I belong to no Chapters of your Space Marines. I simply am."
+++
The lunch they had with the Astartes was an eye-opener for the sergeants as it revealed quite a few things about him. For one, he rarely spoke and only answered in short, coherent sentences. He selected his questions well and chose to answer those questions that were...normal and not intrusive to his privacy. The questions that were too intrusive or, dumb would be met with a stern look of disapproval.
Of course, some of the questions asked by the officers came from the troops. The soldiers, the men, and women who saw the Astartes as an Imperial Saint approached their sergeants when word spread that the Astartes would be dining with them and piled their sergeants with questions. Some of these questions were sensible such as:
"What is the best weapon to use to eliminate your foes?"
"What do you think of the 212th?"
"Is it true that you were sent here on the divine orders of the Emperor of Mankind?"
Others were a bit unorthodox such as requests that they train with him and requests for…autographs. The Astartes was visibly surprised at the requests and answered: "If they can keep up" for the former and "As long as it is an appropriate personal effect." for the latter. And lastly, there were the more…special questions such as if he had male genitalia and the sergeant's personal favourite:
"Is it true that you and the lieutenant have a relationship?"
Of course, the special questions weren't asked but it was so incredibly amusing to the sergeants that they informed Thalia about this specific question and the woman turned a bright red before storming off and threatening to "PT the asses of the idiots who asked that stupid question until they die"
That was a sight to behold.
Another round of coughing broke out. This time, it sounded really serious. Iscariot walked over to his friend and handed him his canteen of water. Sisko took out and gulped it down. It was here that Iscariot noticed the brand that Sisko was smoking.
"You're still smoking that junk?" asked an incredulous Iscariot. "I thought you dropped that after Geroia III"
"It's… It's an acquired taste…" wheezed Sisko. To an outsider, this would just be normal banter between two friends. But to both men, it was something deeper. Something personal. Iscariot understood that. But he was still concerned.
"Terrance. I know that cigar means a lot to you but if you keep smoking that, you'd die from it. I doubt that she would want to see you this way." said Iscariot as he knelt next to his friend. Sisko brought the canteen down and looked at Iscariot. "I know that, Jonas. But…this is the only reminder I have of her…I…I just can't stop. I don't know how to stop."
Iscariot then laid a hand on Sisko's shoulder and smiled.
"Then I will help you."
As both men clasped arms, the distinct sound of an artillery barrage was heard in the distance. The two men figured that it was their Artillery firing at some designated target. But that was when they heard an extremely loud whistle that was suspiciously heading for their lines. Sergeant Sisko's eyes became wide as saucers as he knew what was about to happen and yelled, "INCOMING! GET TO COVER!"
Just as he yelled, a shell screamed down at their position and impacted on a stationed Leman Russ tank which exploded in spectacular fashion that sent men and metal flying.
+++
The world thundered as hundreds of Chaos batteries unloaded salvos at the Loyalist position. Following it were the battle-cries of thousands of cultists who upon the prodding of their leaders charged at the Loyalist Position. The world shook as thousands of boots trampled on the dirt. Mixed with the inhuman battle-cries of the Chaos troops, it created quite a nightmarish scene of a horde coming out of the gates of Hell.
Kelredan the Wrathful observed all of this at the back of his lines. Normally, the Khornate Warlord would join his troops at the front line to shed blood in the name of Khorne but today, he would not join the melee. Instead, he would watch and wait. Hearing stories about the 'legendary' Astartes that had slain countless of daemons and cultists had intrigued him and filled him with feelings of anticipation, excitement and a little bit of apprehension though he would never admit that he felt the last emotion.
Reading reports made by those who still were sensible enough to write them greatly increased his understanding of the situation. Apparently, this line of Loyalists was stubbornly holding despite days of fighting and was proving quite problematic that it even forced his predecessor to intervene. And that was when it went wrong for him when the Astartes suddenly appeared and shoved a grenade down his throat. Now the Loyalists were becoming emboldened with the appearance of their new champion and were resisting with unrelenting zeal. Kelredan knew Huoron by reputation and knew that the marine would never go down quite an inglorious end as Huoron was quite skilled in melee and was blessed by Khorne himself. To hear that a mere Loyalist Space Marine could achieve something such as that was unbelievable and Kelredan had to see this Space Marine himself.
Kelredan was a cut above those who had served Khorne. He was not one to 'seize the mettle' as the rest of his brethren. He was the very few who waited and gathered intelligence on their foes before delivering the final blow that would utterly decimate his enemies and shed the most blood. He considered it wasteful that warlords would send their soldiers en masse to die wasteful deaths when those troops could be used to their full capacity and talents. And so, here he was, far away from the battlefield but close enough to observe. Some might call him craven for using such tactics but in the end, he would give the Blood God a worthy victory and a generous gift in blood.
For now, he was letting one of his minions lead the charge and give him the results he wanted to see.
+++
Rahk-Zul was not a Space Marine. He used to be a pitiful servant of the Corpse Emperor and served under the Anathema's Imperial Guard. Ever since the first day he fought, he felt empty. What did it mean to fight for the Corpse Emperor? To die under an uncaring lord did not strike well with him. And then Rahk-Zul learned of the truth of Khorne. It resonated deep within him that he was fighting for something greater than the Corpse Emperor himself. And from then on, he served proudly under the Blood God and fought as a low-level cultist. He did not care though. He was...happy.
And now, here he was charging the fields of this planet to a line of cowardly Loyalists. With bolt pistol in hand and chain sword in the other, he screamed a battle-cry that heightened his senses to the state of euphoria.
'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
The Loyalist line replied with concentrated fire from their Lasrifles and Heavy Bolter emplacements that sent many cultists down the earth with holes in their body. Those unfortunate enough to survive were later trampled by their rampaging brethren. Despite the onslaught, they trudged on. Soon, they were close enough that they were able to fire their weapons but then they came upon the layers of barbed wire that slowed their advance. And this meant they were targets for the Loyalists.
"CUT THE WIRES!" ordered a Rahk-Zul, "DO NOT SLOW DOWN YOUR ADVANCE! CHARGE!" Those who had chainswords immediately went to work and cut open the long-laid line of barbed wire. Rahk-Zul cursed loudly that the Loyalists would set up a cowardly barrier that would delay their deaths. The cultist next to him fired wildly at the loyalists with his bolt-pistols and screamed bloody murder. But an Imperial marksman caught sight of him and shot him clean through the head that sent his body crumpling down unceremoniously. Slowly but surely, the cultists advanced. Out in the open, they had no cover but they didn't care. They were too blood-lusted to even care for such trivialities.
Finally, Rahk-Zul was able to cut through gaps that lead to the Imperial lines unimpeded.
"THROUGH THE GAP! NOW!" he ordered as he charged first through the cut barbed wires, pistols firing. The cultists roared as they followed the lead cultist and began unloading their own rounds at the Loyalists. Soon, a considerable number of cultists were able to storm the breach and were nearing the Imperial lines. Adrenaline coursed through Rahk-Zul's body as he came nearer and nearer to the Imperials. Finally, he could use his chains-sword to slay and maim. He could finally ser-
Rahk-Zul's last thoughts were of hacking a filthy Loyalist to bits when his head was separated from his shoulder by one clean swipe of a chainsword.
+++
"So that's the Astartes." pondered Kelredan.
Finally, after hearsay and reading reports, he saw the fabled Astartes in the flesh.
That warrior was no Astartes.
For one, he did not have the build of one. Astartes were bulky and huge in their power armor. That warrior was not. Secondly, he had never seen power armor like that before. Perhaps a new type of Power armour? Impossible. The Mechanicum would rather short-circuit themselves than innovate. The Chaos Warlord observed the warrior move about the battlefield like a swift angel of death, disposing of his cultists with relative ease and gory fashion. One cultist attempted to bring down his chain-sword to try and open a gash at the warrior's back. But the green-clad warrior made a back-hand move that twisted the cultists' head around.
He left the cultist dead and advanced into the charging horde, decapitating heads and separating limbs as he passed.
Two cultists charged at him with what seemed to be explosives strapped to their chests. With his superior hearing, Kelredan heard them scream the usual battle-cry of the blood god before lunging at the warrior. The warrior however delivered a powerful slap that sent the men flying and exploding into their own ranks. He holstered his chain-sword and brought out his primitive but powerful shotgun to unload its shells onto a group of charging cultists. The shells passed through with ease taking skin, bone, and blood flying outward. Then, he charged and used the end of his own weapon as a club to beat senseless those that dared stand in his way.
As Kelredan watched, he became suitably impressed with the warrior. He carried with him an inexorable aura that made lesser men kneel and foes running. His battle prowess was certainly up to his reputation as well as the savagery of his attacks. But the thing that stood above the warrior's qualities was his rage.
The warrior was fury incarnate. His wrath burned those around him and inflamed those that fought with him. The only ones that Kelredan knew who could emit such anger were those above him.
The likes of a Primarch.
Kelredan chuckled darkly. This was going to be an interesting fight.
He turned to his lieutenant and said.
"We've seen enough. Let us go. We still have preparations to make"
The Chaos Space Marine gave him a questioning look. "But the battle has started? We sho-"
The Khornate Warlord strode back. "This is not a battle. This is only a skirmish." He smiled under his helmet.
"The real battle has not yet begun."
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
The attacks on the Imperial lines stopped as fast as it happened. It was as if the Chaos worshippers upped and left the planet. But despite the lull in the fighting, Lt. Thalia wasn't about to let her troops grow lax from inaction. She drilled her men and sent numerous scouts to find out where exactly their Traitorous foe went. What the scouts brought back to her wasn't something that filled her with confidence. They reported to her about a massive gathering of Chaos worshippers at what they believed to be the headquarters of the enemy. They showed the lieutenant and the sergeants' picts of the masses of troops that were forming up. The enemy hadn't gone up and left. They were regrouping and gathering strength in order to prepare for one final assault on the Imperial lines. And that assault was going to be the one that was to break them once and for all.
And so, Lt. Thalia immediately went into action. She whipped her men into fighting shape and made necessary preparations for the incoming assault. Barbed wires that were cut were renewed. Mines were laid out. Equipment and kit was restocked and checked. Plans and contingencies were drawn up in case of breakthroughs or retreats. And most importantly, calls for reinforcements. She could only hope that the Emperor could hear their plea. She did not doubt for He had sent them his champion, the green-armored Astartes, but he could not hope to fight this battle himself, right? And besides, it didn't hurt if they had extra fire support.
Despite the drilling, extra rations and new equipment, she noticed the general mood of the entire line. It was one of insecurity, nervousness and fear. The men and women she had under her fought with her on numerous battlefields and had seen the worst that the heretic, xeno and witch had to offer. But this upcoming battle was unlike anything that they were going to participate in. For days she thought of a plan to raise morale and it seemed difficult as each day passed.
She sighed as she collapsed on her bunk. She was tired and had not a good night's sleep for weeks. Attempts at sleeping would be interrupted by nightmares and dreams about failing in her responsibilities as a commanding officer. She would awaken at the dead of night hyperventilating as she would see the faces of the men and women who had died under her, jeering her with haunting voices and demanding her why she let them die. If it wasn't for recaf and her unyielding faith in the Emperor of Mankind, then there was no doubt that she would have gone insane. She turned over her bunk, her mind still circling on how she was going to raise the sinking morale of her men when she caught sight of the bulging leather pack of the regiment Commissar lying still on her table.
She got off her bunk and made her way towards it. Regulations dictated that she would have to send personal effects like the Commissar's leather bag (in case of death) to the Quartermaster for storage but because she was simply too busy and didn't think it important so she hadn't done it yet. Furthermore, she was curious on what the pack had. She then grabbed the pack but was startled as she grasped something hard. She held her hand back and reconsidered taking it. Who knows what sort of items would be inside the bag of a Commissar? But as she doubted, a little voice in her head encouraged her to open it.
Tired and wanting to do nothing but sleep, she opened the bag. Her eyes widened as she saw its contents.
She had found her solution.
+++
The next day, she gathered her men at an open field and ordered them to be at ease. She needed them comfortable for what she was about to do. She had briefed the sergeants at what her plan was to raise morale and they agreed with it provided that the officers have a bottle for themselves as well. As they properly filled in position, she nodded at her sergeants who then picked up crates and went over to their respective squads. Upon opening it, they then took tin cups and began distributing it, eliciting murmurs and speculations. Originally, she tried to procure actual glassware to make it even better but it proved difficult and so had to opt for tin cups. As the distribution was completed, she then reached into the Commissar's pack to reveal expensive-looking bottles of Amasec.
Gasps and cheers rung as the men and women took sight of the smooth glassware of the liquor. She then went to each squad to personally pour them their share of the drink. Originally, she worried that there wouldn't be enough drink for everyone but she was able to calculate, with the help of her sergeants, how much Amasec was needed to be poured before moving to the next man. Amasec was common liquor in the Imperium but there were specific brands that were distilled for consumers with specific tastes. It would seem that the Regimental Commissar was once such man and not only that, kept multiple bottles on his person or rather, pack.
While she poured them their share, her men commented on the liquor.
"It's... It's the clearest damn liquid that I ever seen!"
"I hope it tastes good."
"I'm so glad that I have this job!"
Thalia smiled. Her plan was working.
As they were dazzled by the liquor, she cleared her throat to get their attention. Soon, their eyes turned to her and Thalia knew that they were asking her what the frak was going on with her distributing spirits that were worth more than themselves.
And so, began her speech.
"Soldiers of the 212th. I hope that drink is up to your taste?"
A chorus of laughs and 'Ayes!' rang from the Guardsmen. Her smile grew greater. If only they could have this moment forever. 'But the galaxy does not work that way' she thought. Her face turned grim as she thought carefully about what she would say next.
"There comes a time in a man's life that we are tested. On that day, the galaxy is going to throw everything it has at us in order to break us and turn us into its slave. It will do everything it can to grind us into dust and stomp us under its boot. The day in which the filthy traitor attacks us is going to be that day."
She paced around the grounds, taking in the eyes of every man and women under her command.
"He will be relentless. He will be without mercy. He will see to it that everyone here will be destroyed! He will have an army to lead that is unlike anything that we have ever fought before. We will be forced into corners; we will be made to fight onto his terms and we will have to fight for our very lives.
BUT!
There is something that we will never do. And that, my friends, is that WE. WILL. NEVER. BE. BROKEN!"
There was a fire to her voice and emotions that had never been in her had been brought out.
"How many times had they attacked us and left? How many times had they brought out their so-called 'Champions' and repulsed? Ever since they landed on this planet, we have filled their hearts with fear! A hundred times they attacked us since that day! A hundred times they have retreated!"
The world was absolutely still as Thalia gave her speech, the men and women had earlier been droning about the drinks, had given her their undivided attention.
"We have stood tall against this supposed unstoppable onslaught. We have fought them here and won. I fail to see why that should not be the case in our next fight! Now, you may have doubts and think that you are alone in this fight. Let me tell you this. You are never alone. Look to the man and woman next to you and see that they are fighting this battle with you. And most importantly, the Emperor stands with us wherever we are. If you doubt in him, then see the champion that he has sent to us from his side!"
Their eyes then turned to the back where there stood the mighty Astartes, Blessed Warrior of the Emperor. He gave a small nod at the woman and bade her to continue.
"See him, my brothers and sisters! There stands an Astartes. Ever since he has joined us in this battle, he has struck despair into our enemy by defeating every single Champion that they can throw at us! Oh how I pity the traitors for having to send their fools to die by the Astartes hands!"
The men roared in laughter. The quip at the traitors had amused them greatly. As soon as they calmed down, she continued.
"Realize this, men. The Emperor has sent his Chosen to fight with us. Do you understand why? Because our next battle will be one of the most important battles that well ever be recorded into history! Men and women back home and across the Imperium will whisper our names to their sons and daughters. Scribes from all corners of the galaxy will record this moment for future generations to study and be inspired with. They will look back into the day and say that it was the 212th's finest hour! And so I ask you, sons and daughter of Cadia, are you going to disappoint friends, Home and Emperor?"
"NO!" They cried. But Thalia was unsatisfied with their reply. She needed more.
"ARE YOU GOING TO HOLD THE LINE?" She all but yelled.
"YEAH!" They were now all standing, arms raised into fists up high in the air, their eyes set with fire.
Thalia, her own body filled with pride, confidence and unwavering faith, then raised her fists into the air and screamed.
"AVE IMPERATOR! WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU!"
The men ecstatically replied,
"AVE IMPERATOR! WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU!"
+++
PRIORITY ALARM: DESIGNATION ALPHA PRIMARIS
CHAOS INCURSION DETECTED
INVASION TARGET: TANTIVE IV
DESIGNATION: AGRI-WORLD
SCANNING AGRICULTURAL OUTPUT AND CULTURAL SIGNIFICANCE
TANTIVE IV SUPPLIES NEARBY SYSTEMS NEARLY EIGHTY PERCENT OF THEIR NUTRITIVE DIETS. THIS OUTPUT IS SPECULATED TO BE THE RESULT OF AN UNDISCOVERED STC BY THE ADEPTUS MECHANICUS.
STRATEGIC VALUE: ABSOLUTE
CHAOS INCURSION IN PROGRESS
RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION?
EXTERMINATUS?
NEGATIVE. STRATEGIC VALUE ABSOLUTE
DEPLOY CAPITAL WEAPONRY?
NEGATIVE. REDUCTION IN AGRICULTURAL OUTPUT UNACCEPTABLE
DEPLOY LIBERATION FLEET?
NEGATIVE. ASTRA MILITARUM ALREADY IN AREA. ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL = 8-44 DAYS
DELAY. UNACCEPTABLE.
LOSS OF AGRICULTURAL TITHES ON TANTIVE IV IS UNACCEPTABLE. STRATEGIC VALUE ABSOLUTE
ESCALATE AREA DENIAL?
AFFIRMATIVE
EXECUTE REQUEST ORDER. ADEPTUS ASTARTES SALAMANDERS.
RESPONSE INCOMING
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
DEPLOYING THE SALAMANDERS.
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
Edited with bruvas UltimatePaladin and filipinosberman
The attacks on the Imperial lines stopped as fast as it happened. It was as if the Chaos worshippers upped and left the planet. But despite the lull in the fighting, Lt. Thalia wasn't about to let her troops grow lax from inaction. She drilled her men and sent numerous scouts to find out where exactly their Traitorous foe went. What the scouts brought back to her wasn't something that filled her with confidence. They reported to her about a massive gathering of Chaos worshippers at what they believed to be the headquarters of the enemy. They showed the lieutenant and the sergeants' picts of the masses of troops that were forming up. The enemy hadn't gone up and left. They were regrouping and gathering strength in order to prepare for one final assault on the Imperial lines. And that assault was going to be the one that was to break them once and for all.
And so, Lt. Thalia immediately went into action. She whipped her men into fighting shape and made necessary preparations for the incoming assault. Barbed wires that were cut were renewed. Mines were laid out. Equipment and kit was restocked and checked. Plans and contingencies were drawn up in case of breakthroughs or retreats. And most importantly, calls for reinforcements. She could only hope that the Emperor could hear their plea. She did not doubt for He had sent them his champion, the green-armored Astartes, but he could not hope to fight this battle himself, right? And besides, it didn't hurt if they had extra fire support.
Despite the drilling, extra rations and new equipment, she noticed the general mood of the entire line. It was one of insecurity, nervousness and fear. The men and women she had under her fought with her on numerous battlefields and had seen the worst that the heretic, xeno and witch had to offer. But this upcoming battle was unlike anything that they were going to participate in. For days she thought of a plan to raise morale and it seemed difficult as each day passed.
She sighed as she collapsed on her bunk. She was tired and had not a good night's sleep for weeks. Attempts at sleeping would be interrupted by nightmares and dreams about failing in her responsibilities as a commanding officer. She would awaken at the dead of night hyperventilating as she would see the faces of the men and women who had died under her, jeering her with haunting voices and demanding her why she let them die. If it wasn't for recaf and her unyielding faith in the Emperor of Mankind, then there was no doubt that she would have gone insane. She turned over her bunk, her mind still circling on how she was going to raise the sinking morale of her men when she caught sight of the bulging leather pack of the regiment Commissar lying still on her table.
She got off her bunk and made her way towards it. Regulations dictated that she would have to send personal effects like the Commissar's leather bag (in case of death) to the Quartermaster for storage but because she was simply too busy and didn't think it important so she hadn't done it yet. Furthermore, she was curious on what the pack had. She then grabbed the pack but was startled as she grasped something hard. She held her hand back and reconsidered taking it. Who knows what sort of items would be inside the bag of a Commissar? But as she doubted, a little voice in her head encouraged her to open it.
Tired and wanting to do nothing but sleep, she opened the bag. Her eyes widened as she saw its contents.
She had found her solution.
+++
The next day, she gathered her men at an open field and ordered them to be at ease. She needed them comfortable for what she was about to do. She had briefed the sergeants at what her plan was to raise morale and they agreed with it provided that the officers have a bottle for themselves as well. As they properly filled in position, she nodded at her sergeants who then picked up crates and went over to their respective squads. Upon opening it, they then took tin cups and began distributing it, eliciting murmurs and speculations. Originally, she tried to procure actual glassware to make it even better but it proved difficult and so had to opt for tin cups. As the distribution was completed, she then reached into the Commissar's pack to reveal expensive-looking bottles of Amasec.
Gasps and cheers rung as the men and women took sight of the smooth glassware of the liquor. She then went to each squad to personally pour them their share of the drink. Originally, she worried that there wouldn't be enough drink for everyone but she was able to calculate, with the help of her sergeants, how much Amasec was needed to be poured before moving to the next man. Amasec was common liquor in the Imperium but there were specific brands that were distilled for consumers with specific tastes. It would seem that the Regimental Commissar was once such man and not only that, kept multiple bottles on his person or rather, pack.
While she poured them their share, her men commented on the liquor.
"It's... It's the clearest damn liquid that I ever seen!"
"I hope it tastes good."
"I'm so glad that I have this job!"
Thalia smiled. Her plan was working.
As they were dazzled by the liquor, she cleared her throat to get their attention. Soon, their eyes turned to her and Thalia knew that they were asking her what the frak was going on with her distributing spirits that were worth more than themselves.
And so, began her speech.
"Soldiers of the 212th. I hope that drink is up to your taste?"
A chorus of laughs and 'Ayes!' rang from the Guardsmen. Her smile grew greater. If only they could have this moment forever. 'But the galaxy does not work that way' she thought. Her face turned grim as she thought carefully about what she would say next.
"There comes a time in a man's life that we are tested. On that day, the galaxy is going to throw everything it has at us in order to break us and turn us into its slave. It will do everything it can to grind us into dust and stomp us under its boot. The day in which the filthy traitor attacks us is going to be that day."
She paced around the grounds, taking in the eyes of every man and women under her command.
"He will be relentless. He will be without mercy. He will see to it that everyone here will be destroyed! He will have an army to lead that is unlike anything that we have ever fought before. We will be forced into corners; we will be made to fight onto his terms and we will have to fight for our very lives.
BUT!
There is something that we will never do. And that, my friends, is that WE. WILL. NEVER. BE. BROKEN!"
There was a fire to her voice and emotions that had never been in her had been brought out.
"How many times had they attacked us and left? How many times had they brought out their so-called 'Champions' and repulsed? Ever since they landed on this planet, we have filled their hearts with fear! A hundred times they attacked us since that day! A hundred times they have retreated!"
The world was absolutely still as Thalia gave her speech, the men and women had earlier been droning about the drinks, had given her their undivided attention.
"We have stood tall against this supposed unstoppable onslaught. We have fought them here and won. I fail to see why that should not be the case in our next fight! Now, you may have doubts and think that you are alone in this fight. Let me tell you this. You are never alone. Look to the man and woman next to you and see that they are fighting this battle with you. And most importantly, the Emperor stands with us wherever we are. If you doubt in him, then see the champion that he has sent to us from his side!"
Their eyes then turned to the back where there stood the mighty Astartes, Blessed Warrior of the Emperor. He gave a small nod at the woman and bade her to continue.
"See him, my brothers and sisters! There stands an Astartes. Ever since he has joined us in this battle, he has struck despair into our enemy by defeating every single Champion that they can throw at us! Oh how I pity the traitors for having to send their fools to die by the Astartes hands!"
The men roared in laughter. The quip at the traitors had amused them greatly. As soon as they calmed down, she continued.
"Realize this, men. The Emperor has sent his Chosen to fight with us. Do you understand why? Because our next battle will be one of the most important battles that well ever be recorded into history! Men and women back home and across the Imperium will whisper our names to their sons and daughters. Scribes from all corners of the galaxy will record this moment for future generations to study and be inspired with. They will look back into the day and say that it was the 212th's finest hour! And so I ask you, sons and daughter of Cadia, are you going to disappoint friends, Home and Emperor?"
"NO!" They cried. But Thalia was unsatisfied with their reply. She needed more.
"ARE YOU GOING TO HOLD THE LINE?" She all but yelled.
"YEAH!" They were now all standing, arms raised into fists up high in the air, their eyes set with fire.
Thalia, her own body filled with pride, confidence and unwavering faith, then raised her fists into the air and screamed.
"AVE IMPERATOR! WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU!"
The men ecstatically replied,
"AVE IMPERATOR! WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU!"
+++
PRIORITY ALARM: DESIGNATION ALPHA PRIMARIS
CHAOS INCURSION DETECTED
INVASION TARGET: TANTIVE IV
DESIGNATION: AGRI-WORLD
SCANNING AGRICULTURAL OUTPUT AND CULTURAL SIGNIFICANCE
TANTIVE IV SUPPLIES NEARBY SYSTEMS NEARLY EIGHTY PERCENT OF THEIR NUTRITIVE DIETS. THIS OUTPUT IS SPECULATED TO BE THE RESULT OF AN UNDISCOVERED STC BY THE ADEPTUS MECHANICUS.
STRATEGIC VALUE: ABSOLUTE
CHAOS INCURSION IN PROGRESS
RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION?
EXTERMINATUS?
NEGATIVE. STRATEGIC VALUE ABSOLUTE
DEPLOY CAPITAL WEAPONRY?
NEGATIVE. REDUCTION IN AGRICULTURAL OUTPUT UNACCEPTABLE
DEPLOY LIBERATION FLEET?
NEGATIVE. ASTRA MILITARUM ALREADY IN AREA. ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL = 8-44 DAYS
DELAY. UNACCEPTABLE.
LOSS OF AGRICULTURAL TITHES ON TANTIVE IV IS UNACCEPTABLE. STRATEGIC VALUE ABSOLUTE
ESCALATE AREA DENIAL?
AFFIRMATIVE
EXECUTE REQUEST ORDER. ADEPTUS ASTARTES SALAMANDERS.
RESPONSE INCOMING
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
DEPLOYING THE SALAMANDERS.
+++
A/N: Taken from SB
Edited with bruvas UltimatePaladin and filipinosberman
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
As day turned to night, dark clouds loomed over the fields and hills. From them came heavy chilling rain that some swore smelled like blood. As the rain fell, booming thunderclaps cracked across the sky, illuminating the desolated landscape. The colour of the flashes was of scarlet and would make eight forks when they appeared. Silence fell as every single mortal tried to comprehend the rain and the thunder but what they did not know was that it was the omen of their destruction.
From the horizon, an army of daemons marched.
And they bayed for blood.
Kelredan the Wrathful had never felt so alive. His heart pumped with excitement, adrenaline coursed through his veins and his mind wanted nothing more but to kill. The preparations took a day longer than expected but it was worth it. Now his ranks were bolstered with Chaos Space Marines, Khornate Daemons and all other manners of creatures that would serve to smash the Loyalist line and finally take over the planet.
The plan for the breakthrough was simple. Overwhelm the entire Imperial line with their numbers and kill everyone who stood in their path. He stressed over the simplicity of it to his troops and they were more than happy to follow.
The amount of blood that they would spill this day would be remembered forever.
"Servants of Khorne…" He started his voice low and commanding. The entire army stopped and all their eyes turned towards him.
"Today will be a day of blood. We will now embark upon a dark crusade that will finally shatter the Loyalist line and claim this planet in the name of Khorne. Your enemy is bruised and battered but he is not broken. Today is going to be that day where you will utterly smash his hopes and dreams. He is nothing more but an animal, backed into a corner and wounded. Let us do him a mercy and end his torment."
Dark throaty laughter erupted in the ranks. The thought of doing such a 'mercy' excited them. At his side, Kelredan could feel his chain sword oozing bloodlust.
"Ensure that the last thing that he sees will be your sword going through his heart, your fist through his stomach and your breath tearing through his lungs. Bathe these grounds with Loyalist blood!"
He took his chain-sword from his hip, lifted up high into the air and yelled, his voice amplified by dark power.
"KILL THEM ALL! LET KHORNE SORT HIS OWN!"
Thus began the Night of the Thousand Shrieking Daemons.
+++
The sentries first saw the carrion birds, their silhouette illuminated by the lightning.
When an army marched, the local fauna would follow and grab whatever scraps the marauding army would leave behind. Then, the sentries saw the banners. It was crimson, painted with normal paint or with the blood of the unfortunate. Stitched onto it was a eight-pointed star. As it drew nearer, they could hear the awful, twisted screams of the tortured and the laughing, mocking tones of daemons. The sight of such an army would convince any sane defender to surrender.
But the Khornate army was facing the Imperial Guard. And they were known neither for sanity nor surrender.
The sentries immediately went into action. Messages were sent and the fighting men and women of the Cadian 212th were roused into battle. Lasrifles were prepared, heavy bolter emplacements set and bayonets sharpened. The Krieger Armoured Battalion that was their reinforcements would provide fire support inside dug positions with their Leman Russ tanks and Chimera armoured personnel carriers. As the men and women took positions behind their trenches and sandbags, Lieutenant Thalia Hall, Acting regiment commander of the 212th strode forward to the front most trench.
Following behind her was a guardsman carrying the banner of the regiment waving majestically and defiantly against the wind and the pouring rain as they walked onwards.
As she reached her destination, she turned back and said.
"Men. I have only one order for you all. HOLD. THE. LINE!" She smacked her chest plate, punctuating her last three words." The men and women roared their approval and braced themselves. Sergeant Sisko strode next to her, his eyes glazed at the horizon.
"Penny for your thoughts, lieutenant?" asked the sergeant.
Without turning her eyes to him, she replied.
"What is it?"
"Do you have any regrets in life?"
An answer already in her mind, she turned towards him and smiled.
"The only regret that I have harboured in life sergeant is that I only have one life to give to the Emperor."
The sergeant grinned as he faced her.
"We who are about to die salute him."
Her smile grew wider.
+++
The battle started in earnest when Kelredan finally gave his artillery the signal to fire. Hundreds of artillery emplacements, both missile and shell, was launched at the Imperial position. As the projectiles neared, the defenders simply took cover inside foxholes and bolt holes. The barrage was merciless and defeaning. A few ear drums were lost as well as some Chimeras who were caught in the fire and blew up in a spectacular fashion. The Leman Russes, however, were unharmed. The barrage continued for five minutes and stopped as abruptly as it started. Then, it was a mad dash for the defenders to take cover behind their positions for as soon as the Chaos artillery was nearly finished with their cannonade, Kelredan gave a fraction of his army the order to attack.
With a battle-cry dedicated to their patron God, they surged forward. The earth shook as thousands of cultists charged at the Imperial Lines, screaming bloody murder as they did.
And immediately, they experienced problems.
First was the mud. The terrain where the battle was taking place was a flat plain. Constant battle had turned the verdant green plain into a brown messy patch of dirt. On dry days it was already bad. Rain would only serve to make it worse. To the ire of the charging hordes was also the shell-holes that was created by both their artillery and the loyalists. Normally, it would provide excellent cover (for those sensible enough to want cover) but the hard rain had turned it into pools of water. All these things slowed their advance and that was more than enough for Imperial sharpshooters and mortars.
For those who were not deterred by the mud and shellholes would be faced with another obstacle.
Mines.
The Imperials were liberal in their placement of mines and had dotted the landscape with thousands of the deadly explosives. And their hard work was showing as cultists left and right were losing a leg or two. This would normally dishearten any sane man. But the cultists were in the thrall of the Blood God and sanity was a thing lost to them a long time ago. So they charged and charged despite mines blowing men to bits.
And soon enough, they were just in range for the defenders to pick off. Bolts of light spewed from the Loyalist line, taking apart limbs or heads. The heavy bolter emplacements fired in conjunction with the lasrifles and to deadly effect. Heavy bolters fired explosive rounds and it lived up to its reputation by sending shrapnel and ribs flying. Sergeant Iscariot took notice of one cultist who literally exploded as a round from a heavy bolter impacted upon his chest. The result of it was him exploding in a gory fashion that sent his ribs flying backwards into his own lines and taking down a couple of charging cultists.
Iscariot shivered. The human body was truly durable.
As the battle unfolded, Kelredan watched with interest as the first wave he sent died in droves. With his superior and enhanced eyesight, he could see a cultist dying not by a mine or from the Loyalist fire but rather to his own bayonet. The fool had tripped and impaled himself with it. The Khornate Warlord grimaced.
"Damned fool." he muttered. But at least the first wave did as what he intended them to do. Soak up whatever traps the Loyalists laid and reveal them to him. It was wasteful but worth it. By that way, his troops that did actual damage could finally do their jobs.
Better send them now while the cultists chew the damage. Another artillery barrage just for the second wave would take too much time and he had learned that an Imperial force was heading its way to reinforce the planet.
With a nod to his chief lieutenant, the second wave advanced.
+++
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THR-argh!"
Lieutenant Talia brought her smoking lasgun down, an unimpressed expression on her face.
"Eat shit and die, you bastard." She swore inwardly. Beside her, Sergeant Sisko peered at the field and frowned.
"That was a skirmishing force." he said.
"No doubt to soak up our mines." she spat. "Their new leader is not a fool."
"Great." groaned the sergeant. "A sensible heretic is in charge of our enemies."
"Complain about it later, sergeant." said Lieutenant Talia as she raised her lasgun. "They're coming again."
"I am not complaining, lieutenant." He grinned. "It's a fresh change from the usual frothing-at-the-mouth cultist that we usually fight. Who knows? Maybe he'll give the 212th an actual challenge?"
Despite the bravado, Sisko was a tad bit uneasy about the cultists. A normal cultist, while dangerous and bloodthirsty, was nothing more than that. But what would happen if one would put sense into that cultist? Such a thing would be dangerous for everyone involved.
Talia was aware that Sisko was talking feth. But if that would keep his morale up then she didn't mind. There were more important things to attend to after all.
Like the new wave of chaos cultists charging at their direction and fully intent in clubbing their brains out into the ground.
"Concentrate your fire! Check your aim! DO NOT LET THEM PASS, UNDERSTAND?" she yelled, her voice was seemingly carried over the battlefield.
"YES MA'M!" replied her guardsmen.
The next charge consisted of the nominal cultists but also had traitor Space Marines charging along with them.
"Chaos Space Marines? Augh! This will be ugly!" remarked a guardsman at her side.
"Can the chatter and start firing, guardsman!" yelled Talia as she looked for targets and upon spotting one, fired.
+++
As the battle raged, a man in power armour tinkered with a heavy bolter in a relatively quiet corner of the trenches.
The demons here were strange. They clearly came from a hellish realm but that was not similar to the Hell he knew and hated. What was it that woman called? Ah yes...the Warp.
Supposedly inhabited by powers darker and older than the universe itself and hell-bent on eating everyone. The only thing that was stopping them was the armies of humanity and the blessings of the so-called God Emperor of Mankind.
He didn't know what to think of them, these Imperials. They were urged to fight out of religious fervour and were certainly good at what they did. Such a level of professionalism and skill reminded him of the marines that the UAC fielded. Admittedly some weren't keeping the standards of the unit but that was to be expected of humans. Humanity wasn't a perfect species and had flaws that many an enterprising demon tried to take advantage of but at least they tried to be something.
Well, as long as they didn't get in his way nor try to force him to worship their God-Emperor then he would be more than willing to work alongside them.
A loud shriek disrupted him from his thoughts and that angered him...for the shrieking came from a demonic creature.
The demons here were from a different realm. That was for sure. But they were still demons albeit with a different name. And he hated demons.
He stood up from his crate and pored over his choice of weaponry at a separate table. He quickly picked up the chain-sword, laspistol and a bag filled with grenades.
The demons here were new and that meant they did not know him. That also meant that they did not fear him.
'But that was good.' thought the Doom Slayer as he went back to the first table and grabbed his modified Heavy Bolter and turned around to face the front lines, his visor reflecting the flashes of lasgun fire and explosions.
Because if they didn't fear him...
Then he will give them a reason to.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with bruva filipinosberman
As day turned to night, dark clouds loomed over the fields and hills. From them came heavy chilling rain that some swore smelled like blood. As the rain fell, booming thunderclaps cracked across the sky, illuminating the desolated landscape. The colour of the flashes was of scarlet and would make eight forks when they appeared. Silence fell as every single mortal tried to comprehend the rain and the thunder but what they did not know was that it was the omen of their destruction.
From the horizon, an army of daemons marched.
And they bayed for blood.
Kelredan the Wrathful had never felt so alive. His heart pumped with excitement, adrenaline coursed through his veins and his mind wanted nothing more but to kill. The preparations took a day longer than expected but it was worth it. Now his ranks were bolstered with Chaos Space Marines, Khornate Daemons and all other manners of creatures that would serve to smash the Loyalist line and finally take over the planet.
The plan for the breakthrough was simple. Overwhelm the entire Imperial line with their numbers and kill everyone who stood in their path. He stressed over the simplicity of it to his troops and they were more than happy to follow.
The amount of blood that they would spill this day would be remembered forever.
"Servants of Khorne…" He started his voice low and commanding. The entire army stopped and all their eyes turned towards him.
"Today will be a day of blood. We will now embark upon a dark crusade that will finally shatter the Loyalist line and claim this planet in the name of Khorne. Your enemy is bruised and battered but he is not broken. Today is going to be that day where you will utterly smash his hopes and dreams. He is nothing more but an animal, backed into a corner and wounded. Let us do him a mercy and end his torment."
Dark throaty laughter erupted in the ranks. The thought of doing such a 'mercy' excited them. At his side, Kelredan could feel his chain sword oozing bloodlust.
"Ensure that the last thing that he sees will be your sword going through his heart, your fist through his stomach and your breath tearing through his lungs. Bathe these grounds with Loyalist blood!"
He took his chain-sword from his hip, lifted up high into the air and yelled, his voice amplified by dark power.
"KILL THEM ALL! LET KHORNE SORT HIS OWN!"
Thus began the Night of the Thousand Shrieking Daemons.
+++
The sentries first saw the carrion birds, their silhouette illuminated by the lightning.
When an army marched, the local fauna would follow and grab whatever scraps the marauding army would leave behind. Then, the sentries saw the banners. It was crimson, painted with normal paint or with the blood of the unfortunate. Stitched onto it was a eight-pointed star. As it drew nearer, they could hear the awful, twisted screams of the tortured and the laughing, mocking tones of daemons. The sight of such an army would convince any sane defender to surrender.
But the Khornate army was facing the Imperial Guard. And they were known neither for sanity nor surrender.
The sentries immediately went into action. Messages were sent and the fighting men and women of the Cadian 212th were roused into battle. Lasrifles were prepared, heavy bolter emplacements set and bayonets sharpened. The Krieger Armoured Battalion that was their reinforcements would provide fire support inside dug positions with their Leman Russ tanks and Chimera armoured personnel carriers. As the men and women took positions behind their trenches and sandbags, Lieutenant Thalia Hall, Acting regiment commander of the 212th strode forward to the front most trench.
Following behind her was a guardsman carrying the banner of the regiment waving majestically and defiantly against the wind and the pouring rain as they walked onwards.
As she reached her destination, she turned back and said.
"Men. I have only one order for you all. HOLD. THE. LINE!" She smacked her chest plate, punctuating her last three words." The men and women roared their approval and braced themselves. Sergeant Sisko strode next to her, his eyes glazed at the horizon.
"Penny for your thoughts, lieutenant?" asked the sergeant.
Without turning her eyes to him, she replied.
"What is it?"
"Do you have any regrets in life?"
An answer already in her mind, she turned towards him and smiled.
"The only regret that I have harboured in life sergeant is that I only have one life to give to the Emperor."
The sergeant grinned as he faced her.
"We who are about to die salute him."
Her smile grew wider.
+++
The battle started in earnest when Kelredan finally gave his artillery the signal to fire. Hundreds of artillery emplacements, both missile and shell, was launched at the Imperial position. As the projectiles neared, the defenders simply took cover inside foxholes and bolt holes. The barrage was merciless and defeaning. A few ear drums were lost as well as some Chimeras who were caught in the fire and blew up in a spectacular fashion. The Leman Russes, however, were unharmed. The barrage continued for five minutes and stopped as abruptly as it started. Then, it was a mad dash for the defenders to take cover behind their positions for as soon as the Chaos artillery was nearly finished with their cannonade, Kelredan gave a fraction of his army the order to attack.
With a battle-cry dedicated to their patron God, they surged forward. The earth shook as thousands of cultists charged at the Imperial Lines, screaming bloody murder as they did.
And immediately, they experienced problems.
First was the mud. The terrain where the battle was taking place was a flat plain. Constant battle had turned the verdant green plain into a brown messy patch of dirt. On dry days it was already bad. Rain would only serve to make it worse. To the ire of the charging hordes was also the shell-holes that was created by both their artillery and the loyalists. Normally, it would provide excellent cover (for those sensible enough to want cover) but the hard rain had turned it into pools of water. All these things slowed their advance and that was more than enough for Imperial sharpshooters and mortars.
For those who were not deterred by the mud and shellholes would be faced with another obstacle.
Mines.
The Imperials were liberal in their placement of mines and had dotted the landscape with thousands of the deadly explosives. And their hard work was showing as cultists left and right were losing a leg or two. This would normally dishearten any sane man. But the cultists were in the thrall of the Blood God and sanity was a thing lost to them a long time ago. So they charged and charged despite mines blowing men to bits.
And soon enough, they were just in range for the defenders to pick off. Bolts of light spewed from the Loyalist line, taking apart limbs or heads. The heavy bolter emplacements fired in conjunction with the lasrifles and to deadly effect. Heavy bolters fired explosive rounds and it lived up to its reputation by sending shrapnel and ribs flying. Sergeant Iscariot took notice of one cultist who literally exploded as a round from a heavy bolter impacted upon his chest. The result of it was him exploding in a gory fashion that sent his ribs flying backwards into his own lines and taking down a couple of charging cultists.
Iscariot shivered. The human body was truly durable.
As the battle unfolded, Kelredan watched with interest as the first wave he sent died in droves. With his superior and enhanced eyesight, he could see a cultist dying not by a mine or from the Loyalist fire but rather to his own bayonet. The fool had tripped and impaled himself with it. The Khornate Warlord grimaced.
"Damned fool." he muttered. But at least the first wave did as what he intended them to do. Soak up whatever traps the Loyalists laid and reveal them to him. It was wasteful but worth it. By that way, his troops that did actual damage could finally do their jobs.
Better send them now while the cultists chew the damage. Another artillery barrage just for the second wave would take too much time and he had learned that an Imperial force was heading its way to reinforce the planet.
With a nod to his chief lieutenant, the second wave advanced.
+++
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THR-argh!"
Lieutenant Talia brought her smoking lasgun down, an unimpressed expression on her face.
"Eat shit and die, you bastard." She swore inwardly. Beside her, Sergeant Sisko peered at the field and frowned.
"That was a skirmishing force." he said.
"No doubt to soak up our mines." she spat. "Their new leader is not a fool."
"Great." groaned the sergeant. "A sensible heretic is in charge of our enemies."
"Complain about it later, sergeant." said Lieutenant Talia as she raised her lasgun. "They're coming again."
"I am not complaining, lieutenant." He grinned. "It's a fresh change from the usual frothing-at-the-mouth cultist that we usually fight. Who knows? Maybe he'll give the 212th an actual challenge?"
Despite the bravado, Sisko was a tad bit uneasy about the cultists. A normal cultist, while dangerous and bloodthirsty, was nothing more than that. But what would happen if one would put sense into that cultist? Such a thing would be dangerous for everyone involved.
Talia was aware that Sisko was talking feth. But if that would keep his morale up then she didn't mind. There were more important things to attend to after all.
Like the new wave of chaos cultists charging at their direction and fully intent in clubbing their brains out into the ground.
"Concentrate your fire! Check your aim! DO NOT LET THEM PASS, UNDERSTAND?" she yelled, her voice was seemingly carried over the battlefield.
"YES MA'M!" replied her guardsmen.
The next charge consisted of the nominal cultists but also had traitor Space Marines charging along with them.
"Chaos Space Marines? Augh! This will be ugly!" remarked a guardsman at her side.
"Can the chatter and start firing, guardsman!" yelled Talia as she looked for targets and upon spotting one, fired.
+++
As the battle raged, a man in power armour tinkered with a heavy bolter in a relatively quiet corner of the trenches.
The demons here were strange. They clearly came from a hellish realm but that was not similar to the Hell he knew and hated. What was it that woman called? Ah yes...the Warp.
Supposedly inhabited by powers darker and older than the universe itself and hell-bent on eating everyone. The only thing that was stopping them was the armies of humanity and the blessings of the so-called God Emperor of Mankind.
He didn't know what to think of them, these Imperials. They were urged to fight out of religious fervour and were certainly good at what they did. Such a level of professionalism and skill reminded him of the marines that the UAC fielded. Admittedly some weren't keeping the standards of the unit but that was to be expected of humans. Humanity wasn't a perfect species and had flaws that many an enterprising demon tried to take advantage of but at least they tried to be something.
Well, as long as they didn't get in his way nor try to force him to worship their God-Emperor then he would be more than willing to work alongside them.
A loud shriek disrupted him from his thoughts and that angered him...for the shrieking came from a demonic creature.
The demons here were from a different realm. That was for sure. But they were still demons albeit with a different name. And he hated demons.
He stood up from his crate and pored over his choice of weaponry at a separate table. He quickly picked up the chain-sword, laspistol and a bag filled with grenades.
The demons here were new and that meant they did not know him. That also meant that they did not fear him.
'But that was good.' thought the Doom Slayer as he went back to the first table and grabbed his modified Heavy Bolter and turned around to face the front lines, his visor reflecting the flashes of lasgun fire and explosions.
Because if they didn't fear him...
Then he will give them a reason to.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with bruva filipinosberman
The Storm: Part 2
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
"Hold the line Cadians! They shall not pass!"
Sergeant Sisko grunted as he replaced a spent energy pack of his lasrifle with a new one. All around him was an orgy of noise that could deafen anyone who was not used to it. The screams of men dying, the distinct sound of las fire, heavy bolters blasting traitors to bits. It was a horrendous sight and could easily sicken those who didn't have the stomach to endure it. Luckily, his stomach was already reinforced thanks to tasteless rations and a foul-smelling food that the Vostroyans were so fond of.
With his las rifle once again ready to fire, he eyed the corpse-ridden field for targets and spotted a cultist with an eye-patch giving him the evil eye. He brought his rifle to bear and shot the man's arm off for his troubles. Sisko then spotted another traitor and unceremoniously shot the man through the heart. He lowered his rifle as he continued to look for targets. Meanwhile, the Cadian sergeant suppressed a tired sigh.
The Chaos attack was...relentless.
Wave after wave of heretics charged upon their position with no end to their numbers in sight. Oh sure they had the advantage of dug-in positions and damned good aiming but in this fight, it did not matter.
This battle was not going to be determined by strategy or tactics but of attrition.
And the damned heretics were winning in that front.
The traitors had the most bodies to throw and every Guardsman wounded or killed put a dent on their chances of winning. Their defences and traps worked spectacularly. The mines took apart legs and their barbed wire slowed down the horde but there was only a certain amount of mines that could be laid and wire could only do so much before failing. Soon the bodies of heretics and daemons began to pile until the horde was literally trampling and using the bodies of their traitorous brethren to walk over the mines and wire.
Emperor above he needed a smoke.
At least the traitors were paying dearly for each land they gained. For every inch sacrificed, twentyheretics tasted the Emperor's wrath. With that in mind, he aimed once again and scored a neat kill on a charging cultist.
The first trench line was abandoned as heretic bodies began to pile. It proved to be quite troublesome to shoot only to hit a corpse. Initially the lieutenant wanted to hold but a Khornate daemon nearly cleaving her skull out was the final straw that convinced her to order her men to fall back to the secondary line.
As the battle raged, Sisko and a few others noticed that their staunch Astartes was nowhere to be found. They were so caught up in the battle that they had only learned that the green Astartes was not there shooting the heretics to bits. Sisko figured that the Astartes was preparing a surprise of his own. An attack of this calibre would mean that something heavy would be needed to fend it off and despite the Space Marines' combat prowess, one man could only do so much.
The sergeant also figured that it wasn't quite the right time for the Astartes to intervene. After all, they still had yet to encounter the Chaos Warlo-
"PAINT THIS PLANET RED WITH THEIR BLOOD! KHORNE DEMANDS IT!" boomed a thundering and ear-splitting voice that promised nothing but a painful and scary death.
Sisko kicked himself.
+++
Kelredan considered himself a patient man. A millennia's worth of experience taught him the value of waiting for the right moment before letting the bloodlust overtake his senses. But after watching the battle from afar, he could no longer keep himself in the sidelines any longer. It was the very picture of bloodletting that a Khornate warrior could ask for. The idea of fighting a dwindling but determined foe that would rather die than see his home and his friend's home torched appealed to him. He had seen the same picture over and over again across many different battlefields. But in this battle, it felt different. It felt so new and exciting that the last time he had felt the same way was his very first battle when had accepted Khorne.
Now what exactly made this fight different?
He suspected that it was the guardsmen.
He had fought and slain many guardsmen but these guardsmen were different. From an untrained eye, they looked the typical washed up mortal from whatever planet they came from. But to those who were given Khorne's blessing and also years into his service, they could see that the souls of the guardsmen were charged with something. It felt familiar but at the same time alien. Kelredan frowned inwardly. He didn't like it when he could not understand something. However, he had to put his thinking aside. He still had guardsmen to kill.
The Khornate Warlord leapt down into the trenches, chain-sword at the ready. He surveyed the damage done and he was satisfied for every single body was facing the sky. A sign that meant that soldier fought till the bitter end. There were bodies of guardsmen strewn about the ground. Some were still recognizable while most were...examples of why Khornate cultists were regarded as violent and cruel.
The warlord scoffed. At least they were honest and upfront with what they were about instead of hiding it behind smoke and mirrors.
He strode forward towards the retreating Imperial lines, studying the damage done as he moved. It wasn't quite hard to figure where the Loyalists were going. All he had to do was follow the trail of blood, screaming and las shots.
Admittedly, it was quite frustrating. The trenches were specifically dug to mislead those who didn't know its layout and his damned daemon possessed chainsword was screaming at him to go and kill something and his bloodlust was also reaching its boiling point. Sometimes he missed the days when his weapon didn't tell him to murder the first thing he saw that moved. But that would also mean serving under the Corpse Emperor. So if he were to choose between a talking sword or serving the Anathema, he would rather go insane from his sword.
It was only fortunate that when he took a turn around a corner and stumbled onto a group of Krieger guardsmen finishing off cultists. By the look of things, they were initially outnumbered as he counted some forty or so cultists that lay dead or dying in the trenches but were able to win through sheer grit and skill.
The group of five stood for a few seconds before one of the guardsmen, an officer, lifted his boltpistol and shot Kelredan on the head. But it was a wasted effort for a single measly shot of the boltpistol could not hope to penetrate his helmet. Unlike other Khornate Warlords, he at least had sense to wear a helmet. It protected his head and saved him from many blows that would otherwise kill him.
Then, there was a muffled yell and the kriegers began to charge at him.
Finally! Some action!
The corrupted machine spirit of his chain-sword oozed malevolence as he activated it and counter-charged. He brought the revving blade onto the first man's stomach and plunged it through with such force that the guardsman was cut in two. For the next man, he grabbed by the neck and slammed his body down onto the ground with such force that it crushed him. The third and fourth guardsman were the ones he didn't personally kill as they was seized by cultists who sprang from the top of the trenches and fell unto them. Once on them, the cultists began to hack the men to bits with their knives.
The only one left was the Krieger officer who had shot him.
As he and the cultists busied themselves with the kriegers who charged, the officer had lobbed a number of krak grenades at him. Kelredan was surprised as he only noticed it now. He could do nothing however but brace the blasts. There was little time nor space in the trench to avoid them. The krak grenades detonated and disposed the cultists. The blasts were fatal but not enough to kill Kelredan simply because they were not strong enough to penetrate his power armor. That fact however did not phase the Krieger officer who then charged at him, power-sword raised for a downward slash.
Kelredan brought his chain-sword up to meet it and they clashed with a loud clang.
An impressive act. But also a foolish one.
Seeing that his attack was stopped, the Krieger officer wordlessly lifted his boltpistol up to Kelredan's chest and shot a few rounds before jumping back. He tossed aside his boltpistol as it had run out of ammunition and fell into a combat stance.
Kelredan watched this all unfold and he could not help but be amused. It was not everyday that a guardsman chose to stand and fight. His amusement however, was a trifling feeling as he remembered that he was fighting a guardsman from Krieg. He had heard tales about their fanatical zeal and almost drone-like personalties. They had no concepts of honor or glory. In their eyes, it was only doing their duty to the Corpse Emperor.
Such a...drone would not be a skull worthy of taking.
A battle-cry came from behind him and soon, cultists began to file in. No doubt hunting for guardsmen. They bowed when they saw him and growled when they saw the guardsman.
"Kill him." He ordered. The cultists roared and charged at the lone krieger guardsman. He had expected that guardsman to be rushed and so turned back but he stopped when suddenly, every single cultist blew up in a gory fashion. Every single man that charged had been slain so fast and quick that Kelredan barely registered it. He looked at the Krieger guardsman and found the man still in his combat stance.
Who could have don-
Oh.
At the far end of the trench stood a green-clad warrior no taller than a Scout marine. In his hands was a heavy bolter that still smoked from the rounds that had disposed of the cultists he sent. The large weapon was too heavy for any normal man to hold but the warrior was holding it as effortlessly as a Veteran marine. Kelredan scanned him from the bottom up and met his eyes.
Those eyes promised him nothing but a gruesome and painful death.
"Warrior!" Kelredan yelled. "Before I slay you in the name of the Blood God. I demand to know your name!"
The green-clad Astarte replied by lifting his heavy bolter up and attempted to shoot Kelredan through the stomach. The Khornate warlord stumbled back from the unexpected attack, his stomach saved by his armor which absorbed the round. When he looked back at the warrior, he still stood unmoving. Kelredan read him and immediately understood.
His chain-sword roared to life as he charged.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with bruvas filipinosberman, Lazy Coyote and lilbobchicago.
"Hold the line Cadians! They shall not pass!"
Sergeant Sisko grunted as he replaced a spent energy pack of his lasrifle with a new one. All around him was an orgy of noise that could deafen anyone who was not used to it. The screams of men dying, the distinct sound of las fire, heavy bolters blasting traitors to bits. It was a horrendous sight and could easily sicken those who didn't have the stomach to endure it. Luckily, his stomach was already reinforced thanks to tasteless rations and a foul-smelling food that the Vostroyans were so fond of.
With his las rifle once again ready to fire, he eyed the corpse-ridden field for targets and spotted a cultist with an eye-patch giving him the evil eye. He brought his rifle to bear and shot the man's arm off for his troubles. Sisko then spotted another traitor and unceremoniously shot the man through the heart. He lowered his rifle as he continued to look for targets. Meanwhile, the Cadian sergeant suppressed a tired sigh.
The Chaos attack was...relentless.
Wave after wave of heretics charged upon their position with no end to their numbers in sight. Oh sure they had the advantage of dug-in positions and damned good aiming but in this fight, it did not matter.
This battle was not going to be determined by strategy or tactics but of attrition.
And the damned heretics were winning in that front.
The traitors had the most bodies to throw and every Guardsman wounded or killed put a dent on their chances of winning. Their defences and traps worked spectacularly. The mines took apart legs and their barbed wire slowed down the horde but there was only a certain amount of mines that could be laid and wire could only do so much before failing. Soon the bodies of heretics and daemons began to pile until the horde was literally trampling and using the bodies of their traitorous brethren to walk over the mines and wire.
Emperor above he needed a smoke.
At least the traitors were paying dearly for each land they gained. For every inch sacrificed, twentyheretics tasted the Emperor's wrath. With that in mind, he aimed once again and scored a neat kill on a charging cultist.
The first trench line was abandoned as heretic bodies began to pile. It proved to be quite troublesome to shoot only to hit a corpse. Initially the lieutenant wanted to hold but a Khornate daemon nearly cleaving her skull out was the final straw that convinced her to order her men to fall back to the secondary line.
As the battle raged, Sisko and a few others noticed that their staunch Astartes was nowhere to be found. They were so caught up in the battle that they had only learned that the green Astartes was not there shooting the heretics to bits. Sisko figured that the Astartes was preparing a surprise of his own. An attack of this calibre would mean that something heavy would be needed to fend it off and despite the Space Marines' combat prowess, one man could only do so much.
The sergeant also figured that it wasn't quite the right time for the Astartes to intervene. After all, they still had yet to encounter the Chaos Warlo-
"PAINT THIS PLANET RED WITH THEIR BLOOD! KHORNE DEMANDS IT!" boomed a thundering and ear-splitting voice that promised nothing but a painful and scary death.
Sisko kicked himself.
+++
Kelredan considered himself a patient man. A millennia's worth of experience taught him the value of waiting for the right moment before letting the bloodlust overtake his senses. But after watching the battle from afar, he could no longer keep himself in the sidelines any longer. It was the very picture of bloodletting that a Khornate warrior could ask for. The idea of fighting a dwindling but determined foe that would rather die than see his home and his friend's home torched appealed to him. He had seen the same picture over and over again across many different battlefields. But in this battle, it felt different. It felt so new and exciting that the last time he had felt the same way was his very first battle when had accepted Khorne.
Now what exactly made this fight different?
He suspected that it was the guardsmen.
He had fought and slain many guardsmen but these guardsmen were different. From an untrained eye, they looked the typical washed up mortal from whatever planet they came from. But to those who were given Khorne's blessing and also years into his service, they could see that the souls of the guardsmen were charged with something. It felt familiar but at the same time alien. Kelredan frowned inwardly. He didn't like it when he could not understand something. However, he had to put his thinking aside. He still had guardsmen to kill.
The Khornate Warlord leapt down into the trenches, chain-sword at the ready. He surveyed the damage done and he was satisfied for every single body was facing the sky. A sign that meant that soldier fought till the bitter end. There were bodies of guardsmen strewn about the ground. Some were still recognizable while most were...examples of why Khornate cultists were regarded as violent and cruel.
The warlord scoffed. At least they were honest and upfront with what they were about instead of hiding it behind smoke and mirrors.
He strode forward towards the retreating Imperial lines, studying the damage done as he moved. It wasn't quite hard to figure where the Loyalists were going. All he had to do was follow the trail of blood, screaming and las shots.
Admittedly, it was quite frustrating. The trenches were specifically dug to mislead those who didn't know its layout and his damned daemon possessed chainsword was screaming at him to go and kill something and his bloodlust was also reaching its boiling point. Sometimes he missed the days when his weapon didn't tell him to murder the first thing he saw that moved. But that would also mean serving under the Corpse Emperor. So if he were to choose between a talking sword or serving the Anathema, he would rather go insane from his sword.
It was only fortunate that when he took a turn around a corner and stumbled onto a group of Krieger guardsmen finishing off cultists. By the look of things, they were initially outnumbered as he counted some forty or so cultists that lay dead or dying in the trenches but were able to win through sheer grit and skill.
The group of five stood for a few seconds before one of the guardsmen, an officer, lifted his boltpistol and shot Kelredan on the head. But it was a wasted effort for a single measly shot of the boltpistol could not hope to penetrate his helmet. Unlike other Khornate Warlords, he at least had sense to wear a helmet. It protected his head and saved him from many blows that would otherwise kill him.
Then, there was a muffled yell and the kriegers began to charge at him.
Finally! Some action!
The corrupted machine spirit of his chain-sword oozed malevolence as he activated it and counter-charged. He brought the revving blade onto the first man's stomach and plunged it through with such force that the guardsman was cut in two. For the next man, he grabbed by the neck and slammed his body down onto the ground with such force that it crushed him. The third and fourth guardsman were the ones he didn't personally kill as they was seized by cultists who sprang from the top of the trenches and fell unto them. Once on them, the cultists began to hack the men to bits with their knives.
The only one left was the Krieger officer who had shot him.
As he and the cultists busied themselves with the kriegers who charged, the officer had lobbed a number of krak grenades at him. Kelredan was surprised as he only noticed it now. He could do nothing however but brace the blasts. There was little time nor space in the trench to avoid them. The krak grenades detonated and disposed the cultists. The blasts were fatal but not enough to kill Kelredan simply because they were not strong enough to penetrate his power armor. That fact however did not phase the Krieger officer who then charged at him, power-sword raised for a downward slash.
Kelredan brought his chain-sword up to meet it and they clashed with a loud clang.
An impressive act. But also a foolish one.
Seeing that his attack was stopped, the Krieger officer wordlessly lifted his boltpistol up to Kelredan's chest and shot a few rounds before jumping back. He tossed aside his boltpistol as it had run out of ammunition and fell into a combat stance.
Kelredan watched this all unfold and he could not help but be amused. It was not everyday that a guardsman chose to stand and fight. His amusement however, was a trifling feeling as he remembered that he was fighting a guardsman from Krieg. He had heard tales about their fanatical zeal and almost drone-like personalties. They had no concepts of honor or glory. In their eyes, it was only doing their duty to the Corpse Emperor.
Such a...drone would not be a skull worthy of taking.
A battle-cry came from behind him and soon, cultists began to file in. No doubt hunting for guardsmen. They bowed when they saw him and growled when they saw the guardsman.
"Kill him." He ordered. The cultists roared and charged at the lone krieger guardsman. He had expected that guardsman to be rushed and so turned back but he stopped when suddenly, every single cultist blew up in a gory fashion. Every single man that charged had been slain so fast and quick that Kelredan barely registered it. He looked at the Krieger guardsman and found the man still in his combat stance.
Who could have don-
Oh.
At the far end of the trench stood a green-clad warrior no taller than a Scout marine. In his hands was a heavy bolter that still smoked from the rounds that had disposed of the cultists he sent. The large weapon was too heavy for any normal man to hold but the warrior was holding it as effortlessly as a Veteran marine. Kelredan scanned him from the bottom up and met his eyes.
Those eyes promised him nothing but a gruesome and painful death.
"Warrior!" Kelredan yelled. "Before I slay you in the name of the Blood God. I demand to know your name!"
The green-clad Astarte replied by lifting his heavy bolter up and attempted to shoot Kelredan through the stomach. The Khornate warlord stumbled back from the unexpected attack, his stomach saved by his armor which absorbed the round. When he looked back at the warrior, he still stood unmoving. Kelredan read him and immediately understood.
His chain-sword roared to life as he charged.
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with bruvas filipinosberman, Lazy Coyote and lilbobchicago.
The Storm: Part 3
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
With the enhancements of an Astartes and having earned the blessing of Khorne, Kelredan was nought but a phantom in the eyes of unenhanced individuals. But the Doom Slayer could see him and match him for speed. He lifted his great Heavy Bolter and squeezed the trigger, unleashing a hail of bolter rounds at the charging Chaos Lord. The aim was true and the Chaos warlord felt it, shattering upon his armor for he was an unstoppable force blessed by the God of War and was fully intent on taking the head of the one who dared claim the title Astartes. The heavy bolter was an annoyance and he would not let himself be stopped by some measly bolter rounds.
He neared the gap and brought his chainsword to bear, swiping the revving blade at the warrior's head to take it in one, single stroke. But the Doom Slayer was not one to have his head taken by anyone, much less a damned servant of a hellish realm. As the hulking mass in power armor cleared the gap, he had tossed aside his heavy bolter- Intent on reclaiming it later- and tactically rolled left of the warlord. He took the opportunity to strike the Chaos Warlord's side with his fist, with such force and speed that the armor cracked and the fallen Astartes cried out in pain. In retaliation Kelredan back-handed the Doom Slayer, tossing him into the far wall of the trench.
In what felt like forever, Kelredan had felt pain. He hissed as his hand clutched his side. The warrior was no taller than a scout marine but had sufficient strength to punch through and leave a gap through his armour! It was only because of his strength and Khorne's blessing that saved him from hitting the ground like a doll. He grit his teeth and turned to face the warrior. He would have to be careful in his next move.
The Doom Slayer felt the same. He had rampaged through Hell, slain its mightiest champions and performed superhuman feats but that didn't mean he was immune to pain. He felt that strike and it enraged him more than any other. He lifted himself up from the wall and glared daggers at Kelredan. He had gotten greedy and was thrown at a wall for it. Next time, he would take no chances.
"You may have drawn first blood, warrior!" called out Kelredan, "But it would take more than that to slay me!"
Did he just challenge him? Well, if that is what he wanted then the Doom Slayer would have to oblige. After all, there was no better fiend to kill than those who were volunteering themselves.
Kelredan's eyes narrowed as the false Astartes suddenly burst into a sprint. To those other than the Kelredan, he would have been a blur. A chainsword appeared in the warrior's hand and Kelredan lifted his own, braced to receive the coming charge. The false Astartes, however, in the midst of his charge began to lob grenades, catching Kelredan by surprise. He hissed as the explosives detonated and showered him with shrapnel: While his armor was capable of defending him from most damage, too much of it- and from anti-armor explosives no less- would leave chinks that would be enough for common weaponry to reach him. The warrior was nearing him now and he had more than a few seconds to react. And so, he lifted up his chain-sword and just in time as well for the Doom Slayer was bringing down his revving weapon in a downward slash. The two machines roared at one another, each fighting for dominance in a powerful display the Doom Slayer had no interest in.
With his free hand, the Doom Slayer took another grenade and lobbed it at the Khornate warlord. He leapt out from the blast and rolled away as they detonated. As the grenades exploded, he then took out his double-barrelled shotgun, aimed it, and fired two deadly bursts at the warlord. This he did under five seconds.
The Doom Slayer knew his foe at a single glance. The eight-foot-tall 'man' clad in bright red power armour with more than a dozen motifs of skulls and that damned rune was the leader of the forces invading this world. He could sense the power of the warlord in front of him and equated it with a Baron of Hell, or maybe even greater. The Slayer analyzed a myriad of strategies and concluded that explosives and close blasts from his shotgun would be the best way to kill him. The trenches were both a boon and a hindrance. A boon because it limited the warlord's chances to move around and a hindrance because it left him vulnerable in melee. He would have preferred to simply fire at the warlord at a distance but that option was unable to him.
So, grenades and shotgun it was.
As he ejected the spent shells of his shotgun and loaded another batch, he sensed a spike of energy right in front of him. That energy then turned to reality as a daemon leaped at him from out of a portal and brought him tumbling down the ground. The daemon shrieked at him, the flaming sword it held brought down in an attempt to stab him through his midsection. His hands immediately clasped the falling blade which was now inches above him and held it tightly, eliciting a roar of frustration from the demon. The red-skinned fiend then grasped the blade's hilt with both its hands and pushed it even deeper but the Doom Slayer kept on stubbornly holding it, which frustrated the daemon to no end as it snarled with hate.
Suddenly, the daemon's chest burst open as a chain-sword went through it. The fiend shrieked in pain with a voice so loud that an eardrum would burst. With the daemon distracted, the Doom Slayer's now free hand turned into a fist and punched the daemon in the face. The punch was powerful enough to stun the massive daemon who stumbled back in a daze. The Slayer then reached for his shotgun, leveled it at the daemon's head and fired.
The daemon's head exploded in a squall of gore and it's lifeless body listlessly fell on its chest. At that moment, the Slayer met the one who brought him time. It was the same gas-masked soldier he saw dueling with the warlord earlier. Said soldier was now pulling out his chainsword from the daemon's back. The two lock gazes for a moment, each measuring the other. An air of understanding falls upon them. The Doom Slayer scratched the soldier's back. The soldier replied in kind. Both nodded at one another until their senses alerted them that danger was still abound and the two soon got their backs against the other as they scanned their surroundings.
While they were busy with the sole Bloodletter, a whole group of daemons had been summoned by Kelredan and were now eyeing them maliciously.
Kelredan realized that his position was untenable without support and had thus called bloodletters to assist him. He was aware that fighting an adversary like the false Astartes alone would not end well in his favour and if he still wanted to get the warrior's head, he needed help.
With more than a dozen bloodletters and a handful of beasts surrounding them, the Khornate Warlord could finally get what he wanted. And besides, the more support he had, the quicker he could return to commanding his forces. He still had a timetable to follow and the false Astartes was taking more of it.
This would be quick.
"Your bravery and power are noted, warrior." He said as he strode forward and locked eyes with the warrior. A small part of him shivered as the false Astartes glared at him with such hatred and rage that Kelredan wondered who or what could have caused such anger. "But that will avail you nothing. This world..." He gestured to the barren fields at the distance, "And its people now belong to Chaos. Simply put, you have failed in your mission. But failure is not always the end,especially if one carried himself with distinction and skill. The Blood God has seen you and is willing to bless you with power if only you would turn your back against the Corpse Emperor and serve him instead. What say you, warrior?"
The warrior said nothing. But no words were needed to be said as Kelredan read the warrior and the warrior's answer was simple.
"Go frak yourself."
Kelredan frowned. That was a shame but if that is what he wanted then death is what he would get. Kelredan's hand triggered his chainsword which whirred violently, eager for blood. The Bloodletters also hissed in delight, wanting nothing more but to carve the false Astartes' skull. The Khornates strode forward, ready to deliver their god's wrath upon the two but were suddenly stopped in their tracks as a peculiar sound attracted their attention.
It was low at first, barely more than a small detail. It would have been ignored if it wasn't for the fact that it was getting louder and louder...
Kelredan cursed inwardly and heightened his defenses as a kinetic force impacted upon them. Such was the power of the strike that it threw the bloodletters off like a ragdoll. Kelredan's eyes darted to the false Astartes and saw that he had shielded the Krieger with his own body.
"Accursed fool..." hissed Kelredan.
His eyes moved from the Astartes to the source of the strike. There stood an enhanced individual clad in mighty green power-armor forged from the fires of Nocturne. His iconography identified his Chapter and it was the skull of a mighty beast that their Primarch had slain a long, long time ago. In his hand, a sparking Thunder Hammer.
"The Sons of Nocturne come!" declared Captain Nu'val of the Salamanders as he lifted his mighty thunder hammer and bared it against the Chaos warlord.
+++
A/N: SALAMANDERS HO!
Credits to Ultimate Paladin for taking one for the team and editing this by his lonesome!
With the enhancements of an Astartes and having earned the blessing of Khorne, Kelredan was nought but a phantom in the eyes of unenhanced individuals. But the Doom Slayer could see him and match him for speed. He lifted his great Heavy Bolter and squeezed the trigger, unleashing a hail of bolter rounds at the charging Chaos Lord. The aim was true and the Chaos warlord felt it, shattering upon his armor for he was an unstoppable force blessed by the God of War and was fully intent on taking the head of the one who dared claim the title Astartes. The heavy bolter was an annoyance and he would not let himself be stopped by some measly bolter rounds.
He neared the gap and brought his chainsword to bear, swiping the revving blade at the warrior's head to take it in one, single stroke. But the Doom Slayer was not one to have his head taken by anyone, much less a damned servant of a hellish realm. As the hulking mass in power armor cleared the gap, he had tossed aside his heavy bolter- Intent on reclaiming it later- and tactically rolled left of the warlord. He took the opportunity to strike the Chaos Warlord's side with his fist, with such force and speed that the armor cracked and the fallen Astartes cried out in pain. In retaliation Kelredan back-handed the Doom Slayer, tossing him into the far wall of the trench.
In what felt like forever, Kelredan had felt pain. He hissed as his hand clutched his side. The warrior was no taller than a scout marine but had sufficient strength to punch through and leave a gap through his armour! It was only because of his strength and Khorne's blessing that saved him from hitting the ground like a doll. He grit his teeth and turned to face the warrior. He would have to be careful in his next move.
The Doom Slayer felt the same. He had rampaged through Hell, slain its mightiest champions and performed superhuman feats but that didn't mean he was immune to pain. He felt that strike and it enraged him more than any other. He lifted himself up from the wall and glared daggers at Kelredan. He had gotten greedy and was thrown at a wall for it. Next time, he would take no chances.
"You may have drawn first blood, warrior!" called out Kelredan, "But it would take more than that to slay me!"
Did he just challenge him? Well, if that is what he wanted then the Doom Slayer would have to oblige. After all, there was no better fiend to kill than those who were volunteering themselves.
Kelredan's eyes narrowed as the false Astartes suddenly burst into a sprint. To those other than the Kelredan, he would have been a blur. A chainsword appeared in the warrior's hand and Kelredan lifted his own, braced to receive the coming charge. The false Astartes, however, in the midst of his charge began to lob grenades, catching Kelredan by surprise. He hissed as the explosives detonated and showered him with shrapnel: While his armor was capable of defending him from most damage, too much of it- and from anti-armor explosives no less- would leave chinks that would be enough for common weaponry to reach him. The warrior was nearing him now and he had more than a few seconds to react. And so, he lifted up his chain-sword and just in time as well for the Doom Slayer was bringing down his revving weapon in a downward slash. The two machines roared at one another, each fighting for dominance in a powerful display the Doom Slayer had no interest in.
With his free hand, the Doom Slayer took another grenade and lobbed it at the Khornate warlord. He leapt out from the blast and rolled away as they detonated. As the grenades exploded, he then took out his double-barrelled shotgun, aimed it, and fired two deadly bursts at the warlord. This he did under five seconds.
The Doom Slayer knew his foe at a single glance. The eight-foot-tall 'man' clad in bright red power armour with more than a dozen motifs of skulls and that damned rune was the leader of the forces invading this world. He could sense the power of the warlord in front of him and equated it with a Baron of Hell, or maybe even greater. The Slayer analyzed a myriad of strategies and concluded that explosives and close blasts from his shotgun would be the best way to kill him. The trenches were both a boon and a hindrance. A boon because it limited the warlord's chances to move around and a hindrance because it left him vulnerable in melee. He would have preferred to simply fire at the warlord at a distance but that option was unable to him.
So, grenades and shotgun it was.
As he ejected the spent shells of his shotgun and loaded another batch, he sensed a spike of energy right in front of him. That energy then turned to reality as a daemon leaped at him from out of a portal and brought him tumbling down the ground. The daemon shrieked at him, the flaming sword it held brought down in an attempt to stab him through his midsection. His hands immediately clasped the falling blade which was now inches above him and held it tightly, eliciting a roar of frustration from the demon. The red-skinned fiend then grasped the blade's hilt with both its hands and pushed it even deeper but the Doom Slayer kept on stubbornly holding it, which frustrated the daemon to no end as it snarled with hate.
Suddenly, the daemon's chest burst open as a chain-sword went through it. The fiend shrieked in pain with a voice so loud that an eardrum would burst. With the daemon distracted, the Doom Slayer's now free hand turned into a fist and punched the daemon in the face. The punch was powerful enough to stun the massive daemon who stumbled back in a daze. The Slayer then reached for his shotgun, leveled it at the daemon's head and fired.
The daemon's head exploded in a squall of gore and it's lifeless body listlessly fell on its chest. At that moment, the Slayer met the one who brought him time. It was the same gas-masked soldier he saw dueling with the warlord earlier. Said soldier was now pulling out his chainsword from the daemon's back. The two lock gazes for a moment, each measuring the other. An air of understanding falls upon them. The Doom Slayer scratched the soldier's back. The soldier replied in kind. Both nodded at one another until their senses alerted them that danger was still abound and the two soon got their backs against the other as they scanned their surroundings.
While they were busy with the sole Bloodletter, a whole group of daemons had been summoned by Kelredan and were now eyeing them maliciously.
Kelredan realized that his position was untenable without support and had thus called bloodletters to assist him. He was aware that fighting an adversary like the false Astartes alone would not end well in his favour and if he still wanted to get the warrior's head, he needed help.
With more than a dozen bloodletters and a handful of beasts surrounding them, the Khornate Warlord could finally get what he wanted. And besides, the more support he had, the quicker he could return to commanding his forces. He still had a timetable to follow and the false Astartes was taking more of it.
This would be quick.
"Your bravery and power are noted, warrior." He said as he strode forward and locked eyes with the warrior. A small part of him shivered as the false Astartes glared at him with such hatred and rage that Kelredan wondered who or what could have caused such anger. "But that will avail you nothing. This world..." He gestured to the barren fields at the distance, "And its people now belong to Chaos. Simply put, you have failed in your mission. But failure is not always the end,especially if one carried himself with distinction and skill. The Blood God has seen you and is willing to bless you with power if only you would turn your back against the Corpse Emperor and serve him instead. What say you, warrior?"
The warrior said nothing. But no words were needed to be said as Kelredan read the warrior and the warrior's answer was simple.
"Go frak yourself."
Kelredan frowned. That was a shame but if that is what he wanted then death is what he would get. Kelredan's hand triggered his chainsword which whirred violently, eager for blood. The Bloodletters also hissed in delight, wanting nothing more but to carve the false Astartes' skull. The Khornates strode forward, ready to deliver their god's wrath upon the two but were suddenly stopped in their tracks as a peculiar sound attracted their attention.
It was low at first, barely more than a small detail. It would have been ignored if it wasn't for the fact that it was getting louder and louder...
Kelredan cursed inwardly and heightened his defenses as a kinetic force impacted upon them. Such was the power of the strike that it threw the bloodletters off like a ragdoll. Kelredan's eyes darted to the false Astartes and saw that he had shielded the Krieger with his own body.
"Accursed fool..." hissed Kelredan.
His eyes moved from the Astartes to the source of the strike. There stood an enhanced individual clad in mighty green power-armor forged from the fires of Nocturne. His iconography identified his Chapter and it was the skull of a mighty beast that their Primarch had slain a long, long time ago. In his hand, a sparking Thunder Hammer.
"The Sons of Nocturne come!" declared Captain Nu'val of the Salamanders as he lifted his mighty thunder hammer and bared it against the Chaos warlord.
+++
A/N: SALAMANDERS HO!
Credits to Ultimate Paladin for taking one for the team and editing this by his lonesome!
The Storm: Part 4
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
Kelredan realized that he might have found himself a position that might not let him out in one piece. That realization became apparent as the Salamander Captain activated his jump pack and lunged at him with his thunder hammer bared. There were many things that a Chaos warlord could hold against. But a thunder hammer to the face coming at him at such a speed that could make a White Scar marine proud was not one of them.
His helmet cracked as the force of the weapon smashed against it and sent him stumbling. With speed only possible through his enhancements, Captain Nu'val once again lifted his weapon and delivered a devastating blow to Kelredan's chest. The durable ceramite armor gave way to the unstoppable mass and Kelredan felt the shockwave coursing throughout his body. The Salamander Captain then jumped back to prepare for another assault. Even as he did, the Doom Slayer, who was at this point seemingly forgotten returned to the fold by tossing a dozen krak grenades at the dazed Khornate. He had ordered the soldier he had protected to retreat and the man complied, aware that he was out of his element. The little devices rolled at Kelredan's feet then detonated, their shrapnel piercing the warlord's weakened armor.
At this point, Kelredan had enough. He was not going to be a punching bag anymore!
With a roar, he channeled the energies that were bestowed upon him by his lord, the Blood God, and used it to empower himself. He was rejuvenated as warp energies coursed through his body. Once he was done, he vowed, he would flay the Salamander and false Astartes alive.
Except the Salamander captain wasn't keen on waiting for the Khornate to power himself up. He charged, leaping into the skies with his jump pack and striking with his thunder hammer knocking the air and shattering the concentration out of Kelredan. Once his thunder hammer landed, Nu'val's gauntleted hand snapped to his holstered bolt pistol, aiming it at Kelredan and firing until the last bolt was spent.
It wasn't enough to kill the warlord, however. The rejuvenation was not finished and it displeased the warlord, but it was more than enough. Stronger, and more confident in his chances his left fist struck into the Salamander's chest plate, eliciting a cry of pain from Nu'val before he delivered a devastating kick that sent the black-skinned Captain flying.
Remembering that he wasn't just fighting the damned loyalist, Kelredan scanned the nearby trenches for the false Astartes. He was successful in that regard. Except that the false Astartes had taken the liberty to retrieve his heavy bolter and was aiming it square at him.
Without further ceremony, the false Astartes activated the weapon and unleashed a deadly hail of bolts at the Chaos warlord.
+++
As the three giants battled, the guardsmen of the 212th were having their own battle. All across the battle-line, tales and feats worthy of countless songs were happening.
Lieutenant Talia was making her way to the second line with a squad under Sergeant Sisko when they stumbled upon a number of cultists and a dozen daemons harassing a Leman Russ. She figured that the Krieger crew was still alive and were trapped in the tank. Talia could not just abandon them as they had fought together for weeks and she respected their fighting ability. To abandon such skilled soldiers was a waste.
"Squad! Prepare grenades! We're going to rescue those tankers!" ordered Talia. The men did as ordered and soon held grenades in their hands. Talia gave the order and soon, a dozen or so grenades were lobbed near the tank and detonated, taking a few cultists to the Warp with them.
Talia grinned.
"Fix bayonets!"
Blades glinted in the pouring rain. It was suicide to charge at daemons. But the men trusted their lieutenant. She had led them through the most difficult parts of the defense and if it were not for her, they would have been dead. They were also emboldened for they remembered the Astartes, sent by the Emperor, to save them for doom. With his sword, he had slain countless heretics, daemons and traitor marines. The Cadians respected and even revered the Astartes, but at the same time, their regimental pride demanded that they could not just let themselves be outdone by their saviour.
Their willingness to charge was strengthened further by the presence of the Regimental Banner, held aloft by the lieutenant as the previous bearer had died defending it from a Bloodletter. The flowing display fluttering in the wind, still holding despite the strong rain and constant attempts by the traitors to destroy it reminded the soldiers of their own homeworld of Cadia. Against all odds, despite every attempt to destroy or defile it, it remained strong and standing. Just like their home, it held its ground and refused to die. It gave them a sense of duty and they would rather die than dishonour it.
In other words, their morale was nigh unbreakable.
"CHARGE!" yelled Talia. The men roared as they rushed forward, intent in bayoneting those who had turned their backs on the God-Emperor and those who symbolized everything that the Emperor despised.
They made short work of the cultists. The bloodletters who had surrounded the tank simply snarled and before they could even be bayoneted, blinked away. Talia thought it as cowardice but had a feeling that they would see them again. Sisko, who had been part of the charge, knocked on the tank's side.
"You can open up now! The cultists have been given the Emperor's justice!"
It was silent for a moment and Sisko thought that the crew was actually dead and they had just attacked some cultists milling about a tank when the hatch opened and a gas-masked face cautiously poked its head out. As she saw the bespectacled soldier look around, scanning each Cadian around the tank intensely, she found it similar to a small furry rodent she had the pleasure of observing when the regiment was accidentally sent to a garden world known for hosting docile and...cute creatures.
Adorable, furry rodents aside, she was glad the crew was alive. She did not know if the Krieger crew could even register the feeling of being happy but she felt that the Kriegers inside were at least thankful that someone went and rescued them.
It was then that she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw that it was Sergeant Sisko.
"What is it sergeant?" asked Talia.
"Lieutenant. It appears that we are surrounded." Stated simply the man. Sure enough, as they were busying themselves with the tank, the enemy had taken the opportunity to surround them from all sides. Both the top and passages were being blocked with cultists who were looking not too happy about their little party getting interrupted.
"What do we do, lieutenant?" asked Sisko.
Her reply came was so instantaneous that she was surprised that she could even think of her reply.
"That is good. Then we can fire in all directions."
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with filipinosberman, and UltimatePaladin
Kelredan realized that he might have found himself a position that might not let him out in one piece. That realization became apparent as the Salamander Captain activated his jump pack and lunged at him with his thunder hammer bared. There were many things that a Chaos warlord could hold against. But a thunder hammer to the face coming at him at such a speed that could make a White Scar marine proud was not one of them.
His helmet cracked as the force of the weapon smashed against it and sent him stumbling. With speed only possible through his enhancements, Captain Nu'val once again lifted his weapon and delivered a devastating blow to Kelredan's chest. The durable ceramite armor gave way to the unstoppable mass and Kelredan felt the shockwave coursing throughout his body. The Salamander Captain then jumped back to prepare for another assault. Even as he did, the Doom Slayer, who was at this point seemingly forgotten returned to the fold by tossing a dozen krak grenades at the dazed Khornate. He had ordered the soldier he had protected to retreat and the man complied, aware that he was out of his element. The little devices rolled at Kelredan's feet then detonated, their shrapnel piercing the warlord's weakened armor.
At this point, Kelredan had enough. He was not going to be a punching bag anymore!
With a roar, he channeled the energies that were bestowed upon him by his lord, the Blood God, and used it to empower himself. He was rejuvenated as warp energies coursed through his body. Once he was done, he vowed, he would flay the Salamander and false Astartes alive.
Except the Salamander captain wasn't keen on waiting for the Khornate to power himself up. He charged, leaping into the skies with his jump pack and striking with his thunder hammer knocking the air and shattering the concentration out of Kelredan. Once his thunder hammer landed, Nu'val's gauntleted hand snapped to his holstered bolt pistol, aiming it at Kelredan and firing until the last bolt was spent.
It wasn't enough to kill the warlord, however. The rejuvenation was not finished and it displeased the warlord, but it was more than enough. Stronger, and more confident in his chances his left fist struck into the Salamander's chest plate, eliciting a cry of pain from Nu'val before he delivered a devastating kick that sent the black-skinned Captain flying.
Remembering that he wasn't just fighting the damned loyalist, Kelredan scanned the nearby trenches for the false Astartes. He was successful in that regard. Except that the false Astartes had taken the liberty to retrieve his heavy bolter and was aiming it square at him.
Without further ceremony, the false Astartes activated the weapon and unleashed a deadly hail of bolts at the Chaos warlord.
+++
As the three giants battled, the guardsmen of the 212th were having their own battle. All across the battle-line, tales and feats worthy of countless songs were happening.
Lieutenant Talia was making her way to the second line with a squad under Sergeant Sisko when they stumbled upon a number of cultists and a dozen daemons harassing a Leman Russ. She figured that the Krieger crew was still alive and were trapped in the tank. Talia could not just abandon them as they had fought together for weeks and she respected their fighting ability. To abandon such skilled soldiers was a waste.
"Squad! Prepare grenades! We're going to rescue those tankers!" ordered Talia. The men did as ordered and soon held grenades in their hands. Talia gave the order and soon, a dozen or so grenades were lobbed near the tank and detonated, taking a few cultists to the Warp with them.
Talia grinned.
"Fix bayonets!"
Blades glinted in the pouring rain. It was suicide to charge at daemons. But the men trusted their lieutenant. She had led them through the most difficult parts of the defense and if it were not for her, they would have been dead. They were also emboldened for they remembered the Astartes, sent by the Emperor, to save them for doom. With his sword, he had slain countless heretics, daemons and traitor marines. The Cadians respected and even revered the Astartes, but at the same time, their regimental pride demanded that they could not just let themselves be outdone by their saviour.
Their willingness to charge was strengthened further by the presence of the Regimental Banner, held aloft by the lieutenant as the previous bearer had died defending it from a Bloodletter. The flowing display fluttering in the wind, still holding despite the strong rain and constant attempts by the traitors to destroy it reminded the soldiers of their own homeworld of Cadia. Against all odds, despite every attempt to destroy or defile it, it remained strong and standing. Just like their home, it held its ground and refused to die. It gave them a sense of duty and they would rather die than dishonour it.
In other words, their morale was nigh unbreakable.
"CHARGE!" yelled Talia. The men roared as they rushed forward, intent in bayoneting those who had turned their backs on the God-Emperor and those who symbolized everything that the Emperor despised.
They made short work of the cultists. The bloodletters who had surrounded the tank simply snarled and before they could even be bayoneted, blinked away. Talia thought it as cowardice but had a feeling that they would see them again. Sisko, who had been part of the charge, knocked on the tank's side.
"You can open up now! The cultists have been given the Emperor's justice!"
It was silent for a moment and Sisko thought that the crew was actually dead and they had just attacked some cultists milling about a tank when the hatch opened and a gas-masked face cautiously poked its head out. As she saw the bespectacled soldier look around, scanning each Cadian around the tank intensely, she found it similar to a small furry rodent she had the pleasure of observing when the regiment was accidentally sent to a garden world known for hosting docile and...cute creatures.
Adorable, furry rodents aside, she was glad the crew was alive. She did not know if the Krieger crew could even register the feeling of being happy but she felt that the Kriegers inside were at least thankful that someone went and rescued them.
It was then that she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw that it was Sergeant Sisko.
"What is it sergeant?" asked Talia.
"Lieutenant. It appears that we are surrounded." Stated simply the man. Sure enough, as they were busying themselves with the tank, the enemy had taken the opportunity to surround them from all sides. Both the top and passages were being blocked with cultists who were looking not too happy about their little party getting interrupted.
"What do we do, lieutenant?" asked Sisko.
Her reply came was so instantaneous that she was surprised that she could even think of her reply.
"That is good. Then we can fire in all directions."
+++
A/N: Taken from my SB account.
Edited with filipinosberman, and UltimatePaladin
The Storm: Part 5
- Location
- Cebu City, Philippines
+++
The Heavy Bolter roared as the Doom Slayer squeezed the trigger. The bolts flew in the air, breaching Kelredan's weakened ceramite armor. The Chaos Warlord was once again reminded that he should not have lost himself in his bloodlust and remained focused on taking the loyalist position. Action be damned!
Kelredan let out a yell as he charged at the false astartes, his chainsword whirring in his gauntleted hand. But before he could even reach the damned warrior, he had to shield himself as the warrior threw out even more krak grenades. Kelredan could hardly believe it. How many explosives did the false astartes bring with him? And how, in Khorne's blessed name, did the warrior even find a place to store them? There wasn't even a place on his armor for them!
His thoughts were cut short as he felt something coming from behind him and throwing him chest first, onto the ground. He spat blood and cursed the Anathema as he looked back and saw the Salamander looming over him, thunder hammer in hand. Without ceremony, the Salamander captain lifted his weapon above his head and brought it down on Kelredan's back. The Khornate warlord let out a cry of pain as he felt bones shatter. The Salamander lifted his hammer again for another strike but before he could, a bloodletter leapt from the top of the trenches and landed on him. As daemon and astartes wrestled on the ground, Kelredan lifted himself to his feet, seeing a small cylinder rolling harmlessly to him. Cursing the Corpse Emperor, the cylinder exploded and peppered him with shrapnel.
"You coward!" roared the Traitor Marine, "Come and face me with your hands!"
His challenge, however, was duly ignored as the false Astartes simply readied his heavy bolter once more and with a flick of his finger, unleashed yet again a deadly hail of explosive rounds. Kelredan snarled as he felt his defences waver at the onslaught. His own armour had been breached, he was bleeding profusely and his back felt crooked. If he kept this up then there was a chance, a small minuscule chance, that he would be slain. Such a thought rankled the Traitor Marine and the sheer impossibility of it almost made him laugh. But here he was, at the tipping point of defeat and bleeding in places that he had never thought could bleed. But after today, impossible was now possible and it seemed that the most ridiculous of things could become truth!
What next impossible event should occur? That the false Astartes could eat souls?
He hated retreating. It offended his warrior sensibilities and would no doubt be an affront to Khorne. But a wise warrior knew when he should fight and when he should not fight. As his defences finally gave way and he actually began to feel the explosions across his body, he then decided, in his shame and rage, to retreat.
Let the disdainful loyalists and the false Astartes have this day. But in the end, Chaos Undivided would be victorious.
As he prepared to warp himself out of the battlefield, he noticed that the heavy bolter onslaught had stopped. Without warning, he took the blunt end of a chainsword to the face. Disorientated, the warlord fell onto his knees, still registering the fact that he had received such a hit.
The Doom Slayer regarded the kneeling giant with studious eyes. His intuition was right in telling him the giant was going to escape. The Slayer felt off when he detected a sudden spike in energy from the power armoured brute and quickly dropped his heavy bolter to prevent the brute's escape. Demons and those that cavorted with demons made him angry. If any of the two got away while he was dealing with them it would only serve to infuriate him even more. He decided that the brute would never escape nor terrorize the innocent again.
He scanned the brute and took note of his soul. It was powerful, and he could only guess the atrocities that it committed. The darker the soul, the more powerful it was. And the brute's soul was dark indeed. The Slayer also took notice of the lingering presence that was in there, swimming in the recesses of the man's mind. The sheer malevolence present in there made the Doom Slayer second-doubt his course of action.
The last time he felt such an overwhelming aura was when he faced the Titan in Hell. And that was a FRACTION of what he was currently feeling. Perhaps this was the mark of one of the so-called gods of Chaos?
If it was, then this was going to be difficult.
But not impossible.
He attempted to activate his chainsword but the device failed to start. He inspected it and found that it was out of fuel. But that was only a minor setback for the Doom Slayer. If he can't hack the brute to bits, then he would just have to beat the ever-living shit out of him. With the blunt end of the chainsword.
With that, he knocked the giant into the dirt, planting his feet on top of their chest and bashing the chainsword into his skull.
+++
Lieutenant Talia stood on top of the Leman Russ turret, her right hand clutching their regimental banner and her left brandishing a laspistol. Beneath her, Sisko's squad and the sergeant himself took whatever cover they could find to protect themselves from the traitors surrounding them.
Her ears perked as she heard the roar of a chainsword and the screams of a raving blood lusted lunatic. She turned to face the sound and found a cultist charging at them, screaming incoherently with salivating lips. Not wanting to waste energy, she simply raised her laspistol and shot the man through the stomach. He fell unceremoniously and in a sick fashion, was split in half by his own chainsword. Talia winced at the sight.
They were surrounded and were in no small danger of being overrun. If they somehow could survive through this, she would no doubt receive a promotion or a bolt to the face.
If there was ever a time for her...no THEIRAstartes to intervene then it would be now.
But the question that she wanted answered was simple. Where in the Emperor's name was he?
Then suddenly, the world turned.
A loud, earth-shaking scream erupted from out of nowhere. Such was its volume that loyalist and traitor stopped fighting to shield their ears from the scream. Talia even saw one of the daemons had its head literally pop like a balloon.
Eventually, the noise died down and the Cadians shared questioning and fearful looks at one another.
"What the frak was that!?" yelled Sisko.
Talia then took note of the daemons around them snarling as if they lost something and some of the cultists were visibly gnashing their teeth. That could only mean...
"The Astartes!" She suddenly yelled. Eyes turned towards her, demanding answers. Excitement bubbled in her as she continued, "The astartes has defeated the warlord and sent him to the Emperor!"
"How the frak did he do that!?" asked an incredulous soldier. She smiled. "I don't know. But I do know one thing."
"And what's that, lieutenant?" said an amused Sisko. Her smile turned predatory as she glanced at the confused mass of traitors around.
"We, my sergeant, have just one this battle."
It took quite some time for the realization to fall upon the guardsman but as soon as they understood the words of their lieutenant, they let loose a hearty cheer and sang praises to the Emperor's Angels of Death. Talia took this chance to thrust their regimental banner at the traitors still milling like confused animals and with pride in her voice, yelled.
"GIVE THEM HELL, CADIANS! FOR THE EMPEROR!"
The roar that erupted was nearly as loud as the scream from earlier.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
+++
As the guardsmen resumed fighting with newfound zeal, something was watching them. Not too far but not too close to the battlefield were two observers from two different allegiances.
The first was an Eldar Farseer who studied the whole affair with interest.
The second was a servo-skull, an insturment to act as the eyes for the observer. On its forehead, enrusted with gold and painted in black was a stylized I.
+++
A/N: Oookay! Fun time is over and plot is advancing!
Many thanks to lilbobchicago, filipinosberman, Ultimate Paladin and Lazy Coyote fer their edits!
The Heavy Bolter roared as the Doom Slayer squeezed the trigger. The bolts flew in the air, breaching Kelredan's weakened ceramite armor. The Chaos Warlord was once again reminded that he should not have lost himself in his bloodlust and remained focused on taking the loyalist position. Action be damned!
Kelredan let out a yell as he charged at the false astartes, his chainsword whirring in his gauntleted hand. But before he could even reach the damned warrior, he had to shield himself as the warrior threw out even more krak grenades. Kelredan could hardly believe it. How many explosives did the false astartes bring with him? And how, in Khorne's blessed name, did the warrior even find a place to store them? There wasn't even a place on his armor for them!
His thoughts were cut short as he felt something coming from behind him and throwing him chest first, onto the ground. He spat blood and cursed the Anathema as he looked back and saw the Salamander looming over him, thunder hammer in hand. Without ceremony, the Salamander captain lifted his weapon above his head and brought it down on Kelredan's back. The Khornate warlord let out a cry of pain as he felt bones shatter. The Salamander lifted his hammer again for another strike but before he could, a bloodletter leapt from the top of the trenches and landed on him. As daemon and astartes wrestled on the ground, Kelredan lifted himself to his feet, seeing a small cylinder rolling harmlessly to him. Cursing the Corpse Emperor, the cylinder exploded and peppered him with shrapnel.
"You coward!" roared the Traitor Marine, "Come and face me with your hands!"
His challenge, however, was duly ignored as the false Astartes simply readied his heavy bolter once more and with a flick of his finger, unleashed yet again a deadly hail of explosive rounds. Kelredan snarled as he felt his defences waver at the onslaught. His own armour had been breached, he was bleeding profusely and his back felt crooked. If he kept this up then there was a chance, a small minuscule chance, that he would be slain. Such a thought rankled the Traitor Marine and the sheer impossibility of it almost made him laugh. But here he was, at the tipping point of defeat and bleeding in places that he had never thought could bleed. But after today, impossible was now possible and it seemed that the most ridiculous of things could become truth!
What next impossible event should occur? That the false Astartes could eat souls?
He hated retreating. It offended his warrior sensibilities and would no doubt be an affront to Khorne. But a wise warrior knew when he should fight and when he should not fight. As his defences finally gave way and he actually began to feel the explosions across his body, he then decided, in his shame and rage, to retreat.
Let the disdainful loyalists and the false Astartes have this day. But in the end, Chaos Undivided would be victorious.
As he prepared to warp himself out of the battlefield, he noticed that the heavy bolter onslaught had stopped. Without warning, he took the blunt end of a chainsword to the face. Disorientated, the warlord fell onto his knees, still registering the fact that he had received such a hit.
The Doom Slayer regarded the kneeling giant with studious eyes. His intuition was right in telling him the giant was going to escape. The Slayer felt off when he detected a sudden spike in energy from the power armoured brute and quickly dropped his heavy bolter to prevent the brute's escape. Demons and those that cavorted with demons made him angry. If any of the two got away while he was dealing with them it would only serve to infuriate him even more. He decided that the brute would never escape nor terrorize the innocent again.
He scanned the brute and took note of his soul. It was powerful, and he could only guess the atrocities that it committed. The darker the soul, the more powerful it was. And the brute's soul was dark indeed. The Slayer also took notice of the lingering presence that was in there, swimming in the recesses of the man's mind. The sheer malevolence present in there made the Doom Slayer second-doubt his course of action.
The last time he felt such an overwhelming aura was when he faced the Titan in Hell. And that was a FRACTION of what he was currently feeling. Perhaps this was the mark of one of the so-called gods of Chaos?
If it was, then this was going to be difficult.
But not impossible.
He attempted to activate his chainsword but the device failed to start. He inspected it and found that it was out of fuel. But that was only a minor setback for the Doom Slayer. If he can't hack the brute to bits, then he would just have to beat the ever-living shit out of him. With the blunt end of the chainsword.
With that, he knocked the giant into the dirt, planting his feet on top of their chest and bashing the chainsword into his skull.
+++
Lieutenant Talia stood on top of the Leman Russ turret, her right hand clutching their regimental banner and her left brandishing a laspistol. Beneath her, Sisko's squad and the sergeant himself took whatever cover they could find to protect themselves from the traitors surrounding them.
Her ears perked as she heard the roar of a chainsword and the screams of a raving blood lusted lunatic. She turned to face the sound and found a cultist charging at them, screaming incoherently with salivating lips. Not wanting to waste energy, she simply raised her laspistol and shot the man through the stomach. He fell unceremoniously and in a sick fashion, was split in half by his own chainsword. Talia winced at the sight.
They were surrounded and were in no small danger of being overrun. If they somehow could survive through this, she would no doubt receive a promotion or a bolt to the face.
If there was ever a time for her...no THEIRAstartes to intervene then it would be now.
But the question that she wanted answered was simple. Where in the Emperor's name was he?
Then suddenly, the world turned.
A loud, earth-shaking scream erupted from out of nowhere. Such was its volume that loyalist and traitor stopped fighting to shield their ears from the scream. Talia even saw one of the daemons had its head literally pop like a balloon.
Eventually, the noise died down and the Cadians shared questioning and fearful looks at one another.
"What the frak was that!?" yelled Sisko.
Talia then took note of the daemons around them snarling as if they lost something and some of the cultists were visibly gnashing their teeth. That could only mean...
"The Astartes!" She suddenly yelled. Eyes turned towards her, demanding answers. Excitement bubbled in her as she continued, "The astartes has defeated the warlord and sent him to the Emperor!"
"How the frak did he do that!?" asked an incredulous soldier. She smiled. "I don't know. But I do know one thing."
"And what's that, lieutenant?" said an amused Sisko. Her smile turned predatory as she glanced at the confused mass of traitors around.
"We, my sergeant, have just one this battle."
It took quite some time for the realization to fall upon the guardsman but as soon as they understood the words of their lieutenant, they let loose a hearty cheer and sang praises to the Emperor's Angels of Death. Talia took this chance to thrust their regimental banner at the traitors still milling like confused animals and with pride in her voice, yelled.
"GIVE THEM HELL, CADIANS! FOR THE EMPEROR!"
The roar that erupted was nearly as loud as the scream from earlier.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
+++
As the guardsmen resumed fighting with newfound zeal, something was watching them. Not too far but not too close to the battlefield were two observers from two different allegiances.
The first was an Eldar Farseer who studied the whole affair with interest.
The second was a servo-skull, an insturment to act as the eyes for the observer. On its forehead, enrusted with gold and painted in black was a stylized I.
+++
A/N: Oookay! Fun time is over and plot is advancing!
Many thanks to lilbobchicago, filipinosberman, Ultimate Paladin and Lazy Coyote fer their edits!
PlazmaStryke
Proving why Orbital Bombardment is the way to go
- Location
- High Orbit, maybe?
Just so you know, a few of the chapters in the middle aren't threadmarked, and chapter 5 is out of order on the list.
Also, the awesomeness tag was the right call, for sure.
Also, the awesomeness tag was the right call, for sure.
