If you want there to be slife of life stories, you could write them yourself
There is this one idea I had for a while. A sequel to another one of
@Enjou's old sidestories.
Time is Lives.
She looked around. Half her Regiment was gone already. Good lads and lasses, they all were. Fell down protecting their people.
A desperate fight. A rogue Psyker, estimated as a Beta, was unleashed in Scadin. The newest Hive upon Avernus, and already Chaos was reaching its paws for it. Well, not on her watch.
The Psyker Hunters were busy with the daemons summoned. Her force was the closest to the foe's location. It was up to her to try and take them out.
By the time they made it to the Psyker's stronghold, only three thousand remained. And the stronghold was…
Disgusting.
One could tell from the daemons this was a servant of Change. The stronghold was probably filled with all kinds of Warpspawn and twisted once-humans. But she lived through Daemonic Incursions. Maybe not from this guy, but she knew the drill.
Inside, it was a maze. There was no way for thousands of people to remain together, nor to coordinate. Comms were sporadic at best and deceiving most likely. She had some training in that, but the mess was too much. She was a Helltrooper Colonel, not a damn Caver.
She dodged another enemy. From the looks, a few hours ago, it was a child armed with a laspen. Now… a twisted monster to be put out of its misery.
Her soldiers probably didn't fare better. But with thousands of them inside, someone might make it through.
One did. Herself. Suddenly, she found herself in a large chamber, twisted beyond words and description. In the middle, a single person stood.
A boy of ten. Of course; few Betas woke up later than that. It seemed he wanted to talk, considering he allowed her alone here.
"Asta," he spoke.
Asta gripped her gun tighter. The voice was clearly not human. Direct possession.
"So you know my name," she stepped closer. "Is that supposed to impress me?"
"Oh, no," the daemonboy looked at her. She knew well enough to avert his gaze. "I know so much more. But how much do you know, Jotunheimer?"
In return, she shot her Meltagun. The beam was flicked away, as she expected.
"So you know my birthworld as well. Figures. Your kind were plentiful there at the time. Both my parents died there in the revolt you started."
"Not quite," the boy floated closer to her. She didn't retreat. Without the element of surprise, she could neither run nor attack directly. "Did they tell you who they were?"
"Soldiers, most likely. I asked, and they told me all the records were lost."
The daemonboy shook his head with a grin:
"Not lost. Destroyed. Well, maybe a copy exists in the most secure archive, but not for a mere Colonel. It was a deal, to spare you and any friends you might have. A deal by your father," the boy was but a meter away, floating with his eyes level with hers.
"You weren't born during the rebellion. You were born three days before it started. Your mother, a slave in a labor camp, your father, a man pushed over the edge by her fate. He joined the rebels… and then
sold his pitiful dregs of knowledge to have you sent to the Avernite orphanages," the Psyker laughed again. "Barely shortened the rebellion by twenty hours."
To his surprise, Asta laughed back, the most mocking laughter she could muster:
"Really? A servant of the Great Planner not understanding the importance of time? Twenty hours mean
lives, many lives."
It barely phased the daemon, not for six seconds. And she didn't even try to shoot at it.
Good, good, seems like I'm getting through.
"He was shot at once, as he knew he would be, and what did it buy you? Aside from your pitiful life? Over two centuries as a mere colonel, stuck with no promotion in sight, the end of your natural life approaching. Someone higher up seems to know what you are. Someone holds your father's sins against you. Look into my eyes. See what Tzeentch offers me. See what he offers to you. The opportunities for growth are infinite," The poison of half-truths was pouring forth from the daemon's lips.
Her lips trembling, she looked into the boy's eyes. He stared back, looking for the proper crack to break through to her properly.
And then he noticed she wasn't looking into his eyes. Rather, a couple centimeters lower.
A tiny scar just above her right eyebrow suddenly lit up.
The Laser Implant's shot drilled right through his left eyeball.
Staggering back, the daemon didn't block the next shot.
Asta blasted at him with her Melta. Hacked with her blade. And she kept speaking:
"I knew my parents being soldiers was just one possibility. All you are saying is that my father sold his life to give me a chance to live, and to stop your master," she grinned as she threw a grenade at the body. "Well, I can't disappoint him, can I?"
"And as for being a Colonel…" she fired into the hole her grenade made. "What makes you think that's an argument? A lot of people spend centuries at far lower ranks, native Avernites or not," she smirked. "How about you tell me your story? How many millions of years have you been stuck, waiting for a Herald's job?"
Suddenly, the weapons were ripped out of her hands.
The daemonboy rose to his feet. The flesh she broke was healing before her eyes, but healing into a form leaving nothing of the boy's appearance. A true daemon of Tzeentch stood before her.
"Yes, it takes time. Yes, I've been stuck for half a million years, but as a Herald, not a mere daemon," with a flick of his finger, a dozen plates of her Power Armour shattered. So did a few bones. "And now, with this body's power consumed, I, Ospratheteldmaur, am rising today to the power of a Greater Daemon!" And as he spoke, his words came into being. The former lump of mincemeat had mushroomed to half a meter above her in size. "All your efforts were for naught," he touched Asta's face, the woman floating in front of him, gripped as helplessly as a gnat.
"I… bought… time," the colonel flung the words into the daemon's face along with her spit and blood as she felt more bones breaking.
Ospratheteldmaur laughed:
"Time? We have millions of years for our plans. You've only bought three minutes. And with my plan complete," he gave a grin appropriate to his kind. "You've accomplished nothing."
"Guess again," a voice rang behind him.
The unmistakable accent of a Lizardman.
The daemon tried to turn around, but couldn't. Puzzled, he looked down. Twenty centimeters of a sword's blade were protruding out of his chest.
Well, it didn't matter. He was done here anyway… for now. With a flicker of his mind, he let go of this material body, preparing to leave for the Warp.
Nothing happened.
"What?" For the first time this day, he was truly afraid.
"Surprised, Ospratheteldmaur?" Another opponent stood in front of him. A Siren. And he did remember her.
"We've fought before, Ospratheteldmaur. I took care to remember. I felt we will meet again, so I prepared."
The daemon struggled to rip itself off the sword. Out of the clutches of the spell. It was useless.
"Melukrana? How? Such a ritual…"
"Doesn't take long if you have everything prepared. And the foe is distracted. Only…" she chuckled as she looked into his eyes. "Three minutes."
As Asta watched, the daemon's power bled away, and the enchantments fell. The labyrinth gone, her troops became visible - more than she feared, less than she hoped. With a snap, her bonds broke, only a quick spell from the Siren saving her from a painful fall. Before she could blink, one of her medical officers was checking her wounds. Izel, if she remembered his name correctly.
"Strange," the Siren remarked. "You should be gone by now. Is something keeping you alive, Aspiring One?"
"I have a feeling," Asta stood up, brushing Izel's protests away. "That this bastard simply needs an appropriately pitiful end."
The Laser Implant was fully charged by now. With another flash of the weakest weapon she had with her, Ospratheteldmaur, the Aspiring-for-two-minutes, burst into innumerable colourless flocks which were gone the next second. Her regiment cheered.
"You were taking a great risk," the Lizardman remarked as he sheathed his sword.
"For myself and my soul both, I know," Asta nodded. "But I believe it was worth it."
"Did he tell you something that worries you?" The Lizardman said as he studied her expression.
"Maybe something worth investigating, but nothing alarming," Asta shook her head. "Thank you both, from myself and my troops," she bowed.
A good fight should tell a good story, she thought as she looked at the destruction around. Maybe this wasn't something to write an epic poem about.
But as a story for her great-great-however-many-times-grandchildren to hear, it will do.
Thanks to
@Enjou for writing the original omake,
@Durin for a couple of notes, and to Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann: I borrowed a phrase from one of his books.
