The final battle

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Hail, my brothers. Once more, i have written a short story, for the enjoyment of all. This, like my others, came to light after a game that i had yesterday against my friend's Eldar. It was an Apocalypse game featuring My Space Marine Chapter, a squad of Imperial guard veterans and some of my Space Wolves. This story, however, has nothing to do with the battle. When i got home, i was reading my Space Wolves codex, and i saw one word. Wolftime. That was enough for inspiration to strike. Whilst i realise this is probably not how most people would envision the final battle, i did this more as a reference point for a more in-depth piece that i have now planned to write up. For now, here it is:

 

 

“Ho, Attalus! Come, brother, join us for ale!” Wolf Lord Duregar Fireblade shouted at the High Commander of the Vengeful Brotherhood. “And bring some of your other brothers!”

Duregar was drinking, along with his Rune Priest, Aldrek Fargaze, and the towering Wolf priest Sigurd. They had gathered in the ruin of the amphitheatre. Holes had been drilled by bolter fire all across the walls, and chunks were missing out of the wall where heavier weaponry had hit it.

Attalus, his white armour resplendent in the mid-day sun, marched down the hill towards them. With him came Chiron, and several Guardsmen. These were Brigadier-Colonel Berek, First Captain Fierra and the Firebolts.

In the instant they were all gathered, both of the psykers screamed, falling to the ground with a mighty convulsion. Both of them spoke at once, their voices merging imperfectly, so that elements of both could be heard.

“ThEy ArE gAtHEred. Now, We Will sEe wHaT He hAs pLANNed FoR Us!” The entire group, psykers and blunts alike, fell to the ground, unconscious before they hit the ground.

They found themselves in the middle of a war. Each was armed, and their armour displayed all the signs of a desperate, hard fought battle. They looked around themselves, finding that they were on the top of a plateau that stretched for dozens of kilometres in each direction, and they were not alone. With them, were hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Astartes, Guardsmen, Skitarii, and other, less identifiable warriors. They were at the head of a sea of wildly conflicting colours, with all of them intermixed with other forces. Obviously, hundreds of Space Marine Chapters, entire army groups of Imperial Guardsmen, and endless regiments of Skitarii all pulsed forwards. Amongst them, were hundreds of tanks of all shapes and sizes, from Chimeras right up to mighty Baneblades. Above them strode the God-Machines of the Legios Titanica. Scores of Warhounds, dozens of Reavers and Warlords, as well as multiple Imperators, stretching towards the skies.

They were all confused, looking at one another, then at the forces around them. Just as Attalus was about to talk, a being stood up above the mass of warriors on a small hill. Being is the only word applicable. He was surrounded by a majestic golden light. Whenever they tried to look at him, they were blinded by his aura, unable to make out the details of his face. Then, he began to speak.

“My sons. I am proud of you all. We stand together, at the end of days. You have proven your worth to me. Now, we fight together. We will kill together. You are the last vestiges of Humanity, and I salute you all. The Great Enemies approach once more. It is up to us to cast them aside. They will fall away from us, like shadows falling away from a lantern. Now then, draw your blades. They are upon us!” The figure drew a sword as tall as most Astartes, its blade shining with a red glow. He pointed towards the northern horizon.

Charging forwards was an enemy army of untold millions. With no organisation, they simply rolled over the landscape like the shadow of night. It was a mixed force. Orks. Necrons and Chaos Marines. Tyranids and the Hrud. Daemons and renegades. Bargheshi and Enslavers. Loxatl and Dracoliths. And other, less identifiable beasts. It was enough that they had joined one another against Man, let alone that they came on in such numbers.

As one, the Imperials surged forwards to meet them. The moment of impact was so mighty that hundreds were bowled straight over, prey for those in the second ranks. The clash was audible from miles away, millions of voices screaming as one.

Billions of blades swept through flesh and armour. Millions of guns spat death into the faces of those too slow to react.

The group were caught up in the rush towards the enemy horde. Within seconds, each was fighting for their lives. Colonel Berek found himself face to face with an Ork near twice his size, and he slew it with a bolt through the eye before coming against another. Sigurd was wading through dozens of renegades, every sweep of his Crozius felling two or three of them. Chiron spat bolts of lightning at a group of massive slug-like creatures, melting them to nothingness, whilst Aldrek squashed the head of a Necron Warrior, his mace pushing its chest cavity to the level of its knees. The Firebolts fought as a team, their blades and guns striking at the nearest threat before moving to the next. Fierra though, did not. He fought with First Commander Attalus, and Duregar.

The three of them reaped a fearsome toll upon the enemy, more than any other warriors, save the being of golden light, which fought some way to their left. Duregar carried a massive Frostblade, glittering blue as it swept through Plaguebearer after Plaguebearer, his plasma pistol firing pulses of green death at those nearest him. Fierra outshone any other mere mortal on that field of death, his blade sweeping in arcs that cut through xeno, heretic and renegade alike, killing dozens every minute, bathed in blood. Attalus lead a spearhead of other Astartes. Their armour encompassed every shade, from purest white, to blackest night, and everything between. They showed every rank, from Neophyte to Chapter Master, and Attalus lead them forwards. The ex-Luna Wolf was an avatar of death itself. Hundreds died by his blade, sliced to pieces, his mighty hammer, blessed by the Emperor over ten thousand years ago, was the death of Ork and Daemon alike. All of a sudden, he found himself separated from his brothers, and facing a mighty Bloodthirster alone. With a battle cry, he leapt to meet it, his sword and its mighty axe meeting in a shower of sparks. He grabbed hold of one of its horns as leverage, and swung himself towards its face. His hammer, Fist of Darshiva, crushed it’s skull in one powerful blow, punching through the other side in an explosion of gore. He jumped from its back, landing on top of a crowd of Genestealers, squashing them instantly. The killing of the Blood God’s Daemon had taken less than 5 seconds.

Even Attalus, though, paled in comparison to the living God at the head of the army. His massive blade culled dozens of the xenos with each mighty sweep, nothing able to withstand a single blow. From His other hand, he conjured his mighty psychic powers, and hundreds died every second.

However, not all was to the Imperials favour. Daemon Princes strode the battlefield, mighty weapons scything all who stood before them. Chaos Titans duelled with their Imperial counterparts. Whilst the renegades maintained a safe distance from the Imperators, they ganged upon the lesser titans, bombarding them with fire one at a time, until they fell to the ground and massive explosions ripped through the armies every few minutes. Bio-titans, Monoliths and Gargants fought against anything in reach.

Unbelievably, all of this destruction had taken place in less than thirty minutes, and there promised to be much more. That is, until the group all fell to the ground once more, everything turning black…

 

And they stood back up. They found themselves in the ruin of the amphitheatre once more.

Looking around at one another, they decided that they would never speak of this to another, and took a blood oath to that effect. They decided that this was a sign of the Emperor’s Beneficence, and that He approved in His sons’ actions that day.

 

Once more, ny comments would be greatly appreciated.

[antique_nova]

Obviously, hundreds of Space Marine Chapters, entire army groups of Imperial Guardsmen,

did you say hundreds of chapters? the black crusade had the support of less than half a 100 and only 12 chapters were made to defend the eye of terror and i think you need to describe the armies of the ig in regiments not in groups.

i haven't read the whole think or half yet but i will in a few days. Also i think when the sm talk about other brothers they should be like, bring more brothers if you wish, i think the word other kinda excludes them a little tbh.

thanks

antique_nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

@antique_nova: The concept for this comes from the legend of the Wolftime/Ragnarok. That of the greatest warriors coming back to fight the final battle, alongside the Emperor. This story was simply a vision of that happening. When i said hundreds of chapters, i meant that hundreds were represented. Perhaps by a single particuarly heroic marine, or maybe by more. And the Guardsmen wouldn't be organised into regiments if they were simply 'reborn' (or whatever it is that happens in the Wolftime).

I also plan to add to this story, doing the same to my other stories as well. So this can be regarded as the first draft.

Thanks for reading.

[antique_nova]

Didn't know that, i think you need to make it more clear what era you are representing.

However, i still doubt they would be kept as a group more like a legion/regiment. They jsut reignite the tactic of the hammer and the fist of the emperor. Where the ig do their normal invasion tactis en mass and the marines rain down from the sky at the opposite at the heart of back of the enemy lines, pushing the leaderless oposition ( after they take out the command structure ) into the ig only to be crushed by the ig or stand and die in their fortress/home by the sm.

thanks

antique_nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

I did say at the start, it ws to do with the Wolftime/Endtimes, but i'll make it clearer in the next version i do. Again, the idea was to have a single, pitched battle. However, you have a point. Keep checking the liber, because i'm currently writing an update. In the meantime, any more comments are greatly appreciated.

[antique_nova]

lol i dont know what period the Wolftime/Endtimes is XD.

was the death of Ork and Daemon alike. All of a sudden, he found himself separated from his brothers, and facing a mighty Bloodthirster alone

 

You mean death of xeno and heritic (or even infidels :blink:) alike?. you should talk about how the deamon had swept aside the chapter masters guards as meer toys, until he caught sight of the chapter master eyeing him with hatred and comtempt, would makew i more interesting and dramatic that would create excitement for this fight.

thanks

antique_Nova

[Valdr Fell-fist]

Thats a good suggestion, thanks nova. I'll add that in the next version. Oh, and the idea is, that when Leman Russ dissapeared, his last words were: 'at the end i will be there. For the final battle. For the Wolftime.' It's the final battle (obviously), with the Emperor taking physical from once more, and his son's gathering for a last stand against the enemies of mankind.

[antique_nova]

lol np, and there are rumors that the emperor has faked his own death as he is seen walking around in a picutre in the rouge trader, i better not place the soruce here as it would be off topic - if you want the source of my info then just pm me, might take a while as i am not on as regularly right now.

thanks

antique_nova