Bird Hunting (updated 3/22)

[feuer_faust]

(Updated section in my post below)

Brother Amasai frowned as he examined the fortified scrap heap some hundred meters out. The traitors had proven surprisingly resourceful, managing to pile and weld the city's refuse into something resembling a strongpoint. As he took note of the emplacements hidden into the sides of the ramshackle fortification, his helmet marked their locations with some rudimentary information and relayed it back to his squad. There was something oddly familiar about this setup, but he could not quite place it. No matter, he decided, they would fall just like every other foe.

"A few well-placed plasma blasts should make short work of their guns, Brother, and the walls besides." It was Brother Jakob that has spoken, his helmet's auto-senses tuned in to the same view as Amasai. The feed flickered briefly, an interference Jakob fixed by tapping his helmet with an annoyed grunt. When the feed steadied, a flashing signal overlaid the image, as well as a suggested path of assault. The traitors had left a large killing field, sure, but it would not matter. Stubbers and their inferior ilk could only do so much to the impervious armor of a space marine. Brother Amasai swept his massive power fist forward, and the attack began.

***

The assault had been going well. Amasai had nine other marines under his command, and as it had been said by some ancient warrior, there was no kill like overkill. insignificant munitions ricocheted off the black-painted power armor of the hulking marines, and they gladly returned fire with their own, quite significant mass-reactive payloads. Incandescent plasma scorched the air as it impacted the walls of the makeshift redoubt, turning metal to slag and bodies to ash even as the bolts fired from the majority of the squad pulped traitors and shattered flimsy metals. Truly, it had been going well as Amasai began to close the final meters for the assault, and then the screaming began. The screams filled the air, nearly overwhelming the dampeners built into the marine's auto-sensory suites. As inured to the horrors of war as he was, Amasai had to steady his will to keep from being dazed by the cacophony. Above the fight, the chem-laden clouds seem to boil, reality itself shuddering and buckling under some dire influence. The emerging figures wore power armor, just as they did, although theirs was a garish blue and gold coloration, arcing with electricity and skewered with the gory remains of past kills. The leader glanced down as he and his unholy brethren descended from on high, locking eyes with Brother Amasai. The newcomer wore now helmet, and as such, allowed Amasai to see his triumphant smirk before he and his fellows crashed into the parapet like great electric meteors.

***

The engagement had concluded. Amasai removed his helmet, spitting contemptuously on one of the corpses. He and his brothers had fought day and night for a year to bring salvation to these people, to help them cast off the yolk of stifling Imperial rule. And yet, these fools turned their backs on freedom, running back into the oppressive folds of Terran tyranny. They would be the last to do so, surely. A commotion drew him out of his contemplation and back into the present. The raptors had just emerged from the smoking ruin of the traitor's headquarters, the champion held the head of their leader in one clawed hand. Mutation, the constant price for association with the Ruinous Powers. And yet, they had claimed the glory, being far swifter than Amasai and his men had been. "I have brought you a souvenir, grounded one." The champion's words cut like a knife, his contemptuous sneer would etch itself into Amasai's mind as he accepted the head in his power fist. "You're too kind, Varkolyn." Amasai had to force the words out. It was bad enough having to resort to hiring these scum, but worse yet to be outdone by them. "No, I'm not, worm." With that, Varkolyn and his raptors departed, their warp-changed jump packs filling the air with inhuman wailing as they flitted off into the city to collect their payment of fear and death. Amasai only smirked, staring down into the eyes of his former foe for a moment. "Come," he barked, his brothers rallying around him. They wore their helmets, but he could tell that the encounter had shaken their faith in him somewhat. Where he felt shame and rage, they would feel it nine times. "We still have work to do!" Amasai grinned fiercely, donning his helmet, mentally mapping out a course back into the city. "Let's go hunt some birds..."

******************

Howdy! The above is just a bit of fluff for my Fallen army. Specifically, the idea of Chaos armies being disparate war bands cobbled together for some purpose always appealed to me, as did the attitude of the Fallen (and by extension Cypher) of "We've got a job to do, doesn't matter who does or doesn't like it." I'm not much of writer at all, but I thought I'd have a crack at it. I hope my attempt at some misdirection was entertaining and not insulting.

[deathspectersgt7]

It was a good read.

[Andurin Marvak]

First, the constructive criticism.

 

There are parts where your method of describing things yanks you out of the action and breaks the illusion you are trying to create. Specifically, the "electric meteors" and "insignificant vs significant payloads". It's better to have less jesting, and more subtle allegories and metaphors, to keep things flowing together within the overall mood, which seems to be general grimdark.

 

Other than that, I liked the misdirection, it wasn't too jarring, and it's always nice to see inner-warband bickering.

[feuer_faust]

Howdy again! Working on rewriting this story, taking criticisms into account. Here's the first bit:

 

The smoggy air that defined the outskirts of the city threatened to choke the filters of Brother Amasai's helmet. Even in the purified environment of his sealed armor, he could taste the bitter tang of industrial refuse. Acidic mist clung to the hulking form of his power armor, the hardened plates painted a matte black, the curves and distinct outline hardly visible in the evening gloom. Brother Amasai hoped the hermetic seals that protected him would hold up until his business on this planet was concluded; he quite disliked the prospect of needing to clean the cloying filth out of his armor later.

 

"What is your evaluation, Brother Sergeant?" The quiet, clipped tone of Brother Jakob brought Amasai out of his reverie. His attentions returned to the fortified junk yard some hundred meters out, the overall shape of the structure outlined on his helmet's visual feed. Mentally, he compelled his suit's machine spirit to place glowing markers where there seemed to be hidden weapon emplacements or traps. Truthfully, it likely didn't matter what the rebels had in store for them, as it took exceedingly potent munitions to breach the armor he and his battle-brothers wore.

 

Amasai commanded his armor to share the image with his brothers, and within moments all ten of the warriors were examining the same thing. Something about the rebels' setup struck Amasai as familiar, but he opted not to voice this. "Brothers Jakob and Samuel, your plasma guns should prove a ready match for their foritifications. We shall simply advance under cover of darkness, and unleash fire when we are within charging range of the walls. We will breach the walls with plasma bolts, then make short work of the defenders. Their leader should be in the office near the center of the yard."

 

As one, the assembled marine voiced their assent and began to clamber down the hill and into the wreckage-strewn plains surrounding the junkyard.