The Third Son

[simison]

Darshan's 'ghost' shimmered out of sight before the shard flew back over to the Ork lines. He hovered above the center tank for a moment before the shard split into three. The three spirits took their positions above each Ork tank. Each of them quickly saw the sham, patchwork repairs to get the vehicles operational. One Leman Russ' fuel line was severed in three places. Another's motor ran dangerously hot as flames haphazardly shot out the rear exhaust pipes. In each case, the sole reason that any of the tanks were running was because the Orks believed they were, their collective faith protecting the tanks from the consequences of their own internal damage. 

That principle worked in reverse. 

Each of the shards stealthily invaded the thoughts of the Ork crews. As the seconds passed by, Darshan introduced new thoughts. Wariness at the lack of a fight. Suspicion at the absence of the Space Marines. Concern at the unnatural rumbling of the vehicles. Little by little, Darshan chipped at their confidence and their faith. A thirty seconds before Skarzeni was to attack, Darshan judged their minds ripe for his last step. It was simple. 

He showed each Ork an image of their tank exploding. 

It lasted a second. It was all the time he needed. The ruptured fuel line caught fire which quickly spread throughout the new steel coffin. An engine exploded before secondary explosions obliterated the center tank. The last tank's turret ruptured when the loaded shell jammed on a piece of metal in the barrel. Burning Orks hopped out of the burning Russ as they screamed in agony. 

Darshan grinned. 

[simison]

With the anchors of the Ork lines annihilated, panic spread through the ranks. Nobz roared out questions as their underlings swiveled in every direction, searching for what destroyed their heavy support. The three shards merged back into one before it floated over to the nearest loota squad. It had been too close to one of the tanks and had lost a few Orks to shrapnel. Out of the all remaining Orks, this mob burned the brightest hue of panicky orange. To them, Darshan whispered a single word into their fearful minds. Ghost. 

"THIS PLACE IZ HAUNTED!" One of the Orks bellowed before lumbering away in fear. 

The nearby Nob shouted, "Gitz backs here! There's no such t'ing as ghosts!" 

"We can't fightz no ghosts with just dakka," another Ork whispered fearfully. 

"OI!" The Nob roared as he whirled onto the offending Ork. "Wha' did I just say? Dere's. No. Such. T'ing. As. GHOSTS!" 

Darshan couldn't resist indulging himself. His spirit took a spot behind the Nob. Slowly, he appeared as a shining orb of energy, hovering above the ground. As he manifested, one by one, the Lootas noticed him and cowered, their ammo rattling as they shuddered with terror. 

Ignorant of the glowing light behind him, the Nob swung his eyes over them. "What'cha all lookin' at?" 

The nearest Ork pointed a shaking finger. 

The Nob turned around. 

He froze. 

Mentally guffawing, Darshan enjoyed a dramatic pause before he said... 

"Boo." 

The Nob stampeded over his own boyz as he screamed, the lootas right behind him as they fled the cave. 

[deathspectersgt7]

Thank you now I have to wipe off my screen.

[simison]

Darshan laughed as the roar of jump packs declared Skarzeni's assault. He discarded the illusion as he watched his sons successfully charge over the narrow walk way. Deprived of their tanks, only two loota squads poured fire against the incoming space marines. Their rounds ricocheted off breacher shields as Skarzeni's detachment secured a beachhead on the Ork's side of the cave. Storm boyz leapt into action, determined to throw the legionnaires back. 

But it was not to be. 

The lead Storm boy's head exploded as a sniper round tore through it before a wave of frag missiles tore through the first mob's ranks. Orks often relied on their thick hide over superior armour to protect them from death. The frag missiles made a mockery of their inferior wargear. One loota squad was overwhelmed as all three assault squads charged into it. The skirmish was over. The Storm Riders would prevail. 

Having accomplished his task, Darshan returned to his physical form and contacted the next Strike Force.

[Sun Reaver]

When you first started writing this, I remember I used to check this forum everyday for an update. Then, I suppose life happened and I completely forgot. This morning, I randomly thought of this story and was delighted to see 5 pages of new fluff. I read everything in one sitting and have to tell you that this is the best fan-fiction I have read online. In fact, I like it more than some of the Horus Heresy stories. Keep up the good work brother! I am excited for more to come! 

[simison]

The rest of the legion was on task as they scoured the space hulk. Between Qapibain's three and a half hours and Lothar's hour and forty, the other strike forces fell between. Alexandros estimated the Scourge of Treachery would be cleansed before the sixth hour of this engagement. Now, for my next move. "Jorg, is the rest of my strike force on line?" He asked with a knowing smile. 

"I'm afraid not, my lord," Jorg began. "We're still waitin-." He paused as he listened to a vox channel. He looked back at Alexandros, who could see the wry resignation written through his body language. "We are ready, my lord." 

"Good," Alexandros said as he turned toward the hallway's exit. "It is time we cut off the head of this horde."

[simison]

Safe from ambush, Alexandros led his ten sons out of the hallway into the heart of the vessel. Before them lay a great open space, easily two kilometres in diameter that was criss-crossed by walkways, platforms, chains, and the like, some safe and some hazardous to travel across. Hundreds of decks and walls had been dismantled and cleared away to feed the ego of one Ork who wanted to the center of it all, an artificial dome that would allow every member of the horde to stand while their boss shouted to them through the ship's speakers. 

Utilizing his helmet's advanced optics, Alex quickly spotted the brute's hulking hide: Warboss Burklak Natsha. Burklak stood on the largest and most stable platform as he directed his horde to fight off the Storm Riders. Between Alex and Burklak was four thousand Orks infesting the way, all hollering for Waaagh! The Primarch quickly identified several hundred defensive emplacements among the web of steel and sent a single order to his strike force. "Advance."

[Welcheren]

Can't wait for more.

[simison]

A thousand explosions resonated through the artificial cavern as meltabomb, demo charge, and rocket ripped open barriers all along the wall. From these new entrances, hundreds of marines in grey poured through onto the giant spiderweb of catwalks. At the center of the web, Burklak raised a monstrous power klaw of twisted metal and bellowed, "WAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!" The war cry echoed through the chamber as it was amplified by the horde raising their voices in support. 

Raising his shield, Alexandros struck with his sword. As the rare metals crafted within his tools, a piercing tone cut through the bestial howls. "My sons," Alexandros said over the vox, "I have rung the bell of death. Not one Ork is to survive." As a mob of Ork boyz rushed towards his position, Alex lifted his sword high, gathering his psychic power. "For the Imperium!" He roared, the psychic shriek slamming breaking the bodies of the charging greenskins. The Storm Riders picked up the call and shouted it as one. 

The two war cries crashed into each other as they reverberated off the chamber walls. As the cacophony dwindled, it was renewed and then strengthened as bolter and shoota opened fire on one another. The Storm Riders' helmets quickly reduced the volume to safer levels for their transhuman wearers, while the Orks simply ignored the deafening tumult as grey and green charged at their opponents.

Edited June 17, 2016 by simison

[bluntblade]

*struck with his sword, but otherwise as classy as ever.

[simison]

*struck with his sword, but otherwise as classy as ever.

 

I can't tell you how much I struggled to come up with a proper term. Figures I'd botch the word when I got it. 

 

But it's an idea I've had a long time. I think I included the shield-bell idea into one of the alternate reality duels. 

[simison]

"Jorg," Alexandros said as he pointed Xiphos at the platform directly ahead of them. "If we can neutralize that emplacement within the next four minutes and seventeen seconds, we will save the lives of thirty-two Storm Riders and open a hole in the Orks' outer defences. Can you keep up with me?"

 

The Champion of Kurn replied by lifting his power maul and charging down the walkway, roaring his intent. 

 

Sergeant Schmidt, shields high and advance carefully was the telepathic message Darshan left behind before he began his own charge, his giant strides quickly closing the gap between himself and Jorg. 

 

Between them and their target was three hundred meters filled with greenskins, who had not failed to notice the charging purple giant coming right at them. Although the dozens of Ork boyz had slim chances against the Primarch, their superiors, the Nobz, urged them on as they opened fire with their weapons. A torrent of slug rounds poured onto gene-enhanced warriors. Alexandros simply raised his shields to ward off any threat to his person, all the while sending telepathic warnings to Jorg. Right.

 

Jorg hopped to his right, the slug round that would've pierced his between his armour plates now bounding harmlessly off his left shoulder pad. 

 

Roll.

 

Throwing himself forward, Jorg rolled forward, his visor safe from a lucky shot, coming back onto his feet in one smooth motion. Then he was upon the Orks. The closest one swung wildly at the Storm Rider. Jorg ducked beneath the swing, allowing his momentum to carry himself forward as he swung back. The power maul smashed into the Ork's chest, the sound of a rib cage cracking apart filled the air as the force of the blow threw the Ork into its companions behind him.

 

A second later, Alexandros barreled into the Ork lines, sending several of them screaming over the edge of the walkway.

[simison]

"Smash the gitz!" A Nob roared as he pointed a power klaw at the pair. 

 

Alexandros lunged forward, gutting another Ork before lifting the xeno into the air as it squealed, impaled on Xiphos' blade. "Come forth, then! The day is young and this hulk has enough room to be a tomb for your entire race! For I am the Bane of Xenos!" Eyes fierce with inner fire, Alexandros flung the dying Ork with enough force to send its bleeding body onto the closest walkway, bowling over greenskins into the abyss. 

 

The nearest Orks cowered.

 

They made easy prey for Jorg's maul as he smashed his way through the mob. 

[Welcheren]

 

"Smash the gitz!" A Nob roared as he pointed a power klaw at the pair. 

 

Alexandros lunged forward, gutting another Ork before lifting the xeno into the air as it squealed, impaled on Xiphos' blade. "Come forth, then! The day is young and this hulk has enough room to be a tomb for your entire race! For I am the Bane of Xenos!" Eyes fierce with inner fire, Alexandros flung the dying Ork with enough force to send its bleeding body onto the closest walkway, bowling over greenskins into the abyss. 

 

The nearest Orks cowered.

 

They made easy prey for Jorg's maul as he smashed his way through the mob. 

 

 

Well now, this was a pleasant surprise when I checked my content folder. 

 

Great stuff. 

[Chiv]

Hooray!! I'm excited to see more!

[bluntblade]

So The Second Son has caught up with The Third?

[simison]

So The Second Son has caught up with The Third?

 

Yeah, both timelines are synched with each other (minus the year difference) and will remain that way for this battle and the next one. 

 

Welcheren, it occurred to me that every Primarch has the Fear special rule, so I wanted to showcase how Alex inflicts it upon his enemies.

Edited December 5, 2016 by simison

[simison]

Blood and brain matter spilled into the air as Jorg slew four Orks in rapid succession, breaking bodies and skulls. The Nob was the first to recover due in part to being safely a few ranks away from the Emperor's son. He opened his maw, prepared to bellow orders.

 

Shnk.

 

The big Ork gargled as blood filled his throat around the adamantium blade. Alexandros pulled his outstretched hand into a fist before he joined Jorg in bashing the beasts, his gene-forged strength more than able to crush their tough hides. The Nob clawed at the thrown weapon, its bestial mind giving away to fear and agony as it staggered. 

 

Jorg scored his sixth kill when the mob broke. 

 

"Run fer it!" One Ork howled as they fled before the two Imperials. Alexandros hurried, eager to reclaim his sword from the dying greenskin. Then one Ork pushed the Nob out of its way, sending the Nob off the walkway right as Alexandros was a mere three steps away. 

 

"My lord, your sword!" Jorg cried out in alarm. 

 

Darshan moved to the spot and reached out with his power towards the falling corpse. In a second, an invisible hand grasped at Xiphos' hilt and pulled it free from the dead Nob. With a gesture, Darshan held out his hand as Xiphos soared back up to the walkway, until the Primarch snatched it from the middle of the air. "Well, that would have been frustrating." He turned back to Jorg. "Onward!"

[simison]

As they reached the first hundred metre mark, Alex opened a vox channel to his strike force. "I need every heavy bolter deployed two hundred metres behind the forward units and prepared to repulse enemy aerial assault from above in fourty-six seconds! Move out!"

 

Jorg glanced at the ceiling far above them and didn't see anything. "My lord?"

 

"Jorg! The flanks!" Alex warned as he switched out Xiphos for Ultimatum, the plasma weapon brightening with power.

 

His head snapping around them, Jorg quickly spotted the approaching danger. On four separate walkways running parallel to theirs, squads of Orks stared at them as they primed crude jump packs. "WAAAAGH!" They shouted as the four separate mobs ignited their packs. Jorg had no idea how they could all believe they'd made the landing safely, but even if half of them died in the jump, there was no doubt he and the Primarch were going to be surrounded. 

[simison]

Alexandros fired Ultimatum, the plasma shots expertly aimed and melted several of the Orks, leaving greenskin sludge to fall away. With his bolt pistol, Jorg struggled to match his gene-sire's accomplishment. Before he could squeeze off the first round, he felt the Primarch's mind 'hovering' next to his own. Instead of telepathic words, images appeared in Jorg's mental sight, showing him where to fire. As uncomfortable as the sensation was, Jorg complied and quickly racked up a few kills of his own. Then the Orks were upon them.  

[simison]

When surrounded by the enemy, every warrior knows the greatest danger lies directly behind them, out of sight and ready to take advantage of the massive blind spot. Jorg instinctively turned around to put his back against Alexandros' and quickly realize the size differences between them would present a problem. While Jorg enjoyed the benefit of more 'cover', it meant Alexandros was more exposed to the enemies Jorg faced. Swearing not to let his lord down, Jorg counted his opponents.

 

Five hungry faces stared back at him. Most of the Orks had successfully landed on the walkway, only one had failed to calculate the jump properly and was now flying beneath the walkway somewhere. Four more Orks were struggling to their feet, a couple of them had flown over the walkway and collided with each other. Unfortunately, the thick green hides had survived the collision sans a couple of new broken bones. Although they'd be less dangerous, that meant Jorg stood against nine opponents.

 

Jorg resisted the urge to charge forward. He was a Storm Rider. Unlike the First, who had long ago devoted themselves to spreading themselves thin among war's disciplines, the Storm Riders had established themselves the masters of close-quarters combat. One of the key lessons of hand-to-hand was momentum was a powerful ally. The Storm Riders tactics focused on building momentum, to 'ride' a storm of aggression until they swept their enemies aside. Yet, as hot-blooded Jorg's blood was, if he attacked first, he would leave both himself and his Primarch dangerously exposed. That was unacceptable.   

[simison]

As the tense seconds stretched on, Jorg prepared himself for the inevitable rush. He slid his feet apart, widening his stance and bent his knees, strengthening his position. Bringing his maul low, he allowed gravity to pull the weapon a few inches away so that his hand held the lower part of the hilt before bringing it back up to a mid-guard. The revised grip was more suited for using the weapon one-handed, trading a little control for a lot more power on the swings. A better trade for dealing with stupid beasts like the Orks and their tough hides. They closed in, taking small steps toward him. Jorg spun his bolt pistol, now holding onto the barrel while the pistol's grip pointed toward his opponents. Jorg had specifically requested a reinforced grip to use as a weapon in close combat. The extra weight made it harder to aim with but, used correctly, it could bash out brains or parry a simple weapon, something that was invaluable to Jorg's combat style. 

 

The nearest Ork finally shouted, "Waaagh!" before rushing at the Storm Rider.

[simison]

Jorg reacted as lightning. In one smooth motion, he pulled his maul back as he swung his pistol, parrying the jagged axe. The moment the Ork was opened, Jorg slammed the maul down on its head, pulverizing it into a bloody ruin. He kicked the corpse into a pair of greenskins as he engaged his second opponent. The second Ork was already swinging at him. Jorg leaned into the attack, his pauldron catching then deflecting the now-harmless attack. The force of the blow shook the space marine, but his counter swing broke a knee through the pitiful armour the Ork wore. It stumbled back, howling in pain. Coincidentally, it was now acting as a barrier for the Orks behind it. Two Orks charged through the space between their screaming comrade and dead one, yelling, "Wez gotz ya now, ya git!"

 

"Beasts," Jorg contemptuously muttered. He blocked both of their attacks, his pistol nearly ripped from his hand. He stomped down on a foot, the tough leather no match for his adamantium boot. The Ork grunted in pain as he hobbled backwards. 

[Ratboy1664]

I just read this in one go, absolutely amazing stuff, definitely professional quality.

 

My only niggle is that when he is called Alex he doesn't sound very powerful, like being called Dave or Roger. Maybe Alexi, Alexis or something like that.

[simison]

Hm, that's a fair point. I was concerned that if I used 'Alexandros' too often, it'd wear out readers. I could keep 'Alex' to more informal situations, such as when he's talking to his brothers outside of war's arena, and use 'Alexandros' for formal situations, I suppose.