The Assassin and Terra...

[AfroCampbell]

Fluff now, model coming soon...

 

 

 

As the sea of clamouring armoured bodies poured through the smoking breach, Silus sighted in down the long barrel of his Exitus rifle. Even as the first dozen ranks of armoured warriors came rampaging through, some in the old white and blue colours of a once loyal legion, others in the blood spattered bright scarlet of their new dark master, chainaxes revving and baying for blood, they were mown down by the tightly coordinated bolter fire of their stalwart yellow armoured brethren. Silus looked on as hundreds of the oversized gene-forged bodies of these mind-lost rampagers dropped in seconds, but as each dropped two leapt into his place and it became clear there was no stopping the wave of bodies that was breaking against the walls now.

Amongst the rampaging traitor Astartes scurried unaugmented troops of what had once been Imperial Auxillae forces, but now zealously bore the eight-pointed icon so often seen amongst the forces of the Archtraitor, marking them as the cults of the various dark powers they now worshipped. Silus snarled in disgust, and watched as they were herded willingly in front of the unrelenting torrent of bolter-shots pouring from the hundreds of amassed tactical squads of the Imperial Fists arrayed along the ramparts of this sector of the outer perimeter.

Counter-assault Breacher Seige forces and Terminator armoured elites in the colours of the Fists poured into the courtyard that was now being blanketed in the corpses of dead World Eaters. Immediately they were fired upon by Word Bearers and World Eaters charging into the melee as the forces crashed together with the horrendous cacophony of shredding metal, and bodies armoured in golden yellow of the VIIth Legion began to drop. Silus watched on dispassionately screening for targets of value. He cared little for the lives of the ‘glorious Astartes’ even if they still held true to the Imperium; it was Astartes that had shattered the Emperor’s dream of the united Imperium and no matter how far gene-crafting had diverged them from humanity, it had not separated the Astartes from the ambition rotting within the hearts of the traitors that now were being shredded by the defenders on the ramparts.

Yet still more traitors poured in from the breach; a breach through meters of adamantium and ferrocrete that had been reinforced by the master artificers under Dorn’s command, and yet now laid wasted after days of barrage from the hulking giants of Legio Mortis. Silus could still see their enormous outline silhouetted against the amber glow of sunset over the Himalayas, and wondered how long they could be restrained from firing before their daemonic Machine Spirits let loose their apocalyptic barrage regardless of whether traitor or loyalist was consumed.

 A thin smile spread across Silus’s face as he watched the carnage, traitors dying every second to massed bolter rounds. It had been too long since he had had the thrill of killing the foes of Mankind. He focused in on the red adorned helmet of an Astartes Sergeant braying at the sky after having rammed his chainaxe through the gorget of a loyalist warrior, and fired his first shot in the final battle for the Emperor’s united Imperium.

 Not since the Emperor’s decree had restricted their actions in this conflict had he (or any other agent of Clade Vindicare) fired a shot with malignant intent, yet now that the enemy was at the gates, in the hours before the first drop-pods descended, Malcador had rescinded that decree, instead ordering all the Clade masters to “execute the traitor without restraint.” His masters (and if rumours were to be believed, the masters of the other Clades) had delighted at the opportunity to atone for the failings of Kell and his Execution Force, and thus the entirety of the Clade that remained on Terra had been deployed to the Palace’s defences, each with targets of importance to “Administer the Emperor’s displeasure,” as his Clade master had explained. Silus had been pleased to learn he was tasked with the outer perimeter east of the Tibetian Steppes, an area that simulations of an assault on the Palace had predicted would be heavily attacked.

These predictions had been correct.

Silus watched his bullet travel the 568.6m from his hide atop the shelled out spire of a nearby administratum building, and blossom into the grey matter of the World Eater’s traitorous head. Silus blink-clicked an icon in the corner of his visor: “1”. By the end of that fateful day it would read many more.

 

Hope you enjoyed.

[Doctor Perils]

Nice fluff, I especially like how you manage to show the contempt the assassin (superhuman in his own right) feels for the Astartes.

 

I'd probably write a sentence early on to say why he's waiting. It seems self-evident, but since he's sighting, you expecting him to take a shot.