Rapid Fire Challenge: War Cry - March 2020

[Race Bannon]

Prompt: War Cry (Yes, March is the God of War's month, and I'm sure he had/s something to say about it)

Maximum length: 500 words

Deadline: 31 March 2020

Where to post submissions: In this thread

Note - please make sure all submissions adhere to the forum rules. Any entry that breaks one or more rules shall be removed.

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

His eyes burned with electrical fire, lancing into his skull and sending a hot shiver down his spine and body.

The burning continued, racing along every fibre of who he was, right to the end of his fingertips, his toes.  He could sense his skin cooking, his bones split under his clothes and expensive boots, he was sure he was going to die.

 

Then cold mercury filled the void as something otherworldly,  something angry and yet austere punched down into his gut.  He slowly opened his eyes, even though the light was painful at first.  His body was whole.

"Dim...the lights.  Please."

"Yes my Princeps."

 

It was always the same, but Icarion shrugged the feeling from the back of his mind. He was in control.  He was in control.  The pain eased considerably.

When he came to himself the manifold gave him the view of the battlefield and the hordes of attendant Skitarii, all chanting, buzzing in both Machine and human voice.

"Laudate Sol awakes!  Laudate Sol!

 

Icarion grinned.  "Moderati Fabian!  Striding speed if you please."

The shift of the mighty war engine was familiar - settling.  He would hang engine-kill banners from both power fists today.  "And sound the horn - let the bastards know we're coming!"

"By your will my Princeps."

 

He raised the titan's arms and the braying challenge of their battle-voice rolled across the plain, to smash in echoes from the city that refused the Emperor's armies.

The heart of the Reaver beat in his chest, the time of purpose, of War, was come again.

 

MR.

Edited March 1, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Brother Lunkhead]

Yet another solid story from Brother Mazer

[Brother Hellion]

The Storm Hawk rattles as it banks to the right, narrowly avoiding surface to air flakk shells that explode in massive shock waves. It holds its course while descending from high atmosphere like a phoenix burning across the heavens. The black and yellow stripped paint still fending off being scorched off from the heat upon the ceramite. 

 

Inside are warriors paying little mind. Marked in the same black and yellow scheme as their sacred vehicle from plasteel boot to reinforced helms. Strapped into grav-harnesses, holding blessed bolter in power gloved hands; They await like toy soldiers still in their packages waiting to be released into hell of warfare. Only their Brother Sargent stands unharnessed to the steel beast they fly in; He stands in the back of the hold with servo fingers grasping at hand holds in the ceiling. Yelling through enhancing vox piece built into his breast plate. 

 

"Where Sky And Sea Meet

 

I Go To Die A Good Death

 

Bolt and Blade in Hand"

 

Plasteel soles stomp on the ramp in reply as Battle brothers acknowledge the effect of the mantra.

 

"Descend From Heaven

 

 Marked In Black And Yellow

 

Forged In Hate And Fire"

 

The strapped in warriors again reply with a unison foot stomp, almost making the interior rattle.

 

"I am Hanzu

 

To My Brothers I Say This

 

I Shall Know No Fear!"

 

This time the Battle brothers cried out their reply in but one perfect unison of voice and tone. 

 

"WE ARE THE FURY!

 

The Sting That Slays The Daemon!

 

Yellow Jackets All!"

 

Everyone on board feels a shutter as the Storm Hawk slows for its touchdown on solid terrain. The Sargent lets go of the ceiling as he draws his chainsword revving from its mag locked sheath. He charges forward as the forward ramp explodes open to the carnage outside. Locks on Grav-harness release with unanimous clicks. All rush out of the Storm Hawk yelling but one word in ancient forgotten tongue.

 

"BAAAAAAANZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIII!"

Edited March 5, 2020 by Brotherblur

[Tarvek Val]

Sea of Iron

 

            ‘Incoming!’

            The legionary’s warning is drowned out by the piercing whine of incoming artillery. Seconds later, the ground shakes under the impact of exploding mortar rounds and high-explosive shells.

            Thoom, thoom, thoom. 

            Cordrix grimaces, shaking his head to rid his ears of the incessant ringing left in the aftermath of the artillery barrage. Dispassionately, he notices that the legionary that had sounded the warning is dead, cut nearly in half by a fragment of a heavy shell. Dark, copper-scented blood runs over gunmetal-grey armor, leeching away into the rocky soul underneath the corpse. A tangle of razor-wire has wound its way over the fallen warrior’s arms, scraping away areas of paint in haphazard patches.

            ‘A good day to die, eh?’

            Cordrix looks up, noting the presence of Sergeant Vorren and a handful of other legionaries. The markings upon their armor mark them as members of the 43^rd Grand Company, under the command of Warsmith Kolkassus. The Iron Warriors busy themselves with spreading out across the ruins of the trench they had been assaulting, taking advantage of what scraps of cover they can find behind shattered ferrocrete bunkers and half-fallen berms of dark soil. Cordrix looks for the Warsmith amongst the surviving Astartes, but cannot spot him.

            ‘Where’s Kolkassus?’

            Vorren nods silently back towards the burning stretch of earth that had borne the brunt of the distant artillery’s fury. 

            Cordrix snorts.

            ‘The Gorgon’s sons fight with grim tenacity,’ Vorren observes dryly. 

            ‘The fact that we killed their primarch seems to have raised their storm, so to speak,’ Cordrix replies, a smile evident in his voice — though hidden behind the scant protection offered by his battered helm.

            Vorren laughs, the sound turned to a vicious rasping of gears over his helm-speakers.

            The sound is drowned out by the distant hiss-whoosh, hiss-whoosh of missiles taking flight. As he regards the spots of light streaking skywards in the distance, Cordrix’s mirth fades.

            ‘One last time into the enemy?’

            The veteran sergeant nods, deftly reloading his bolter. The surviving Iron Warriors ready their weapons, preparing to advance as the missiles arc downwards on their inevitable course towards the trench they are occupying.

            ‘Iron Within!’

            Cordrix barely registers the words as they escape his throat, the mantra no different now than the previous hundreds of times he had spoken it. 

            The surviving members of the 43^rd answer his call, the sound drowning out the approaching missiles for the few seconds remaining before impact.

            ‘Iron Without!’

            And the burning skies answer. 

Edited March 6, 2020 by Tarvek Val

[Brother Lunkhead]

Very fine work Brothers Brotherblur and Tarvek 

[Tarvek Val]

Excellent work, Brothers Mazer and Brotherblur. As always, it's a pleasure seeing all the different takes on the topic!

[Dumah]

To the Last

 

“Get back!”

 

Sari felt the fabric at her back gathered in an angry fist and was tossed bodily several meters backwards. A heavily muscled man, dressed in white robes of a strange cut, loomed over her. In his arms he juggled the hafts of several long spears, each as tall as he was. His lip curled in contempt and he spat a single, bitter word in a language Sari did not understand. Her gaze followed the man’s progress as he paused to adjust the over-sized shield on his back then sprinted towards the line of giants at the end of the concourse.

 

Hemmed in on both sides by low, adobe buildings, sixteen demi-gods stood in defiance of a storm of flesh and metal. They had begun the day with twenty two warriors arrayed in three diminishing ranks, using their bodies to fill the road that fed the concourse. Squires, almost as large in stature as their masters, attended each warrior, replacing lost or shattered spears and shields that were rent asunder by some ungodly force of nature. Sari did not know what force assailed them, only that she and her fellow colonists were in dire peril.

 

The first she had known of the threat had been the arrival of the giants. They had met the township’s leaders, commanding them to evacuate. One who was clad in white armor plate had gone unhelmed. There were smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but the giant was not smiling then. Nor would he be now. Sari sat mesmerized, watching him as he pulled one of his brothers back from the fight. In that moment, before the others closed ranks, she spied green flesh and rusting metal.

 

“You should not be here,” the giant in white growled through his helmet. The voice was impossibly low, setting Sari’s rib cage vibrating. He was not looking at her, instead focused on the guts of his brother. Sari had to look away – their blood was so very bright. “The final shuttle will leave soon.”

 

Sari didn’t know how to respond. She was numb; to the noise, the sights and the smells. The township had been her whole life.

 

“Get up, girl.”

 

She found her legs, noticing the din of battle had faded. Looking past the white giant, she saw that the others had lowered their shields and busied themselves checking their weapons. She counted eleven demi-gods left, including the one who spoke to her.

 

“They come again!” one giant yelled. They reformed their ranks into a single line and stood shoulder to shoulder, shields overlapping. They had long since exhausted all ammunition.

 

“Go now!” the white giant bade her, returning to fill a gap in the line. A squire handed the warrior a shield and spear, keeping one lance for himself.

 

The thunder of war returned and one of the demi-gods shouted as he skewered a rampaging monster.

 

“For Ithaka!” he roared, and the others joined him. Sari ran, knowing that they would not survive.

[Mazer Rackham]

This thread is so filled with awesome Chuck Norris is thinking about it.

 

MR.

[Mazer Rackham]

"Throne, I'm bored."

Ebrac Ban peered across the barracks just in time to see a prop-novel fly across the room.  He raised an eyebrow in distaste and returned to his reading.  Marcus Raza was always carping about something.  He ignored the fool, instead continued to peer at the pretty curves of the writing, telling him about his new son.  It was a great shame, the letter said, that Ebrac was so far away, but she knew his duty to the Primarch, to blessed Ultramar.  The letter was perfumed.  She wasn't angry at him.  He smiled.

 

"Sarge, when is this going to start?"

"It will start when it starts, Raza.  For now shut your mouth."

He frowned, could hear the odd sounds from the Oathsworn troops in the military compound only a kilometre away.  They sounded much closer.  Why the Sons of Lorgar used such ill-disiplined wretches was beyond him, even more so the notion of having to gather them here, on Calth.

 

Another sound spoiled the evening.  Army boots.  Lots of them, thundering on polished floors.

Pop-whoosh.  Pop-whoosh.

 

A huge shadow fell into the room, the shadow quivering in the light from trip-flares, set during a training exercise.  A voice rolled through the barrack room.

+Gentlemen, deploy to your emergency positions.+  The Son of Guilliman didn't hesitate in running to the next block.

 

"Now's your chance to do something."  Ebrac leaped up, grabbed his webbing and hastily buckled it on.  No time for shirts, he was in boots and fatigues.  He reached for his helmet and the squad poured from the room, heading for the fighting positions.

 

Crump.  Crump.

"Mortars - move, move!"  He saw Raza go down, tumbling head over heels.  He grabbed the man by the gear and hauled him up.  "Keep going you stupid bastard!"

 

They jumped, fell or slithered into slit trenches dug that morning, the rockrete bunker housing the heavy stubber was still wet from pouring.

"I hope they're just testing us."  Raza said, making the gun ready.

The chanting of the Oathsworn could be heard clearly.  They were two-hundred metres away and running forward, to the wire that seperated the camps.  Detonations rocked the fences and yet the fanatics kept coming, blazing away with autoguns and pistols.

 

The Vox stammered and the clean, clipped tones of the Primarch graced their ears.

+I rescind my former offer of cease-fire and hereby task all units loyal to Ultramar to destroy the Word Bearers and their scum!  Cleanse Calth!+

 

"Kill them all!"  Ebrac shouted, the scent of his wife's perfume lingering.

Raza opened fire, but there were too many.

 

Too many.

 

MR.

Edited March 15, 2020 by Mazer Rackham
Typo Begone!

[Dumah]

The Sound of Victory

 

“I am Sikander,” the Serpent gasped, pounding its chest and spitting up blood. “I have turned entire sectors by artifice alone!”

 

The Shadow watched patiently from his perch, staring with fathomless black eyes as the Serpent bucked and squirmed against the long blade that held it fast to the edifice at its back. It had been a temple once – raised to the glory of Him on Earth. Now it was a ruin, made so by the Serpent’s labyrinthine cunning, along with the rest of the planet and its people.

 

“You may kill my body, thin-blood, but I am more than this mortal shell…”

 

The Shadow had watched and waited, allowing the Serpent to spin its schemes, only striking when it finally revealed itself. It was unfortunate that it only emerged at the end, when victory came at the cost of an entire world, but acceptable.

 

“…I am an idea,” the Serpent shouted, pulling one-handed at the blade that transfixed it, succeeding only in shredding its remaining fingers on the still-energized blade. “You cannot kill the truth, whelp – it will spread like wildfire…”

 

This was the Shadow’s nineteenth tally; a good sum but never enough. He dropped from the parapet and stood over the Serpent, matching his lightless gaze against the creature’s manic gold. There was movement there, like swimmers in the deeps, and the Shadow curled his lip in revulsion.

 

“This is not victory, pretender… I alone know the True Way,” the Serpent was screaming now, and an edge of panic crept into its eyes when the Shadow produced a night-black dagger and held it against the Serpent’s convulsing throat.

 

“For the Emper-”

 

The Shadow felt no need to bellow deeds or announce his names or titles. The whisper of steel through flesh was enough.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Excellent work, Dumah. I presume the "Serpent" is an Alpha Legionnaire? IIRC from Codex: Chaos Space Marines (3rd Edition), the Alpha Legion uses Imperial war cries instead of those of Chaos, to mock the Emperor and His Immortal Majesty's servants.

[Dumah]

Excellent work, Dumah. I presume the "Serpent" is an Alpha Legionnaire? IIRC from Codex: Chaos Space Marines (3rd Edition), the Alpha Legion uses Imperial war cries instead of those of Chaos, to mock the Emperor and His Immortal Majesty's servants.

 

Well spotted, brother! You have it. Now...can you guess the identity of the Shadow?

[Bjorn Firewalker]

 

Excellent work, Dumah. I presume the "Serpent" is an Alpha Legionnaire? IIRC from Codex: Chaos Space Marines (3rd Edition), the Alpha Legion uses Imperial war cries instead of those of Chaos, to mock the Emperor and His Immortal Majesty's servants.

 

Well spotted, brother! You have it. Now...can you guess the identity of the Shadow?

A Raven Guard Shadow Captain?

[Dumah]

Very close! Think successors...which chapter is particularly focused with opposing the Alpha Legion?

[Bjorn Firewalker]

Very close! Think successors...which chapter is particularly focused with opposing the Alpha Legion?

Regrettably, I did not buy the Raven Guard supplement to Codex: Space Marines (8.5 Edition). (I bought the Imperial Fists and Iron Hands supplements instead.)

[Mazer Rackham]

"Gratthog? Do you love the Emperor?"

Big 'At don't look too good.  There's holes in 'im where there shouldn't be and it looks like it 'urts.  'Is face is all screwed up, like.  Kinda reminds me of the Kernel, special when we do stuff wrong.  Dey calls 'im that cos he looks like a walnut.

 

Anyway, Big 'At spoke up for us, says it weren't our fault like.  Pesky Pointy-eads, theys got every-place.  Now they's dun 'im in.  I done got the meddy-kit, but 'e's pale as the moon and I dun like it.

 

I dun even want his rat-shuns.  The devil keep 'em.

 

Big 'At' wants me answer.

"Yur." I says, trying to keep 'is 'ead off the ground.

"And you respect me."

It weren't no question - I 'ain't no finker, but I ain't no stoopid neever.  Dat's why I's a Sar-Gent, see?  Cos I got manners.  "Yussir."

"Then smear those pointy-headed gits all over this temple."  'E smiles up at me, teef all covered in the red stuff.  Dat's the fing about Big 'At.  He speaks my lang-widge.

"I'mma bury dem in dere own bones, no worries."  I tell 'Im.  I means it, like I never done afore.

Big 'At smiles, big as I ever seen.  E takes off the locket 'E got when he was made Captin and pins it on me.

"Make me proud.  Make the Emperor proud.  You can do it - easy as..."  'E sighs deep, like we does when we sleepin' like.

 

Then 'E was gone.

 

Varthogg and Berenk were right dere.  We picked up our guns and marched into the tempul.  We was the only ones left.

 

Easy as breakfast.

 

MR.

Edited March 17, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Dumah]

Love it, Mazer! Always appreciate me some Abhuman love.

 

Regrettably, I did not buy the Raven Guard supplement to Codex: Space Marines (8.5 Edition). (I bought the Imperial Fists and Iron Hands supplements instead.)

Revilers!

[Shinros]

Battle Prayer

 

‘A spiritu dominatus… domine libra nos…’

     The prayer spilled from my lips like a tide as the gears within the cathedrum doors turned. We were all ready, we were all prepared to bring dark doom to the enemies of mankind. The heretics have risen from their broken dens to drag down the faithful, to drown them in sin and darkness. As a Canoness of the Sanctified Halo I will not allow that to happen, not while I breathe, not while I can bring war and death to enemies of the Emperor. 

     ‘From the lightning and the tempest, Emperor deliver us…’ The words were clear and firm, the doors flew open and as we were greeted by the light of day the prayers from my mission rose to a thunderous roar. 

      ‘Our Emperor, deliver us from the blasphemy of the Fallen!’ I shouted the words as did my fellow sisters, we charged out into the daylight and greeted the heathens who sought to tear down our holy walls. The dishevelled infidels quickly looked up to us as we charged, as our bolters barked in a rhythm. With a hail of bolter fire we cut down those closest to the doors. 

     The heretics quickly charged as some of their number fell, they were swinging weapons in mad arcs, chanting their profane prayers. Oddly they seemed eager to meet us in battle. 

     As bodies crashed together we shoved the mad fools back with the aid of our blessed wargear. The holy power armour gave us the strength needed to break their momentum, to blunt their charge. I shoved one heretic to the ground, a man frothing at the mouth. Before he could rise I rendered judgement upon him. Riddling his chest with bolter rounds. ‘Emperor! Deliver us from the begetting of daemons!’ I hissed. 

    Our intensity, our faith was breaking those who lacked spirit. Their blunted charge was merely desperation, they grew confident because they have taken over a few blocks. They were all weak, they broke in the face of adversity and duty, they fell into darkness because they couldn’t handle what was demanded of them. 

    I proceeded to pull a frag grenade from my belt and pulled the pin with my teeth, I hurled the holy instrument into the congregation of darkness. The explosion scattered them, their dark cries turned into a deluge of pain and mercy. To hear such things spurred me on, the righteous rage within my heart spilled out for all to hear. ‘That thou shouldst spare none! That thou shouldst pardon none! We beseech thee! We beseech thee to destroy them! Kill them all my sisters! Charge!’ None were spared, no one was allowed to rise to their knees to beg, they've all made their choice. 

Edited March 20, 2020 by Shinros