Emberlord

[Murcurius]

Pyrovaerus Campaign

Book One: EMBERLORD

Prologue....

 

Spoiler

It was hard on the body as well as the mind, performing jumps like this.  It had been a long time since she’d even been on a ship.  That might seem a shame to most Cadians.  To be this green in space meant that Sergeant Kyl Waller had not often been off world.  This was true.  Not by choice.  Not at all.  It just so happened that she had an eye for seeing the faults in other soldiers.  She had a way of correcting aims, of breaking bad habits, of bringing out the best in the soldiers that didn’t quite *want* to give their best.  She had survived three years on the battlefield before they gave her the speech.  The one about how all soldiers fight in their own way, and perhaps her abilities would best serve the Imperium elsewhere than the front lines.  That perhaps there was a modest glory in preparing new generations, no small honor to hold the line.  Someone had to hold it.  

 

So she held the line.  She’d always held the line no matter where High Command drew it.  If it was a hundred meters, or a hundred kilometers….it didn’t matter.  She had decided it was a noble thing, an honorable thing for the lesser daughter of a lesser noble family.  They’d given her what advantages they could with what was left of what they had….and like every other Cadian sent her off at 16 years of age.  From that point on she had the same treatment as every other Cadian.  The same risks.  The same rewards.  The same pain.  Somehow she survived….but….how long ago had that been?

 

How many jumps had it been?  Waller shook her head and did the exercises.  She clenched her fists, then released them, repeating the process ten times.  She worked her jaw, and imagined, of all things….the Eye.  It filled her with hate, and hate was unfortunately, a powerful focus for a struggling mind.

 

Focusing on that hate, she forced herself to her feet.  There was so much.  So many lost, so many gone, everything she had ever known….gone.  Because of that eye…the warp…the haze caused by the last Warp Jump was stronger than anything she’d felt before.  It was taking significant effort simply not to expel the contents of her stomach onto the docking platform beneath her Cadian boots.

 

“There is no time for loitering about Sergeant.”  Came a voice that could cut through any haze, stupor, or drunken fog a human could suffer.  It was sharp, casual, devoid of either humor or humanity.  The cold cadence of a man who metaphorically….and in some cases literally, had a boltgun to the backs of every head in the hangar bay.  “The enemy followed us through that jump.  They will be upon us shortly.  Please do see to your men before that happens?”  Commissar Dorriniere towered over her, though his focus was purely on the hazy environmental shielding that protected those in the bay from the cold, vacuum of space outside.  He stood nearly a full head over Waller, dressed in the slick black trenchcoat common to those of his position.  Hands clasped behind his back, his cleanly shaven face almost hawklike in appearance.

“Yes sir.  My apologies.”  Waller forced a quick response, and cleared her throat.  Turning to look down her line, she felt a pang of regret which had to be swiftly shoved away in the depths of her mind.  So few left.  So few had even reached extraction on board the Boriannus, and the Jumps had claimed no less than twenty more.  Her people were busying themselves dragging the dead and deranged from the line with the begrudging efficiency of those who knew themselves a step away from oblivion. Was this all of Cadia?  Some few hundred men and women?  She had no idea.  No contact had been made with the other ships that had fled from the fall of her homeworld.  And she….a Gunnery Sergeant, was the highest ranking soldier that survived that very jump.  Waller hardened herself.  They were Cadians.  A few hundred was all she needed.  If Oblivion awaited them outside that hangar, then here the line was drawn, and here they would meet it like Cadians.

 

“Enemy inbound!  Heads up.  Check munitions and see to your rites!”  Wallers gen-enhanced vocal chords magnified the sound of her voice by nearly three-hundred and fifty percent.  When speaking normally, she almost had to whisper.  It wasn’t as efficient as augmentation, but it had been far cheaper for her parents.  One more way to stack the odds in their daughters favor.  Now her voice barked like gunshots, shocking her soldiers out of their post-jump stupor into action.  “Heavy Bolters sound off!”  They didn’t have functioning comms.  So her soldiers had been organized into the center of the battle line.  Nearly three hundred meters of hangar bay was exposed to the enemy’s boarding action.  

 

Her Cadians made up one-hundred meters of that line, right in the middle.  Separated into three platoons.  Hers was made up of eight Heavy Bolter teams and four Missile Launchers.  To her right was Squad Maeda, three lascannons, four autocannons, and six mortar units that were functionally useless at the moment.  To her left, squad Hardin, which only had six autocannons, but was reinforced with an elite Sapper unit called Turk’s Grenadiers.  Each Platoon had an additional sixty to eighty men and women of Cadia, lasrifles at the ready, positioned behind and above the heavy weapons teams. 

“Morrin!”  Waller shouted, her voice ringing out sharp and clear.  She gathered up a loose chain of command based on what she had left, and among her fellow Gunnery Sergeants, one was missing that she could not accept without seeing the corpse.

“Aye muscles…keep yer voice down.”  The response didn’t just grab Waller’s attention, but the Commissar next to her.  From behind them, against a support beam where Medicae were sorting lost causes from combat capable injured, she found her missing man.  Sergeant Morrin was standing up from having been treated, immediately stopping when he realized that his breach of protocol was in the presence of someone that could very much kill him on the spot for it.  “Ah I mean Gunnery Sergeant. Apologies…seems I lost my bearings in the last jump.” If Morrin had any fear of Dornierre’s judgment, he chose not to show it.  Instead he smoothly straightened himself out, went to attention, and gave a crisp salute. He then pressed his hand to a bloody spot on his head, showing through an improvised pressure-graft.  By the level of bleeding, Waller had no doubt Morrin was concussed.

An older man, far older than Waller, he had the look of nearly every Cadian she had ever encountered.  They all had their differences, but there was a sort of undefinable nature to his features.  Battle worn with a face covered in scars, now peppered with silver stubble that was not present on his completely bald head.  His skin darkened by years spent in the sun, roughened by war on nearly every imaginable field.  Morrin was….something of a precious resource to Waller.  She had no idea why he had started following her through commands, but his experience had proven more valuable to her than anything her parents gave her in life.

 

“He will live.  He can hold a rifle but I doubt he will have any accuracy for a few days.”  A white robed, silver chested Mendicant rose up from its position where Morrin had been seated.  Waller didn’t quite know how she hadn’t seen the Biologus until now, but as it stood up the Tech Priest proved to be even taller than Dornierre.  It was slender, almost too slender, with limbs that appeared just a bit too long.  White robes, bright pink crenelated patterns across it’s hemming.  The fabric was stitched with fine silver runes of some martian language the Sergeant would never understand, but gave off a rippling effect as they caught the light. “I must see to the other injured.”  The Mendicant moved off gracefully without another word, too wrapped up in its duties to be concerned with the command protocols of Astra Militarum personnel.  Morrin cast the creature a warning glance that went unnoticed.

“Aye Sergeant pay no heed to that nonsense.  My aim is as fine as ever.”  Morrin started to protest, his voice sounding rougher than Waller remembered.  The Commissar did not give her a chance to act.  With snakelike swiftness he took two long strided steps towards the Cadian.  Like a serpent his hand darted out, snapping his metal forefinger and thumb together to create a startlingly loud sound.  Morrin’s reaction was severely delayed.  She knew the man to be as fast as soldiers a third his age, and his reflexes were…normally exceptional.  But his movement was sluggish, and a widening of his eyes proved to Waller that this was not him simply playing cool with the Commissar.  Dornierre drew his hand to his side, leveled a hard look at the Sergeant, and spoke clearly.

“You will be more of a hindrance on the battle line than a benefit Sergeant.  Tend to the injured, restock munitions, prepare medical supplies.  You will not be fighting unless the line breaks.”  Waller herself flinched at how cold and direct that was.  They were both Cadian.  They expected to fight to the end, even wounded, even at half strength….even a quarter of a Cadian was enough to claim victory.  Waller might have placed him directly with her, but to remove him completely?  Morrins eyes flickered to Wallers for a moment, bristling with well contained anger that sharpened him like a knife.  Then back to Dornierre.  However in that instant the Commissar had already turned back to his post, and was overseeing the situation.  Waller took a breath and nodded to the veteran soldier.  It was out of her hands, and the order was given.  But she gave him a look that told him she wanted him close.  He returned the look coldly, and she did not blame him for it.  Steeling herself she turned back to the line, to see how preparations had progressed during that brief interruption.

Under any other circumstance she might say it was an impressive battle line.  Under any other circumstance.  It was perhaps the least ideal set up for a defensive line she could imagine.  The enemy’s advance would come spread across a massive length of area.  She had no communications.  No armor or cover to speak of.  Her guardsman were industrious at least, dragging anything heavy or sturdy enough to make cover over to the line.  They hauled cargo crates, wheeled over defunct servitors and loose ship plating.  No one asked if the plating had already been loose or not.  If the Tech Priests present were offended by any of their pillaging of the hangars materials, they did not make their protests out loud.  However Waller felt like she could almost feel their resentment every time they passed a segment of wall with missing panels.

To their credit, as the minutes ticked by, the line began to look more promising.  What she wouldn’t give to trade all her autocannons for Heavy Bolters.  At this range, the autocannons were far more difficult to use effectively.  If their enemy was cultists, light infantry and the like, these weapons were overkill, ripping through bodies but not possessing a weight of fire to stop a horde of warp deranged lunatics.  If their enemy was Astartes, the range made the targeting of those superhuman nightmares far too difficult.  

 

Cover or no, it wasn’t a good line.  She would make the best of it she could, but it was not a good line.  As she considered potential fire zones and made mental calculations for ideal trajectories, the primary access corridor opened up behind her position.  Commissar Dorniere wheeled around in a polished, viper-fast action.  It was not wild, nor was it done in haste.  He moved, his hand already half drawing his bolt pistol from its holster.  The instant he saw their guest, his motion halted as swiftly as it started.  For Waller it was enough to make her jump, the terrifying speed and control he had was almost inhuman.  But it was merely the result of a lifetime of training, conditioning, and experience.  Just as experience told her who was coming up behind her, though she did not have the time, or position to acknowledge them.

“Dominus Oblicron.  I take it that was our final jump then?”  The Commissar maintained his gaze with what must have been optical sensors mounted on the Tech Priests face.  Oblicron was to Waller’s understanding, a prominent figure at least on this vessel.  A member of some secretive cult obsessed with destruction and combat.  He certainly did not look like most Tech Priests she’d seen.  Frankly, she found herself thinking he looked like an Astartes.  She’d only seen the Emperors Angels once in battle, a handful of times from a distance during parade, but she imagined one of those would be comparable in size with the Dominus up close.  A thickly built humanoid body wrapped up in a tight fitting leather armor-coat, what was truly disconcerting was the audible flex and shifting of clicker-plate beneath it’s clothing.  A part of her did not wish to know what the Dominus looked like without that pristine white trench coat or the polished silver and gold plated gauntlets or boots. 

“Yes.  We are out of fuel, and power reserves are failing.  This is as they say….end of the line.”  Oblicron’s voice was rough and grating, like a rockslide speaking words, digitized through a computer and projected with a tad too much bass.  What’s more, the voice did not come from the massive figure, rather a small spheroid roughly the size of Warren’s torso, covered in protruding mechadendrites and manipulator arms.  The humanoid released the spheroid into the air, where a buzzing series of grav-plates whirred to life, vibrating as they began emitting fields that allowed the object to drift approximately head height off the ground as if suspended from invisible strings.  “My forces have already been distributed to likely points of Ingress Commissar.  However all calculations point to this being the most vulnerable point on the ship, therefore the most likely to be struck the hardest.”  Waller blinked as she saw the massive humanoid simply move away, immediately putting its huge size and strength to use in moving additional barricades into place.  She couldn’t help but follow it with her eyes.  Something about its movement did not seem all that mechanical, almost too organic for a Tech Priest.  What’s more, everywhere it went it was as if the other Adeptus Mechanicus personnel simply….moved around it like water flowing around an obstacle…as if they were synchronized by something Waller could not see.

“Very good.  I presumed you would take such actions.” Dornierre was back to observing the line, and the Spheroid came to hover between the taller man and Waller.  “Do we have any reinforcements?  The Barrade?”  Dornierre’s question wasn’t desperate, merely the cold acquisition of facts.  When the Dominus responded, it did so from it’s true body, the floating spheroid.

“The Barrade disappeared from our sensors approximately one point two nano seconds before exiting our last jump.  They are nowhere within our ability to detect.  We are alone, but we have hope. An Imperial planet is within several astronomical units of our position.  Messages have been sent.  If they possess the capacity to send aid, they will send it.”  The commissar snorted derisively in response.  “I am aware that you are prepared to die at any moment, Commissar Dornierre.  I myself have a great deal of research to do, and a great many achievements remain for those who may benefit from that work.  Hope may be a foreign concept for you.”  The spheroid moved gently forward a few inches, one of its Dendrites snaking its way towards Wallers face.  It hovered inches from her head, almost as if scanning her.  She did not know what to do, so she kept quiet.  “But all things are in motion.  The universe is based on particles that both exist everywhere, and exactly where they are supposed to be at the same time!”  His voice was raised slightly, giving the false impression of excitement.  “Hope exists everywhere the motive force finds us, binding us to a most holy of purposes.”  He actually was excited now.  His voice booming out loud enough for many of her soldiers to hear it.  Some of them turned, half paying attention as they tended to their duties.  “Exalt -66!  What is that sacred purpose?”  The question went out into the aether, and was met with a response that turned many heads towards the blast doors. 

“The absolute reduction of the enemies of mankind.”  The response was cold, uncaring, and devoid of passion.  But came out loud and clear nonetheless.  It emanated from the helmet of a solidly built Skittari Alpha…no…he was a Skittarius Prime by the custom plating of his armored coat.  Behind him a score of some thirty vanguard and half that number of Rangers marched into the hangar.  They filed into either side, seamlessly maneuvering themselves into the Battle line where they were most useful.  Exalt-66 stepped up to his Dominus, hands clasped behind his back, the image of perfect calm.

“Indeed! And how do we bring about the ruination of the enemy?”  This time it was as though his question was focused elsewhere.  Waller did not know why, but she felt for some reason that the question was aimed at her.  Perhaps out of reflex, she responded herself.

“With whatever we have Dominus! Flame or slug, las or grenades, we are ANVILS, and whatever they send will be broken.”  She thumped her fist to her chest, making sure her men could hear her voice clearly.  Anvils of Cadia, that had been the nickname for the Heavy Weapon Companies her platoon had been attached to.  Dedicated defenders to be tasked out wherever needed.  She felt a spark of pride, and the need to remind both herself, and her men, of their legacy.  Exalt-66’s head turned to observe her, and several additional Dendrites turned towards her as well.  Unflinching, she continued.  “ANVILS! WHAT DO WE DO TO HERETICS?”  The response was flawless.  All at once the men and women of her Heavy Weapons Platoon shouted.

“CRUSH THEM, GRIND THEM, BURN THEM TO ASHES.”  It was like a prayer for the gunners.  One they recited ad nauseum until it was burned into their very being.

“AND WHO HOLDS THE LINE?”  Morrin shouted this time, as he should, being the second in command.  He didn’t have her vocal chords, but he could bellow as hard as anyone.

“ANVIL HOLDS THE LINE!”  The cant was followed by a series of hearty whoops and brief cheers. It was a small thing, but Waller could see the Anvils relaxed slightly, in their movements and their stances.  Their readiness had not decreased in the slightest, but the nerve had been dulled.  Waller was no great orator….but then again Cadians were not complicated soldiers.  If it was all she could do to get them riled up at least, it would have to do. 

“The Emperor protects.”  Commissar Dornierre’s voice was a surprise.  There was no mocking in his tone.  As sharp as his features, his words cut like a knife with their simplicity.  Waller had put some fire in their backs, but the tall man reminded them of their faith.  Nearly all present, including the varying priests of mars and their attendants, mirrored the words in a hushed, respective wave that emanated outward from his position.  Like a ripple the prayer moved outward and down the line until none remained to repeat it. 

“Crush….grind….burn….yes…yes this is good.”  The Dominus raised up into the air, elevating his position nearly twice Wallers height.  “All useful tools of the great reduction.  Yes!”  He did sound excited again.  “Overwriting Behavior Imperatives.  Crush.  Grind.  Burn.  No quarter, destroy them.  DESTROY THEM ALL.”  She didn’t know why, but it felt off.  Like an itch in the back of her mind.  When he spoke, it was like she could feel a whisper of it in the back of her head….under her skin.  Shoving it aside, she focused instead on the sudden shift in lighting as the hangars main lights transferred to the deep red of emergency illumination.  “They come!”

“Soldiers of the Imperium!  Steel yourselves!  Prepare for boarders!”  The Commissar shouted.  Waller’s hands went to her sides, hands gripped into fists.  One rested on her las-pistol, wishing more than anything she could get her hands on a heavy bolter.  The entire line tensed, Martian and Imperial alike, all moved into positions of maximum readiness. 

“Sergeant.”  Waller’s focus was stolen by the quiet tone of Exalt-66’s placid voice.  Turning to look at him, somewhat irritated to be distracted at this of all times, she blinked at the weapon he was holding to her.  He wasn’t even looking at her, rather the strange pistol was being held by the barrel, as one might pass a towel to a child.  “Blessed are all weapons which are aimed at the enemies of man.  But this will provide a measurable increase in combat efficiency should the enemy reach this position.”  The pure logic of it should have been expected at this point.  She had no idea what kind of weapon it was, it’s effective use, or even how to use it really.  But he seemed to be confident in the decision, and in truth there wasn’t time to argue.  Nodding, she took the pistol in hand, noting its exceptional balance, before she replaced her sidearm in its holster.  Thinking for a moment, she handed the las pistol to the Skittarius.

“It has served for a very long time.  If your machine god is to be thanked for that, then say a prayer in my stead. I do not know your language.”  Waller didn’t wait for a response.  The Skittarius took the weapon after what seemed a slight pause, and she did not see him observing her for a few moments afterward.

Proximity alarm claxons began sounding, informing everyone present that battle was imminent.  Waller held the handle of her new weapon…..and was surprised at how calm she was.  She was ready.  She was tired of waiting.  She would wager every single one of her Anvils felt the same.  It was time to end it….and the end was finally visible.  Gigantic shapes in the darkness blotted out the stars as they approached.  The thought she could make out perhaps three….four?  It was too difficult to tell.

Then the Borrianus’ boarding lights flashed to life.  Fingers of light stabbed out into the void, flickering off of space dust, debris, and the bloated hulls of Warp afflicted drop ships.  They were a few thousand meters out, and closing fast.  Waller blinked.  “Is that…”

“Scanners indicate one of the boarding craft is a Thunderhawk pattern ship.  While modified the energy signature it is producing is unmistakable. I have a very dangerous idea Commissar.”  Oblicron’s voice came suddenly, quiet, and directed by technological methods specifically to those in his immediate vicinity.  “It has a low chance of success, high risk, but could significantly reduce the enemy numbers we must face in direct combat.”

“I’m listening.”  Dornierre didn’t even turn with his response.

“There is a very high probability that any warp afflicted Astartes present in this assault will be on board that ship.”

“I concur.”

“Let us drop the shielding on the hangar bay for exactly one-point one-five seconds Commissar.  If we time it correctly, a single concentrated volley from our combined forces may be enough to seriously damage, potentially destroy the craft.”  This time Dornierre turned to look at Oblicron’s chassis.

“How much air would we lose in that time Dominus?”  Again, his every word was cold and mathematical.  He was almost more of a machine than the Tech Priest.

“Enough to temporarily hamper the cognitive functioning of all unaugmented personnel in the hangar.” 

“How long till we have enough air to fight properly?”

 

“Twelve-point five seconds.”

“With our shields down, can they utilize that window to attack themselves?”

“If they are in fact Astartes, they would possess the cognitive response times to take advantage of that window of time.”  Waller felt her stomach twist listening to the two speak.  They were seriously considering depressurizing the entire hangar in order to take out one ship?  She did not know how dangerous a Thunderhawk was, but she knew how dangerous the Astartes were….especially those given to the ruinous powers.  They continued fast, back and forth weighing the benefits and risks, all in a matter of seconds.  But she already knew what the order would be.  It was worth the cost.  If they lost every single Cadian, to kill even a single unit of Chaos Space Marines…..yes….even she would make that trade.  One of those superhumans loose on this ship could cause catastrophic damage.  It was simple mathematics. 

“Do you trust your men Sergeant?”  Dornierre cut through her thoughts with his question.  She turned to him, brows furrowed.  But his cold stare drove out all pride or bravado in her heart.  She turned to look at the beasts closing in with every moment. 

“Yes.  Anvils can keep their heads long enough to fire a single volley.  We can get no more than that from the Autocannons in that time though.”  She looked at the Dominus.  “Do you have optimal targets for my lascannons?”  The Dominus motioned to his Skittarius, who held up a dataslate.  It only took her a second to observe the gunship pattern, and note the obvious target.  It had on top, a single massive cannon, something so huge that it belonged on a Baneblade….maybe bigger.  If that thing got a shot off through the shields, or fired once it landed in the hangar it would be a disaster.  Nodding, she turned to her men.

“ANVILS.  PREP FOR ZERO ATMO!  LASCANNONS TARGET ZONE….”  She rattled off the coordinates even as her people started to move.  “AUTOCANNONS SAME FIRING ZONE.  TARGET THE ENGINES.”  She turned to Exalt-66 expectedly.  He held up five fingers.  “WE HAVE FIVE SECONDS.  GROUND YOURSELF AND STAND FAST! FIRE ON MY MARK THEN EMPTY YOUR LUNGS!”

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

“FIRE!!”  Waller bellowed as the Dominus signaled her.  The shields faded from vision, and the line erupted as though a thunderstorm hit them all at once.  Brilliant red light carved out into the darkness from her lascannons as a hail of Autocannon slugs were sent hurtling out after them.  Almost at the same time as the Energy beams struck the craft, that enormous cannon erupted.  This all happened as the air ripped violently from the hangar.  All across the line Skittari were steadying Imperials where they could, servitors lending themselves as anchors, tech priests holding several soldiers at once with slithering mechadendrites.

The whole event took barely more than one second, and yet it felt like an eternity.  Waller’s vision immediately began to blur.  She had to expel everything in her lungs or the vacuum might force it out violently.  But she saw the darkness replaced by fire as the slug fired by the enemy’s gunship collided with the ships hull just above the hangar.  Shielding flickered in areas near the impact point, struggling to reassert itself in the maelstrom of fire and flying metal caused by the Thunderhawks single attack.

Twelve seconds.  She could feel it already. The atmosphere changing.  It probably hurt in truth, but she was currently numb to it.  No….that wasn’t right.  Even she could see the shielding….it wasn’t all the way up.  How long would it be? She had to trust her men could handle it.  SHE had to handle it.  Waller was so calm.  Why was she so calm?  It definitely hurt, but it was a distant thing.  Like she wasn’t in her own body, feeling the sensation.  Almost like she was….outside….getting a report about her condition.  She filed it away….and she saw the line.

She saw it in a way that felt like she was seeing it for the first time.  Something was supporting her, someone familiar.  Someone with an old face dressed like a soldier.  Veteran Sergeant Morrin Gain.  But he was just a small part of the line, a single spark.  Waller steadied herself, and saw the enemy boarding ships breaching the shields.  Pressure was returning to normal….but how could she know that?  She didn’t know….but she felt it.  And she acted as any Cadian should.

“Maeda Lascannons focus on firing zone…”  It took her mind just a moment to apply her platoons firing strategy to the hangar.  Something had reset in her brain, and she needed to do it again.  “...alpha-one through two and beta-four!”  Standard Operating procedure for the Anvils was to divide any target, target area, and area of operation into roughly proportionate firing zones.  There was a whole system to make sure everyone was doing the same thing, orientation and overlay exercises that made it easy for a Shot Caller like herself to get everyone pointing in the same general direction, without having to be overly specific and add to potential confusion. “Maeda and Hardin Autocannons even teams alpha-three through six and Gamma-three through six!”  The fire started up, and she only distantly noticed the pressure wave from the onslaught.  “GRENADIERS! Wait for them to land and drop ramp then go Target Free! Squad Waller Missiles even teams…” 

One drop ship went nose down into the hangar as a lascannon shot carved a deep gouge down it’s side, cutting right through an engorged external fuel tank.  It was a clean shot, and the resulting explosion caused the whole thing to tilt first to the side, then down as internal damages overcame it’s control.  It could only tilt so far before it slammed against the ceiling.  Metal ground against metal, beams bent and tore like paper, entire chunks of flooring were heaved up like a mound of dirt.  Then it came to an abrupt halt as it’s little momentum was overcome by the sheer mass of the much larger ships superstructure.  All over the vehicle circular ports opened in the hull, not where Waller had expected.  It was almost like the outer hull was nothing more than an aesthetic shell, designed to trick the observer into thinking it was something it wasn’t.  What emerged from the now smoldering pocks covering the craft, was neither fanatic or Astartes. 

“DAEMON! REMEMBER YOUR OATHS!”  Comissar Dornierre’s shout was through the cacophony of battle as a cleaver.  The hideous forms emerging from the wreck went through Waller’s concentration as though data being entered into a computer.  “THE EMPEROR PROTECTS! FIND THY COURAGE! DO NOT GIVE AN INCH!”  Someone was shouting, but she barely noticed.  Each monstrosity crawled and skittered on many limbs, it’s body awkwardly shifting balance as it moved with staggered jerks.  No…not a monstrosity.  They were humans….or they had been.  It was as though a second human torso had simply burst out of the midsections of other humans.  The original body moved like an animal, it’s head rolling about limp and useless.  The second torso was a bloody, malformed thing, it’s eyes burning with a hatred that transcended our material plane entirely.  Clawed hands with tentacled digits were clutched in tight, but with a sudden flash, plumes of screaming warplfame erupted from those corrupted palms. 

“INCOMING!”  Dornierre shouted.  A volley of shimmering flame soared through the air, like incandescent sparks of plasmatic discharge.  Arcing nearly as fast as any bullet, Anvil had almost no time to evade or go to ground.  In fact they continued firing, the situation having overwhelmed Waller’s ability to navigate.  Whatever had her head in such a trance was wearing off, and despite all her training….she faltered.

 

Waller froze.  She could feel the hammer of battle all around her, invading her.  The constant triplicate cracks of Oblicron’s Servo-Attendant’s shoulder mounted Arquebus.  The beating of her Heavy Bolters thumping industriously as their crews sought out their own targets in lieu of orders.  They were doing well.  Even as flames tore through bodies, washed over flesh, burnt through souls….Anvil held the line.  The second drop ship was taking incredible damage, though it had long since reached a point where it could begin unloading its cargo.  

 

“WAKE UP KYL!”  The words did not strike the gunnery sergeant nearly half as hard as the leathery fist that struck her across the chin.  Whatever haze had overtaken her was blasted clear as her jaw cracked sharply from the impact.  The gunnery sergeant staggered slightly, then rounded on Sergeant Morrin.  The fact that he had struck a higher ranking soldier did not even phase her.  She didn’t have the time to think about it.  Eyes wide, she reached out and grabbed the chest of his uniform.  The older man blinked with hesitation, preparing to defend himself….before his aggression turned to surprise.  Waller had barely two seconds from the moment he hit her, before she violently shoved him out of the path of an incoming projectile.  This action saved the older warrior…..but placed Kyl’s arm….and face, directly in its path.  She tried to turn herself away, but pure heat past directly across her uniform, scouring it down to her skin until even that was scoured down to muscle.

 

Pain.

 

So much pain.

 

More pain than she had ever felt in her life.  

 

How could such a pain even exist?

 

How could any entity conceive of such a thing?

 

Gunnery Sergeant Kyl Waller screamed as otherworldly flames stuck to the right side of her face like the Phosphor munitions she’d seen deployed by the Mechanicus at times.  She scoured her face with a hand already burned so bad that bare finger bones clawed away fire from exposed muscle. She didn’t know if she got it.  She couldn’t feel it anymore.  It was too much.  Something snapped and every ounce of her cognitive capacity was focused on one thing only.  

 

Bang, Bang, Bang…..Bang, Bang, Bang…..Bang, Bang, Bang….

 

The Dominus’ Arquebus….loud, sharp, clear as morning muster bells….

 

Thumping…..six at a time….loud….industrious….Heavy Bolters….

 

CRACK…CRACK….Autocannons….two shots at a time….one-point five seconds between bursts….

 

She had to see the line the way she had before, because she wasn’t sure she still had eyes.  She remembered the targeting zones.  And then….she saw it.  Clearer now.  Little sparks of data.  And a couple bigger ones….MUCH bigger.  “MAEDA….FIRING ZONE LAMDA-FOUR-FOUR! TARGET THE CENTER MASS OF THE DREADNOUGHT!!!” Something was supporting her, but she couldn’t see it.  She felt the hands, and knew she could keep standing.  “HARDIN SWAP TO FRAG AND SCOUR FIRING ZONES LAMDA-OMEGA AND GAMMA-CLOSE!” The demons unleashed upon them had taken a toll with their initial attack, but the overwhelming fire unleashed by the combined Imperial forces had proven enough to stop their advance.  Now they flitted about the hangar, avoiding shots, hiding, taking opportunities to harass the line from a distance.  Hardin’s immediate change of tactics proved to further limit the attackers ability to coordinate.  The steady hammer of missiles launched kept them suppressed, and the hellfire all but ceased to rain….at least upon the center of the line.

 

Waller groaned through clenched teeth.  The line grew in her minds eye.  She didn’t understand what was happening.  She couldn’t even tell if her words were coming out.  Did she still even have a face to speak with?  Was she deranged, injured, thrashing on the floor as her Anvils died around her?

 

Was this how it ended?  Her brain was hurting.  It felt like she was bleeding behind her eyes.  Such pressure that it made her vision go white.  Her line was part of something bigger, many lights all around, of many colors.  Sparks large and small.  A large one was picked apart by bright lances of photon energy….how did she know that?  Lascannons?  The spark went out, but not before a burst of heavy conventional fire from one of its ancient weapons ripped seven lights in her line from existence.  Not Anvils….the martians.  Up and down the hangar this was occurring over and over ever second….it was too much.  Her head pounded and for the second time this day Sergeant Kyl Waller started to scream.

 

She drew her pistol, and the weapon spoke to her.  It said everything was optimal.  Everything was as it was supposed to be.  It had the enemy in its sights.  All she had to do was pull the trigger.  She couldn’t see.  She could barely hear.  She pulled the trigger hoping beyond hope that if this was her last moment, that she would make these unholy things understand fear with her last breath.  

 

The next few minutes passed like a dream.   Lightning streaked from her arm….and old man carrying her backwards….another man….tall….dressed in black provided cover.  A monstrous thing struck out at nightmares with bare fists, and ripped them to pieces even as their hellfire stripped away its shining white robes.  There was fire….and noise….so much noise….Waller kept pointing where the weapon told her too…..and she kept pulling the trigger.  Until finally darkness pushed through every last vestige of what she hoped was strength.  She held onto the only thing that made her feel alive.  

 

The eye.  Always there.  Always watching.  These things came from that Eye.  She had to kill them.  She had to burn them.  Crush them.  Grind them to dust.  She had to…..but she did not have the strength.  She held onto that vision….locked her mutilated countenance with its gaze….until she could no longer do so. 

Salutations and thank you for reading.  This is an early draft of a project I'm working on, a three part set of fan novels set in a bit of fandom established by myself and a few old friends across our time engaging with 40K.  This is just a prologue, but I'm making progress daily.  I was hoping to get some general thoughts and criticism on my writing, terminology, and storytelling.

My hope is to upload chapters as I finish them.  The worldbuilding and set up for these novels has been a labour of love, and a love letter to this franchise.  So I hope some of you might be mildly entertained by my middling attempts at establishing something of a narrative here.

The Novels will be as follows, for all interested.
Book One: Emberlord, a dramatic story of Van Hayter, a planet in the Von Strodd system.  An imperial garrison, in addition to an industrial powerhouse in the sector.  Now under attack from all sides in the wake of the Maledictum's opening.  An ambitious young Archon and a Farseer have joined forces to steal something hidden deep beneath the ground, using an incoming fleet of chaos tainted lunatics as cover for their schemes.  While insane, these lunatics serve the Dark Mechanicum who have long awaited their chance to return home and claim what is rightfully theirs. 

Book Two: Propah Krumpin.  The story of a particularly clever Ork dragged into the biggest scrap of his life.  The warboss wants a whole humie planet, and he's got the tech to take one!  Ziggamog get's roped into being the Boss's personal Spanner for the invasion.  Between a bunch of Humie gargants and some of those shiny metal gits what look like bones and such, Ziggamog has got his work cut out for him.  But a Clever Ork is nearly as dangerous as an Angry one.  And Van Hellis may prove unprepared for either when they realize Greanskins are the least of their worries.

Book Three: Reductor.  Onan Versius is the pinnacle of his brothers.  An astartes, a Primaris, the very apex of his kind, the true embodiment of Ruin.....The Reductor.  He has one sacred task to carry out, by any means, no matter the lengths.  A single target.  Chosen by an arcane fusion of prophesy and Hexamath calculations so that he knows the very place and time of that target's emergence.  Unfortunately, that target is directly in the middle of an apocalyptic war for Van Harken.  One Marine, alone, armed with a combination of prophecy, conviction, and purpose.....against an entire world.  Can he navigate the ongoing conflict without being drawn from his holy purpose?  Can one Astartes decide the outcome of an entire war?