Prologue:
Act I
997. M41. Planet Poseida.
White, snowy froth danced playfully from the Guardsman's liquor mugs as they bashed them together while singing their mighty sea chantey. On the planet Poseidia; which had just been taken back into the Emperor's Light, every soldier was celebrating a stupendous victory; which according the pub chants would be re-told my man for millennia to come.
Poseidia was a medieval-class, ocean planet once known for its rampant piracy; piracy which had been infected with heretical worship and Chaos space marine ranks. In order to combat the spreading corruption among the harbor-side feudal houses, four years ago, the Inquisition immediately came to the planet's island tribes. The tribesmen were fanatical devotees of the Emperor of Man; and they believed the only way to join him was to die fighting. Among the islands; were saints canonized by locals for drowning themselves in rituals in the name of the Emperor. With a few words of motivation; simple organization of the top-ranking warriors of the island tribes, and a supply of advanced Imperial weapon-tech, the Poseidian Raiders were born; serving the Imperial Guard. They specialized in heavy artillery, naval warfare, as well as their own, local, traditional and unique fighting style; and looted and ransacked the high seas of their planet, purging all Chaos. Finally; Poseidia was free of Chaos-worshipping scum and fully under control of the Imperium, with the Raider's most recent battle.
Just a day ago; at the Gallilegus Archipelago; the entirety of the Poseidian Raiders sacked the last remaining stronghold of Chaos space marines within the planet's mighty sea-scape. Although it cost them over 68,000 causalities, all remnants of Chaos on Poseidia was gone with the climax of the violence in the archipelago. And now; all across the planet; regiments of Raiders were drinking and merry-making in the abundant pubs of the port-towns.
Among one of these regiments, were the 27th Poseidian Raiders Squad; affectionately self-titled: "Squall Cats." The name was derived from this one group's tendency to actively navigate out on stormy, deadly waves in vulnerable wooden ships as training. The squad dressed in sleeveless sailor shirts; baring their muscled, heavily tattooed arms, and had las-rifles, las-cannons, storm bolters, flamers, meltas, chain swords, power blades, and rocket launchers swung around them. They were celebrating the definite defeat on the Chaos followers in Poseidia in a long-shaped tavern with iron-plated walls, beach-tree wooden floors and furniture, and a green-glassed entrance. The squad's captain: the silky, wavy, black haired barbarian Ivonia Minos chugged long bottles of a white-colored alcohol as her comrades danced with local girls and held bar-wenches tightly in their arms. The laughter emanating from the Squall Cats was hearty and true.
Good friends of Ivonia within the group seemed to be as wild and care-free as their captain. Cedrik Rikovic; the team's resident rocket-launcher-man, an oval-headed man with an unkempt beard across his chin, wild brown eyes, and a tightly fastened Guard-issue helmet on his scalp, was feeling up a blonde bar-maiden; clad in a frilly purple dress and pink corset, who squealed and squirmed with delight with every budge of his fingers. Orleasyus; the long-haired surgeon with a fiery beard, was giddily playing his fiddle along with the many profane victory songs, and Milos Rekistokeles, a young raider with implanted cybernetic eyeballs, and a cowlick which made him seem more young than he really was, handed bottle after bottle to Ivonia; who downed each one as the soldiers called for her to drink faster. Ivonia remembered the battle of Gallilegus; the wet filthy feeling and the cold that came with it as she reached the shore from the deep, sea-weed drenched waters. She looked back at them with relief, as now she was surrounded by friends instead of enemies, warmth instead of cold and warm liquors instead of freezing salt-waters.
350,000,000 knots away from the port-town the Squall-Cats were partying in, was a lonely, hilled island, covered in black, devilish shark-eggs and obsidian horns. Six men, clad in green, mud-stained cloaks arrived on the bare surface of the scene. One by one, they lifted their cowls. On each of their wrinkled foreheads was the triple-sphered symbol of Nurgle; carved onto their flesh with a scalpel. In each man's arms was a rotting carcass bound in brown; filthy bandages. They all dropped the remains onto the ground; within a large circle formed in green bile that enveloped all of them. An eerie screech of Nurgelite prayers resounded from the cultists. Suddenly; an eruption of dark green smog exploded from their bodies. With a few, quick, revolting sounds their bodies had transformed into bloated, wretched leviathans, so tall that they reached up to the heavens. They had been marked by Nurgle.
The rape of the castle-harbors and the village-docks was well under way by the four Nurgelite leviathans. With a haunted laughter; their enormous bodies smashed and ruined the buildings and settlements of Poseidia; spreading dark, empty fire and the hideous pox-smog that Nurgle's worshippers always carried with them. The citizens that weren't killed by the explosions of discarded stone and the falling of flaming hovels choked to death on internal sores that were spawned from the mists surrounding the Nurgelite leviathans. The Poseidian Raiders were devastated by the sudden Chaos attack. The plagued appendages of the monolithic rotten beings turned the pubs and taverns the soldiers were staying in into splintered tombs reeking of the stench of putrefaction. Causalities rose in the thousands by the minute on Poseidia.
With a barbaric stomp of one of the leviathan's clubbed feet; the tavern Ivonia and her Squall-Cats were celebrating in was flattened. Those that weren't dead from the brute force of the attack were having their heavily-poxed, bloated flesh seep off their bones; revealing sickly, mossy green ligaments and rotted, purple tissues. Ivonia was barely alive; her chest was resting under the gnarled toe of the Nurgelite leviathan. A strand of her large intestine was poking from her lips; as the blow disemboweled her and tore away her gut. She was coughing blood as her misty eyes stared at the sky with hate and confusion. Suddenly; she caught a glimpse of bright ruby red. To her surprise, the color belonged to eyes of a lithe, white-furred creature. It had a smiling maw, a long puffy tail, and bizarre ringed plumes of hair coming from its large ears. "What do you wish for more than anything right now, Ivonia?" it asked in a surreal, light yet powerful voice.
Ivonia was confused by what she saw before her; she wasn't sure whether or not it was a hallucination or not, but she didn't hesitate to answer. "For me and my squad to live…"
"So it shall be granted," the creature said.
A bright, white light filled Ivonia's eyes, and everything around her disappeared.
The bright, white light shrunk until Ivonia realized it was the shine of stars in the vaccum of space. She was seeing them through the glass of a space-ship window. Ivonia moved her head and realized she was lying down on a couch surrounded by Imperial Guard medics and apothecaries. She also had just realized that she couldn't see out of her left eye. Ivonia felt her face and found a cloth eye-patch where her left-eye was. A medic wearing a bloody apron with an unshaved, square-jawed face approached her.
"The Emperor definitely smiled on you that day," he said cheerily, "you and your squad are the only survivors from the attack on Poseidia."
"Attack?" murmured Ivonia in a frightened voice. Then, it all came back to her. The Nurgelite leviathans that stormed all the port-towns. The demolishing of the pub and the deaths of her soldiers. "By the Emperor…" she whispered to herself, "it was all true."
From outside the windows, a face smiled at her. To Ivonia's surprise, the odd, petite creature that granted her wish raised his head and gave her a cute little smile.
Act II
998. M41. Planet Armageddon.
"Everybody ready?" Helga's bright voice exclaimed.
"Ready, Lieutenant Hatron!" her Steel Legion troops replied.
They had taken the perimeter of a series of ragged, large rocks and dunes and barricaded themselves in anticipation for the great, upcoming Ork attack. Clad in their khaki coats and re-breather masks; the Steel Legion soldiers Lieutenant Helga Hatron commanded were split into two groups. The first group was perched on the tops of the rocks and the dunes; flat on their bellies wielding high-power sniper rifles; and their role was to use them to take out Orks from long-distance and support the second group. The second group was on their feet, in front of the dunes and rocks; carrying las-rifles and Meltaguns in their arms. They were to charge the oncoming Waaagh! invasion; and they were led by Helga herself; brandishing a Bolt-pistol and a chain-sword, her bright orange hair flapping in the desert winds.
Suddenly; she got a transmission from her comm-bead. It was an Imperial Commisar who acted as a scout for the Steel Legion in this battle. She was given the signal that the Orks were indeed coming. Helga was then upset to hear the crack of gunfire over the communications channel and the Commisar's words cut short. Though disturbed, she did not let this dishearten her, and she was sure that he did not die in vain.
"Snipers, ready!" Helga shouted as she saw Ork War-Wagons and air-borne Bombas nearing closer and closer to their barricades. "…Aim…fire!"
A barrage a precise, probing slugs reduced the oncoming War-Wagons and Bombas to entities of flame and sharp, ruined, flying metal. Chunks of their construction flew out and severed, flayed, and mutilated Orks running on the ground; splattering their green blood into the wind and spraying bits of their flesh and dismembered limbs.
"Now, group one charge!" Helga screamed and ran into the oncoming Ork ground forces.
With swift movements, she and her comrades dodged the bullet hail of the Ork's machine guns, and decimated individual Orks with a long series of las and Melta fire; filling each rampaging Ork with holes. This method however took way too long to make the Orks drop; so Helga utilized a more practical method with her chain-sword. Through swaying slices and chops; gore-greased Orks fell life-less after the flurry of Helga's carnage. She jumped on one rocket-launcher wielding Ork's shoulders and then moved on to the shoulders of another as he aimed his weapon at himself; and detonated a rocket directly into his face, leaving a mush-room cloud and a rain of giblets and brains from his stumped neck. Before the Ork Helga was atop off could swat her off with his immensely powerful arms, the lieutenant beheaded him with her chain-sword. Helga dropped to the sandy ground on her knees; and turned around to see a flamer-wielding Ork sprinting towards her. She winced as she knew he only needed to be a yard or so in front of her and she'd be cooked. However; this was not meant to be. With a flurry of entrails and torn flesh; the Ork was launched a mile out of the way.
"Big brother! Erm-I mean, Commander!" Helga smiled excitedly. Steel Legion Commander Erik Hatron stood before her; wielding a gore-splattered power fist.
"C'mon sis…" he chuckled, "let's show these Orks what common men are made of."
"Wait-watch out!" Helga shrieked in horror. But it was too late. Erik was flattened; reduced to jam, under a monolithic Morkanaut. As if she was a feral cat; Helga screeched and hissed angrily; her eyes blind with pure rage. She fired her bolt-pistol at the thing; but it did nothing from preventing it from coming closer to her. Before the Morkanaut could touch her, however; the thing was blown to bits by a series of volleys from newly-arrived Baneblades and Chimaeras. Scraps of burning metal from the explosion slashed at Helga's skin; but she survived. Two Steel Legion guards; knowing she wasn't fit to fight; ran to her; providing her cover with their las-rifles. After a series of las-rifles deterred a few Orks from taking advantage of Helga in her shock; the two grabbed her shoulders and attempted to take her from the battle-field. Helga pushed them back, raised her chain-sword, and darted towards a War-Wagon; screaming for vengeance.
Act III
999. M41. Planet Simia Orichalcae
Shots rang out as the eight Sisters of Battle darted from rusted corridor to rusted corridor. Proton beams failed to reach their targets as the Witch-Hunters danced and sprawled away from them. They had entered a long, narrow, hall-way, and looked behind them to see the Necron Destroyer that was chasing them; hovering in a cold, calculated fashion.
"Sisters, on my signal, we turn and purge the Xenos!" Sister Caitlyn, leader of the other Witch-Hunters explained, mid-sprint. The others nodded in agreement. After leaving and emerging from two more hallways; the group twisted on their heels in a 360 after a nod from Sister Caitlyn. They unleashed their holy bolter fire on the Necron. After the barrage of ammo that hit it; its circuits broke down and it caught fire. It fell with a thunderous crash and the eerie green light of its eyes disappeared. Unfortunately; it had shot three proton beams before it died; and these took out three Sisters. Their skeletal bodies lay smoking on the floor; their power-armor disintegrated.
"We'll pray for them once we get out of this Emperor forsaken catacomb" Sister Caitlyn put bluntly. The group continued striding through the hall-ways. They came across a great, iron door. "This must be the way out" one of the Sisters smiled cheerily. They barged the door down with their bolters; only to find the nightmare inside.
Within; was a large chamber and at its center; a writhing mass of chains. The chains seemed to be manipulated by a surreal clock-work automaton with a blank, expressionless tin face. The way the chains moved and pulsated; the Sisters forgot how to get out of the room. They seemed to be in a completely different place; whose intangible size and proportion boggled the mind and broke sanity. Hook-headed chains jumped out of nowhere; killing three more Witch-Hunters. The only ones left were Sister Caitlyn and a young, red-headed Battle Sister.
Sister Caitlyn growled with frustration. She knew that the only thing preventing the other Battle Sister from dying was her. From the shadows the odd, white creature with the fluffy tail appeared.
"This is no Xenos; Caitlyn. This is a witch. You know what you have to do. Use your powers. Use them" the creature whispered in its eerily controlling voice.
"Begone!" Sister Caitlyn shouted telepathically to it; "you are a manifestation of Tzeentch, or perhaps Slaanesh! You are not part of the Emperor's light, thou art unholy! I sweareth thee away from my soul! My faith shall forever remove you."
"You know that's not true," the creature said with a light smile and a tip of its head, "no matter your devotion to your emperor you know you know you cannot disobey the contract."
"Emperor damn you Kyubey…" Caitlyn muttered under her breath. A spear-headed chain was thrown directly in the way of the younger Battle Sister. Sister Caitlyn knew that the choice was not negotiable. The younger Battle Sister's armor was nearly pierced; but an explosion of glimmering golden light knocked the chain away. The Battle Sister looked up at Sister Caitlyn with an expression of surprise and newly found hope. Sister Caitlyn's armor had turned a bright golden hue and roses were engraved all over her. Her Bolter was on her waist; and in her arms was a flamer, but it was no ordinary Ordo Hereticus-issue weapon. It seemed to increase in size; and like Sister Caitlyn's armor it was golden and inscribed with roses. Bright ambers glowed from it with a blinding brightness. With a faint smile; tears rolled down the Battle Sister's cheeks. Sister Caitlyn flew into battle; firing a yard-long shower of flame from her weapon. All the twisting chains around her melted into nothingness and the clockwork automaton was set ablaze. Its serene tin mask bubbled and contorted into a grotesque parody of its former features. The Witch's mechanical shell broke with a popping sound and an odd black apparition was ejected from it. Sister Caitlyn stepped on the creature with her high-heeled, armored boot. She let loose a quick burst of fire on to the pathetic creature, and in less than a minute it turned to ash. In the pile was a black-colored amulet of sorts. Sister Caitlyn picked it up and raised it to an amethyst orb set in a collar around her neck. She winced as the amethyst grew brighter from the energy it drained from the small object. The other Battle Sister jumped to her; but was knocked aside from a blast of golden rays. Sister Caitlyn had returned to her ordinary self.
"Sister Caitlyn…" the Battle Sister said in a dazed voice as she lay on her knees, "that was…a miracle. It was an Emperor's miracle…we must tell the priests immediately! A miracle of the Emperor was performed here! You have been blessed by his light!"