A/N: Hello again everyone, Immortal Drake here with a new story. For those of you who have also read my other older stories, fear not I'm still working on getting those going again now that the current semester is over, it's just slow going. For those of you who haven't read one of my stories before, welcome, thanks for choosing this one!
Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k which belongs to Games Workshop, nor do I own the Age of Fire series, which belongs to E. E. Knight. Without further ado, please read, review, and enjoy.
Age of Eternal War
By: Immortal Drake
Today couldn't have been a worse day.
For the people of the Imperial planet of Tellas Primaris, today marked the third month that their planet had been under siege by the tainted forces of Chaos. The heretics had remained innocuous, hiding their true nature under the guise of a cult, one of some with a presence on the planet offering salvation for faith. Many had come under their sway, joining the flocks of believers that chanted the cult's name in the streets.
Soon, as its numbers swelled, the cult had turned violent, shouting the names of the various Ruinous Powers, and before long daemons had been summoned into the Materium. The PDF had fallen to the claws and twisted powers of the daemons in nearly short order, or joined the heretical ranks. It had been a stroke of luck that the Tellas 21st Regiment of the Imperial Guard had been stationed on Tellas Secundus when the fighting had broken out, otherwise the planet might have never had a chance against the incursion.
The call for further reinforcements was soon needed, as more and more daemons had begun appearing among the Chaos ranks, indicating that a foul Sorcerer was behind this invasion. The call was answered mere days later, as the drop pods of the mighty Black Templars fell from the skies to disgorge their deadly occupants upon the heretics.
The Black Templars would also herald the arrival of more, a small detachment of the revered Space Wolves, and with them a Lone Wolf.
They were out there, he could smell them, their foul taint covered the ground amid the destruction wrought by the artillery and heavy weapon shells. Looking to his right, he could see the extent of the fortifications built by his allies; trenches, bunkers, tank traps, even tanks put into temporary emplacements. The gleaming metal turrets and barrels of lasguns, bolters, stubbers, and the battle cannons and lascannons of Leman Russ Tanks and Land Raiders respectively brought an unconscious half-smirk to his lips. He knew if he looked to his left he would see much the same, his fellow Astartes and the Imperial Guard engineers had done their job effectively.
Turning back to the no man's land in front of him turned his expression dour once again, the smell of the Neverborn bringing his thoughts to why he was here. 'Today is the day my oath is fulfilled,' he thought to himself, thinking back to when he had donned the holy ceramite that now armored his towering form, when he had equipped his mighty power fist and taken up his ever faithful chainaxe as well as armed his single bolt pistol.
He could hear the shuffling and clanking of the armored forms likely in the dark black of the Templars and the blue-grey of his brothers. None bothered him as he stood near the edge of the fortification, stock-still unlike the rest. His grip tightened, loosened, then tightened again on the haft of his axe as the only sign of his impatience to make contact with the enemy. The smaller Guardsmen made much less noise, but it was noticeable under the noise of the larger Astartes.
A sound caught the edge of his hearing, and it must have been noticed by the others, as almost everyone quieted down instantly. The only one still speaking was the Templar Chaplain, the skull-helmed man repeating verses of the Imperial Creed to steel the minds of those around him. The Guardsmen meanwhile got into position around him, leveling lasguns and manning heavy weapons emplacements. The Astartes made similar preparations, he could hear bolters being cocked, sanctified power armor and close combat weapons shifting as the Templars and Wolves readied for the coming battle. Behind them he could hear the distinctive kla-clack of a heavy bolter being readied as the Long Fangs braced themselves and took aim.
He closed his eyes, focusing on his hearts-beat, the constant thump in his ears slowly and surely focusing his thoughts. 'I am the Lone Wolf, sole survivor of my Pack, I shall avenge my fallen pack-mates, or I shall perish in doing so, and join them in the Eternal Rout,' he mentally repeated his Oath, the words giving him strength, his hand gripping his chainaxe and the fingers of his power fist flexing. He was ready, his eyes opened and he surveyed the battlefield with a laser-sharp focus.
A horrid howl of mixed voices preceded the heretics' advance, a heedless charge that brought them into the teeth of the Imperial lines. Bolters and their heavy equivalents erupted with great booms, lasguns cracked, stubbers added their own thoom amongst the fire, and the tanks added their own much louder contributions to the cacophony. The projectiles tore into the robed cultists and traitor PDF alike, armor shattered and melted, the flesh underneath exploding into gore or burning. The smell of burning flesh and powder alike overwhelmed even the smell of daemonic taint on the field, if only for a moment.
The heretics weren't without weapons of their own, autoguns and looted lasguns fired their own retributive volleys at the valiant defenders, though the accuracy left much to be desired, the grouping of defenders meant that some shots still made it through. The scattered fire wasn't enough to truly harm any of the stalwart Astartes, but the Guardsmen and loyal PDF had less luck, as some fell to the enemy fire. He felt a stray bullet ping off one of his shoulder plates, but he held himself from trying to find the offender and tear them apart, not wanting to risk being torn apart by friendly fire.
The heretics lost many to the Imperials, but there were still near-innumerable traitors storming the lines. As they closed in, he could feel that Astartes beside him begin straining at the leash, the Blood Claws in particular he could hear snarling even as the Grey Hunters kept them in check.
"For the Emperor!" the shout was enough, and he threw himself up and over the trench wall with a loud howl as the heavier weapons ceased firing on the closest heretic ranks, focusing instead on the ranks behind. He could hear the Blood Claws give their own howls of rage and bloodlust as they surged behind him, the Black Templars likely not far behind.
It wasn't long before he took his first life of that day, a heretic ran screaming at him, a curved knife raised. He thumbed the activation rune of his chainaxe, and with the weapon's signature roar, slashed the cultist in two. A traitor PDF peppered him with autogun rounds that deflected off of his armored form, the man didn't get an opportunity to fire again as his power fist mulched his organs in one blow. Nothing stopped his relentless advance into the heart of the enemy, his target, the Sorcerer sure to be directing it all.
"Strike from the skies, brothers!" he heard the Templar Sergeant yell, and he heard the roar of the Assault Marines' jump packs, the black armored forms falling from above to land in the middle of the heretics some distance in front of him. Not to be outdone, the Lone Wolf howled and launched himself forward, the Blood Claws eagerly following in his wake.
Heretics fell to him left and right, hewn to pieces by his roaring chainaxe, or pulped by his massive power fist. It was then that the taint of daemons became much more evident than the smell of the dead and dying. A red form came running at him through the haze of battle, bipedal with cloven hooves and twisted black horns above burning eyes and a slavering fanged maw, the Bloodletter raised its daemonic blade and leapt.
The daemon wasn't to get far, as the Lone Wolf raised his power fist, blocking the attack from the tainted weapon, knocking it aside, then bringing his chainaxe down on its skull, sending the daemon's foul blood everywhere, coating his power armor and part of his face. More freakish roars heralded the arrival of more of them, their reeking forms already charging headlong towards him and the other Imperials. He readied his weapons and charged to meet them, a fang-bearing snarl on his lips.
He could hear the Assault Marines and Blood Fangs already making contact with the other daemons, he brained one Bloodletter with his power fist, the metal implement staving in its skull then buried his chainaxe in the guts of another on his right as the weapon tore away at whatever insides it possessed. A shout from to his left tore his attentions to a Blood Fang who had managed to get himself pinned by one of the daemons, the Bloodletter raising its sword for a killing blow.
Acting quickly, the Lone Wolf let go of his chainaxe and drew the bolt pistol from his hip, firing off a single shot into the daemon's shoulder with a loud bang, the flesh exploding from the round and causing the red beast to drop its sword. The distraction was enough for the Blood Fang to get himself free and then run the daemon through with his chainsword. "Many thanks, Skald," the young marine said.
"Keep your eyes open pup," was the Lone Wolf's only reply before he turned back to the fight, firing another bolt round at an encroaching daemon before holstering the pistol and ripping his chainaxe free of the daemon it had been embedded in. Skald then continued his advance, intent on reaching and slaughtering his target.
The amount of daemons increased staggeringly, then Skald heard what could only be the sound of approaching power armored warriors, 'Traitor Astartes,' he thought to himself with a snarl. He revved his chainaxe in preparation, then charged.
He would meet the source of the noise soon enough, as he came upon a small squad of Chaos Astartes, their armor twisted by the taint of the Ruinous Powers. He gave them no chance to act first, leaping like a wolf on the hunt. His chainaxe found its mark between the armored collar and the helmet of one Marine, the traitor's red blood spraying out from his neck as the chain weapon tore into him.
As the other Astartes turned their ancient bolters on him, he grabbed his first victim by the collar with his power fist and turned him, using the traitor's body to block the bolt rounds. The Chaos Marine twitched and spasmed as the rounds impacted, before falling limp. Switching his grip with his power fist, Skald heaved and tossed the traitor at another, grunting from the effort as the corpse impacted the Marine.
Skald wasted no time in attacking again, surging towards the nearest standing traitor. His power fist lashed out, slamming into the Chaos Marine once twice then three times in rapid order, crumpling the chest plate and then denting in the helmet. Letting the corpse crumple, Skald immediately planted his chainaxe into the helmet of the traitor he had thrown the first into, the teeth grinding then biting into it and the head beneath.
A bolt round impacted his shoulder, wrenching his grasp off of his axe, thankfully his shoulder pad had taken the brunt of it and deflected the round off. The plate had been scorched from the explosion and the round had left a pit in the armor. With a snarl, Skald drew his bolt pistol again, firing at the two remaining traitors. The rounds pinged off of a chest plate, a knee guard, and even impacted one bolter, shattering the weapon.
The pistol empty for the moment, Skald threw himself at the two traitors. The one whose bolter had shattered drew a combat knife, meeting the Lone Wolf's charge with one of his own. Skald managed to sidestep the first frenzied slash, grabbed the Chaos Marine's helmet with his power fist, and slammed it hard on his armored knee. The blow sent the traitor reeling, giving Skald enough time to sweep his legs out from under him then cave in his helmet with the power fist.
This left one last Chaos Marine, and as Skald made to charge again, a screeching bolt of warp fire landed between the two. The explosion knocked Skald backward and the corrupted Astartes away from him. The Lone Wolf rolled to a slightly disorienting stop near the other corpses. Shaking the dizziness away, Skald noticed his chainaxe and quickly yanked it free. He stood up and looked to where the Warp energy had come from.
What he saw was not just a regular Sorcerer like reports had initially suspected, but a full Astartes Sorcerer of the Ruinous Powers with robe-covered power armor. "Time to die, traitor," Skald snarled, he readied his chainaxe, giving it a couple revs and clenching the fingers of the power fist.
He was only met by an amused chuckle, "Alone, surely you jest?" The Sorcerer's voice was smooth as silk, easily carrying the temptations of Chaos, but Skald would have none of it. With a howl, the Lone Wolf leapt at the Sorcerer.
The duel would dissolve into a quick flurry of motion, Skald's chainaxe roaring as it swung through the air, clashing with the Sorcerer's staff or chopping through the air. The Lone Wolf's power fist would be used similarly, though the Sorcerer was often agile enough to avoid it.
With a sudden crack and snap, the duel would change in Skald's favor. One moment, the Sorcerer was deflecting an attack from the Lone Wolf's chainaxe with his staff, the next Skald's power fist was smashing through the shaft of the weapon, splintering it in its wielder's grasp. Taking advantage, Skald swung his chainaxe in an arc, gashing through the Sorcerer's midsection in a wild spray of blood. With an unconscious gasp, the Sorcerer crumpled, only to receive a knee to the front of his helmet from Skald, knocking him on his back.
Grinning predatorily at his now supposedly vulnerable prey, Skald raised his chainaxe high, aiming to decapitate the Sorcerer in one blow. What he didn't count on was the frantic chanting of words of foul power coming from the Sorcerer's lips, nor did he see the sputtering energy gathering on his opponent's hands and around the two. The Lone Wolf would realize his mistake mere moments too late as the Sorcerer finished his spell, blasting Skald into the air and into the waiting arms of a wildly fluctuating vortex behind him.
The wild colors and whirling shapes of the Warp greeted the Space Wolf as he went hurtling through the Immaterium. He could hear the foul whispers and howls of daemons, yet they seemed muted somehow, almost as if he had been sent through a kind of tunnel within the Warp. Overwhelmed, the Lone Wolf felt himself slip from consciousness, despite his efforts to remain awake.
His pounding skull woke Skald rather abruptly, like he had just woken up from a night full of guzzling Mjød and feasting. The next thing he noticed drew him to full alertness, he wasn't alone.
Hovering above him was the face of a creature he had never seen before, its snout long and triangular in shape, the entire head covered in small scales and tough looking hide where the scales weren't present. The scales were a dark mottled red color, and the reptilian, nay draconic creature's eyes were angled like a feline's with a similar dark red color and slit pupils. A hard looking crest sat on the top of its head and four horns seemed to sprout from it. The tip of the creature's snout was mere inches from his face, and the fact that he was awake either hadn't dawned on it or it didn't care.
It was to learn its error soon enough, as Skald reacted in true Space Wolf fashion. He promptly bit it on the snout.
A/N: Well, looks like Skald is going to make a lovely first impression on the locals. Anyway, hope I didn't mutilate the character of a Space Wolf or the other Wolves and Templars too badly at least. And before I go, here's a codex of terms for the uninitiated:
Blood Claws: Newly initiated Space Wolves, not yet in control of their new temperament and thus are armed with melee weapons and power armor from the get-go so they can at least hopefully survive to learn the ways of war.
Grey Hunters: Next rank up from the Blood Claws, named for the trait of all Space Wolves' hair turning grey as they age. Fill the rank of rank-and-file Tactical Marines.
Long Fangs: More senior Space Wolves, so named for the canines of every Space Wolf that continue to grow throughout their lifetimes. Entrusted with the heavy weapons.
Assault Marines: Space Marines/Astartes equipped with jump packs and close combat weapons.
Lone Wolf: Space Wolves who are the only survivors of their Pack/squad. With no one left close to them, they take an oath of penance then eventually vengeance, seeking out the strongest enemy they can find in hopes to slay them and avenge their fallen pack-mates or die in the process. Most Lone Wolves die trying to fulfill this oath.
Mjød: Extremely alcoholic drink favored by the Space Wolves. So potent that it can eat through a regular human's guts.
And now that that's done with, I'll see y'all in the next chapter, hopefully.
