Warhammer 40k: Imperator Malevolent

by TheKnightOfMalta

It is the 6th century of the 2nd Millennium. Mankind faces extinction at the hands a fervent Xeno conglomerate known as the Covenant. Through a rift in time and space, warriors from a far off future arrive, and while those around them shudder and quake in anticipation of things to come, they need not know the fear of war. For in the 41st Millennium, there is only war.

Xaro 'Turalumee crawled like he had never crawled before. On Sangheilios, he would never have been caught dead in such a frantic state, practically reduced to a babbling child as his three pronged hands grasped whatever surface they could muster. The strength in his lower half had deserted him, a large seering hole cauterized into his armor just deep enough to force the life from his legs. His breath was heavy as the sounds of raspy breathing through some sort of filter device pulsed methodically behind him followed by horrific footfalls. The Humans had never been this strong, never showed so much tenacity, so much will, he felt it when his drop ship had propelled to the planet's surface, he felt it when he moved through their fields and their cities, he felt it most of all when they held so fervently against ceaseless assaults through which normally they would have buckled and retreated.

And now, he could feel it. Like a vice upon what little life remained in him, 'Turalumee knew desperately that he had faced a much different enemy. He chanced a momentary glance up at the sky, noting the large ship that lay dominantly above them. Its daunting size ever present among the torrent of blazing ships plastered against the twilight inferno of space. It looked nothing like the ships before it, small, weak, unworthy. Then suddenly, all their success, all their superiority, wiped away so sullenly. First came the carriers, crashing to the planet's surface, then what seemed to be a torrent of craft descending upon the planet, then the roaring of artillery as one by one Turalumee's positions were overthrown by sheer force. He had hoped he could hold out among the city ruins, his forces diminished but strong he put all of his cards onto the table hoping to maintain this last defense for the eventual relief force. Now here he was, crippled, dying, crawling, disgraced.

The last feeling 'Turalumee felt was a hateful stomp upon his back as a bladed weapon entered his skull, piercing through and protruding through the back of his throat. Thus the warrior died, not with a shout or courage, but with a pitiful gurgling whimper. This was the 6th century of the second millennium. That of which shares a resemblance with Humanity is desperately fighting a war against the hordes of Xeno forces under their distinguishable banner, titled The Covenant. It would have been a much more brutal war, save not for the recent arrival through an inter-dimensional rift that lead through time and space which brought warriors from another future to this very moment. And while those of the 2nd Millennium struggle against the vast hordes of Xenos who wish to reduce them to ash, these warriors who so hastily arrived are from the 41st Millennium, and they need know no fear, for in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium there is only war.