Ashkelon

Designation: Desert World

Lazarus Sector

M40. 874

Sergeant Hari Akar had just finished his routine patrol when it started raining.

It started off as a series of pinging noises that rattled the slate roof tiles above, startling a flock of vermin-birds roosting along the edge. Sergeant Akar, who had been exchanging pleasantries with a local tea merchant he and his men often frequented at the end of their shift, cringed and looked up. The staccato beats reminded him of the tracer shots fired during last week's field exercise. Unconscious reflexes drilled into him by years of rote training brought his autogun to his shoulders, ready to draw bead on an invisible enemy. The tea merchant, a rotund balding man sweating under his turban, stared in surprise.

What followed defied all established belief and logic. The sky, clear and blue as it always has been for millennia, suddenly opened up in a deluge of heavy rain. Not a mere drizzle, but fat raindrops that splattered water and dust upon hitting the dry ground—much like a summer monsoon that plagued the atmospheres of wetter worlds. Within minutes, the sudden shower had all but soaked the terracotta buildings that lined the city of Helath into muddy, sticky piles. All around him, Imperial citizens ran amok, screaming and shouting, while street vendors tried in vain to shield their earthenware pots of spice powders and dried herbs against the elements. Carts were overturned as mules panicked and bucked off their drivers before lunging blindly into the crowded road.

The tea merchant cried out in terror. "The world is ending!" he wailed. "Emperor preserve us! The sky is falling into pieces!"

"Don't be ridiculous, sir!" Sergeant Akar snapped, even as his mind tried to come to grips with this incredible sight. "The world isn't ending. It's just….raining."

In fact, without the holo-drama picts and nature magazines he read from time to time, Sergeant Akar too would have thought the world was ending. Water was a rare commodity on Ashkelon, and to see an ocean's worth of water pouring down from the heavens would seem incredible to anyone born on this desert world. Still, Akar knew enough about the scientific principles of meteorology to know that it was perfectly natural.

Or it would've been, had it occurred somewhere else off-world. As it stood, it could never rain on Ashkelon. Not a single drop of water had touched the dry and sandy surface of this planet ever since the first Imperial colonists set foot centuries ago, forcing them to rely on meager underground reservoirs and regular imports from the inner worlds.

In other words, what he was seeing should not have been possible.

The grizzled Ashkelon PDF veteran cautiously stepped out into the streets and looked up to the sky. The raindrops soaked his uniform in seconds, splattering against his skin so hard that it began to sting. He could taste the waters running past his lips—wet and yet somehow stale at the same time. The expanses above remained the color of clearest blue, as if nothing of significance was ever happening. The skies were blue, and it was still raining. There weren't any clouds in the sky, and it was still raining. Akar felt his mouth fall open and his knees grow weak. The initial surprise was quickly turning into a gut-churning dread.

Several forms barged their way past the tea merchant from inside the shop. Akar turned to see the rest of his squad, a six-man outfit from the 24th Company of the Ashkelon PDF. They were brown and dry-skinned young men, all recruited from the region and equipped with ochre uniforms, autoguns, and bowl helmets worn over white keffiyehs. Having heard the commotion in the streets, the soldiers had emerged from their afternoon tea break, unslinging their weapons from their shoulders. They all gaped in disbelief and fear at the sight before them.

"Holy Emperor…" Corporal Sadat, a mustachioed man who acted as his second, muttered. "This can't be happening…!" His oath was quickly followed by a spooked chatter from the rest of the squad, several of whom instinctively made the sign of the Aquila. A part of Sergeant Akar wanted to admonish his men for such open displays of fear. But try as he might, even he couldn't deny there was something terribly wrong with what was going on. By this time, the water had risen so much so that he was now standing ankle deep in the torrent of a brown river sweeping down the abandoned streets. Debris of discarded articles and merchandises swept by around him, taken by the strong tides that lapped at his legs.

A salty and an unpleasantly sticky taste suddenly registered on his tongue, and Akar instinctively spat out. He cried out in surprise and disgust when he saw that it had been a gobbet of watery blood. For a brief moment, Akar thought it had come from his own body until he heard a scream behind him.

"Blood!" It was Ismael, the youngest member of the squad. The youth shrieked in terror as he pointed towards the sky. "It's raining blood!"

A chorus of terrified screams echoing from across the city supported the claim. Indeed, the rain had taken on a distinct reddish color, and the walls and buildings were suddenly being painted crimson by the arterial liquid pouring from above. The water rushing around him suddenly felt sticky and smelled of metallic stink. Akar recoiled, and practically leapt back into the store. As he did so, he caught sight of something else that made his blood run cold.

There were other things falling from the sky now, large distinct shapes with wings and engine thrusters that were making controlled descent to the surface. Some screeched with afterburners in a rush to reach the city. Others, bigger and more heavily armored, came in ponderously as if sinking through a sea of blood. First in couples, then in dozens, more shapes came hurtling down from the sky and into Helath proper. In a moment of terrible clarity, a realization lanced through Sergeant Akar's bewildered mind. Dropships. Landers. And apparently not of any known imperial design.

"By the Emperor, it's an invasion!" he exclaimed. It did not occur to him then, as to why would anyone choose to attack Ashkelon, a relatively unremarkable world on the fringe of the sector. What mattered to him was the knowledge that an enemy was here to bring fight to them. In a way, it provided a momentary distraction from the hellish deluge. He could not fight against blood, water, or the sky, but living breathing beings he could deal with. Akar suddenly knew what he needed to do.

"Squad, form on me!" the sergeant shouted. "The enemy has come to Ashkelon! It is time we did our duty and drive out those who threaten our homes!"

Six frightened faces gaped at him as if his words had lost all meaning. Even Corporal Sadat, who had served almost as long as he had, shared a hesitant look.

"Come on, you lot!" Akar barked. "Must I remind you that you are soldiers of the Imperium? Must I remind you of your duties?!"

He raised his autogun along with his voice, which admittedly proved more effective at rallying his men. Reluctantly, the squad of soldiers stepped forth, their weapons held at the ready.

"Move out! And remember, this…rain is just a plain trickery, devised to frighten and confuse us! Don't fall for such childish tricks!" Akar roared. Grimacing, the seven soldiers rushed out into the bloody rain, leaving the behind the tea merchant who had curled up into a fetal position and began weeping. The men felt their hair and uniforms stick to their skin almost instantaneously, soaked head to toe with the gory vitae. Every single one knew it was going to take more than a single shower to cleanse themselves, if they could ever be clean again. Nevertheless, their hands automatically covered the breeches of their autoguns protectively to prevent the blood from befouling the firing mechanisms.

It wasn't difficult to locate the nearest of the dropships. A sizable aircraft, its rusty red hulls dripping gore, had practically crashed onto the tenement squares three blocks away in its apparent eagerness to land, sending dust and splashes of blood into the air. Gritting their teeth and retching gore from their gullets, Sergeant Akar and his men double-timed to its location, splashing and sputtering each step. Sporadic gunfire had begun to breakout from around the city, coupled with cries of horror and agony, and Akar strangely felt vindicated for his decision to sally forth. By this time, the rest of the garrison PDF forces on Ashkelon would have responded, infantrymen pouring from the barracks into the city proper on their fat-wheeled trucks. Whoever these unholy invaders were, they were to find that Ashkelon was not going to yield so easily.

The first blow to his confidence occurred as soon as the squad rushed into the tenement square and saw their enemy properly for the first time.

The dropship had come down hard, shearing off its port wing and almost burying itself into the ground. Nevertheless, enough of it had remained intact for its cargo to emerge unscathed. The bloody and oxidized metal hull of the ship was emblazoned with grotesque patterns and runes that made Akar want to hurl and claw at his eyes. What caused more concern were the figures emerging from the downed ship, throwing open its side hatches and leaping outside like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

The enemy were lithe but muscled men who were clad in a mixture of checkered leather bodygloves and scale-mail armor. Their visages were completely covered by full-frontal jester masks stylized into a large open smile with opaque eye lenses which, combined with the blood-rain, gave the impression of weeping blood. A long plume of feathers, fleshy tentacles, and what appeared to be flaps of living skin draped drooped from the back of their heads. Their gloved hands held gruesome weapons of trade—lasguns, autoguns, trench-hammers, and wicked sickles. One of them, his mask more ornately decorated with sweeping bullhorns, looked up and caught sight of Sergeant Akar. A long tongue, split and forked like a serpent's, flicked out through the opening of the smile.

Sergeant Akar screamed and opened fire. .30 caliber solid slugs, fired from the bucking barrels of the indigenous but reliable R12 Auto-Rifle, shredded the horrible face into the meaty mulch and threw the enemy onto its back. The rest of the squad, momentarily struck numb by the terrible sight of their enemy, came to their senses and simultaneously opened fire. Much of the shots went wide, having been fired hastily in panic. Nevertheless, enough bullets founds their mark and more freaks jerked and collapsed, adding to the already considerable blood flow.

The enemy did not break or flee. Wailing shrieks bursting from their throats, the freaks scattered across the square, their capering legs swiftly bringing them either to cover or straight towards the soldiers. Crimson lasbolts and solid rounds began ripping into the squad. Trooper Omid shook like a rustling tree as the barrage reduced him into an unrecognizable charred lump. A solid round took Trooper Mehoud's leg clean at the knee. The young trooper collapsed, and stared in dumb disbelief at the bloody stump of his missing limb until another shot blew out the back of his head. The remaining soldiers threw themselves flat against the wall and returned fire as much as they could. Sergeant Akar, having spent many hour on the firing ranges, killed more than a half a dozen men with his accurate shots. But there were too many. Dozens more enemy troops were pouring out from the dropship, adding more to the fire directed their way. How many men could one ship contain?

Trooper Kouri's autogun clicked as it ran dry of ammo. Before the soldier could change his clip, one of the freaks who had rushed close to the squad's position lunged forth. His weighted pick punched straight through Kouri's forehead in a storm of shattered bone and gray matter. In a few seconds it took the enemy to yank out his weapon from Kouri's shuddering corpse, Akar whirled around and brought the lacquered wooden butt of his gun smashing onto the masked head like a sledgehammer. The crippling blow floored the freak but the sergeant bashed again and again until he was sure the enemy was dead. It was then that Akar saw how the pockmarked metal of the mask ran smoothly into the flesh of the dead freak without a seam in between. By some unknown means, the enemy troops had permanently welded their masks onto their faces so that they became a part of their body.

"There's too many of them!" Corporal Sadat shouted above the din beside him, his controlled bursts neatly mowing down the freaks who had tried to rush their position. Soaked head to toe in blood-rain, the corporal looked like a homicide victim out of a horror-pict. "We need to retreat! Call in support—"

As much as he hated to admit it, Akar knew the corporal was right. With the squad down to just four men, their already precarious position was quickly becoming untenable. It would require no less than a full company of troops or what light armor they could rally to stem the tide. And with more dropships coming into the city, the odds became laughably absurd.

"Alright then," Akar growled as he slammed in another clip into his rifle. "Let's displace. Men, fall back! Fall back—"

Akar never finished his command. The opposing tenement doorway suddenly exploded out in a cloud of wet dust and debris, as something enormous tore its way into the square. Akar had just caught glimpse of limbs clad in crimson armor plates when the massive firearm in its hands boomed twice. Trooper Ensari and Corporal Sadat were instantly obliterated, their torsos simply exploding into meaty sprays by the mas-reactive bolts detonating in their fragile flesh. Young Ismael, his face suddenly covered by the vitae of his comrades, screamed like a demented woman and fled, hastily discarding his autogun. The youth had barely made it out of the tenement block before a fresh wave of freaks, pouring out from the nearby alleyway in a pincer movement, pounced on him. Ismael was still screaming when the enemy chopped him into wet pieces with their sickles and cleavers.

Sergeant Akar stared numbly as Sadat's killer slowly strode up to him. He was a giant, taller than the tallest men and impossibly broader than any living thing he had seen. Thick crimson plate covered his gigantic frame, every inch of its surface covered in golden letters he could not decipher. A pair of massive pauldrons sat on his shoulders, sporting a dizzying imagery of a daemonic visage on top of an eight-pointed star. In between the shoulders sat a monstrous antlered helmet of baroque design, its burning yellow lenses seemingly boring into his soul.

For some strange reason, Akar felt calm. All the fear and panic that had gripped him evaporated, leaving him clear-headed and collected. With clarity came purpose, and with purpose came the knowledge of what he now had to do. Only in death did duty end. He could aspire to nothing less.

There was no way his bullets would penetrate that solid wall of armor. So Akar instead drew out his bayonet and attached it to his autorifle with his fumbling hand. The giant looked on in silence, as if amused by the antic of the man before him.

"For the Emperor!"

Sergeant Hari Akar of the Ashkelon PDF 24th Company, in the last twenty seconds of his life, charged headlong into his foe, his bayoneted gun held at the hip. He thrust his weapon towards the joint at the giant's neck where disparate plates met, hoping to exploit what seemed like a vulnerable point.

The giant moved once, and Akar gasped in shock. His rifle, held just a few inches away from the giant's neck, slowly slid out of his limp fingers and tumbled to the ground. Akar's gaze dropped to his chest, where the giant's massive gauntleted hand had punched straight into his flesh. The pain was so overwhelming that he couldn't speak at all.

"Your Corpse-Idol has no power here, worm," the giant rumbled, his metallically tinged voice mocking and predatory. He tore his hand back out with a casual flicker of his wrist, and with it, Akar's heart.

Sergeant Akar toppled back, his life escaping his sorry corpse almost instantly. The last thing he saw before his body sank beneath the tide of blood was the clear cerulean sky of Ashkelon slowly turning black, as dropships and landers in their hundreds poured from the heavens.

Later Imperial records show that Ashkelon fell within just a few hours, its PDF swiftly crumbling under the overwhelming assault. Much of the atrocities that followed are never discussed at length, lest the horrifying details break the minds of those who read them. What is clear, however, is that the fall of Ashkelon was an opening salvo to a much greater conflict. It would not be the last loss suffered by the Imperium, nor the biggest.

Nevertheless, all chroniclers agree that the subsequent events that followed had ultimately changed the history of the Lazarus sector and its importance in the Imperium as a whole….

R & R!