Many men say that they will travel to hell and back for whatever flight of fancy has enraptured their hearts or minds at the moment. During my youth, I made the claim far more times than I dare count, of that I will not lie. The fact about that simple statement is that most can say it and never have to go through with it. Few brave, or foolish, men can say that they shall take this katabasis, even fewer manage to find their way out. I am one of that foolish orpheui who did both while it was set against me.
I suppose that introductions are in order, though if you're reading my final records. well, I would hope you know about me. Once I was Ivan Yorke, Corporal of The Haven of Vulk's First Regiment F company. We were Commander Fiaura Fairgates' Flying Frags, today there is only one of us remaining.
From the Haven of Vulk from its stone I was shaped and the fires I was forged. A son of Mankind and a son of Aeldari, their two immortal songs flowing in my blood. With the gifts and horrors of both races, I have been blessed and cursed. As I look down upon the cradle of humanity, dressed in a cloak woven from the silken monofilament threads of crystal and wrathbone, it takes all my might to not smile with all hope of our rebirths and weep with all dread with what my peoples have fallen to. Still, though I believe strongly in the sigil of my brethren, Rebirth of Ancient Days. The symbol that once stood for my brethren. It is rather fitting when I think of it. Before my resurrection, I must speak on my death. For which plenty of logs exist stored away in the data archives of the Departmento Munitorum and the Inquisition. For this reason, I shall be as brief as I am capable.
It had all ended and began when we made planetfall. The mission had been issued by an Inquisitor, his name forgotten by time. It does not bear repeating, so with me, he shall die his second death of being forgotten. I was not truly thinking about it though, one mission to die was like any other. Smackaface and I were chugging a bit of brandy. The little shite thought he could out drink me and I was not let that slide. We regretted it rather quickly, would still have done it again though. The Gretchen are strange little Xenos, Smackaface doubly so. He although respected strength and merit and despite the occasional poncy git comment. I do not think he ever cared about blood, he was happy with me as his Warboss and I was happy with him in my singular 'Waagh!' as his kind call it.
Our Valkyrie barely hit three klicks from the drop zone before we were sent tumbling down faster than an Orgyrn with laced boots. Ork Stormboyz had to be shot off our rust bucket with our support's bolter fire. That turned out to be a far worse idea than it actually sounded. I had managed to jump, right as the tailspin started. The men of Vulk however are known as some of the best jump troopers and flyers in the Imperium. Fairgates' F company, well we had never found something that we could not crash. Twice in my career did I enter into a Valkyrie that did not either crash or send me flying from it without intention. This being true though, I would bet every gelt I ever owned, we were far more proficient at surviving crashes and emergency jumps than any other unit the imperial guard has or will ever know.
Kicking on my jump pack and raising my multilaser's antigrav plates into full power, I was able to maintain a sort of balance in my fall. It was a trick I learned on the forge world Epiris Three when that gun ended up saving my tail. I had missed the floating chaos gunship we had meant to land on. Jump packs fuel cell decided that the tech-heads had not treated it properly. Well, I ended up having to change up my jump pack's fuel cell while straddling the multilaser and hoping to do it before I found the ground at terminal velocity. All while dressed in the handcrafted plate armor, the tech-priests of the Mechcanicus had provided me. It was fun as all bloody hell, however, I would not recommend it. Maybe once actually, but no more than that.
I ended up getting chased through the forge deserts by what I could only call the spirits of inbred cultists, who had recently discovered the banjo. A rather archaic instrument which I would learn of some two centuries, of my life, later. Not a long story but one I was rather hoping would not repeat itself as I was once again falling. In the end, it was definitely not that and it ended up being worse, but for the time no banjos. Not sure if that was an improvement I rather liked the music as terrifying as it was.
No, instead we landed in front of the very pantheon that we were heading for, in the first place. The only problem was the sizeable Ork population that had turned it into their home. It did not help that the Sentinel that the inquisition had provided us was about as effective as an Ork trying to read gothic. A task for which I am more than acutely familiar with.
The thrice damned thing only did one useful thing and that was blowing up the tree next to me. I use the term "useful" rather loosely. I almost got splattered, but the new ditch was rather effective as a piece of cover. Silver linings, as they say.
Even once the Orks were dead. We learned that they had been well doing ultimately nothing. In many ways, perhaps the creatures were unwittingly protecting mankind from wandering into that den of heresy and madness. We walked into a land where reality had been torn asunder. With every step we took and every floor we descendent walked deeper along the Dantian path into an inferno of mans' desires.
The faithful of the temple were gone. They were nothing but the empty spaces in dust or water where their feet had last touched. I had thought something had been wrong and shot at what was not there. The air screamed as a woman fell to the ground. She though did not scream in pain but with pleasure. When we dare not hurt her again, what she became was far from human. We even found a wandering soul of a dead girl, barely eight Terran cycle's old. We watched her burn as we tried to save her.
We were forced to play games for which our very souls, beings, memories and more were used as our collateral. They were the prices for any hesitation or loss. Each a game to see us weakened before we could strike down the true master of it all. Each of these horrid games played for the pleasure of a daemon robed in the flesh of a simple elder. Not all would make it.
Our Enginseer would fall, to open the way past a staircase that had no end. we had to play a simple game of Regicide. The old archaic rules, no "hooded" board where only certain pieces are visible. He opened the way for us at the cost of his soul.
He opened the way to a floor where every door was alive and none would open until they were appeased. With the exception of one who had a rather personal problem with my Aeldari blood. After a short bit of negotiations, I shot it in its face until it was ripped off its hinges, and opened the way to the next horrid game.
A simple couple game of cards in which we bet that which was precious to us. The elder daemon whether to be sporting or taunt us even offered relics lost to time. Some lost the bodily strength, some lost times and memories. One of the Tempestus Scion offered all he was to win our way forward. He lost and became little more than a soulless automaton. She knew what she was getting into but still she was not much older than I, still a young woman. When she lost she was made into something little better than a servator of the Mechanicum. Kaylesser Seppetine, if I recall her name correctly. She was a nice girl, though most well know for getting her ass stuck in a minefield
We were not without our small victories though. A relic from the Emperor's great crusades and his very hand, one from ancient man an Edward Teach, a gift of a primarch, and the pauldron of a sister repentia turned saint. The last fit well with my knightly armor.
The games were nothing compared to the horror's we saw in its master's chambers. Abominations, that moved with some disturbing similarity to humanity. Each creature born from men whose bodies had been twisted. Daemons forced into mortals bodies, growing inside their hosts before bursting free into black carapaced beasts with prehensile tails and claws that could shred through tank armor like a chainsword against wet parchment.
Their great butcher, a fallen priest, was something none of us had ever imagined. A creature of only muscle and sinew and for every blow stuck upon it only made it stronger, For no sooner did its blood spill did its muscles grew that much larger. A pale imitation of Cu Chulainn held in the hands of a crazed puppeteer. A single blow against my helm nearly ripped my head from its shoulders.
I do thank that creature though, even as it burned in front of me, without it I likely would not have been prepared for what was to come. To know the true strength of such daemons, even if it was a shard that had replaced a mortals souls. The strength was awesome in its ferocity. I had not the time to so much as lift my blade, in parry, when its crude sharpened chopper impacted on against my head. It was the beast's final action as the damned soul's death began to claim it. A single swing would have cleaved the head from most men, split my skull. The gifts are the Mechanicus finely crafted armor and the arcane machinery of the dark age of technology flowing in my blood in all likelihood spared me.
Once it passed from this gap in our worlds, I could only collapse as Stubbs rushed to help me. A good man and one of the reasons many of us had yet met death. This had been taking his toll on him though. The young child burning almost broke him, I could see it in his eyes, but the man seemed to just keep calm and carried on.
My head still bled once I awoke. Neither Stubbs's skill or the arcane technologies the Mechanicum had long ago placed into my blood seemed to stop the profane wound, they were trying their best to ease my pains. I could the feel the machines knitting flesh, and yet they fought at some accursed toxin.
Once I was able, Captain Gunther made me vox a report to command. It felt nice to unsling the vox caster and tell the trigger-happy Inquisitor that he would not get his wish of blasting everything into dust. I have to wonder if the captain ever socked him, the whole company had been taking bets on how many teeth the whoreson would loose.
Captain Gun, now that was a hell of a leader. An Ogyrn and despite that, he was not dumb as Grox shite. He had what was called a bone'head implant, don't ask me about the technicals. A rather effective one at that. Still when he gave the order to push into the inner sanctum of the temple, well I could not have wished more that he did not. We marched to our death.
We did our best to regroup before we pushed into the head of this darkness. With a heavy heart and but a shred of hope still burning we pushed into the chamber of a great daemon and her parasitic children. The battle was nothing like we thought, we were broken before we knew it. Cam Phane, one of the Tempestus and a man of few words, was cut down by horrid macabre fire before many of us could so much as draw a breath. The poor boy did not even know he was dead for a time. He just kept firing until he dropped.
Captain Gunther and a fellow corporal named Winter Cassmire did their best to hold back the daemon's dark children with blade and fire, while the rest of us tried to cut them down. The grand hall we found ourselves in was filled with a symphony of lead and ballistic coughs. It dragged on for what seemed like forever. Spawns of hell covered in unnatural skeletal and biomechanical mechanical in appearance swarmed at us from every side. Their giant daemoness master watching us with great joy if not ecstasy, her muted grey skin twisting as she laughed at us. He was a creature of both equal parts allure and disgust, equal parts male and female.
Our munitions were running short after almost half an hour, every time we seemed to cut down one of the black beasts, ten more took its place. I am not sure how long it had been when I saw the captain fall and our lines began to crumble. Taking command, I order an instant push to grab the captain's body and then for them to retreat. I think Winter tried to argue, the words are fuzzy now, like a flickering candle. That damn woman always wanted a hero's death. Not to mention being the most self-righteous chaplain bitch. I really do miss her and our less than friendly rivalry.
Despite my dearest companion being dragged away, I promised the little Gretchen that we would get a drink as soon as I was done. I might also have mentioned I would kill him if he died. They were the last words any of them ever heard me spoke. They were not my finest words but they had to carry back a lot of the injured and no one had time for more words. I was also never much of a poet, outside of my poems, in my youth.
I did my best to keep the oil skinned abominations back for as long as I could though as my heavy gun clicked away its final shots. I grabbed the blade at my hip as the charged me. It was always strange holding it, an unnaturally comfortable flame filled my soul. My birthright sang like a harp as she was pulled from her scabbard. Its metal was the hue of emerald which shined like a newborn star in my hands, even in this lightless temple. I had rarely used it, as to do so was to other myself. The way the blade screamed as it cut down all it touched, reminding those around me that I was a filthy Xenos half-breed. A task that could be more than easily done without assistance, I being a strange lad before knowledge of my heritage. Nevertheless, I took it up knowing to do otherwise could spell my death, I would have to trust in it.
Without thought, I charged the daemon and its spawn, a prayer for the winds of fate to guide my sword. A call to the Emperor and Kaela Mensha Khaine to guide me. An apology for another to forgive me.
Yes it is a bit of an extension of a part of my other story tales of the gaurd, but from that it was built and as I went to Nanowrimo though I added more as I needed 50k words. I had him on my mind and as nov 2nd I wrote the story and finished the 29th. Now you get it as it goes through some basic editing.
I wanted to be brief with this, him getting into the warp can been seen on a youtube video of the game. thus it is not the main thrust of the story... I just have detail issues so two parts.
Why not check out my other stories on my Fictionpress of the same name.