A Remnant of a Greater Whole
A.N.
I'm back. For a number of reasons, I haven't posted for ages, but finally, I have returned. During the last time I posted and now, I've come to several very important conclusions. The first is that both my current stories are in need of serious work. The exact flaws each of them has will be explained on my profile when I get around to it, but just know that updates will be a long time coming for those two. Apologies to all those who wanted updates sooner/now, but I cannot devote time at the moment to fix the issues they have. With that out of the way I can explain the reason I'm starting a new story to you all (I have enough time to write new stories, in case you were wondering). It's simple. I'm a victim of multiple ideas syndrome, something that plagues all writers, and I just can't hold the tide back anymore ;-). Without further ado, I present to you chapter one of A Remnant of a Greater Whole.
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"From the skies, gods once came. They wore great suits of black armour that even the claws of the Grimm could not pierce, and none could stand before them. From vast chariots in the sky they descended, riding burning comets to the surface, while their vassals followed, borne aloft by screaming Valkyries. Surely, many thought, the doom of the Grimm was near, for nothing could stand before the gods and their armies?
It was then we learned that they did not come as saviours, but destroyers, and they drowned the kingdoms in their own blood, leaving naught in their wake. Then they gathered those who had survived the terrible Scouring, and cast them out into the midst of the Grimm. And so a time of great woe and sorrow did fall upon the people of Remnant, and many despaired." –The Book of Remnant.
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The first people saw of Bastion was always its mighty walls. Constructed from the knowledge passed down through the tech-magi they loomed tall and unbowed. No Grimm had ever breached the dark stone-like material, and the gates stood as proud as the day they had been built. The priesthood proclaimed it the work of the God-Emperor, a divine gift to preserve the faithful from the predations of the Grimm. The tech-magi argued that the Machine-God had erected them in a single night as a sign that he regarded their work with favour. However, they had come to pass, they never failed to awe the traders and nomads that caught sight of them for the first time. Surely they must have been a work of the time before the Scouring, similar to the treasured Sentinels of the Guard or the Servitor bodyguard of the royal family. Alas the records had been corrupted by time, and the truth had most likely fallen into obscurity forever.
The rest of Bastion was equally a grand sight, for the rows of houses that ran throughout the town were decorated in vivid colours, and prayer banners fluttered above the streets. Passages from the various Creeds were often nailed to the colourful facades of the houses, while small symbols emblazoned in the architecture declared the owner's faith. In a place so blessed by the dual gods of the Imperial Pantheon, belief was everything. After the walls perhaps the most inspiring sign of the righteousness of those below was the soaring cliff above. Various structures punctuated the towering surface from houses perched precariously to the Emperor's Walkway, or the forge of the Machine-God, all clung like limpets to the sheer stone.
Bastion's wonder did not cease upon reaching the plateau above, for another of the Machine-God's miracles was present there. A vast canopy of transparent material, far stronger than the coloured glass the heretical traders brought, covered the fields of crops that lay there. Protected from the roaring winds and bitter rain, they always prospered, and the concept of famine was foreign to Bastion's populace. The golden fields stretched for miles, bounded only by walls that matched their counterparts down below. The fields were dotted with the farmers' homes, and the roads that connected them to the rest of Bastion. As thanks for such good fortune, the farmers more than happily donated portions of their crops to the tech-magi so that they could create the fuel needed to run some of the various machines that Bastion relied on.
It was thanks to the Machine-God, more than a few whispered snidely, not the God-Emperor that the people of Bastion were fed and did not starve like the faithless beyond Bastion's walls. The Emperor's devout merely ignored such blasphemy, for His glory was evident in the very centre of Bastion, a sign of who truly favoured those who worshipped the Imperial Pantheon. A vast grove of fruit-bearing plants and trees dominated the central plaza, and it was from there that the Medicae Corps gathered the ingredients for their various medicines, and the food merchants harvested their more exotic wares. In the very heart of the glade stood a weathered statue of the Emperor Himself, proclaiming his power to all around Him.
If one was to go beyond the vibrant wood that bloomed inside Bastion, even past the pens of the farm animals destined for the slaughterhouses one would come across the entrance of the mines. The source of the metals, coal, gems and occasional Dust crystal that fed the Machine-God's forge, they were the bedrock upon which the tech-magi displayed their God's generosity. Each year, upon the Feast of Gears, the forge would unveil the fruits of the tech-magi's work, perhaps a few thousand las-guns to protect the faithful, or even two or three new Sentinels to join the ranks of the Guard. Whatever the bounty the Machine-God's chosen produced, there was always raucous celebrating as the gods continued to bless their glorious city and its inhabitants. To those who lived there, the future was bright, for with the God's favour upon them, how could anything go wrong?
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"Fear the Alien. Hate the Alien. Kill the Alien. "-The Imperial Guardsman's Uplifting Primer (Damocles Gulf Edition).
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The earth trembled beneath their weight. Countless Grimm, they stretched as far as the eye could see, an endless tide of black fur and hateful red eyes emerging from the forests below. They raced towards the slope that led to the pass with single minded determination, nothing would distract them from their goal. Bone armour decorated with elaborate markings gleamed in the weak sunlight, and once again Guardsman Vickers almost upended the contents of his stomach onto the grass. The faint stench of rotting meat was carried by the rising wind up to them, all that remained of those who had encountered the foul creatures, no doubt. The few traders and nomads that had arrived in Bastion had spoken of how many Grimm there were, but they had been thought to be merely exaggerating or outright lying. They had not expected this…this horde! Preacher Augustine stepped past him and ascended a pile of sandbags, reminding Vickers that with the gazes of the Imperial Pantheon upon them, and with one of noble birth among them, how could they possibly lose? The Preacher raised his vox-caster to his face, the rest of the contraption balanced precariously on his back and roared the one phrase that ever child in Bastion learned as soon as they could walk.
"THE EMPEROR AND MACHINE-GOD PROTECT!" Preacher Augustine may have begun the chant, but five thousand voices echoed it whole-heartedly. Old Glory, the pride of Bastion, a hulking beast of metal and smoke known to the tech-magi as a "Leman Russ", opened fire. The crack of its main gun was deafening, and in the distance, a dozen Grimm disappeared in a cloud of dust. Preacher Augustine stepped down from the makeshift platform of sand-bags, and dropped down once more into the shallow trench. He casually withdrew a revered las-pistol from his robes, decorated with dual images of the God-Emperor and Machine-God, and pointed it in the direction of the Grimm. Vickers and his squad mates eagerly followed his example, and began steadying their las-guns against the sand-bags, aiming them towards the mass of charging Grimm.
The long-lases of the various squads began to discharge, thin red streams of light flying from their barrels. Hundreds of Grimm slumped over dead, the shots hitting their marks again and again in a display of accuracy that many of the amassed Guardsmen could only envy. Most of the honoured Sentinels' weapons systems had begun to unleash an even greater hell upon the Grimm, ancient plasma weapons, autocannons or las-cannons sending hails of rounds flying over the assembled Guardsmen's heads. A Death Stalker, blinded by the Guards' sharpshooters, trashed around, lashing out with wild abandon at anything within range, sending various Grimm flying. Old Glory's heavy bolters began to fire with a rattling cough, gunning down those foolish enough to get in its way. Captain Woods, from atop Old Glory's turret, lowered her chain sword, a signal eagerly awaited by the rest of her army.
A scarlet hail erupted from the Guardsmen lines, and countless Grimm toppled over, innumerable holes seared into them by the initial volley. Vickers jammed his finger again and again on the activation rune, and howled with the sheer adrenaline of the moment. The wordless cry was taken up by many, a primal sound that echoed all around the hill they were entrenched upon. Preacher Augustine roared catechisms from the various Creeds, calling upon both the God-Emperor and Machine-God for protection, and beseeched them to strike down the Grimm in hate-filled passages and litanies. As the Grimm reached the bottom of the hill they were upon his las-pistol matched his vitriol fury, spitting and hissing deadly beams at the approaching creatures. When it became clear that the Grimm would reach their lines, the order to fix bayonets echoed down the ranks, and the rate of fire decreased as the first few ranks clipped on the knife-like appendages. Preacher Augustine merely unclipped his shining sword from his belt and with a press of a button, bright white lighting sparked all around his blade.
A Ursa Major leapt for Vickers squad, and as the first rank moved to intercept the beast, the ranks behind merely continued firing over their heads, putting into practise the manoeuvre they had spent hours perfecting in training. Preacher Augustine swung his blade, and the crackling field of energy that emanated from it sliced it in half. Sergeant Agaves not to be outdone, sent his chain-sword straight into the gut of a Beowolf, the sharp teeth of the sword biting deep into the Grimm's stomach. His revered bolt-gun blew the head of another apart with a single shot, splattering the hatchet-faced man with dissolving gore. Sergeant Agaves was no doubt conserving his ammunition, as bolt rounds were difficult to come by in Bastion.
Agaves risked a glance back, and shouted to the squad's vox-carrier. "Corporal Katherine, orders?!" Katherine merely replied in the negative, and Vickers stole a look at his betrothed. A dark frown had settled on her face and Vickers did not have to guess why, for while the Sergeant and the Preacher were striking down Grimm in droves, it was clear the rest of the Guardsmen were not doing so well against the beasts.
He rammed his bayonet into a Ursa's leg, gouging the bear-like Grimm's' thigh, but failing to do any real damage. The Ursa reared backwards, bellowing in pain, before a nearby Sentinel fired its plasma cannon right into its stomach. Vickers stumbled back, panicked, the bright blue projectile narrowly avoiding him as it passed overhead, the heat almost unbearable. He moved to reclaim his rifle, dropped in his dash to safety, just as the supposedly dead Grimm lurched upright. One of its swinging claws cleaved his armour open, the sheer force behind the attack sending him tumbling into his squad mates. With blurred vision he watched as the Grimm tore the pilot straight from the Sentinel that had fired upon it, and almost callously threw her behind it with bone-shattering strength. She disappeared into the mass of Grimms at speed, a grey-green blur with bright red hair.
Vickers collapsed to the bottom of the trench, his breathing suddenly coming in ragged, difficult to draw breaths, no longer supported by his squad mate's steadying hands. He heard Sergeant Agaves giving the command to fall back, even as the predatory mask of a Griffin loomed above him. The last thing he ever heard was his betrothed screaming his name, then the razor sharp beak plunged downwards. He was dead in an instant.
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"Cometh the hour, cometh the man." -?
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Captain Woods surveyed the battlefield before her with a critical eye, her heart slowly sinking. The Bastion Expeditionary Force was outmatched and outnumbered badly. While the ground they were fighting on favoured them, and the initial volleys had devastated the Grimm horde, the Guardsmen were still being scythed down left and right. The formations her soldiers had fallen into were designed for fighting far smaller packs, and with superior numbers on their side, not the enemy's. Her decision to keep the Sentinels behind the ranks of infantry had proven to be a wise one, as they could continue firing into the massed horde before them from relative safety. It was only a matter of time however before the majority of the Grimm broke through the ranks of the Guard, and then any chance of survival, let alone winning would be lost. She needed to call a retreat, God-Emperor preserve her, and she needed to do it fast. The longer it took for her to extricate her forces, the less likely there would be more than a few hundred that made it back to Bastion grew.
"Orders are as follows" she shouted to the vox-operator of Old Glory, her voice barely audible above the din of battle "Fighting Retreat Number Seven". He immediately began to relay her orders, working the dials and keys of his work station frantically. Tech-sergeant Belmont began to turn the lumbering behemoth they were in around, no doubt having overheard her orders. Various Sentinels turned and ran as fast as they could, while the rearmost Guardsmen scrambled to get into the horse-drawn wagons they had deployed from. Two dozen platoons, those that remained in the trenches, began to cover their comrades. There were over a thousand valiant soldiers continuing to hold the tenuous line down there against the monstrous Grimm. Woods expected them to buy her ten minutes, and she was never one to waste borrowed time. It was a good thing she had left the supply carts on the other side of the pass, otherwise their escape route would be bottlenecked with all the vehicles. Most of her forces would make it, it seemed.
Something was beginning to niggle at her however. She could spot several lone Griffins mingled among the beasts slaughtering her men, but they were too spread out and too few numbers to be a pack. And Griffins always travelled in packs. Warning bells went off in her mind, something wasn't right… That was why she was only half surprised when hundreds of them came screaming down from the clouds. They landed right in the midst of the retreating Guardsmen, crushing dozens beneath them.
"Aerial Assault!" she roared, her bolt pistol spewing rounds at the nearest of the vile things, "Disengage and head for the pass!" One of the Griffins lunged at Old Glory, and she casually beheaded it. The various wagons, their drivers whipping the horses to go faster, pulled away, racing from the battlefield. Old Glory surged forward once more, Belmont pushing the machine to its limits. Woods almost smiled, imagining the consternation his actions would cause among the tech-magi if they saw how he was handling their precious relic. Her half smile vanished when she looked behind her once more. Many of her soldiers had been unable to make it to the wagons on time, and were sprinting in a desperate attempt to escape. With the rate at which the Grimm were catching them, none of them would reach the pass. At least, not in time to save themselves.
Old Glory pulled itself up the last few metres to the other side of the mountain with a piteous, guttering sound. The few tech-priests that were a part of the army glanced suspiciously at her when they heard it, but she ignored them. They were lucky that Old Glory hadn't been destroyed in the battle, never mind what state it came back to them in. Impatiently she looked around for Magos Zero, the priest (she hesitated to call him a man) that she had left in charge here. If he and his little entourage hadn't finished with the task she'd given them before the battle, then none of them had any chance of seeing Bastion again.
She was made aware of the Magos's presence by the scraping of metal on metal that always accompanied him. In his dark red robes, and with his strange, metallic extra limb that darted and twitched around him, he was an imposing sight. She swallowed slightly, before addressing him. "Have you done what I asked?" she said, trying not to let even a tremor creep into her voice. The damn man or thing or whatever he was scared her immensely, not that she was going to let him know. "Yes, Guard-Captain third-rank, Elizabeth Woods, we have set the explosive charges as you wished. We estimate that they have an eighty-one point seven six percent chance of creating the effect you desire." Her fear of the man was briefly offset by the irritation she felt at his use of her full title. It made her feel inadequate, second rate, whenever people mentioned that she wasn't a full Guard-Captain, as though her hard work meant nothing. She quashed the feeling, and looked around.
The last of the wagons and Sentinels had made their way through the pass, though there was still plenty of running figures on the slope. She momentarily felt her resolve falter, but her nerves steadied when she saw the black tide racing ever closer behind them. "Detonate them." She ordered, and the Magos merely nodded, before speaking in Binary to one of his acolytes. The squealing, grating language was another reason she couldn't stand the man. A deafening boom echoed all around them, then the rockslide the charges had created roared into the pass and threw up a blinding cloud of dust. When it had finally settled, the gap that had once cut through the mountain was gone, filled with the amount of debris that only an explosion could create. And as Woods stared at the devastation she had just ordered, only one thought sprang to mind. How was she going to explain this to the King and the Council?
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"Quinctilius Varus, give me back my legions!"-Caesar Augustus on hearing of the ambush at Teutoburg Forest.
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"This was your first command, was it not?" She nodded her head nervously "and how many casualties were there, Captain third-rank Woods?" the king asked softly, deceptively calm. "Two thousand, six hundred and seventy-three Guardsmen were killed, five Sentinels were destroyed or lost, and…Preacher Augustine has been reported missing. He was last seen leading a party of Guards into the forests from which the Grimm emerged, sir." Rage flared in the man's face when he heard Augustine's name. With visible effort, he restrained himself from unsheathing the plasma pistol from his side and ending her with it. "It is a great pity that I cannot turn you over to High-Magos Josef as he has requested, for while you lost your first battle pitifully, you bought Bastion time to prepare itself. Thanks to your stunt, the Grimm must go all the way around to the High Fords to enter the valley, and only then can they descend upon Bastion. The tech-priests have consulted with the Machine-God and have divined that it will take upwards of a year for them to make the trip, provided that winter is as harsh as it appears it will be." General Hutson cleared his throat, and the king graciously allowed him to speak. "With all due respect sir, the time it takes for the Grimm to reach Bastion matters little. With the numbers that have been described, they could easily swarm over the walls if they wanted to." That was just like Hutson, Woods thought venomously, always covering himself in case of failure. "That is a concern for another day General, for now we discuss the fate of Captain Woods here."
Captain Woods tensed, her fear rising again. She had an ominous feeling that whatever the king was going to say next was not something she was going to look forward to. "Therefore, I am giving you a chance to redeem yourself." A dangerous glint entered Vincent's eyes. ". Leading a group of ten, your mission is as follows. You are to find my son, who you so callously abandoned, and then you are to proceed onwards to the heretics' camps in the north, and see if you can rally them to our aid." Captain Woods' heart lifted considerably, while the trip would be dangerous, countless traders made it every year. The Grimm invasion would make it even easier, drawing the Grimm away from her path. Finding Augustine would be far trickier, but the man could handle himself, and he had at least a squads' worth of soldiers with him, perhaps even more. Compared to how events had been going previously, this was a miracle. Surely the God-Emperor was watching over her!
"Oh, and Captain? While I would like you to choose the team that accompanies you, there are two spots that are already filled. A representative of the tech-magi of course." She nodded fervently, she could handle that, most tech-priests knew how to handle themselves in a fight, and they always armed themselves well with weapons she could only dream of. "The other is a bit of a special case, but I'm sure you can handle her." The king leaned forward, and suddenly the reason for the dark pleasure in his gaze became apparent. "You wouldn't mind taking a witch along with you, would you? I'm sure you can keep one of those in line, can't you? With your command skills that cost me an army, I'm sure you can handle a beast even Saint-Magos Alris was unable to kill." And just like that, Captain Woods knew she was doomed.
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"You ask why we must cleanse the xenos. I will tell you. The filth of the alien and the witch must be exterminated to preserve the purity of the human race, lest we degenerate into abomination." -Witch Hunter Tyrus, at the Conclave of Vera.
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In the depths of the Machine God's forge, lies a large, heavily guarded chamber. Inside, protected by doors forged from heavenly adamantium itself, are kept relics too valuable to ever see the light of day, each placed there by the founder of the forge, the legendary Saint-Magos Alris. The doors had been barred and sealed for over a century, never opened. Now however, acolytes chanted the rites of unsealing, as four of the Magos communed with the chamber's Machine-Spirit. Finally, the Machine-Spirit complied and the chamber's gates swung inwards, revealing the forge's great treasures. All these were ignored however, for the dull grey pod that sat in the centre of the halls. A single pale face, wreathed in black hair could be seen, as the Magos began the chants needed to unlock the mystical statis pod, just as the Scriptures said. Smoke hissed from the pod as the door was gently opened, just as the Scriptures said. Two Magos roughly caught the occupant as she tumbled outward, unconscious, just as the Scriptures said. They began to lead her away, to prepare her for the task she had been awoken for, just as the Scriptures said. For the first time in over a century, the witch of Bastion had been released.
And so ends the first chapter of A Remnant of a Greater Whole. Questions should be asked in reviews, and I will reply by PM. All my stories will have no confirmed schedule until summer, as I have little time to constantly pump out chapters, this one included. I would appreciate it if people gave suggestions for quotes (as that will help speed up the production of chapters.) Read and Review and I'll see you all in the next chapter.