Never Forget:
Part I of the Desolation Company Saga
By James Lee Jeeves
Prologue
Andris awoke with great pain on his skull. His giant, armored captors dragged him along the ancient stone floor with haste. He attempted to move his legs, they were broken. The taste of coppery blood filled his mouth, and ran down his chin in slow, thick streams. His vision was blurry from his concussion, and Andris wondered if he would ever see the light of day ever again.
He dared to look at his captors. Their colossal, deep-blue armor was decorated in gold trim and gaudy design. They wore long, white, silk robes that bare a blue serpentine symbol. There lifeless, emotionless helms elongated upwards into a Golden, horn-like headdress.
He glanced over at the captor on his left. The blue giant stared back at him, and green lenses showed Andris that he should have no hope of survival; A blank stare striking an inhuman chill down Andris's spine. Even though the warriors face was hidden behind the extravagant mask, he saw the blatant expression that he wanted to kill him. The captor returned his gaze to the path ahead. Andris looked ahead as well, tears and blood streaming down his face.
He noticed an opening at the end of the dimly lit tunnel. As he got closer his vision began to clear, and he noticed several more armored behemoths in the room, all bearing similar outfits of war, though each one was different and unique in its own way. As he entered the room he noticed a large pillar in its center. Large rusted shackles were attached to the chaotic display. The mass of the pillar was smeared with dried blood, and terror rose in his gullet as he noticed two blue warriors guarding a large pile of gray, desecrated corpses. Andris began to sob as he discovered his imminent fate.
His two captors chained his arms and legs up against the pillar. Striking pain shot up his thighs as the tight restraints were clamped onto his shattered ankles. A golden, heavily robed warrior carrying a horned staff approached him.
'Are you sure he's one of them, Lord? He put up a sadly minimal fight.' spoke one of the deep voiced machine-men.
'You dare doubt my judgment?' hissed the sorcerer, turning his golden, elaborate mask towards the questioner.
'No, my lord. It is not your judgment I doubt, it's hers.' The man pointed towards a shadowy corner. A small figure gracefully stepped from the darkness. From this distance, she appeared to be a little girl with pallid flesh and wearing a black dress. Her small innocence transformed into a terrifying aura as she opened her eyes to reveal abnormally red irises.
Andris shook violently as the young girl-thing turned and cocked her head at him. Their eyes met and Andris felt a cold sensation flow throughout his entire body, as though she was peering into his soul, his very essence of being. What in the Emperor's name is she? Andris thought.
'He is most definitely one of them,' spoke the girl-thing softly. 'And you should not doubt my ability, either, Valerio. I am much more powerful than you could ever wish to be.'
Valerio stepped forward, clearly insulted by her arrogance and placed his hand on his sword's hilt, preparing to release it from its scabbard. His rage was quickly calmed as the golden-helmed Sorcerer gazed at him and shook his head. Valerio calmly stepped back, his head held in shame. The ghastly girl gave a grin and a small giggle at the warrior's expense. Valerio retorted with the loud snort and things returned back to Andris's disposition.
The sorcerer placed a blue gauntlet on Andris's head, the enormous man easily capable of covering his entire head with one hand and crushing it. A silent tear shed from his eye and the sorcerer began to chant cryptic words. An extreme shock flowed through Andris's body as the sorcerer's words sped up. It almost seemed as if the occult words seem to vibrate the reality around him. Several more jolts filled through his body and the lights in the room grew brighter. The luminescent glow-lamps went from a soft, mutual glow to a fiery, bright light.
Several more jolts fired violently throughout his body until suddenly the pain ceased. The room had turned completely white and Andris felt as if he were elevated above all space and time itself. But shortly, the bright light transformed into pink and blue flames that surrounded his floating body. The fire seemed to burn every part of his body, the pain astounding and ethereal. His once great feelings of Sweet surrender and tranquility has seemed to attack him and turned his body into a caustic half-living corpse.
The pain seemed to carry on for hours, with no sign of stopping in sight. His once ivory, smooth flesh and crisp blonde hair has been horrifically mutated into little more than a blackened skeleton. He finally glanced downward from his agonized fetal position. What remained of his heart beat harshly in his empty rib cage as the pink and blue flames were revealed as millions fleshy monstrosities tossing balls of fiendish fire at his undead body.
He tried to let out a yelp of terror but his vocal cords have been long since burned away. He uncurled himself and stood up on a rocky plateau that was suddenly beneath him, his incinerated muscles surprisingly strong. He gazed up to the wall carnival horrors, and noticed that their screeching and tossing of flames had stopped, as did his pain. The wall of daemons split and a titanic beast, with the most exotic features he had ever seen, emerged. Its movements unnatural and its physical form seemed to transform with each passing second into a different exotic creature. And then it spoke, its voice soothing and godlike.
'Welcome to the Legion, my son.' it spoke. A thousand different voices seemed to speak at once, all beautiful and elegant. Each one seemed to be a different language and Andris could understand every word of each, as though those six words have illuminated him with all the knowledge in the universe.
His desolated soul transformed to a beautiful exotic bird. He wore robes similar to those of the blue armored warriors who had killed him. He had forgotten about those men. It seemed like centuries ago, maybe it was. He did not know, nor did he care. All he cared about was his new master, who seemed to love him more than his own mother.
Andris flew over perched himself on his godfather's shoulder. Hmm, Andris, he thought. That word meant nothing to him now. Andris Lachtna, the oil driller, Son of Balthazar Lachtna, citizen of the Imperial world Roque VII, devoted follower of the God-Emperor's will. He was none of that now; he was a scholar of the changer of ways. He was a scribe of Tzeentch. Alas, his life truly began.
I
Final Twilight
Boys turned to men, men turned to warriors, warriors turned to Titans. In the relentless jungles of Iraathon, we are shaped. Selected by the high Council of Edina to be cast away for months at a time, with nothing to fend off the hungering beasts but our quick wit, and the tools nature formed around us. By the talons of daemons, we are formed. Those who survive the trials are rewarded like kings. Though painful, we are perfected, and cleansed of the evil spirits with the grand organs of the God-Emperor. By the hands of a surgeon, we are purified. The power of our genes makes us belligerent, yet cunning and wise. For every mistake and fumble, we are whipped and battered. There is no room for mistakes and an army of perfection. By the lash of the master, we are hardened.
We are immediately thrown into battle, forced to fight for our lives, and for the lives of humanity. With only a boltgun and a combat knife, we are expected to cleanse the tides of evil leaving only purity in our wake. By the clash of talon and sword, axe and hammer, bullet and armor, spear and shield, flesh and bone, we are sculpted.
We are taught to live for ourselves and die for our brothers. For with each death in our number, another rises. Though our flesh is weak, and our bone is brittle, our blood is pure, our soul is pure, and our bond is everlasting. And with that, we, as an individual are weak, but we as a brotherhood stand immortal. By the teachings of the Codex and the Chapter, we are completed.
With our honor as strong as steel, our souls as pure as light, and our hide as hard as diamond, we march. From the faux peaks of Elusia Prime, to the shores of the Darien Seas, we march. From the oceans of Austyn, to the cracked deserts of Lutz Ingermar, we march. From the icy glaciers of Silvia, to the rotted landscape of Ilk-Hidaan, we march. From the dreaded Eye of Terror, to the fiery Maelstrom, to the granite earth of Holy Terra itself, we triumph. We are Doom incarnate, and even when we are against the entire galaxy, against the fiercest and deadly of warriors, we march.
The small and insignificant dust-world of Skyfall had lain dormant for years in the Ultima Segmentum as a merchant world and interstellar port. It acted as a port for many neighboring worlds and for planet systems up to 100 parsecs away. It had seen its fair share of Imperial army garrisons. Its location was dead center in the quadrant, and was surrounded by eight Space Marine home worlds. There was little wonder why so many Imperial Fleets stopped by there when they were on the warpath.
Its people are honest, charitable, God-Emperor fearing and all-around friendly. They had very little to no crime, and the most recent war to reach their world was during the age of strife; the perfect target for an invasion.
A few months before, right as one of the Maelstrom's arms passed by Skyfall, a small listening post on the rim of the quadrant detected several large and unknown energy signatures flocking out of the Maelstrom's arm. The enginseers aboard the listening Post depicted it as arcs of negatively charged energy, and dismissed it for the meantime. A few days later, the energy signatures returned, only bigger and tripling in numbers. The enginseers sent out a vox signal to the ground control of Skyfall. The energy signatures reacted to the signal, and moved in unison towards the listening Post. Within an hour the Xenos brutes were upon them, before any military forces had time to react and move to the system, the alien brutes had killed three worlds.
The Grim Singer was a large and elegant battlecruiser. Its deep emerald exterior struck terror into its enemies with most fascinating vigor. It's the gold trimmed plating has withstood nearly a hundred battles, and has foreseen the destruction of over a hundred-thousand enemies.
The chapter of Space Marine's that dwells in its armored belly is known for their most outstanding feats of bravery and countless victories against Xenos and heretic alike. They rain from the sky in jade teardrops that bear a black Aquila, and a Golden Star that with holds a white skull in the center. With bolt pistol and chainsword, they carve the Emperor's word into the mangled bodies of his enemies. They're cunning yet brutal they are the Invaders Chapter, and they are Justice incarnate.
Admiral Khayri Marcellus sat anxiously in his command lectern, staring out at the doomed world of Skyfall through the command bridge's viewing bay. When their old ally of the Novamarines had contacted him about an imminent Tyranid invasion on Skyfall, he did not expect an enemy of this magnitude. Khayri and the Invaders chapter had come up against this foe before, but since the Tyranid emerged from the Maelstrom, they claimed 12 worlds, tripling their size. Marcellus did not deny that this very may be his last, and possibly the final voyage of him and the Grim Singer. This Tyranid monstrosity is on its way to destroying an entire quadrant of space.
The metal, dual sliding doors opened from behind Khayri's lectern with a suppressed hiss, accessing two armored figures into the room. The one to the right wore the traditional emerald colors of the Invaders chapter, his armored shoulder pads trimmed with gold. His armor was simple, not differentiating from any of the other warriors in the chapter. The only things that signified he was a captain was the great gold skull fused onto his right shoulder pad, and the two massive gauntlets, heavily wired and charging with electric volts of awe-inspiring power. The knuckles of the fists were raised and hollowed out, to make room for the four dangerous claws that would extract from the inner workings of the gauntlet to ravage the enemy with ferocious power. His skin was heavily tanned, even further revealing his stern, hardened features. The man to his left was the precise opposite of the captain on the right. His armor was a quarter pattern, his lower left and upper right were a bright bone color, whereas his lower right and upper left were deep blue. His torso and legs were cloaked in a blood red silk, it's trim embroidered with gold thread in an eloquent design. His helm remained on, its vicious red lenses staring grimly into the hearts of his enemies and his allies. The helm's forehead wore a crown of a fine-leafed laurel, which proved his rank and stature. His mighty sword was sheathed at his side in a deep red scabbard trimmed in gold plating, similar in design to his cloak. The sword's pommel was gaudy and heroic, a name etched in its gold guard: Leon. Admiral Marcellus assumed that this was the name to so colorfully boasted, "Captain of the Novamarines fifth company".
Marcellus could not help but smile at the blatant smugness of this Captain Leon, and the so ironically contrasting of his two companions. The admiral stood from his lectern and made the sign of the Aquila over his breastplate, to honor the arrival of his new 'guest'.
The Invaders chapter did not care for highly colorful and gaudy designs on their blessed power armor. These suits were made for combat and battle, not overly exaggerated displays of rank and colossal self-centeredness. In fact, it is of much wonder why Master Bahram chose to color their armor in the first place. Tales of victory and past glory were meant to be shared through mind and tongue. And even back home on Ogrys, there were few statues and halls of victory. Back when there was a home, back when Ogrys was alive.
Marcellus felt a shiver run down his spine at the remembrance of his long destroyed homeworld, and the captain of his own chapter sensed this feeling immediately. He quickly dismissed the feeling and spoke for the first time to Leon.
"This is great pleasure I welcome you to my command bridge, Captain Leon." The admiral spoke with a modest bow. Marcellus gestured towards the captain on his right. "I assume that Brother-Captain Abdul has shown you a tad bit around the Grim Singer"
"Yes, quite." Leon spoke as though he was the highest authority in the room. "We have much more important matters to discuss than simply arrange words of forced courtesy."
"Excuse me?" Marcellus clenched his fists, prepared to unleash unholy wrath upon the rude and disrespectful Captain Leon of the Novamarines.
"I suppose we should" spoke Captain Abdul with a mild laugh, calmly and effectively placed a relaxing hand on Khayri's shoulder, the massive gauntlets capable of picking a precious flower and crushing a man with the equal ease. "We should concern ourselves primarily with the matter at hand."
"Yes, indeed." Grassley proclaimed Admiral Marcellus, his choler lowered by the embrace of his friend.
"Quite so, Captain Abdul," spoke Leon "Admiral, do you have any more private quarters that we can discuss matters in."
The crew of Space Marine and servitor alike, turned at the grand disrespect to the chapter. The Invaders saw no pride in secrecy. Marcellus's choler again began to rise. Captain Leon has already proven himself as a monumental ass in a few short seconds he's been on the bridge, and every time he speaks Marcellus's respect for him drops.
"Anything that is said to me can be said in front of my men, Captain Leon." Spoke the admiral angrily "And unless you wish me to stuff you into the garbage chute and eject you into the dark vacuum of the void, I'd suggest that you change your tone of voice around me."
The Novamarines Captain reeled back at the outburst, clearly offended by the admiral's threats. But Leon quickly regained his form, dissolving his choler, and cleared his throat.
"Very well. We'll discuss matters here than." Leon spoke, understanding that further contending his authority was a waste of time.
"As you may know," began Captain Leon as he moved to the center of the bridge, moving toward the hologram stratagem, and the remainder of the group followed. "The planet Skyfall is superfluous with rich minerals and fuels used for interstellar travel and ammunition. If the port of Skyfall fell into the hands of the tyranid, the crucial resources that lay beneath the desert earth would be devoured. The effects of the aliens absorbing those energies at high quantities would be devastating. The tyranid spawn-beasts that would be created, and the power overload the hive mind would derive could render the hive fleet virtually unstoppable. If the invasion is not stopped at Skyfall, the Ultima Segmentum would be destroyed."
Abdul placed a massive gauntlet up to his mouth in shock. Marcellus felt his gullet rise almost to his throat at the mere thought of such a devastating toll.
"That would place the casualty numbers well over the hundred-trillions." spoke Abdul "Not to mention the numerous Space Marine homeworlds that would be destroyed in the process. We could lose dozens of chapters!"
"I am glad that you see the scale of the desolation that could be. That is why the defense of Skyfall is so crucial." Said Captain Leon, his pompous attitude melted away.
"So what would you have us do?" Asked Marcellus earnestly.
"I'm glad you asked that question." Leon began punching keys into the interface on the rim of the stratagem. A sphere reliant to planet Skyfall appeared at the center of the table with several markers colored green surrounding it. "The mass of the tyranid forces will be coming toward the north pole of the planet. We will place what ships we have available to us just outside of Skyfall's gravitational pull, forming a wall five battlecruisers high. Though the ships available to us are minimal, the firepower of the Grim Singer and my company's ship, Triton's Web should be a plenty to keep the tyranid forces at bay before the Ordo Xenos arrive."
"Wait," interrupted Marcellus "the Ordo Xenos will not be here for the initial battle?"
"Last time I contacted the Lord Inquisitor, they were at least a few weeks travel time away. But that should give us plenty of time to-"
"A few weeks? Do you know how many planets the tyranid destroyed in one month? They could have Skyfall completely annihilated by the third day without the Ordo Xenos." Spoke the outraged Marcellus
"Admiral, if we-"
"No! There is no 'if'! We are meant to be the ground forces, the ones defending the surface of Skyfall. We do not have enough troops to disperse on two fronts."
"Admiral we have estimated that the tyranid arrived time is at least a week and a half away, that gives us plenty of time to bolster our defenses."
"No it doesn't, Captain. Can you read my lips behind that thick mask of yours?" The two Marines raged on, and the entire command center had stopped what they're doing to watch the bout, except for Abdul. Abdul stood thinking heavily and staring at the fluorescent green globe in the center of the table.
"What of the civilians?" Questioned Abdul. The two bickering man- children stifled themselves for a moment to listen to the Captain. "Has anyone thought of what we are going to do with the civilians of Skyfall?"
The group stood in silence, collecting the memory to try and remember a plan. Their minds drew a blank.
"That's right. I didn't think so. Is that not what this is about, protecting the civilians? Isn't that what we are? Protectors? What good is saving the entire Segmentum if we cannot protect a few million civilian lives? Have you even fought the tyranid before, Captain Leon? Do you know what they will do to those people?"
Admiral Marcellus and Captain Leon held their heads in shame at the onslaught of venomous questions. Abdul was right; the primary goal of the Space Marine is to protect the civilians. Leon unhinged his helmet strap and pulled it off his head. His short, blonde hair topped a beautifully structured face. The white skin was smooth and unblemished, with the exception of the ugly deep scar that crossed over his right eye. The light blue gem of an eye that once matched its twin was now smoky and white. The side of his face from the scar was covered in several burn marks, as if acid had been sprinkled onto his face. With a stern and grim expression on his face, the scarred Captain spoke.
"Yes Captain Abdul, I have. And I do."
After seeing the departure of Captain Leon, Captain Jiadev Abdul returned to his private quarters. He had a newfound respect for the Novamarine. He had not realized the anguish that he and his chapter have suffered over the millennia. Leon and his company have not spoken to their chapter master for over one hundred years. Jiadev considered himself lucky to have such a close relationship with his chapter master.
The Invaders were one of the most closely knit chapters in existence. They drank and had great times of merriment, they fought together and they died together. And even in death the brothers were not forgotten. All four chapters in the grand council behaved as such. That was why the civil war back home on Ogrys was even more of a grievous event. Not that it happened, though, at least according to the Inquisition's documentation. They were not even allowed to discuss the war with their own brothers that survived it. Ever since that day, almost half a millennia ago, the chapters of the Invaders, the Crimson Paladins, and the Doom Legion were never the same.
Jiadev called for his servitor to help him remove his massive gauntlets. The half man half machine scurried over on a power tread that replaced his legs. Its two human arms work in unison with its four mechanical arms that sprouted from its back, to remove Jiadev's claws with haste.
After having removed his claws, Jiadev thanked it and told it to go rest. Jiadev placed his now bare hands over his face and plopped down on his cot with a horrendous crunch. The cot was not meant to support the weight of the Space Marine's power armor, but Jiadev did not care at the moment. Jiadev laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. For the first time in his millennia long life span, he was tired.
Jiadev laid his back against the demolished, stone wall. There was barely enough wall to give cover to what remained of his squadron. There were once ten men in the squad, but in the past five minutes, they lost seven members including their Sergeant. The Auto Cannon mounted inside the bunker was laying Jiadev and his squad heavy suppressive fire. Each burst of fire took out a chunk of wall, in no time at all the entire squad would be exposed and vulnerable.
"Jiadev," shouted one of the Marines in his unit "you've got the best position; tell us when they go to reload!"
"I'm not sure were going to get a window like that, Hisien!" shouted Jiadev, daring to peek over the rubble wall. Even though the vox bead was placed directly into his ear, the miasma of gunfire was near deafening. Before Jiadev could finish the words, a massive Land Raider Crusader smashed through the desolate city terrain and directly past the small group. "Come on!"
Jiadev, keeping his head low darted out behind the red and gold vehicle. Hisien and the third Marine followed Jiadev's example. The three Invaders followed closely behind the crusader, leaving only a meter gap between them and the exhaust pipes that jetted upward from the rear of the vehicle.
The land raider stopped, and let out bursts of Hurricane Bolter fire from the side sponsors. Ten veterans of the Crimson Paladins poured out from the gaping maw of the land raider, spraying Bolt rounds into the bunker, slaughtering the heretics. The bunker had been captured; the three Marines taking cover behind the land raider let their guard down. As they loosed, a Bolter round pierced the brow of the third Marine in their unit splattering chunks of cereimite and gore across the others.
"Traitors! Coming from the rear!" Shouted Jiadev over the vox. Hisien and Jiadev unleashed their entire clip into the group of traitor Marines were attacking them. They knocked down six of them, but a dozen more were still coming. Hisien threw a cluster of frag grenades into the mix of traitors to buy them some time. The grenade exploded taking out only two traitors, but did cause majority of the attackers to go to ground.
By the time the two Invader Marines had reloaded, the Crimson Paladins embarked in the land raider had surrounded the two and unleashed holy Bolter fire, destroying what remained of the traitor Marines.
"All clear" said one of the veterans. The twelve warriors lowered their boltguns, but kept the trigger fingers ready in case of another traitor ambush. The veteran Sergeant approached Hisien and Jiadev. He was massive, even by an Astartes standard. His armor, the standard Crimson Paladins colors, a scarlet red for the main of the armor and shoulder pads and helm of bright, rich gold. The warrior outstretched his massive gold power fist to the two Invaders, as a friendly gesture. Jiadev accepted the large hand with his own.
"You did well my brothers," spoke the masked warrior "if you did not follow our transport from the rear, they would have ambushed us and surely slaughtered us all."
"Glad to have helped." Said Jiadev, removing his hand from the Sergeant's.
"I am Veteran Sergeant Maximus Kodey of the Crimson Paladins first company. Loyalist. And this is my squadron, 'the Redeemers'." Maximus spoke with the vibrancy of a true hero. It was puzzling why he was not of higher rank.
"I am Brother Jiadev Abdul from the Invaders seventh company. Loyalist. And this is my Battle-Brother, Hisien."
"It is a pleasure to be meeting you." Said Maximus "There is plenty room in our Crusader. You're welcome to come along-"
"No thank you, we'd best be on our way back to the encampment." Interrupted Hisien rudely.
"Oh, if that is what you wish." Reeled Maximus, the disappointment in his voice obvious. Jiadev slapped Hisien in the chest with the back of his hand.
"Pardon my friend, Sergeant Kodey. We Invaders are not necessarily known for our hospitality. If it is not imposing, we would be honored to fight alongside you." Said Jiadev considerately.
"Of course it wouldn't Jiadev. Follow me. " Maximus barked a few orders to the squadron and they all marched systematically into the bulky tank. Hisien pulled Jiadev off to the side.
"What are you doing Jiadev? We don't know this man, he could be a heretic!" Argued Hisien
"He seems rather kind to me," insisted Jiadev, beginning toward the tank "besides, he said he was a loyalist."
"For your information, Jiadev, traitors are not renown for their honesty." Said Hisien directly behind Jiadev.
"You're too paranoid, Hisien. Relax a little."
"You're too trusting, Jiadev. It will be the death of you."
"Indeed Hisien, indeed." Said Jiadev ignoring Hisien's words.
The interior of the crusader was bathed in a bright turquoise light. Jiadev sat down at the far end, across from where Maximus was seated. Hisien sat next to Jiadev, nervously looking around for Imperial insignias. The ride was rough and uncomfortable; the war machine constantly shook with the violent turbulence received from rampaging through urban ruins.
The sounds of war rang out side of the thick metal walls. The inhabitants of the vehicle anxiously waiting for the metal door to swing open at any moment and charge into battle. These battles have been taking place all over Ogrys. Renegades would use the city's inner workings beneath the ground to infiltrate and capture cities quickly and effectively. So far, the traitors' tactics were working efficiently. The heretics from Jiadev's own chapter are overseeing the takeover of Ogrys goes quickly with minimal casualties. Though they had gone against the Imperium, those traitorous bastards still did care about their homeworld, unlike the others traitors that were fighting in this war.
The primary blame for the destruction here was pinned on the Doom Legion. Their violent ways and disregard toward the Codex had the Ordo Hereticus constantly checking in on the chapter. Apparently they did not have a close enough eye on them. Five months ago five Doom Legion battlecruisers entered suborbital altitudes above Ogrys, and began raining fire down upon the most heavily populated cities. In one hour over one hundred million innocents were killed. Though the Invaders were sometimes considered savage, they always thought of protecting before destroying and never disregarded human life like the traitor Doom Legion does. Though not all of the Doom Legion is evil, there are still good within their mix, like their chapter master Nathaniel Vidar, "the Valkyrie". He was one of the most noble and courageous Marines Jiadev had ever seen. It gave Jiadev great pleasure to know that he was fighting on the same planet as the Valkyrie.
The tank shook with violent ferocity, and the crusader stopped dead in its tracks. The cabin quickly flushed from a pleasing blue to a blood red, and several warning Klaxons ring in the ears of the inhabitants, the vox speaker in the rear wall of the machine cast out of crackling voice of the driver.
"Sergeant!" The driver shouted with great urgency "we're taking heavy fire, devastator squadrons on all facings. They've got lascannons! I-I don't know how they managed to stay off the auspex."
"Calm yourself, brother. Just focus on covering us." Even in moments of peril Maximus maintained his calm. It was truly a fine leader. "Arthus, open the hatches. Redeemers, prepare for things to get hot. Keep your head low and aim high."
The one called Arthus stood and pushed an emergency release button next to the front hatch. The doors remains tightly shut.
"They're jammed! They aren't going to open." Said Arthus
"Stand back Marines!" Shouted Maximus as he marched to the front hatch sternly. He pulled his mighty power fist back and mighty jolts of electricity danced around the glorious weapon. Jiadev smiled in amazement at the sergeant's heroism.
Maximus whispered a quiet psalm to calm the machine spirit, and punched the mighty weapon into the hatch, knocking it off its thick hinges and sending it ten meters out into the open square. Maximus stood straight and sucked in a fresh breath of air as the remainder of the warriors poured out of the opening, bolters ablaze. Maximus turned around to see the two Invaders still sitting.
"Are you going to fight, are you going to sit on your asses all day?" The sergeant asked. The sun hit him perfectly, forming corona around his magnificent red and gold armor. Sergeant stepped out of the vehicle and fired his self-customized storm bolter into the ashen buildings that surrounded the square. Jiadev and Hisien jumped out of the vehicle following the heroic commands of Maximus, verbatim.
The veterans as a whole follow some of the greatest skill Jiadev had ever seen. One veteran carrying a Heavy Bolter fired scores of hellfire rounds into the third story of a building across the open square, eliminating an entire squad. Maximus and four other veterans charge into a building where a large squad of Marines was taking refuge. The firing ceased, and the windows lit with yellow and blue light as the veterans fired deadly, altered Bolter rounds into the enemy while Maximus crushed them with his holy power fist.
Jiadev, Hisien and the other veterans work their way to the center of the square. They took cover behind stone benches, planters and most stood behind a glorious statue the Emperor. Jiadev dared to glance out from behind the statue to see the enemy squads advancing from the building. Jiadev fired several shots blindly into the oncoming crowd. Maximus and his veterans jumped out of the fourth story window finished with the squad they were fighting. He quickly ran to the statue while firing into the multiple units converging on them. A frag missile hit and detonated behind them, killing two of the veterans.
When Maximus arrived at the statue, and quickly began to climb onto the podium the statue was built on.
"Brothers! With me! Show these traitorous bastards the true wrath of the Emperor!" The words of the glorious Sergeant spoke energized Jiadev into a frenzy. He switched Bolter to automatic fire and unleashed his entire clip into the innumerable traitor Marines.
All the loyalists in the square did the same, littering the ground with corpses of the hated enemy. As the loyalists increased their firepower, so did the traitors. Multiple las beams struck the statue severing it in half at the waist. Maximus and Jiadev quickly dodged out of the way of the toppling statue. However three veterans were not so lucky, as they were crushed and killed instantly under the might of the granite.
"Damn you all to hell!" Shouted Maximus unloading his gun into the traitors.
Jiadev glanced over to the side and noticed three traitor Marines entering the cabin of the crusader, as they did this its hurricane bolters ceased to fire. The traitors exited and quickly told their squad to take cover. Within seconds the multiple melta-bombs the traitors had placed inside detonated causing a massive explosion to erupt. The blast took two weakened buildings down with it, causing dust and gravel to fill the entire square.
Jiadev's helm began to sputter out of commission, he threw it to the ground, his enhanced senses would be an ample guide. He spotted two huddling silhouettes on his right side. Trying to flank us, he thought, raising his Boltgun. It wasn't until he fired that he heard Kodey shout, "NO!" He turned and looked at Kodey, his massive power fist extended; Kodey's neck spat red blood, Kodey spun and fell to the concrete. He was hit.
The dust cleared and Jiadev turned to see what he had done. The two huddled figures were uncurled on the ground, dead. Though they weren't two, they were four. A man, a woman, and two young girls. Jiadev's eyes welted with tears and with a spur of reckless abandonment he dropped his gun and ran for them.
The bolt rounds of his allies began to halt; they were losing men, fast. Jiadev dodged bullets with luck alone. He could not hear a single noise, but that of the shallow breathing of a small girl atop of her parents' corpses. Jiadev dropped to his knees five meters from the girl, and slid next to her. He stood over her in awestruck terror. Her mouth foamed with blood, her heart skipped beats. He embraced the small child, no more than seven summers old, and wept as she looked at him blankly.
He closed her eyes, and held her close. She was dead; they were all dead, by his hand. His terror was shot away by the cold ring of a blot pistol muzzle held at his temple. Jiadev closed his eyes, he was fine with death, and he could no longer consider himself a protector of man. He heard the hammer drop, and the shot rang out amongst the field of the dead.
Jiadev's body shot up in sudden shock. The chains holding his cot on the wall gave. Suddenly he was flat on the floor, his spine jarring with sudden pain.
"Oh, Emperor's tit!" he cursed. He rolled over and sat up.
"Would you like me to call the Tech Priest for a new cot, lord?" spoke the metallic cords of the servitor.
"No." Answered Jiadev, standing and turning to the little machine man "No, I've slept enough. How long was I out?"
"By my count, seven hours."
"What?" Shouted Jiadev, the back of his hand raised, ready to strike down the servitor "Why the hell did you not wake me? I was supposed to meet Commander Tahmid three hours ago."
The servitor raised its metallic arms to defend itself.
"You looked peaceful, my lord." Its monotonous voices far from parralled its terrified face. Jiadev lowered his hand, and calmed himself. He shouldn't take his anger out on the innocent servant.
"Well I wasn't." he spoke
"Would you like me to re-assemble your lightening claws, lord?"
"No, I just take my standard gauntlets and vambraces, no time for the claws. You can order me another cot though."
"I am your will, my lord." The servitor wheeled out of the small room. Jiadev adjusted his gauntlets, and picked up his helm. He caught a glimpse of himself in the serenely polished steel that sits above his wash bowl. He rubbed the long white scar that lay just above his temple, almost as if to comfort himself. He put on his emerald helm and walked out.
The scene of Castle Rock was a living nightmare. The men have been working for days without rest, attempting to cut out a successful trench system in the mountain side. Several workers had died due to overheating, exhaustion, or machinery accidents. They couldn't hold for much longer. No one knew this better than Commander Ashok Tahmid.
Tahmid had lived on Skyfall half his life, and he had never seen such a happening of dismay and sufferance. Times of war brought out the worst in people. Tahmid witnessed the terror of it firsthand. When he was young and spunky Ashok signed up for the Steel Legion, he had never thought that the third Armageddon war could be so terrible. Seven hundred men nd women joined and died in his platoon. Many of them he had fallen very close to.
Two of his best friends were gunned down by orks. They were reduced to nothing more than ripped flesh and clouds of pink. The woman whom he had fallen deeply in love with, was maimed by the whirling axe of an ork. And his own eldest brother and his admirable sergeant were crushed by the claws of Ghazgul himself. The massive green beast was wretchedly ugly, and stank to high heaven. But unlike the other ork, he wasn't stupid, he didn't just kill things, he murdered them. He looked them in the eye before he viscously tore them apart.
A wave of warm desert air hit Tahmid's face, snapping him back to reality. Tahmid took a long, hard inhale on his Fenrisian cigar. The Space Wolves may be an ignorant, rowdy bunch, but they know how to brew ale and wrap cigars. Tahmid looked to his promptly dressed commissar.
"Anwar," gruffly spoke the Commander "When was that Captain supposed to arrive again?"
"Three hours ago, sir." Spoke the sickly, albino commissar, stuffed with arrogance.
"Damn him! I thought he was supposed to be prompt!" Tahmid's scraggly black hair was covered by a light blue and white shamak. His eyes and most of his facial features were covered by the large and thick sun shields. What could be seen of his face were the deep, jagged scars that ran like long caverns along a dark rock desert. He was wearing typical Skyfall robes over his brown and black carapace armor.
"That egotistical bastard best show his face within the next twenty minutes," venomously said the commander "or I'll personally rip his God-Emperor damned hearts out through his-"
"Through my what, Commander Tahmid?" the mighty form of Captain Abdul had approached him from behind without the slightest notion of his arrival.
"Ah, Captain Abdul." Quickly rectified the human commander, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"You can cut the bureaucratic jibber-jabber, Commander. I've heard enough of your opinionated voice for one day."
Abdul turned on his heel in enough time to miss the embarrassed flush fill Tahmid's dark cavernous face. The Invaders captain lead the two Imperial Guardsmen into the makeshift redoubt carved into the red face of Castle Rock. Tahmid took another long draw on his cigar as he followed the Space Marine through the dimly lit hallway.
The group shortly arrived at the main control room. Tahmid stepped over the massive power cords that ran across the floor and up the rockcrete walls, undoubtedly leading to portable plasma generators. The mass of wires and power cords stretched across the small room, leading to auspex equipment, primary vox control units, controls for the automated gun batteries lining the length of Castle Rock, and Terra knows what else. Several of the cords lead to a large, round hololith in the center of the room. The hololith display of Castle Rock covered half of the table, the other half a display of the city contained within the stone womb of the mount. There were two other figures standing around the table. The first a slender woman dressed in a deep red robe with a black shawl, whom Tahmid recognized as Governor Amira, head diplomat of Skyfall. The second was a man, he was not a native, but Tahmid has met him before. He is Colonel Cyprian, a Commander for the Death Korps of Krieg; he fought with him on his first tour of Armageddon. Abdul was the first to speak amongst the group.
"My apologies for my tardiness, there was a slight mix up with my Thunderhawk."
"No reason for such grievances here, Captain." the Governor spoke with great poise and self determination.
"How goes the trench work, thus far Commander?" Spoke Cyprian to Tahmid.
"Their losing energy quickly. Our workers have never been forced this hard this fast.'
'I second that, notion.' said the lithe woman 'These people are not industrial servitors. They're tired and weak.'
'Your concern of your people is completely rational Governor,' said Abdul. 'But as of now it's either a few casualties now, or the entire planet later.'
'Earlier today,' he continued 'I was informed that the tyranid arrival was nearly a week and a half away, and that the nearest reinforcements were at least a month after that.'
The people in the room made a subsequent gulp. Not entirely unexpected, thought Abdul. As he began to speak again, he keyed in several digits into the hololith interface to represent his following words.
'My primary strategy for the defense of this city, was to place Leon's men and my men within the front ranks-'
'Negative,' interrupted the Death Korps commander. 'My men fight in the front rank, always.'
'Commander, I don't think your men would make it past the first wave, if you did that.' Retorted the space marine.
'Wave? How do you know there will be multiple attacks?' Asked the ignorant Commander 'We could send their arses reeling after the first few hours of combat! Right Tahmid?' both he and his commissar said nothing.
'I don't think you understand the scale of what you're dealing with.' Said Anwar.
'Cyprian, if your track record is correct, you fought in the second and third Armageddon war, right?' Said Abdul, his voice echoing with inpatients.
"Veteran of both.' Spoke Cyprian with stomach churning gusto.
'Imagine orks, with five times the numbers, five times the deadliness, five times the lack of care for life. Imagine every single ork is a mindless dob who will kill itself just to slow the advancing of a tank. Imagine an ork that changes the atmosphere. Imagine an ork, with no fear, morals, or even personal opinions. It never retreats, it never stops, it always comes back, and it always remembers you. Now tell me if you can handle that.'
The group emerged from the room much later. The once bright and upright sun is now falling beneath the horizon. The sky rippled with red clouds atop a purple and blue back drop. The desert landscape reflects this color show with magnificence only the force of nature can provide.
Tahmid's mind exhausted, and this isn't even the battle. He has no idea how this underground city is going to survive what these brutes have to offer. He doesn't even know how he'll survive it. The grizzled veteran pulled his last cigar out of his pocket, lighting it as he watched the aurora of Skyfall's sun reach what could very well be its final twilight.
Tahmid took a long draw of the powerful cigar, and muttered to himself, as the greenish smoke escapes his mouth. 'Emperor protect us.'