All right! First fanfic! Please offer any suggestions you have, like, and comment!
So this is a crossover between WARHAMMER 40K and RWBY. Why, you ask?
The Guard shooting the crap out of everything that moves, that's why!
Of Mere Mortal Will.
Prologue
Sgt. Jaeger ducked as a krak grenade detonated in front of the trench he was currently inhabiting, the explosion sending dirt flying everywhere. The Mordian muttered in annoyance as he brushed some of it off of his pristine uniform. This was what he hated about trench warfare, how dirty it was. He understood the necessity of it, but as a Mordian he could not stand his uniform to be sullied.
"Oi! Cheer up, old chap! It didn't land in the trench!" Came the voice of a Praetorian Guardsman boiling water in a nearby dugout. "Besides, a little dirt never hurt anyone."
"Would you say the same if it landed in your tea, Smith?" inquired the sergeant.
"By Jove! If that were to happen, Emperor forbid, I would have to give those blokes a right proper lesson in etiquette with my bayonet, yeeesssss. Speaking of which, tea's done!".
Explosions continued to blossom in No Man's Land as the two soldiers settled down to enjoy this fleeting moment of relative calm along the front. If one were to look over the dugout these men had been living in for the past week, one would find nothing but a blasted and withered hellscape, illuminated by the constant streams of tracer rounds flashing back and forth. The battle had been raging for over a month now, the Guard slowly pushing forward, mile by bloody mile. The Heretics stubbornly stood their ground, even as thousand upon thousands of their ilk were crushed beneath Earthshaker barrages and infantry…
"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!"
Both men were on their feet in an instant, training taking over from reminiscing minds. They placed their lasguns atop the parapet, supported on either side by men of both regiments. In the distance figures could be seen, moving towards the Imperial lines in a vast and gruesome host. The Guardsmen steeled their resolve, knowing that a pitched battle was ahead.
"Gott-Kaiser in Himmel"... whispered Sgt. Jaeger at first sight. How many men did the wretched foe possess? He was stirred out of his moment of awe by the actions of a nearby Praetorian gun crew.
"Yeeessss, Gunner? If you could please target that bloody big lad there, the one with all the armour? It would be most appreciated."
"Certainly, Sir."
The lascannons beam melted through the heretic ranks, killing a rather large mutant upon its end. This was soon followed by an anticipated command from a Mordian lieutenant:
"FEUER FREI!"
The trench line gave way to a brilliant display of lasgun fire, scything down heretics by the hundreds. Again and again men fired, never wavering in their dedication to duty and Emperor. By the time they advanced twelve meters, the heretics must have lost several thousand men. Yet still they kept coming. Eventually they were able to close the distance, and a desperate melee broke out. Jaeger and Smith fought back to back, stabbing out with their bayonets whenever they could, being rewarded by the squelch of strait silver piercing tainted flesh. All around them, Guardsmen fought and bled to hold this line, litanies of faith and fury upon their lips. The flashes of lasgun fire, the dreadful whir of the lieutenants chainsword, the screams of men dying and killing, the maddening wails of the foul heretical hordes, surrounding them to form a symphony of war. But in the end, the Guard numbered just too few against too many. What little men were left soon perished as a sight Jaeger hoped never to see strode onto the field. Dark clouds of unnatural hue swirled about the figures head, wreathed in unholy relics and tomes. The beings voice, impossibly loud as it recited a foul tongue that pained all to hear. A being completely given over to the Dark Gods.
A Chaos Sorcerer.
Halting near the little dugout, yet taking no notice of the last few struggling Guardsmen within it, It began to chant more slavishly than before, the Chaos attack gaining momentum with it. Guard lines began to falter and wilt under the vile onslaught of madness, its power multiplied through acolytes of the sorcerer positioned all along the lines. The Sorcerer tasted an emotion he loved so much, that he halted his chanting for a moment to savor it. The emotion? It was fear.
Unbeknownst to the sorcerer, this was to be his undoing. For his momentary halt had allowed the guardsmen he had so carelessly ignored to retrieve their wits, to identify this new threat. They knew they would not survive this battle. They knew their duty. Thus, they did the only sensible thing for a Guardsman in their position to do.
They charged.
Their charge was hardly worth note, a mere four soldiers against a sorcerer. One was dragged down by the hordes of Chaos after barley a few meters, managing to arm her grenades before her death. The next was shot several times, and was dead before he dropped his lasgun. The last two continued on, bashing heretics out of the way with their rifles, running at full tilt. The sorcerer took no notice of this, concentrated as he was upon a terrifying new spell, one that would finally crush these dogs of the Corpse-God. Took no notice of the determination within the eyes of these remaining men. However, he took note of the two bayonets when they ruptured his side. He took note of their eyes. Finally, he took note of the live grenades strapped to their belts. The charges detonated right before the apex of his spell, changing one little word, the aftermath zipping through his acolytes like fire.
It may seem insignificant, but then again, you and I both know the fickle nature of the Warp.
One word can change quite a lot…
So, we have seen two of the Imperium's best: the space Prussians, because + 9,001 to discipline, and the space Brits… yeeeessss.
Also, If you know anymore good old fashioned british banter for me to incorporate, feel free to comment!
The Imperials will be on Remnant next chapter. Also, two new regiments, and maybe a surprise guest...
Auf Wiedersehen!