The agricultural world creatively named Abundance was under attack by Chaos forces, and it had been for several hours. To their credit, the local Guardsmen and Planetary Defense Force had managed a furious defense, driving the Warp-cursed forces off the main continent of Solace before they returned.
With a Daemon leading their forces.
11th Armored Division was destroyed by the Daemon itself.
The 65th Taurus infantry regiment was in tatters. All of first through fourth company had been annihilated by the Daemon that lead the incursion. Fifth and sixth had escaped by the skin of their teeth from the merciless assault. Surrounded on all sides, they had no choice but to defend the entrance to the long-abandoned Ordo Xenos bunker located not far from the settlements they had been forced to abandon.
For all Private Mathias Vanic knew, the defenders topside had fallen, and he and what remained of the squads that were hurriedly ushered inside with the order of retrieving something, anything that could stop the coming tide were all that was left.
It was a thought too terrible to consider, and he pushed it to the back of his mind in favor of running.
Surprisingly enough, the corridors were spacious in length and height, and thankfully contained small alcoves every few feet to take cover in. Something that the 2nd squad of 1st platoon only had a brief minute to appreciate before the cultists caught up with them.
There had been six of them to start with. Now it was just two, and who knew where Sergeant Emmeldis was.
Mathias rounded the corner and into a room not a moment too soon, narrowly avoiding having his brains splattered by the slug-throwers these cultists seemed so fond of as his feet skidded across the metal floor.
"You go through there, I'm gonna link up with Sergeant Em-" a bolt of lightning, frakking psyker lightning blasted apart the body of Private Lumen Calden, the last original member of Vanic's squad.
Even with his mind reeling in shock and his friend's blood on his face, Mathias knew the consequences of stopping, and the sound of insane laughter from the heretics only drew closer. Panicking eyes darted across the doorway, settling on a big red button that he palmed immediately.
Sliding closed, the door caused the sounds of the cultists to fade to mere background noise as Mathias ran a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the blood, tears, sweat, and mud that simply became a part of one's face after being in battle for a few minutes.
He was exhausted beyond all measure, terrified of what was to come, and was about to burnout from the feeling of coming off an adrenaline high. All in all, a reasonable reaction for what he had been through.
"Come ooooooooon, Guardsmen! Show us the color of your guts!"
"I'm gonna turn the frakker into mystery meat!"
A sudden bang from the door caused him to jump backwards and raise his lasgun in the door's general direction. No visible damage to the metal door or its frame, but it wasn't exactly a blast door, and those cultists had a psyker among them. He was running out of time.
Turning around, Mathias felt his heart contract at the sight of a small rectangular room with no alternate exit. Panic gripping him, the Guardsman managed to steel himself before moving forward. The Ordo Xenos must have kept all kinds of secrets in here. Just find something and see if it can help us, Lieutenant Redolis had urged him before returning to the defensive line.
He looked around, giving the room a more thorough examination as he edged away from the door, which had grown a fist-shaped impression. The entire left side was bare, save for a banner with a stylized Inquisition 'I' and an ancient cogitator. Its keyboard held so much dust it looked like no one had used it since the Horus Heresy.
The right side of the room was much more interesting.
Pipes and power lines all fed into what was most likely a cryo-chamber of some kind. The tube itself was massive, big enough to house even a Terminator Space Marine. If his childhood memories of seeing the Blood Ravens save his homeworld of Calderis from Orks were correct, then a ten foot tall metal tube was certainly big enough to house one, if only just barely.
He stepped onto the ancient catwalk that connected the steel-gray floor to the cryo-tube, and with his non-bloodied hand, wiped off the layer of dust that had accumulated over time. "By the Emperor!" he shouted.
The being inside was like nothing Mathias had ever seen before.
The Guardsman had fought Eldar, Orks, Chaos, and even the Tau at one point, but none of them looked like this.
Its armor was majestic and regal, there was no other way to describe it. A beautiful silver hawk adorned the upper chest, and a blank visor on an intimidating helm stared downwards at him, reflecting his dumbstruck face. Flowing black and white robes wrapped themselves around the figure, delicate-looking yet Mathias got the impression it was more durable than all the armor on a Leman Russ tank.
But more than anything, the second his fingertips removed the dust from the casket, Mathias felt alive. The armor's presence alone radiated an aura of holiness, and seemed to counteract his own growing despair of being trapped by cultists and even the pestilence of Chaos itself with something new. It wasn't the same as a purity seal. It was like a rawer, more pure form of purity.
"Throne," he murmured in awe. This would do, the private realized immediately. Someway, somehow, this armor could turn the tide of the battle on the surface. If he could just get it there-
No, his mind shut that idea down and even the revitalizing aura of the armor couldn't stop his depressing train of thought. You would have to find the manual release for the pod, there can't be enough power left judging by all the dust. You would have to carry or wear it, and forget that, most Space Marines probably couldn't wear it. Plus, what of the cultists?
He looked down at the floor, depressed. There wasn't a way out after all.
A soft crick met Mathias's ears, and he looked up dejectedly, and he wondered why he even bothered doing that. Still the same hopeless situation. Another sound, like ice cubes exposed to water appeared, and Mathias looked up in annoyance, only to stare in shock.
Spider-web cracks were forming across the glass casing, arcing across the surface as the suit of armor began to emit its own light, white luminescence spilling into the room. Private Vanic gasped. It moved.
The cogitator on the wall began to act up, lines of text spitting across the screen before its monitor shattered.
The banging on the door ceased momentarily, and Mathias wondered if they were just too flat-out puzzled by what was going on to keep trying to break in. The slow collection of light didn't stop, only accelerating until the glass glowed like an arc light powered by the Emperor himself.
With an ear-splitting whine, the metal bits of the tube burst outwards like a flower in bloom while glass shards flew like shrapnel. Miraculously enough, none had hit him, and when he dared to open his eyes, he saw a sight he would never forget.
The feeling of weakness will pass momentarily, but I can only assume so much time in uh, 'suspension' has caused limited muscle atrophy, Ghost advised him as he walked out of the casket.
Noted. Any idea as to how I can get that back? Glatisant asked back out of curiosity and a slight sense of worry.
Same as anyone else, a little exercise goes a long way. Of course, the regenerative properties of being a Guardian helps too, Ghost replied, and Glatisant enjoyed a hearty chuckle, the first one in-
How long has it been? he asked the AI.
I do not know, it responded truthfully. Much of my data is out of place and tampered with. But I still have your weapons, and I suspect that to you, that's all that matters.
Not everything. But it helps, the Warlock replied. The familiar weight of Against All Odds and No Land Beyond was added to his back with Hard Light magnetically holstered to his thigh. Wordlessly, he left the rest of his inventory alone as he looked around, finding nothing but a decorative banner that he instinctively hated for some unknown reason, a scared human, and an almost broken-into door.
I suppose there could be worse things to wake up to, the Guardian mused before turning to the small human.
"Hel-" he tried before descending into a coughing fit, causing the human to scamper backwards in fear before straightening with that strange dark green and grey rifle leveled right at his chest. A burst of chatter met his ears in an alien tongue, and the little human looked like he had no intentions of stopping anytime soon.
Talk to me Ghost, the Warlock requested as he brought up a hand to his throat in pain.
Something's wrong with your vocal chords. Weird, doesn't look like decay, looks more like someone cut them, the Ghost observed.
How soon can you repair it? he managed as he straightened up and looked the Guardsman dead in the face, prepared to reach for Hard Light in case things became uncivil.
Good question, who knows. I'm going to work on fixing you in general. In the meantime, try to play nice. I've also got to figure out what in the name of the Traveler that human is speaking. Certainly not any brand of commontongue I've ever heard of, the Ghost muttered more to itself than him before receding into his mind, effectively leaving him alone with the human.
The human seemed to have calmed down at least, his strange rifle in a ready but not firing stance while the Guardian merely maintained his cautious ready-to-fight stance.
The door shuddered with a loud booming noise and both soldiers turned to face it. One corner of it had been blown off the doorframe. Sparing a glance at the other human, who now had his weapon trained on the door, the Guardian made one more check to see if he still had ammo.
Then with one final push, the metal barrier was blasted open, and the Warlock stared for only a moment.
They were grotesque, horrifying impressions of humans. Sunken spots where their eyes used to be, dark red lines from bloody tattoos and a permanent jeer etched onto snarling faces.
They reeked of something evil and something that was definitely the Darkness, especially from those eight-sided tattoos, and the Guardian decided he had seen enough.
Like everybody else in the stand-off, Mathias had been too shocked by the creature's appearance to fight at first.
Then it snapped up a strange black and aqua rifle like a compact and blockier version of an Eldar Shuriken rifle, and opened fire.
A torrent of electric blue-white shards slammed into the cultists, cutting through unholy flesh and armor in an instant, leaving a pile of corpses where there were once Chaos followers, only for two more to rush through the door, angry and bloodthirsty as ever.
Not giving any indication of surprise, the tall creature gunned one down before the exotic rifle disappeared, and its fist curled into a ball of orange light to rival to the sun.
The last cultist froze at the sight, as though confronted with something even scarier than a ten-foot tall possible psyker. He brought up his hands and shot out a bolt of purple Warp-lightning with a grin, only for the devastating attack to merely fizzle against the armor, the bird of prey seal refusing to falter.
As if angered by the attack the uninjured juggernaut surged forward, grabbing the screaming psyker cultist by the throat, squeezing until the psyker's tortured noises were no more, and to Mathias's shock, his entire body caught fire, incinerating itself into ashes in seconds.
Releasing its clenched grip the remains drifted to the ground like snowflakes, and the massive warrior raised its rifle again, checking both sides of the corridor outside before beckoning for him to follow.
"You want me to go with you?" he asked dumbly, still in shock from almost dying twice in the past three minutes as the armor gave an exasperated shrug and motioned him forward before disappearing the way Mathias had come from. Unsure whether to curse his luck or thank the Emperor, he followed.
Exiting the right hallway, Mathias's eyes squinted in the comparatively dim hallways now that that thing's brilliant light had faded away. Catching sight of its glowing white armband as the towering figure disappeared down another one of the labyrinth-like corridors, Mathias gave a cursory check to his lasgun's charge before sprinting after him.
The Darkness itself was rolling off these abominable creatures like heat from an oven, but it didn't deter the Guardian. He dodged their primitive solid slug weaponry, his shields deflected their strange magical attacks, and all the while he was retaliating with all the Light the Traveler bestowed upon him.
The Sunsinger sent a fist charged with Light itself into the abdomen of another servant of Darkness, and the malformed man fell to the solar energy, succumbing to the Traveler's magic as his ashes were blasted across the walls.
When you're not too busy, I'd like to know why the Darkness is infesting humans, please. Glatisant said irritably as he backhanded another cultist, snapping his neck against the wall and leaving a burn mark where the Light had touched the corrupted human.
I'm working on a lot of things right now, his Ghost bit back, but from what I can tell, the connection they have to the Darkness is voluntary. They gave themselves over to it by choice, Ghost uttered in slight shock, causing the Guardian to pause momentarily to contemplate that.
What in the fuck.
It makes little sense to me either, especially since we can clearly see there are at least some humans who don't give in to it.
The non-Darkness tainted human was still following him, but Glatisant wasn't too worried about him. If anything he now felt a slight sense of pity towards the obviously inept soldier. He wore baggy desert-brown pants, combat boots, and green armor that looked like it was fit for quelling small-scale riots and not much else.
Being under-equipped and facing hostiles with no chance of winning was a pain the Guardian didn't wish on allies. Traveler knew he'd been like that for too long.
Right. Do any of our major systems work? Like for example, a map? he tried hopefully.
No, Ghost shot down, not unless you want to see the corridors you've already traversed. I can't even tell what planet we're on.
I don't know either. I also expect you to have a plan for synthesizing ammunition for me, since these things don't seem to drop any, he replied, flicking eyes between the ammo counter and the cultists in front of him.
Yes, that is something that we've been taking for granted. At least I can extract Orbs of Light from them, however small. I'll see what I can do about the ammo situation, but no promises. For now just use your Ammo Synthesis, but keep a few alone. I'd like to see if I can manufacture new ones.
Holding you to that.
I said no promises! Ghost chided as he merely grinned wolfishly.
The last cultist fell to the ground with a smoldering hole in his bare chest, courtesy of the strange laser gun that his companion wielded. Tossing back a nod of thanks, the Guardian pressed on, walking through the corridors, each one as identical as the last.
Do you know where you're going? Ghost questioned.
Not really, but logically if we keep walking we'll eventually find the exit, Glatisant explained.
If only your companion could help you with that, Ghost mused. Speaking of, still no luck on translating what he's saying. So much of it is wrong, like bastardized commontongue mixed with ancient pre-Traveler Earth languages.
You can't fly out here and extract the data from his brain in a stream of light and strange sounds? he asked humorously.
NO. Ghost transmitted forcefully through the neural network. I don't dare to appear outside your armor. By the Traveler, you're a Sunsinger. Can't you feel this new type of Darkness pressing in on all sides of us? It's like we're the only source of Light on this planet.
Glatisant shuddered involuntarily at the reminder. There were no lies in that, the Darkness in here wasn't overpowering like the tunnels beneath the Moon, where Crota had made his home. It was the fact that it felt off from the normal Darkness that made it so unnerving.
He had always assumed the Darkness was a sort of sentient force of nature, but these shambling abominations radiated their own brand of power. Like someone had taken all the worst, most horrific qualities of the universe and blended it with the Darkness. Weaponized an already inherently evil form of energy that permeated everything.
Except Guardians. Those born in the Light of the Traveler itself did not falter so easily, and the Warlock was no exception, as the not-quite Darkness recoiled from his presence.
Yes, I can feel it, he assured his Ghost.
We're still lost though, he began, trying to change the subject that had unnerved his Ghost. Is there anything you can do to scan ahead?
Yes, but that only allows me to find- wait. New contact ahead, down this tunnel and to your left, It's a big room of some kind. Possibly an exit, Ghost advised.
Glatisant hugged the wall, the human behind him copying his movements. Just as he got to the edge however, a massive explosive bullet exploded against his head.
Kurouth's maw twisted into a grin behind his helmet. The Black Legion Chaos Marine had killed something new. It looked like this mission to chase Guardsmen through the Inquisition's broom closet wouldn't be so boring after all.
He advanced slowly, bolter not wavering from the combination of genetic and chaos-enhanced muscles that kept it steady. Whatever he shot must have been the source of his headache, the pain only growing as he approached.
The Chaos Marine's eye slits cast a red glow across the floor as his visor swept back and forth for targets-
-when suddenly a massive black and white shape burst through the air and practically flew all the way to the other side of the room.
The newcomer was up and running immediately, firing with a strange rifle that seemed to tear at his armor like a razor blade to paper, peppering it with holes. Kurouth roared in defiance and anger, squeezing the firing stud on the bolter.
"YOUR SLAVERY TO THE FALSE EMPEROR ENDS HERE!" he boomed.
.75 caliber explosive shells rained around the surprisingly lithe thing as it weaved in and out of the fire, its robes seemingly unharmed by the barrage. Kurouth was about to fire again when he felt a prickly sensation at the back of his spine before he felt an uncomfortable heat. He growled as he looked back, seeing a scared-looking Guardsman with a smoking lasgun.
The pathetic whelp would die second. There was something to deal with first, as he made the motion of turning back around.
But in doing so, he had made the fatal mistake of making himself an easy target for the Guardian.
The creature of Light leapt into the air and slammed both fists onto the back of his head, making the Chaos Marine fall flat to the ground. He managed to roll over, reaching for his chainsword when the Warlock pounced onto his unguarded chest, and raised a fist.
The entire room was bathed with golden light as a ball of energy formed in his attacker's hands—himself glowing that same shade of sunlight all over his body. It caused Kurouth's skin to bubble beneath his armor and his vision to grow dark as he witnessed the Guardian raise his hands and the sphere.
"YOU DARE-" Kurouth exclaimed before it plunged the Light into his chest.
Kurouth had died many times before in battle. It was all the same after a while though. A few days or centuries in the Warp later and he was right back to wanton murder, typically on an Imperial world.
This time, as a presence unlike any other blazed through his armor and his skin, Kurouth felt his very existence begin to fray at the seams. His dying howls faded away for the last time as he was erased from both the physical and the immaterial realms permanently, and a pulse of pure Light burst from his corpse.
Sergeant Rehmer's flak jacket felt the impact of two bullets from a pair of stub gun wielded cultists. He backed away slightly from the impact before planting a boot firmly into the ground to steady himself, retaliating with a triple flash of lasers from his lasgun.
"How much time?!" He yelled at Corporal Wilheim, not needing to elaborate his question.
"6th company's second platoon'll be here in five minutes! No word on the squads we sent inside the structure!" Wilheim yelled back, ducking as a bolter shell flew overhead.
"Concentrate fire on that Marine, right flank!" Rehmer ordered as every Guardsman within earshot immediately took heed. A veritable wall of laser fire splashed against the marine, and even its unholy armor couldn't save it from the sheer weight of fire.
It was not without costs, however. Sergeant Kjel fell victim to a well-aimed bullet from a cultist before he could squeeze off a shot, and Private Styrson was the unfortunate victim of the next burst of bolter fire, tearing apart him and part of the barricade.
Rehmer cursed, Kjel was the only person truly holding the left side of the east wall together. Without him, the Chaos forces were going to overrun the defensive line, and then it'd all be over.
"Sir! Sniper's have spotted-" Wilheim began to shout over the din of gunfire as he held the vox-caster, and what little color his face held drained completely.
"What?" Rehmer demanded worriedly. Wilheim had served with him for four years, longer than anyone else in possibly the entire Regiment. He didn't crack under pressure or gunfire easily.
"They've sighted the Daemon sir. It's a Daemonic Herald of Khorne."
For all his years of training and experience, Rehmer felt very small, and very helpless. "Emperor preserve us," he said fearfully as the gunfire from his side of the wall suddenly seemed like it just wasn't enough. If they had tanks, Space Marines, something, they might have stood a chance. But as it was they'd be lucky to survive another ten minutes, he realized.
Like all Guardsmen, Rehmer worshipped the Emperor with all his heart, but he didn't pray for help very often. At a time like this though, desperation was all they had, and he knelt down, clasping the stock of his lasgun in prayer.
"Emperor, please. If you're watching over us, we need a miracle right now. I beg of you." the gruff sergeant spoke softly, reverently. His words were lost to the chaotic noise of the battlefield when a grenade blew apart some of the barricades, and when he lifted his head, nothing had changed.
Resigning himself to his fate, he aimed the lasgun into the crowd of approaching enemies, only for the Chaos forces to pause in their advance.
A transparent ripple spread through the air so quickly if he had blinked he wouldn't have seen it. As it passed by he felt reinvigorated, strong enough to take on even the coming Daemon.
With newfound strength in his limbs he gripped the lasgun tighter, sending a controlled volley into the confused cultists who looked around as if uncertain. Soon enough, every Guardsman had followed his example and lasers poured into the advance, burning brighter than ever before.
A voice made itself heard in Rehmer's mind, but between his new vigor and the battle, he barely noticed it.
It will be cold and harrowing, he blew off the head of a cultist taking aim at Corporal Cross.
And we will not all survive, a traitor Marine stumbled backwards, armor twisted and melted from lasers.
But it must be done, and we will not falter! The voice declared as the tide began to turn.
Despite being surrounded, every Guardsman from those manning the walls to the snipers perched atop the bunker itself felt the presence of the one thing that made any soldier anywhere fight harder and even win against all odds.
Hope.
A/N: If you're wondering, that voice is speaking the flavor text from the Oblivion armor's boots, with a little twist at the end from me.
Thanks for the reviews, Eipok and Engelbart! A little encouragement goes a long way, as the Guardsmen on Abundance will soon learn. I love to write, and especially when people enjoy it, so expect the next chapter soon!
Oh right, and I own nothing in here at all, from Destiny to Warhammer. If I did I'd be a lot richer but hey, we'll always have fanfics at least. :)
Tune in next time where the Guardian faces off against all the horrors Chaos can bring to bear!
Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it, Swimmingcop