0730 hours
Trexes was dead. The headless body hung from the ribs of a gutted transport, the skulls which adorned his armour laughing at the brutal irony. The surrounding debris still burned as the man tracked his weapon sight over the gently swinging corpse. Dakar smiled. This campaign had started well. Of all his lord's battle brothers, Dakar had always loathed Trexes the most. An unstable brute who would often spend his free time slaughtering his way through the ship's crew, regardless of how useful they may be; he would not be missed. The Blood God had blessed them by removing his madness from the hunt.
Carefully, he climbed to the lip of the downed transports crater and found the target he'd been tracking for the past hour. From the bottom of the rise, amongst the ruins of yet more wrecked spacecraft, there came the sound of snuffling and tearing meat. Between two twisted bulk heads, hunched over the corpse of one of the pilots, a whip thin yet unnaturally tall creature was tearing strips of flesh from the man's face.
In fascination Dakar watched as the thing would then throw them into the air before snatching them into its beaked mouth. Carefully, he hefted his melta gun and took aim at the Kroot warrior's head. Thumbing the safety off a slight vibration found its way through his armoured hands as the weapon prepared to fire. All too easy, he thought. He pulled the trigger.
The shot went wide as a second xeno appeared to his right and kicked his gun aside. Rearing up before him, the warrior span the dual bladed fighting pole gripped in its right hand and lunged forwards. Cursing, Dakar swung for the alien as the beast below became aware of his presence. Immediately it gave up its feasting and powered up the rise towards him.
Dakar ducked the next blow and the one after that, taking his attacker by surprise with his speed. Dropping his melta, the human drew his sabre and brought it up to parry the Kroot's next series of attacks. Recognising his skill, the xeno unleashed a flurry of jabs and slashes, forcing Dakar back down the rise towards the ruined transport. He could almost hear Trexes laughing. With a roar that would have made his master proud, Dakar batted aside the curved blade that was making a beeline for his face and crashed his fist into the Kroot's torso.
Magnified many times by the fibre bundles in his armour, the blow easily knocked his opponent to the ground were it scrabbled to regain its feet. The heat of battle now coursing through his veins, Dakar brought his sword up above his head to deliver the coup de grace. He would not be denied his kill. A shot rang out and he staggered backwards. All at once the clearing woke up with the shrill sound of high velocity rounds. Caught in an enfilade of pulse weapons fire Dakar tried to rise as shots from every direction knocked him down.
From the surrounding wreckage emerged more Kroot warriors, their skin the coal black of the burned hulls which pockmarked the area. His armour dented, he tried to regain his feet even as the power of each fresh impact drove him back to his knees. Above him, silhouetted in the dawning sun, he could make out his original prey staring down into the crater. They locked eyes and Dakar could feel the thing's contempt, its disregard as it gestured to its brethren.
All at once the shooting ceased. Covered in burns and weeping blood through the joints in his armour Dakar watched as the pack leader brought its rifle to bear. Apparently no more advanced than a musket terminating in a long, curved blade, the blinking lights along the rifle's length revealed its true nature. Twitching uncontrollably as his damaged power armour tried to stand, Dakar did not flinch. His death would honour the Skull Throne as surely as every life he had ever taken in Khorne's righteous name. He spat the blood from his mouth and welcomed his end.
The mood in the command centre was positively jubilant. At 0300 planetary standard time, Tau strike forces lead by Shas'el Van'la Rayn had successfully attacked and if his reports were to believed, wholly annihilated the enemy's primary beach head. Caught on the ground while unloading their precious cargoes of men and materiel, the mass transport fleet of the Chaos armada had made an easy target for the Shas'el's Battlesuits.
Entire infantry battalions had been trapped within their landers as they were immolated by plasma cannons, rail guns and rocket pods. All that was left afterwards being burned remains and buckled metal. It was being hailed a singular victory and more importantly, a complete justification of the Tau Mont'ka way of war. Stood on one of the wrought iron gantries which overhung the command centre below, Gue'vesa'ui Morden was not so sure.
Reading through Rayn's after action, something was still niggling at him. Putting aside his own wounded pride at apparently being so wrong about the threat the Archenemy posed, something else wasn't adding up. Rubbing his sore eyes he tried to refocus on the words in front of him. "It was a remarkable victory, wouldn't you say Gue'vesa'ui?"
Taken aback, Morden snapped to attention as Shas'O Keper approached. The general waved him down and the human relaxed a little, albeit Keper could still see the tautness in his frame and the tightness in his eyes. Stubble lined his jaw and it was obvious the man had been up all night. "It was unexpected, to be certain sir." Keper nodded and joined him at the guard rail.
"If you don't mind me saying so, you seem more perturbed than happy at this mornings action."
Morden sighed and visibly sagged. "To be honest, I can't bring myself to believe it. I've fought the forces of the warp three times and not once was it so... simple." The Shas'O said nothing and for the first time, Morden could see a little of the Tau commander's age on his face. A few sly wrinkles next to his eyes, a slight greying around the mouth.
"If I am to be equally honest, I am also surprised. Based upon the few prior encounters we've had with these Chaos worshippers and the many pieces of information we've gleamed from men such as yourself and captured Imperial records, I'd expected a more frenzied and drawn out fight." Morden said nothing as he looked back at the report in his hand.
"What you hold there," he continued, "should be the beginning and end of it. Minus the mopping up of course. We have identified another landing zone in proximity to the outer suburbs, but it's significantly smaller and now its cut off from reinforcements, can be reduced at our leisure."
"Perhaps." The word was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Keper smiled as he saw the man go rigid once again.
"Be at peace my friend, this is no formal briefing."
"Thank you sir, I meant no disrespect." The Shas'O nodded his understanding.
"But, I still think we should be on our guard. This won't be over until the last Chaos tainted vashla is dead."
"On that Gue'vesa'ui, we both agree."
Dakar could hear bolter fire. Lots of bolter fire. Out of the shattered steel teeth of the ruined hulks stormed vengeance incarnate. In perfect unison the Kroot wheeled to face the new threat as they began to die.
Up on the rise the pack leader was firing down at some target they could not see, spitting energy rounds in a near hopeless attempt to slow the oncoming tide. The first World Eater erupted through a cluster of fallen stanchions to Dakar's right, his dual chain swords gleaming a hellish bronze in the morning sun. The closest Kroot turned to face him, but was shredded before he'd even properly glimpsed his killer. Teeth chewed through the xeno's muscled midriff and neck, before the Astartes wrenched the body in two with contemptuous ease.
Three of the aliens cried in alarm and began to fire at the gladiator as he made for another victim, who was howling gleefully as he charged. Just as they were finding their range they disappeared in a red mist as the bolter fire Dakar had heard moments earlier kicked into high gear once again. Mass reactive rounds blew them apart as the second marine emerged out of the smoke. Desperately the Kroot leader called for his hunters to withdraw as he returned inconsequential fire at the berserk fury who was reaping a horrendous toll down on the crater floor.
As another Kroot disintegrated under the heavy-bolter's fire, the dual axes were finding yet more victims to feed their hunger. All pretence of resistance forgotten, the xenos fled. Some made it, many more didn't. Running up the incline towards their leader and safety, the remaining aliens reared back in horror from the monstrosity which came storming towards them.
Without breaking stride The Wise crested the hill and crushed the Kroot standing there with his very bulk. Bowled over, he felt the thing's hollow bones break under his tread and eyes explode from its skull. The scream it gave out made the Nails sing as he laid into those left standing. In a brave show of defiance the last handful of warriors rallied themselves and counter charged the blood red, bronzed nightmare. They died all the same. Rending left and right with his chain sword, The Wise batted aside the Kroot's blades as nothing more than a nuisance.
The first he killed by driving the sharpened pommel of his sword through its skull. With the next, as it let out a shrill battle cry, he ripped the xeno's arm from its socket and as it stumbled backwards in shock, kicked with such force as too completely pulp its upper body. Massive internal haemorrhaging followed as it bled out staring up at a foreign sky. The Wise had already moved onto his next target.
The third he simply bisected with his chain sword, spraying his armour with stinking arterial blood that cloyed his senses and drove his mind into an even greater frenzy. Grabbing the fallen Kroot's weapon, a puny thing in his gauntleted hand, he savagely cleaved the remaining two warriors in half. Their remains collapsed with a wet thump as he panned the area for any further enemies. None remained and the part of his brain not currently enthralled to the Nails noted his brother's had already gone. Most likely in search of more prey.
In the centre of the clearing slumped his adjutant, bloodied and locked in place by his armour. Not far behind him hung the headless body of an Astartes and The Wise let out a bellowing laugh as he made out the markings on the chest plate. Trexes, finally dead after all these years. Dakar would be pleased he knew. His adjutant's mortal frame positively radiated hatred and disgust whenever the old legionary came near. Breathing heavily as the Nail's influence receded, he seized Dakar's body in one hand and slung it over his shoulder. Alive or dead, it did not matter. His service ended only by his master's word.
