Dusel: It was certainly not my intention to make the night elves seem like scared puppies in their attitude towards the space marine. What I'm trying to illustrate is that the elves aren't frightened out of their wits by the astartes, but more stunned and awed. One of the things that draws me towards Space Marines in general in the 40k universe, is their psychological effect on friends and foes alike. The presence of an astartes will strike fear and despair on the enemy, while strengthening the resolve and spirit of his allies. What I tried to capture here is the sudden arrival of a nine foot tall superhuman shooting .75mm of exploding awesomeness.

Will of the Emperor: Thank you! Our marine will undoubtedly god-mode many things, but there will be challenges that await him! Otherwise, there won't be much of a plot!

Leafy8765: Thanks! In my mind, as of now, I'm pretty sure there will only be one space marine in this fiction. As for other races, I'm not going to tell you simply because it will give away the plot!

Soulless Reader: Thank you! As for the admantium thing, I'm not too sure either. I remember reading an article in White Dwarf featuring movie marines, and the article stated that the combat knife was made from admantium.

Chapter 4

"And I thought I've seen everything."

I turn my attention from the daemon corpse I'd just haphazardly thrown away. The speaker is an old xeno, dressed in the furs and leathers of animals. His withered form sways like a sapling in the breeze, projecting an air of tranquil authority. My gaze shifts to the ones who are following him, sneering as I recognize the female alien warrior and her retinue. So, they've finally decided to stop wallowing in their self pity and fight for their right to survive. I quickly admonish myself. These were xenos. They knew not of virtues such as bravery and courage. I need not to be bothered by their lack of spine, when there was simply none to begin with.

The old alien gibbered something to its kin before walking towards me, smiling.

"Hello there! You speak Common right?"

My eyes narrow behind the slits of my visor. It dares slight the holy speech of humanity by calling it common? I long to snap its neck like a twig.

"Still your foul tongue! The honored language of Terra needs not to be defiled by the likes of you!" I spat, barely able to contain my rage.

To my surprise, the xeno takes the insult with a faint chuckle. Instead, he halts in front of me, still smiling. The others though, glare at me in anger.

"Hmmm… Black and white armor, glaring red eyes, imposing size… I can see why that poor elf thought you were a god of death in his panicked state. Tell me, does your heraldry mean anything?"

"Something your feeble mind would never understand xeno!" I bark.

"My, my, you really need to work on your manners."

I am about to retort when harsh inhumane laughter blasts from behind me. I whirl around, knife at the ready. The greater daemon steps maliciously through the smoldering ruins of a building, its shark toothed mouth spreading into a horrifying grin. It pauses to examine the body of a slain xeno, a commoner by the looks of its clothing, before gingerly placing a four clawed foot on the dead alien's chest. A deep throated chuckle escapes its mutated orifice as it exerts a sudden force to its leg, crushing the corpse into the ground and smearing the surrounding area with gore. The old xeno by my side snarls in fury at this act.

"Did that pain you elf? Seeing your brethren trodden into the ground like the ants they are?" the daemon gestures to the unrecognizable mess that was once a living, breathing creature.

A shrill war cry answers it as a volley of black fetched arrows zips past my head. The warp filth's mouth lifts upwards in a mask of scorn, battering away the projectiles with a burly forearm.

"How pitiful," the daemon mocks, "Given the resistance I've encountered here, I might as well head straight for Darnassus."

"We've defeated your kind before at Hyjal! We can do it again!" The female xeno growls as she bounds forward, followed by her entourage, fresh arrows drawn back against curved bows.

I feel my earlier revulsion towards these aliens recede a little. To stand against a greater daemon is an act of no small courage. I have seen veteran guardsmen lose their minds at the mere sight of anything daemonic, yet these xeno women that stand around me defy the Warp with steely resolve. I chastise myself once again. To feel admiration for the xeno is the path to heresy.

"You are mistaken weakling. Your alliance between the races lies fractured and forgotten. Your druid leaders lie comatose in the Emerald Dream. Hyjal was simply a delay in the inevitable… All will fall before the Burning Legion!" the warp thing waves grandiosely.

My enhanced eyesight spots movement shifting through the smoke and flames. I slam my knife back into its scabbard, and detach the boltgun I had earlier holstered at my side. My visor responds instantly, planting crosshairs and calibrating distances. I eject the spent sickle shaped magazine, and jam a new one into its place. The ammo count on the lower right of my HUD flashes as it registers a fresh clip of shells.

"I grow tired of our conversation… Come my wrathguards! Butcher these mortals in the name of Sargeras!"

A chorus of eager roars follows the greater daemon's command.

The wrathguard materialized from the smoke, impatient to spill the blood of the assembled kaldorei. Keina sighted down her bow and released, feeling a second of exultation as the arrow hissed towards one of the corrupted eredar. The demon roared as the shaft sank into its chest, narrowly missing the heart. Its pupils dilated as it focused on the sentinel leader, promising a slow and agonizing demise. Then, its head promptly disappeared in an explosion of liquefied bone and brain matter.

Keina didn't know what surprised her the most, the sudden, gruesome death of her adversary, or the deafening reports coming from the giant's strange weapon. Swiveling her head, the night elf watched with a combination of awe and revulsion as the barrels of the armament flashed with bright fire. Each successive blaze was accompanied by a metal bolt jerking back, expelling a spent cartridge and with a start; Keina realized the god was using a gun. Though the bulky, rectangular shape was a far cry from the long sleek barrels of the muskets the dwarves and humans used. The sentinel commander had a strong disliking for said guns, thinking them too crude compared to the bows the elves traditionally used. That and a musket is famously inaccurate.

The giant's weapon had no such problems, however. The colossal gun flung shells with pin point accuracy at the appearing wrathguard, blasting them off their feet as soon as they appeared. One screeched in agony as its chest erupts open, fountaining black blood and flayed flesh. Another spins backwards, its left shoulder a smoking ruin of destroyed muscle.

"Now this is more like it!" Tanavar grins, his earlier anger forgotten. The druid lifts a wrinkled hand and chants, pointing to a charging wrathguard with his other. The ground beneath the eredar shook and shuddered, causing the demon to pause and look down in bewilderment. Thick vines sprouted forth and immediately reached for their nearest target. The wrathguard howled in panic as the rapidly moving roots entwined its legs and constricted its movements. A shell from the giant quickly smashed into the trapped demon, blowing it in half.

"Enough of this! I, Varshokk the Impaler will send you to your pathetic Elune!" A massive sword, etched in red script appears in the wrathguard leader's hand.

"Purge the daemon!" the grating voice of the god answers, and brings his gun to bear, aiming for the advancing Legion.

"Your pathetic weapons will not harm a champion of Sargeras!"

The demon is fast. Charging on two reversed knee legs, it closes the distance easily, long, serpentine tail raised behind it for balance. The giant is faster. It springs forward, weapon drumming out a funeral beat. The four corrupted eredar following their leader are punched backwards, flailing wildly as their tortured existence ends in showers of their own blood and viscera. Varshokk swings its sword downwards, intent on bisecting the metal god in twain. The blade seems to shriek in ecstasy as it descends, eager to please its master. Keina, despite herself, cries out a warning.

The giant, without a flaw in its movement, sidesteps neatly as the sword hisses by it, the blade embeddening itself in caked dirt. The god continues forward, and drives a heavy shoulder into Varshokk's stomach. The demon champion staggers backwards; its breath sent hurtling out its lungs by the impact of the blow. The giant does not stop, and continues barreling forward, sending the wrathguard stumbling back clumsily. The inevitable happens, and Varshokk trips over its own feet, landing on its back spread eagled. A boot the size of Keina's head stomps hard on the demon's chest, pinning it in place.

"Die filth." The god's voice is tinged with vehemence.

"No! Wait!" Varshokk hisses in mixture of anguish and panic.

"Like all daemons, you and your ilk are craven at heart."

The armored foot begins to exert a crushing pressure.

"You are strong! The Legion can use you! Join us and --- Gaaackkkk!" Keina winces slightly as she hears the unmistakable sounds of bone breaking.

"You dare tempt me lackey of Chaos? Save your breath. You will need it to scream when the Emperor judges you in the afterlife." The boot is forced down harder.

"N-No! D-Don't!"

"How ironic that minutes ago you were in a similar situation with a dead alien at your feet. You did not show mercy to it. Why should I show mercy to you?" The giant punctuates these last words by grinding his foot into Varshokk's chest. Bits of already shattered bone are forced deep into the demon's internal organs, puncturing the vital points in dozens of places.

"Y-You will pay for this! The Burning Legion will avenge me!" The wrathguard gasps through its agony.

The giant answers with a metallic laugh.

"I will destroy your Legion, just like I did here. I will not rest until every last one of your warp tainted kind are bathed in the cleansing flames of the Emperor's Wrath."

The massive boot finally stomps down fully, mashing the demon's chest cavity into paste.

A moment of silence reigns. It does not last long. Tanavar steps forward, past the stunned sentinels.

"I take it from your actions here, you intend to combat the Burning Legion and their allies." Gone is the old druid's flippant attitude.

The black clad giant turns slowly from Varshokk's corpse. Its red eyes glares balefully at the elf.

"Aye."

To Keina's astonishment the wizened druid steps forward and extends a thin hand.

"Then we have a common purpose. I am Tanavar Oakshield of Darnassus."

The god regards the hand offered with interest. It tilts its head slightly sideways as if in deep thought. Then, it hesitantly reaches out, and clasps the druid's outstretched palm.

"Veteran Brother Avarian of the Death Spectres."