Captum Ante Chapter 28

The Sturmtruppe was a filthy wretch, with long twisted tentacles for hands and a lamprey like mouth. It charged forward a screech of rage, hurling itself at the Ceramite giants before it. Jediah met it with a stab of his Fractal-edged short-sword, that slit its skin and forced it back a step.

The Sturmtruppe hissed like a snake and circled around, looking for an opening. It was a fierce and deadly creature, utterly horrific and hideous to look upon but Jediah was unimpressed. As his opponent bunched up to attack Jediah casually lifted his bolt pistol and shot it in the face. The Sturmtruppe's head exploded as the bolt detonated within it and the Battle Brother stepped over its corpse, his power amour flecked with blood.

Jediah had a moment to look about, seeing the battle unfold around him. He was fighting alongside his Captain, back in his esteemed power armour. It was glorious to be reunited with his plate, the strength and protection it offered having being sorely missed. The armour's Spirit seemed equally pleased at their reunion and it responded smoothly to his movements, lending its power to his blows.

All around him Astartes warriors grappled with twisted mutants, fighting furiously in a scrum of heaving flesh. The battle had been going well up to this point, being barely even a skirmish by the Astartes' standards, until these mutants had arrived. Now the Storm Heralds were reduced to hacking their way forwards through a wall of flesh, mixed with blue uniforms, even the men of Nordlund seeming to find their courage in the heat of the moment.

Chainswords roared and boltguns fired, as the two sides met. A hammering thunder of noise and violence as the warriors battled on, creating a mad scrum of grappling men upon the steep slopes. The Astartes were made for such fights and they reaped a fearfully tally but they were not having everything their own way.

Twisted mutants leapt forwards with vicious claws and sharp fangs growing from their flesh. Some breathed fire or threw Space Marines aside with telekinetic blasts, claiming noble lives with their vile sorcery. Psychic shrieks battered transhumans backwards and mutants with obscenely swollen muscles matched gene-forged warriors blow for blow. Jediah felt his hatred surge at the sight, these filthy witches dared to test the power of the Emperor's Finest and they would die for this affront.

Jediah stabbed a mutant in the neck and let it fall under his boot and as he did so he saw the Inquisitorial party, hanging well back from the fight. How typical of the Inquisition, he thought to himself. Inquisitor Zerban had forced his way into this strike force by dint of his Rosette's authority but he was leaving the fighting to the Storm Heralds. That snake would probably only show up at the last moment, just in time to take the credit. How weak, Jediah thought, how mortal. An Astartes was a being built and bred for war, forged in the fires of conflict and conditioned to reject weakness and failure. Even the least of them had strength and willpower beyond mortal comprehension.

Jediah' attention was forced back as a tight knot of Strumtruppes ran straight at them, throwing themselves into the fray with whoops of feral glee. Jediah's world shrank down to his immediate surroundings and he was forced to meet them with the edge of his blade. All around the black-clad mutants wrestled with the Ceramite clad Transhumans, spilling blood and tearing into each other in a frenzy of violence.

A pair of Sturmtruppes came right at Jediah and he twisted around to avoid the crab-like claw that came at his helm. The blow sailed past his head and Jediah swung his sword, lopping off the arm in a single blow. The mutant didn't seem concerned by the loss of a limb, throwing itself at him with a screech of fury. The attack would have cut down any mortal man but Jediah was faster than his foe. He stepped into the charge and raised his blade, running the point right through the open mouth and out of the back of his opponent's head.

The first Strumtruppe fell silently before him but the other one came at him from the flank and dove upon him. A long talon carved down Jediah's pauldron, marring the Chapter's icon emblazoned there and he snarled in fury at the insult to his honour. Jediah reached around but his sword arm was pinned by the thrashing mutant and he had no angle of attack. Instead he clipped his bolt pistol to his belt and reached around, grasping the mutant by its throat. The filthy thing thrashed and beat at his plate but Jediah was relentless as he closed his grip and crushed its throat in his hand. The mutant kicked and struggled but soon its defiance grew feeble and it went limp and still.

Jediah grinned as he watched the life leave its eyes and its complexion went grey in death. Jediah opened his grip and let the body fall at his feet, then he pressed onwards, fighting through the battling knots of men and Marines. The Sturmtruppes were fighting hard but they were no match for the power of the Astartes, they would claim a bloody tally in death but they would still die nonetheless.

At this point Jediah realised that he had become separated from his squad and that he was fighting alone. He was about to look about and find his Captain but at that moment the scrum of bodies parted and Jediah spied three men he knew all too well. High above him was the Kommandant of Nordlund, along with that little tinkering adept Von-Grod and the accursed Witch Neadler, all looking down at him.

Jediah opened his vox and called, "I can see the leaders!"

"Go take them out," ordered the voice of Captain Toran, "We're bogged down here but you can make it."

Jediah was instantly in motion, charging up the hill. He bounded up the steep slope with powerful pushes of his armoured legs, bashing men aside as he charged. He knew that these three were the heart and head of the local's resistance, the last bastion of defiance. He ran forwards with weapons in hand, racing to reach them. This was no mad berserker charge though, nor a thirst for the glory of being the one to claim their heads. Killing these men would crush the spirit of the locals and end the fight. A bold strategy yet a sound one and Jediah was more than capable of performing it all on his own.

Jediah gripped his short sword tightly and planned his first strike, rehearsing the fight to come and preparing his tactics. He would have liked to have taken his time to savour this but the situation did not allow for that. He would have to be swift and precise, taking no time to linger over the bodies. Three short thrusts and he could end this war.

Yet it was not to be.

Suddenly there was a crack of thunder from above and from the cloudless sky stabbed down a bolt of purple lighting. It hit the dirt and blasted up an explosion of multi-hued energy, throwing men aside in gory heaps of offal. Jediah was stunned, for this was completely unexpected but before he could grasp what had happened there was another bolt and another. Each blast was completely different in hue, red, blue, green, yellow and orange but each one had the same effect.

Explosions rocked the hillside, devastating the packed ranks of men and spraying entrails over everything, even Ceramite proved no defence. Jediah saw Vancer of Mylos' squad take a direct hit, standing locked into agonising stillness as indigo lighting coursed through him. Jediah watched in horror as the proud Astartes collapsed in a charred heap of ashes but that was just the start of the calamity.

As if seeing a pre-arranged signal the Sturmtruppes broke off from their fight. Turning their back on the Astartes the witches threw themselves at their fellow countrymen. Claws cut into mortal flesh and black fangs bit deep on throats, tearing out jugulars to let blood flow. All around the hideous laughter of the truly insane rang aloud as the army of Nordlund tore itself apart.

Jediah was stunned but his training refused to let him stand dumbfounded. He pressed on through the madness, closing on the local's leaders but before him he saw a terrible sight. The three leaders were shouting at each other, grappling and shoving in a scrum of mad anger. Even as Jediah watched, Neadler punched the Kommandant and sent him flying, with far more strength than his body should possess. The old soldier was flung away and as he tumbled on the ground Neadler stabbed his hand into Von-Grod's guts. Black talons sprang forth and tore at the mechanic's belly, leaving Von-Grod doubled over in agony as his insides spilled out.

Jediah saw Neadler shrieking with glee, throwing up his arms and shouting, "Das Opfer beginnt! Komm mächtiger Tzeentch, der Weg ist offen. Sende mir deinen Diener, sende mich, Harbinger!" But it was Von-Grod whose eyes went distant, as if listening to something only he could hear and his lips formed one word, "Yes…"

From above a single blast of lightning speared down and hit Von-Grod full-on, engulfing him in a burning corona of many colours. The man shrieked in pain as the power poured down, filling his flesh with the potency of the Warp. Even as Jediah watched in horror the man rose off the ground and began to change. Neadler was screaming in frustration and he shrieked, "No, no, no, not him… me! It was meant for me, you promised it!" But then the corona flared and Neadler was consumed by the light, his flesh transmuting at the atomic level and leaving behind only a pillar of salt, shaped like a man.

Meanwhile Von-Grod's limbs began to elongate and stretch, becoming skeletal and crooked in their joints. His feet erupted from their boots, growing longer and sprouting claws until they resembled a raptor's talons. His flesh sprouted feathers and long robes spilled out of nowhere, covered in macabre runes. From his back emerged a pair of wings, shimmering with many colours and swelling moment by moment.

Many golden rings appeared upon his long fingers and jewels of many hues hung from his arms and wings. In his hand a spark of light grew longer and longer, solidify into reality until it birthed a long golden staff, crested with a blue flame and an eye that blinked as if alive.

Worst of all was Von-Grod's head, which stretched like putty, growing a protracted neck while his face was pulled apart as a long, curved beak emerged. He was left as a macabre parody of life, a monstrous vulture-like being, three times the height of an Astartes. The thing hovered over the ground and laughed in a voice made from the overlapping voices of many men and women It was a horrific sight, beyond its mere physical travesty. Its mere presence was an offence to the air and the dirt, making them shiver and tremble in revulsion. An oily shimmer surrounded it in a dirty halo of unlight and sparks of energy flew around it in tight orbits.

Jediah was stunned by the sight before him and he saw reality twist and change, the power of the Warp remaking space and time with ease. Mortal men screamed as their limbs and bodies twisted before their eyes, sprouting claws, feathers, mouths or ears in response to the abomination's presence. They wept and they ran and more than a few put guns in their own mouths and blew out their brains, rather than live in a world that could contain such nightmares. Even the dead were not immune, ropes of entrails writhing like snakes and crawling across the ground.

The abomination was a horror beyond comprehension, a nightmare let loose in the waking world. It was the anathema of all that was good and pure, the ultimate enemy of mankind and the doom of the universe. Jediah was appalled as the thing that had once been Von-Grod set a talon upon the ground and he knew that the Imperium had been so very wrong about the true foe they faced here, about this whole world.

"Daemon," Jediah whispered in aghast horror, then he roared at the top of his voice for all to hear, "Daemon!"