Roach_The_Inquisitor

Warhammer 40K x Danmachi.

Chapter Started: 7/20/22 2:47 AM

Chapter Finished: 8/22/22 4:14 AM

Is It Wrong To Praise The Emperor In The Dungeon?

Chapter One - Back To Reality.

Corporal Bell Cranel had no clue when the blizzard had gotten so harsh today on the cracked snow-dusted surface of Typhos V. An emperor damned frozen Shrine World. All he knew was he hated it as it chilled him to the bone, the heat lamp behind him providing barely enough warmth to be felt through the thick uniform and oversized armor he wore. Bell hated it but he hated the heretics that had forced him to be deployed here, even more. Their contemptible ways were met with force. He wished he could be deployed to a pleasure world or even an Agri world for once. But no, always had to be tundra or taiga or even hellish frozen wastelands.

Currently, he sat freezing his damned feet off in the derelict hull of a chimera troop transport. The troop hold had been converted into a machine gun nest and barracks area using sandbags and a heavy bolter. Hopefully in just a few short minutes the rest of the misfit retinue that made up the squad should be back so they could settle down for another inevitable wave of rogue psykers, plague zombies, and damnable heretics.

It was just a matter of time.

As time wore on, he could see four distinct shapes in the distance, knowing full well it was the rest of his mashed-together squad he felt no need to greet them with a fusillade of rocket-propelled mass reactive gunfire, unlike the normal guests they were prone to having on their part of the line. The first man to become just visible through the fog and snowdrift was the squad senior NCO a Gunnery Sergeant Samson Dunn, huddling right behind him was Whiteshield Michael Arn as well as Guardsman 03053-20002 Petain Hindenburg, and finally the Steel Legion Junior Medicae Vicktor Chernikov.

Bell raised his hand in greeting though they could not see it through the snowdrift. He blinked his flashlight towards them once and then twice. The man who he presumed to be Samson had blinked twice and then once, while it may have been simple paranoia this system of identification had worked well so far in preventing friendly fire and ambushes during the time they went out on patrols. When they finally made it to the hull of the chimera and ducked in past him and the bolter emplacement did, he stand to simply drop the white camouflage netting over the entryway to at least trap some heat in before sitting down on one of the benches across from the only true-blooded Cadian.

"How went the patrol good Sergeant?" The boy inquired, his dull red helmet lenses boring into the man.

"It went well Cranel, though three new saps have appeared north and northwest of our position and it seems the cultists are massing for another push, were you able to recharge the las packs by the heat lamp?" Samson asked politely.

"Aye Sergeant, we'll have enough ammo to blow through another push, though Greta is running low on replacement parts, the auto sear spring snapped again. Had to replace it." Bell sighed a bit dejectedly as he gestured to the aforementioned heavy bolter affectionately known as 'Greta'.

"Good man, I take it you salvaged a new spring from the hull-mounted bolter of our temporary home?" All he got was a simple nod. The Sergeant hummed happily and turned to the rest of the men to speak.

"I give or take three hours before the heretics and their ilk push our position again, load up on ammo and get some food in your gut before then. After that, Petain… Arn, I want you to lay the few mines we have left. Am I Understood?" His voice left no room for brokering.

When all he got were the quiet and muted 'yes sir's' and 'yes Sergeant' did he nod and go to fix the rations and cups of recaf to pass the time. He pulled several hotplates out to fix their rations, simply setting the cans of food and a frozen pot of already brewed recaf to thaw so they could eat for the day.

Samson watched the Whiteshield and Kriegsman work quickly, moving about and gathering the last of their mines. While the two others with no task simply sat and did last-minute checks of their issued and scavenged equipment, through the droll of work, time seemed to pass quickly.

Sergeant Dunn watched his men load and sharpen various implements of murder. It was downtime like this that best be used by the guardsmen to keep themselves sharp and equipment sharper for their vigilant watch and war against the arch enemy.

For example, Bell Cranel, his second in command sat beside the large mounted gun he manned. Simply loading las packs into his Kantrael Pattern Las-Carbine and Kantrael Heavy Las-Pistol. The ubiquitous equipment had held thus far in the harsh conditions and even before, during deployment to both desert and jungle worlds. Truly the Las-gun was the most robust thing in the galaxy. Though oddly he drew a stub pistol and chambered a round before setting it to the side with the las pistol. He did the same with an Agripinaa Type II Autogun, though oddly it was suppressed and had a scope attached.

"Machine Spirit, accept my gift, Swallow the light and spit out Death"

Bell had chosen to mumble the litany of reloading four times, one for each las pack he gently placed into the mag well of each of his las weapons as well as the solid ammunition firearms. grinning at the little hum they gave as power coursed through its circuits and the 'krchkk' the firearms gave.

He watched the Kriegsman a short man sharpen his implements before doing inspections on his own Las-Pistol and Las-gun though he did do one last check on the two large bags hanging under his arms containing the squad's supply of both flash and fragmentation grenades, as well as the smoke grenades that were kept on his suspenders.

Viktor watched along as well chuckling to himself about how such a little man could carry so much, simply loading a fresh las pack into his Voss Pattern Las-Carbine and loading his own Kantrael Las-Pistol though instead of the small backup mono knife most guardsmen had he simply inspected the diamantine monomolecular teeth of his Chainsword which as the name implies would gore its enemies upon its righteous and bloodthirsty teeth.

Last was the Whiteshield, Michael Arn, a Cadian just like Sergeant who unlike him bounced his right leg up and down in nervousness for the next attack. Samson chose to let the Whiteshield either abate the internal anxiety or the possible cold that could be getting to the poor boy as he loaded his M36 pattern Las-Gun and his Las-Pistol which had been scavenged like the plethora of weapons and munitions that littered the troop compartment of the chimera. Though something did bother the good Sergeant and he would voice it now.

"Cranel, where did you get the stub weapons?"

The boy looked up and cocked his head, turning away from his ministrations on his Heavy Bolter, and shrugged a little as he tried to remember where he had gotten the firearms.

"I got the stub pistol when the fleet was stuck in segmentum solar for repairs when we were in transit for Armageddon. My regiment's ship got stuck docking in Necromunda's ports. As for the rifle, let's just say it was a gift from our mutual boss lady."

"Wait, you were on Armageddon? Which war? Which Outfit?" The Sergeant was a tad miffed the lad had never told him about his service record.

"Yes, yes, I Was. Fought in the Third War, served with the Fifty-First Coronan Grenadiers which is the same outfit I'm still with, we acted as escorts for Steel Legion armor on the Netheria Peninsula. First time I fought greenskins, probably the last as well I hope." His chuckle was humorless and dry and lacked any mirth, the complete opposite of what someone his age should sound like.

Chernikov chose his moment to pipe up. "You were on Netheria too? Where were you, I was at Laertes"

"Eagle River"

The Medic cringed at the name, Eagle River was hit the hardest on the peninsula, having to deal with ork war boatz and large tides of greenskins from the nearby rokk landing sites in the region. Most of the regiments stationed there took at least seventy percent casualties.

The conversation died on that note.

They would wait till their rations were done heating before moving on to other tasks and the like, bell chose this moment to lift the tarp slightly over the shield of the heavy bolter just allowing him to see through the slit in the gun shield. At Least it was warm enough to finally take off their sealed helmets for just a moment. Lifting his helmet off with a hiss Bell let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of fresh non-recycled air entering his nostrils and lungs. He didn't want to think about how long his helmet had been on.

Feeling a tap on his armored shoulder he turned to see his Sergeant offering him a Lho Stick, thanking the Emperor they were in a part of imperial space where it was legal. If it hadn't, they would have been flogged and shot. Taking the small filterless paper and Tabac roll, he snuggled it into the left portion of his mouth lighting with the proffered lighter that the sergeant had handed him. Bell inhaled, he let out a sigh as he felt a kind of rush trickle down his scalp finally feeling a little more at ease.

Nabbing his food from one of the small ration stoves he opened the can of disgusting grayish-white slop with displeasure. It looked to be a mix of Soylens Viridians, Corpse Starch, and Potted Grox Meat. It looked as appetizing as it sounded, but he shoveled the hot slop into his mouth with a grimace, mindful not to let his Lho-Stick fall from his mouth but not caring about the ash that had fallen and landed in his food. In his mind, it made it taste just a bit better than before.

Dunn, noticing the grimace, decided to chide and poke the boy for his entertainment. "Don't get your hopes up boy, as long as the Departmento Munitorum exists and you serve within the emperor's most esteemed Astra Militarum, these are the best rations you're gonna get… but chin up, at least it's not the civilian relief rations."

The Sergeant had to suppress a shudder at the thought.

Hopefully, after this deployment, they could get better food and a better climate to fight in than this Emperor thrice be damned groxshite-hole. At least they would be pulled together and be serving a new master rather than the Astra Militarum, though sometimes in the back of their minds they wished that they had never been picked for duty by the inquisition.

Looking to his compatriots who had the same if not more unappealing food that he was shoveling down, the boy's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at the sight of Petain inhaling the disgusting food like it was food sent down by the Holy God-Emperor himself, though he could not tell due to the short man sitting in the corner of the hold with his back turned. Though the sight in itself was comical for their situation. He found Kriegsmen to be an odd bunch, though this was his first and possibly last deployment with them. Bell had little interaction before the regiments were forced to coalesce into a singular force after the Siege of Behadra and this squad, in particular, being nudged together by an inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus.

Flicking his now depleted source of nicotine down under his boot to be quashed he finished his subpar and disgusting meal. Placing the can under the bench he sat upon to be used later to either melt snow or turn into some kind of cobbled-together explosive device courtesy of their resident Kriegsman. Running a hand through his matted and dirty white hair the boy just barely a man placed his rebreather back upon his head with a hiss to signal a pressurized seal, the only other thing to herald the closed environment would be the stale-tasting air as his breath was recycled through a unit bolted to the flak armor just behind his head on his upper back.

Leaning his head back into the grox leather headrest the little rabbit allowed his lower half to slump forward so the rebreather unit would not interfere with what little sleep he would be allowed to recoup before whatever the heretics had chosen to throw at them this time. He gave the sergeant a nod to say 'wake me when things happen' before his eyes fluttered shut into the sweet sweet release of unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was Arn and Hindenburg pushing out to do their tasks.

3 HOURS LATER

001 - M42

TYPHOS V

EDGE OF SEGMENTUM OBSCURUS

Bell had awoken with a start as Sergeant Dunn jostled him violently practically throwing him in front of the bolter as he threw the camoline cover of the troop hold and makeshift barracks up letting the disgustingly cold air and snowdrift into the compartment, Bell scrambled to chamber a round into the heavy bolter emplacement muttering the litany of loading again to appease the machine spirit of the weapon of war. Dunn was already ducking out of the compartment to his piece of cover with Arn and Chernikov, Hindenburg was probably taking overwatch in the commander's hatch of the turret.

"Lad, we got about a few hundred shamblers on the move with squads of light infantry and psykers about to hit the perimeter, shoot what ya can see, and may The God-Emperor have mercy… Ave Imperator."

The boy was struck with a tense knot of apprehension, fear, and grim acceptance as he heard the crunching of snow as well as the disgusting hacking and wheezing of the enemy not a scant three hundred meters to his front, the snow doing an excellent job of providing both them and their enemies with visual cover. There was a short tense peace as it seemed to look like they may pass them on by, but when the thunderous crack of Hindenburg's Las-Gun breached the quiet, bell knew that any traitorous thoughts of hiding were gone. He could almost see the lurching mass of moving corpses in all their putridness turn full bore towards him, their unholiness made his Falna burn in disgust.

Waiting till they hit the one-hundred-and-fifty-meter mark did he finally open up with a staccato of automatic rocket-propelled mass reactive gunfire. He could only watch on in sick pleasure as the first ranks of the shambling horde fell, the ranks behind them not faring any better as their front became dangerous fragments of bone as their torsos exploded outward. The little rabbit continued to lay into the group before he was forced to duck as autogun shots started filtering into the din of combat, all trying to knock him out so they could overrun the position.

It was at this moment the others chose to join the fight, pouring their lasfire into the mix. Las Bolts hit the crowd, the crimson bolts chunked and pulverized limbs as well as collapsing chest cavities forcing them to expel their contents backward with a wet squelch. Bell was forced to duck again as stub fire raked the front of his gun shield just as his gun clicked dry, with a whine he shoved another can of ammunition forward his shaky hands filtering a new belt into the gun as he muttered another litany.

"Machine Spirit, Forgive My Actions, Soon You Will Be Whole Again. Machine Spirit Accept My Gift, Swallow The Light And Spit Out Death."

As soon as the boy had finished, he had pushed himself behind the behemoth of a gun again and started laying into the enemy once more, cutting down the last of their numbers in gory sprays of reds and putrid yellows. Swerving the gun right he engaged a light infantry squad of heretics without mercy, laying them out amongst the growing pile of the dead to fester and rot as a way to atone for their straying from the light.

Just then another horde of walking corpses broke through the snow drift, they had completely blindsided the besieged squad as they completely tunnel-visioned on the active ranged threat. Bell swerved his gun left again laying into the newly appeared horde as he did, his teeth grit in anger and determination and a much darker emotion that he and anybody that knew him thought impossible for him to express… Hatred.

The rounds slammed into the tide like small and angry red blurs. Ripping through the flesh sloughed corpses with ease. But they kept coming, trampling their dead and running into more fire. Growling and running despite being torn to shreds from both rounds and the organic fragmentation that came with the front rank's violent deaths.

Those weren't the only sounds though. His barrel started to hiss, orders were barked, and fires crackled from detonated ammunition, Bell started to gnash his teeth, dragging his gun left and right not even caring to fire it in bursts. He had no regard for remaining ammunition, if he withheld anything now it'd be disastrous. The dead still advanced, stumbling across the uneven ground as the faster ones barreled past their slower cousins. Creepy bastards were unnaturally fast. Bell gave them about a minute and a half until he was swamped in CQB. All the time he needed though. His gun was doing wonders, they fell in the rain of death. It was almost enough.

"100 meters… 80 meters… 60… 50... 40… 30… 25… 20… "Bell counted out. His brow knitted ever so slightly at the proximity. Then the area in front of him burst into flames.

Landmines were relatively interesting. This current series allowed for modular payloads. The specifics of them were rather fuzzy to him. But as long as Petain kept the correct mixes, turned them on proximity mode, and remembered to space them enough to prevent a daisy chain they would be fine. By upping the heat of the target area to the maximum he could hold out enough to drain their numbers so the push stalled and sputtered.

And yet they still charged forward heretics now intermingled with the plague zombies, their barks and snarls baying for his blood for their unholy God. The fodder was burnt to ashes and burnt again until nothing but piles of ash and their skeletons remained, save for the faint smell of burned flesh. Though injured, the much hardier enemies were able to break the twenty-meter mark and charge through.

Words were probably exchanged over comms. Maybe a last cigarette and drink too. It all became a blur to him as the gnashing of teeth and the rasp of metal on metal as blades were drawn. The real battle had started.

Bell gave one last nod to his only real friend in this hell hole. The mounted gun he'd grown to love as much as his other kit and trust with his life above all others, and entered the fray as a writhing mass pushed its way into the compartment. His combat knife was a blur as it darted and stabbed through bone and flesh with ease. He leapt back with a start when a decayed hand scraped his helmet with its exposed finger bones before countering it.

"God Emperor grant me the strength to strike down the enemies of man with righteous fury, may you guide my aim and blade, Amen" Bell said solemnly before jumping back into the fray. The short and serrated steel found its way in between plates of ramshackle and torn armor as the boy began his desperate bid to stay alive.

Bell's right hand raised as he pushed the undead bastard back and grabbed his stub pistol and drilled a bullet through the skull of a deceased young woman, his blade lunged over its right shoulder finding a home in another oncoming corpse, and he yanked it out with a small grunt only to make another diagonal slash through the neck of another. He'd block an oncoming lunge just barely, sliding back and stabbing the monster.

Kicking it off he saw a massive putrid obese zombie lunge. He brought his sidearm back up and drilled another neat hole into its skull, then cave the head of another with another trigger pull. All Bell could do is smile and jump back in. He'd fight for just a few minutes in a disgusting slugfest of flames and cold steel. A foul performance befitting a last stand.

The flames keeping the horde back began to fizzle out as the last of the disgusting things fell. There wasn't anyone left except him. The horde lay broken before him as he put bullets into the still writhing corpses that had lost limbs or mobility. Bringing his boot down on the head of what used to be an aging man he topped off his magazine.

It was too quiet.

Pushing out from the troop hold tip-toeing his way between corpses as he did so he put a round into a still writhing heretic rifleman. Making his way around to the front of the Chimera from his left he climbed up the sloped front armor of the transport to find Petain slumped backward with a knife buried through his stoic gasmask through one of the eye lenses. A shame, he had grown to like the man, but for now, he had to stifle down his anguish and push on.

Looking over the right side of the hull into the fighting position that Arn was supposed to hold all he saw was a small blast crater and a pulped corpse, not even flak armor would protect against whatever had been chucked into the hole. He hadn't heard it detonate so Bell assumed that it had been thrown before the mines went off and detonated along with them.

Hopping down right into the sloughed entrails of what used to be his comrade. He picked through the gristle and chunks for anything useful and came upon three working las packs and the weapons they were meant for, he slung the battered rifle over his shoulder and the pistol found a new home in his bread bag along with the las packs.

Going back to the rear of the hull he cut left again at a forty-five-degree angle moving to the last known fighting position of the remainder of his squad. All he could do was hope and pray that Chernikov and Dunn had held.

Coming upon the sandbag redoubt Bell saw the slumped-over form of Chernikov on the sandbags, his chainsword held loosely in his hand, its engine was quiet. Rushing over he checked the medicae over and saw easily what had done the man in, his back was blasted out by slug ammo the armor splaying outward to mark the exit wounds.

Climbing over the sandbags past Chernikov he found Dunn, apparently, the last to fall seeing as he had been mauled to death his helmet being cast aside and his face revealed to the world… or what was left of it. It was obvious something had gnawed his right cheek and throat out and his scalp was missing.

If only he could hear the chanting over the howling winds.

He recovered their weapons first, plucking weapons from dead hands and ammo from webbing, the dead had no use for them. That's the one thing that separated them now, they were dead, he was not. Moving back to the troop compartment with his spoils he dumped them on the closest bench before moving to push the bodies of the lost and damned from the space.

It had taken him a good thirty minutes to clean the mass of bodies that choked the entrance but it was well worth it, in this time he had also recovered the bodies of those he could from their resting places making sure to place a stub round in between their eyes lest they come back as an unholy parody.

Looking over the forms of his dead squad mates Bell could only grimace and suck it up. He sat down heavily next to the pile of previously pilfered weapons and set to work sharpening blades and swapping las packs, he left the spent and half spent packs by the heat lamp to charge. He did this with stiff and robotic movements all the while mumbling litanies under his breath to both appease the weapons and his comrade's spirits.

Bell went about the process as best he could before he stood and with a scream of anguish so full of heartbreak and hopelessness, he drew his pistol and fired in anger, Munitorum Manual be damned. It helped slightly with the pent-up ugly emotions roiling around in his head though it did little to ease the utter despair he felt in this situation. Unbeknownst to him, his shots of anger nailed a chanting Psyker.

It was at this moment the chanting reached its crescendo just outside of his hearing that this one-in-a-million shot broke the circle of chanting heretics causing their evil concoctions to fail spectacularly. Bell felt his mind shut down and overloaded as hues of disgusting purple bloomed in his vision. Thus, this damned world knew the presence of Bell Cranel no more.

Alright, let's try this again, I know the stuff I've posted before was pretty cringe but I was a kid then. Now I'm pretty grown and my writing expresses that… I hope. Been on a Warhammer kick for a while and only just got into Danmachi but I've been obsessing over both so why not mash them together? Feedback is appreciated and if I see enough interest I may or may not do another chapter even though chapter 2 is already in the works. Man getting the motivation to do this is really hard. And God I'm tired, I should fix my sleep schedule.

Also, the pairing is still to be decided if done at all, lemme know if y'all want a poll or something.