Disclaimer: I don't own warhammer, that belongs to GW. All technologies and characters native to 40k and the Horus Heresy, not made up by me, belong to Gdubs too. I do not own any aspect of Attack on Titan, those belong to Hajime Isayama.
Claimer: I do own the original character Warsmith Phidias Longinus of the 86th Great Company of the Fourth Legion Astartes, as well as all original characters and organizations of unspecified origin, i.e. not created by the wider warhammer community or GamesWorkshop, associated with the 86th Great Company and the attendant Expeditionary Fleet, including, but not limited to, the Legio Cauchinium and all characters directly under the umbrella of the 86th Great Company of the Iron Warriors.
Edit 12/5/20: Fixed Gnaeus' dwarfism thanks to Psychoshame16. Added additional AN addenda directed at all readers and added a note about when to look for chapter five.
AN: Glad tidings! Thanks for waiting a day for the update! It's here, and its also a touch longer than the first couple. Also, I fixed the problem that all of you failed to bring up: not enough hazard stripes! You're about to read the first action sequences I've written since I picked up fencing and I finished my physics education.
Review replies:
More-rando: Another helping for you!
Psychoshame16: that 'is' is a writing choice, sort of to convey that the venerable nature of the Girded in Iron transcends the pervasive past tense of third person omniscient narration to reside in the present tense. Seriously, I did it on purpose.
E: you can't be E. I'm E. nah I'm playin' it's chill. Glad you enjoyed it. Anything I can improve?
Readers: As Psychoshame16 graciously pointed out, I do make mistakes. Like originally publishing this chapter with Veteran Sergeant Gnaeus being a pitiful two-meters-tall. If I make such mistakes, please point them out via PM or Review. I enjoy hearing from my readers, even if its just a "good job" or "you suck, try fixing it like so..." Thanks for helping me break a thousand views on this story, it really helps keep me writing.
Disciplined bolter and las fire scythed out as Veteran Sergeant Gnaeus, girded in Mk III Iron battle plate, with chain sword and bolt pistol in hand, charged forward to expel the four-meter-tall mutant from the trenches. The foul creature held one of the faceless mortal soldiers his Warsmith was so fond of; the normally implacable mortal was clearly panicking, stabbing at the mutant's hand with his sword bayonet to no avail.
Gnaeus dropped into a slide as he approached the mutant, a bemused look crossing its face as it watched the food move out of sight, bringing the soldier in its hand to its mouth. As he passed between its legs, he lashed out with his hazard striped chainsword, the adamantine teeth cutting the legs out from under the creature like a plasma torch through thin metal. The creature plummeted to the ground just as it attempted to drop the mortal into its mouth, letting the greatcoat clad soldier fall to the relative safety of the ground.
The formation wide vox-net was awash with contact notifications, and reports of mutants they'd thought dead returning to their feet in clouds of steam. Gnaeus climbed to his feet and emptied his legion bolt pistol into the creature's neck, severing it and ending the grasping of its hands and the snapping of its massive jaws.
"Aim for the neck." Gnaeus' voice rang out over the vox-net. In the distance, a thirty-meter-tall creature clambered to its feet, its temple growing back from where a high explosive battle cannon shell had nearly taken its head off mere minutes ago.
A shadow loomed over Gnaeus as one of the mutants' massive head peeked over the deep trench. A hand darted over the embankment, grasping for Gnaeus' hazard stripe and gunmetal clad form. Moving with agility that defied his bulky, armored form Gnaeus rolled out of the way, and leaped over the edge of the trench. His eyes were greeted with the fifteen-meter expanse of a prone mutant as one of its massive hands sped toward him. An impact warning flashed across Gnaeus' vision as proximity alarms blared through his helmet. Gnaeus' armor locked, and he managed to grit out an emergency transmission over the local vox, "Transmit Support Request Code: sigma-tau-nine-seven-zero-two directly to the Warsmith," before he lost consciousness.
Veteran Legionnaire Marcellus saw the mutant swallow Sergeant Gnaeus whole, armor and all, moments after the support request rang through site zero's local vox-net. Mildly shaken, the legionnaire blink clicked a channel open to the other Astartes at site zero. "Gnaeus has fallen! Rally to me brothers!"
Gnaeus' voice cut through the chorus of affirmatives. "Hold the line, brothers! The beast hasn't killed me yet." The sound of a chainsword kicked into overdrive rang through the vox-net as a fountain of blood burst from the prone beast's throat. The glimmer of metal glinting in the morning sun shone through the gore as Gnaeus' chainsword chewed a passage through the flesh of the mutant. The two-and-a-half-meter-tall figure of Sergeant Gnaeus climbed from the baying creature's neck, covered in mucus and blood, his armor bearing dents from the mutant's disturbingly human teeth. "Brothers, hold the line! Mortals, fall back! Reaper auto-cannons, plasma cannons and heavy bolters to the fore! Aim for the neck! The command post will not fall before the Warsmith returns! For the Emperor! For Perturabo! For the Warsmith!" Gnaeus' bellow rang through the local vox-net as Marcellus saw the prone beast beneath him reach for the back of its neck.
The targeting suite in Marcellus' helmet allowed him to take rapid aim as he bellowed a warning to Sergeant Gnaeus. The sergeant deftly rolled out of the massive hand's reach as Marcellus stitched a line of incendiary shells along the semi-circle of the beast's neck. The creature thrashed about in discomfort, attempting to extinguish the chemical fire on its neck as it consumed the giant's flesh. After a matter of seconds that felt like an eternity the prone form of the cannibal giant lay still, the chemical fire burning the now separate masses of its body and head.
The rumble of stampeding feet reached the trench lines as countless giants appeared on the horizon. Calls from the spotters rang out from all around as the giants approached from all directions except that of the wall. Sergeant Gnaeus' frustrated voice sounded over the vox-net. "All infantry receiving, fall back to the second trench line. Armored units, cover the retreat. Prioritize laser, incendiary, and high-explosive fire."
At Gnaeus' order, Marcellus oversaw the orderly retreat of the mortal soldiers as a Predator Infernus tank rolled over the top of the trench. The ground shook ever more violently as the armored elements of site zero roared to life and rolled past the frontal trench lines. As Marcellus ducked inside the relative safety of a covered trench, a wave of heat rolled over him momentarily overwhelming his armor's climate control systems, announcing the discharge of a massive melta weapon somewhere nearby. Grabbing the last living mortal soldier that had yet to reach the covered trench, Marcellus redoubled his efforts to shepherd the soldiers to the second line.
Seemingly from nowhere, a vast haze of steam spread over the Iron Warriors diplomatic group. Phidias, heeding the request from site zero, spat a binaric transmission to the Girded in Iron. 'Authorization Code: Let Slip the Dogs. Designate LZ: site zero through site four. Deployment strength: five packs, four units. Designate orders: Fire support, neutralize hostiles. Extreme Prejudice.'
An inhuman howl of rage sounded from the center of the formation of Iron Warriors, drawing Phidias attention. In the corner of his HUD, Apothecary Janus' status rune flashed red, then turned a solid indigo, signifying a pressure hazard. Restoring his helmet out of caution, Phidias switched his optics to full spectrum imaging, and was mildly taken aback by the source of the pressure hazard.
A massive, human-shaped hand grasped Janus Tiberius, rendering him seemingly immobile. Another massive hand reached towards the mortal slung over his shoulder, only to pause as a look of confusion crossed the fifteen-meter-tall creatures face. Phidias' auto-senses picked up the sound of a revving chainsword, then the familiar sound of adamantium rending flesh and bone. With another howl, this time of pain, the massive creature dropped Janus, who, cradling his charge in his arm, fell to the ground in a crouch, the servos and fiber bundles of his armor absorbing the shock of the landing, protecting him and the PDF trooper ensconced in his arms.
The massive mutant bent down and snatched at Janus with his unharmed hand, forcing him to dart to and fro to avoid it. "Fall back to the stormbird." Phidias ordered via vox. He turned back toward Historia and her retinue and, through Lexicon-617-Xi, spoke: "If you suffer under these beasts, we will slay them. If you consort with these beasts, you will die with them." The Warsmith cut a sinister figure with his mechadendrites and servo-arms extending towards the mortals. "Did you order this?"
"No! He's acting of his own accord!" Historia shouted candidly, she was about to speak more, but she was blinded by a miniature sun that emerged from one of the Warsmith's many metal tentacles, directed towards the plaza.
The ball of plasma streaked through the air, before colliding with the crown of the Attack Titan's head, vaporizing everything above the mutant's jaw. The mutant collapsed to its knees and then the ground, "Then I have matters beyond the understanding of a petty tyrant such as yourself to attend to," the Warsmith said with sharpened disinterest. Phidias brandished his Omnissian greataxe and continued, "We will address your association with this… false-titan and the unconditional surrender of your island when such matters are resolved."
The warsmith pivoted on one armored foot and strode away, an optical mechadendrite trained on their shrinking forms. Glancing towards the fallen giant, he saw Barbarossa cut away a section of the creature's flesh and assist Rufio to his feet. He must have been caught underneath the giant when it lost its head and collapsed. "Was anyone else unfortunate enough to be caught beneath the creature?" Phidias asked Barbarossa.
"No, aside from the terminators everyone else has returned to the stormbird." Barbarossa gestured towards the trudging forms of the terminators, apparently unconcerned with the threat that the mutant had posed. "We should kill this one while we have the opportunity."
"There are valuable resources on the line. If necessary, we can take care of this creature from orbit." Phidias said as he motioned for Barbarossa and Rufio to come with him, and started off towards the stormbird in a jog. They boarded the transport, which made a quick vertical takeoff and sped towards the command post.
The order to deploy was transmitted from the Girded in Iron to the super heavy landers hanging in low orbit over the island. Ten of these landers descended towards the island, two bound for each site. They each carried a payload of two Warhound-class scout Titans, the most replaceable of the god-machines from the Legio Cauchinium.
Aboard one of the superheavy landers bound for site zero, Princeps Jean-Claude Augustin of the Warhound Titan Biot's Fury ran through final checks. His moderati, Pierre and Celeste, were bringing the weapon's systems to combat readiness. The Vulcan Mega Bolter mounted on the Warhound's left shoulder was relatively well behaved and Pierre assured Jean-Claude that the massive slinger of death rarely jammed and, as well maintained as it was, its machine spirit was ready and willing to sling death at thousands of bolt shells per minute. On the right shoulder, however Celeste was fighting a winning battle bringing the Inferno Gun to full readiness. The massive flamer weapon was reliable, but demanded a great deal of attention and care. Celeste sounded uncertain, but assured Jean-Claude that it would fire when they needed it.
The Biot's Fury resembled a bipedal dog, with its reverse jointed knees and elongated snout. Its weapons were mounted at either side like arms that had been stuck straight out from shoulder level. Signifying their association with the 86th Great Company, the vast cartographers compass formed from chainblades of the Legio Cauchinium was surrounded in a clockwork wreath. In much the same fashion as all the Warhounds of Legio Cauchinium, the titan was painted in gunmetal and hazard stripes. The joints, extremities and weapons all carried the characteristic black and yellow stripes so strongly associated with the Iron Warriors. An honor banner hung between the titan's legs, signifying the various triumphs Biot's Fury had earned over the centuries. The titan was prepared to walk.
The same pre-deployment check repeated within the other titan in the lander, The Fist of Savart, armed with its Vulcan Mega Bolter and Turbolaser Destructor. The Fist's Princeps assured Jean-Claude that she was in perfect working order, and that she would be ready for a hot deployment. The other two Warhounds in the pack, Gauss' Fang, armed with a Vulcan Mega Bolter and a Plasma Blast Gun, and Leibniz' Resentment, armed with twin Inferno guns, voxxed their readiness as well. Between the four of them they could bring to bear enough firepower to permanently change a planet's landscape.
The pict feed came in from below the drop hatches. The Warhounds we're going in hot, something only the smaller titans could. The landers would hover at eighteen meters above the ground, just high enough to ensure the lander had clearance to immediately pull away from the drop site. Vast crane mechanisms would lower the Warhounds to a height of eight meters, dropping them the rest of the way to the ground. This was only possible due to the powerful shock absorbers and gyroscopic stabilizers that allowed the Warhound-class scout titan to lope across the battlefield at a sprint.
The princeps knew the situation on the ground: the giant mutants had charged site zero in overwhelming numbers and broken the first defensive line of the undermanned command post, the attack had grown more intense the further the sun rose in the sky. Now the armored elements, though proof to the attacks of all but the largest giants, were barely holding the line. The beasts died well enough when they shot for the head and neck, but they got back up if they didn't completely destroy the neck. Merely destroying the heads resulted in the creatures getting back up to continue to press the tanks back meter by hard fought meter.
Fortunately the process of calling in and deploying the Warhounds had taken a mere seven minutes. According to the tactical brief data dump they'd received, the infantry had successfully and completely retreated to the second defensive line. The Warhounds reached drop height, and the clamps grasped the diminutive titans and lowered them. Jean-Claude felt Biot's Fury's bloodlust through the mind impulse unit as the clamps released and the moderati and the tech adepts brought the void shields online.
Biot's Fury's excitement for the coming battle bled into Jean-Claude as he felt the impact of his legs on the ground. Immediately he saw contact markers blink across his vision as the machine spirit identified threats. The mutant giants were ignoring the diminutive metal behemoths in favor of the soft, fleshy targets in front of them, behind the line of tanks. Taking advantage of this, Jean-Claude oriented himself such that a dozen titans were in the cone of fire for his Inferno Gun and spread his legs to prepare to fire. "Firing solution, twelve designated targets, Inferno Gun!" Jean-Claude chirped to his moderati.
Celeste blurted an affirmative, transmitting her orders to her slaved servitors. Milliseconds later they'd arrived at a firing solution and besought the machine spirit of the venerable weapon to serve them well and fire true.
Jean-Claude clenched his right hand into a fist and his inferno Gun howled a massive gout of flame. The twelve designated mutants caught fire and burned like dry tinder, and Jean-Claude swung his arm back and forth to torch as many of the foul creatures as he could. "Firing solution, bolter!" he chattered to Pierre.
Pierre blurted his affirmative, and a fraction of a second later a series of angles of traversal and declination popped into his head. Jean-Claude clenched his left hand into a fist and he felt the Vulcan mega bolter spin up. When he felt the first shell was ready to leap from his arm, he began adjusting his arm to the angles supplied by Pierre, spitting high velocity, mass reactive, high explosive death at every beast that entered his field of vision.
Similar slaughters were taking place at the hands of the other three Warhounds and their crews. The Fist of Savart took a slow measured approach, picking targets in the centers of large group with its turbolaser destructor, vaporizing the target and blasting away the surrounding beasts leaving them stunned and disoriented, ripe for the ministrations of its Vulcan mega bolter. Gauss' Fang was taking a similar approach with its plasma blastgun: firing into large clots of mutants and then picking off the leftovers from the detonation of the miniaturized suns with its Vulcan mega bolter.
Standing out in stark contrast was the way the Leibniz' Resentment chose to go about its walk. It chose to bound around almost gleefully discharging its pair of inferno guns as it torched both the mutants and the surrounding countryside. The beasts that met its gentle ministrations either collapsed to the ground as the sticky, gelatinous flames burned them to ash or ran towards the defensive lines, only to be cut down by the fire of the assembled tanks. The Resentment's princeps, Amelie, seemed to take a little too much joy from her approach to battle, and from broadcasting it across the pack vox-net.
Seeming to recognize that they were under threat, the mutants surged towards the titans in a wave of flesh and teeth. Their void shields would only protect them from the mutants for so long, and so the Warhounds fanned out, harassing the beasts to keep their attention, then started running away from site zero.
Jean-Claude opened a vox channel to Veteran Sergeant Graeus, the Legionnaire currently in command of site zero. "This is princeps Augustin of the titan Biot's Fury, commander of pack zero. Requesting support fire on my packmates pursuers."
"Affirmative" Came Gnaeus' reply, as Jean-Claude slid to a halt, twirling his agile machine and clenching his hands into fists to unload with his inferno gun and his Vulcan mega bolter, rending the titans in front of him into so much ashen mulch, but the wave of foul mutants before him would not abate.
"They consort with witches! They were unphased when the trooper transformed into one of those false-titan creatures. One of the so-called mutants of unusual size!" Barbarossa railed, unsatisfied with the Warsmith's leniency. "We can't leave such a powerful witch unattended!"
"Then take the librarium and handle it." Phidias retorted. "I'm needed at the command post to…"
Phidias was cut off by a scream as the child-soldier awoke to the looming, Crusader armored form of Chief Apothecary Janus Tiberius applying dressings and anti-septic as well as healing accelerants to her wounds. "You are safe mortal, do not struggle. You will increase the chance of further injury." He said impassively. "Do you need a sedative?"
"Sedative? No! Where's Eren?" She asked urgently, her eyes whipping around the troop compartment of the stormbird. Taking in her surroundings and the other armored giants, she asked "Where am I? Why am I still alive?"
"You haven't given the Warsmith a reason to kill you. He's a reasonable man to a point." Janus removed his helmet to show the frightened child he was human like her. "We've come to bring the wonders and protection of the Emperor's light to your world. As long as your rulers comply your world and your government will be fine." A thoughtful look crossed the apothecaries scarred face, Mikasa noted that he had two metal studs set above his right eyebrow. His brow slightly furrowed, "We are en route to site zero now to relieve our allies. They're under assault by the false-titan creatures."
"We're flying towards titans!? Where are my blades, I can assist you!" Mikasa started, sounding somewhat frantic, but determined.
The apothecary raised a hand to stop her. "You're heavily injured, mortal, and your loyalties are unknown. Rest, recover. We will return you to your allies if the opportunity arises." Janus extended his gauntleted fist and a fine needle extended from it and pierced her arm, "For now, rest."
AN: stopped here because I'm tired and its midnight on a friday and I have to work tomorrow and I wanted to give you folks something to read.
Before y'all go commenting on the way I wrote the Warhounds' fight, as I recall when a princeps interfaces with a titan its like an extension of their body, citing Titanicus by Dan Abnett. No complaints unless you have something for me to improve too. I feel like there were pacing issues in this one, but then again I spent half the day writing and researching for this, so that might just be that I'm tired. Let me know what y'all think, PM or Review, but reviews are preferred. This brings me past the 10K word mark. Shout out to Psychoshame16 for giving me a name to talk to and looking for errors and Holya for being fucking awesome and knowing everything about everything. Except what I've been offering the digital cookie for.
Look for the next chapter Sunday night, December 6th, PST (GMT -8) sometime between 2100 and 23:59. I have to work on my WFRP 2E campaign after I finish Saturday's solution quota which means I have to write the plot points and stat some NPCs for my players. By the way, I have a discord server... PM me if you're interested.
Update: 12/6/20: I'm too exhausted from the weekend, I've only got about 500 words out, and thats not enough for a new chapter. The next one will be out this week!
SOMEBODY TELL ME HOW I DID WITH THE ACTION! I'M NO KENCHI618, BUT I'M TRYING!
Postscript: If you guys cant see the pattern now, you seriously aren't looking.