The doors of the Chimera flew open, exposing its passengers to the acrid air of their destination. Moments later, a soldier, clad in the green armor and tan fatigues of a Sergeant of the Astra Militarum, began to knock on the side of the vehicle's hull.
"Out you go, we got a job to do!" He bellowed, his knocking being drowned out by the boots of the guardsmen inside clanging against the metal floor of the Chimera as they filed out onto the battlefield. The banging and yelling of the sergeant, although clear at first, was soon drowned out by the high pitched squealing of lasgun fire, the booms of artillery shells, and the dull thudding of the Chimera's coaxial bolter firing.
The formation of men and women moved down the metal ramp and into a mud and sandbag filled corridor dug into the earth, all of them keeping their heads down like rats scampering through a maze.
Although many of the soldiers looked nearly identical to each other, one near the back stood out. Crimson locks of hair flowed down from her helmet and to just below her shoulders. Green eyes scanned the horizon, taking in the sights of the battle that were all around the guardswoman.
My name is Malty Melromarc
The green helmeted mass of bodies huddled in the forward trench, the red-haired woman among the rest of the Guardsmen as they took position. Interspersed throughout their lines were large pillboxes, bastions of ferrocrete designed to take punishment. Judging by the marks and divots in the bunkers, they already had. This damage was not from the chitinous claws of the Tyranid, or the crude weaponry of the Greenskin, or even the exotic toxins and firearms of the depraved Drukhari. Today, the men and women of the Imperial Guard were fighting humans, humans that had turned from the Emperor's light and embraced powers that led them to damnation and ruin. Truly, this was a conflict that had repeated itself on thousands of worlds for thousands of years, and it would on thousands more.
I have gone by many names
For a brief moment, the sizzling cracks of lasgun fire stopped. The earthshaking booms of shells faded into nothing. For a brief moment, all that filled the air was the faint howl of wind, carrying the sweet and sour aroma of dead comrades. For a brief moment, everything seemed to stop.
Princess Malty Melromarc
The tan khakis and olive green armour faded away, replaced by an exquisite, low-cut dress of deep burgundy, indigo accents bordering the frills and edges. A smile formed across her face as she remembered servants bowing down to her, serving her the finest wines, serving her meals that cost more than what an entire family of the peons that her family ruled over could afford. The smile grew bigger as she imagined the future she could've, no, she should've had. Sitting on a throne of carved stone, encrusted with precious metals and jewels, she looked down on the servants and peons milling about, milling about in front of the new Queen of Melromarc.
A noise invaded her daydream, shattering the images of her rule, seeping into the fine food, polluting the drink. The noise drove her from the dream, the scene of a royal throne room being replaced by a desolate wasteland. It only took Malty a second to realize what the noise was. The noise of chanting and wails of cracked throats, the cries and shouts of blasphemies, in a language she understood as well as one she didn't, a language that she did not want to understand, a language too profane. The noise grew louder until it became a tide of wails.
Myne Suphia
The image of Malty introducing herself to someone flashed through her mind for a split second. A dark-haired boy, with green eyes similar in color to her own. A smirk flashed across her face as she remembered his reaction to her accusation the next day. Truly, the fact that everyone believed her was hilarious, how everyone sided with her over the Shield. His anguish was even funnier, how he babbled like an idiot trying to defend himself.
Babbling similar to that of the wretches charging her position.
The sound of countless lasguns filled the air, red streaks of the Emperor's fury whizzing towards the horde of the damned in front of them. Many fell, the bolts of las fire marking the wounds that killed them. Many more returned fire, crude autoguns, and stubbers barking back at the Imperial lines.
An autogun round made its mark, slamming into the head of the guardsman right next to Malty and showering her with bone and brain matter. She flinched, blinking viscera out of her eyes as she took aim with her own weapon and fired. In an instant, the bolts out of her lasgun joined the millions more erupting from her comrade's rifles. The target of the beams was an unlucky cultist, who took three and fell into the mud. Not noticing the heretic's death, the red-haired woman fired more bursts, sending more cultists to meet their horrid masters.
Bitch
Malty blinked for a split second, the image of the Shield Hero sneering at her filled her mind. Her face shifted into a scowl as she remembered that day, the day of her humiliation. She had been legally named something she did not want to repeat, something that no one of her status should be referred to by.
Opening her eyes once more, she focused her aim on another mass of cultists, letting loose with a volley of lasgun fire into them. With every gibbering heretic that fell, she imagined the las beams hitting the Shield Hero. Oh, how it would be glorious to hear Naofumi screaming as the lasgun rounds cooked his insides, his holy weapon being powerless to stop the blood-red beams.
With a click, the power pack ran out. The former first princess' face grew pallid as she watched the surviving cultists rush towards their line. Heavy weapons teams opened fire around her, the lances of lascannon fire and shells from autocannons turning more members of the horde into little more than piles of flesh. With each cultist that fell onto the earth, the dirty beige stained brown, brown soon turning into red.
Still, the cultists advanced, the gun emplacements not being enough to stop the charge of howling maniacs. As the cultists got closer, more autogun rounds plowed into the lines. All around Malty, men and women of the Astra Militarum began to fall, olive green flak armour only taking one or two rounds before cracking.
Just as the cultists neared hand-to-hand combat range, deafening booms filled the air. The bloodshot, crazed eyes of the heretics were obscured by clouds of dirt, interspersed with twisted chunks of metal, as well as the body parts of those caught in the blast. The cacophony of noise seemed to go on for an eternity, more shells slamming into the earth and sending worshippers of the arch-enemy high into the air. The shockwave of each blast forced the guardsmen back into the rear wall of the trench, a dull ache shooting throughout Malty's body as her back hit the packed dirt and sandbags. Her flak armour may have been uncomfortable, and it may have done little against enemy fire, but it damn well did its job when it came to absorbing impact. This was made more apparent by the broken bodies of those without their armor, the danger-close barrage slamming them into the walls with a force that was more than their bodies could take.
Witch
As the roar of artillery stopped, the image of Motoyasu's anguish filled her mind, soon followed by the face of Ren and Itsuki, expressions bent into the same anguished glare, the glare of someone who was betrayed. To the crimson-haired guardswoman, the "Heroes" of her world were useless. Sure, they were powerful, but they had the brainpower of an Ogryn and were easy to toy with and lead on. Breaking each of them was a great feeling, almost orgasmic in nature. Sure, it may have not been the right...or even the wise thing to do, but what did it matter now?
"Men and Women of the 907th Sobreitune, we have performed the duties that The Emperor asked us today!"
The bellowing of another voice caused Malty's head to snap towards its source, a man standing atop one of the ferrocrete pillboxes. He wore a large, red cap, matched by the red greatcoat that was draped over his back. Gold accents and epaulets adorned his outfit, from his cap down to his boots. As he spoke, the men and women of the 907th stared at him. Some with beaming eyes, others with dismissive stares. Malty was among this latter group.
"We have pushed the hordes of the arch-enemy back, and we are now one step closer to bringing this world back into The Imperium! Ave Impera-"
A lascannon round hit the commissar straight in the forehead, his head snapping back as he fell onto the roof of the bunker. Blood and brain matter shot onto the ferrocrete behind him, staining it like a macabre abstract art piece. More lascannon bolts shot through the air and into the Imperial lines, blowing apart unfortunate men and women that were hit.
Then, as soon as the stream of lascannon fire began, it stopped. Out of the fog came shapes, shapes similar to the cultist hordes that charged their lines moments before. However, these shapes were different.
The new enemy carried lasguns in their hands, their bodies guarded by helmets, armour, and trousers similar to that of the Guard. Yet, it was also a parody. Olive green was replaced with a deep red, pitted and covered in foul runes. Tan khakis were now black, and rusted spikes jutted out of helmets and shoulder pads.
The Blood Pact had arrived.
Servant
That is what her sergeant said when she arrived on Sobreitune. She was now a servant, and her duty was to lay down her life for the Imperium of Man. At first, the former first princess was defiant, carrying herself the same way as she did back in Melromarc. Surely, her superiors would recognize she was royalty, right?
However, her "bitchy" attitude faded, any objections to her superiors becoming less frequent as the beatings and indoctrination began to take its effect. As the months flew by, she began to gain a new identity. The first princess of Melromarc was no more, in her place was a member of the Astra Militarum.
"Blood For the Blood God!" One of the soldiers clad in crimson screamed, the others charging forth. Lasgun fire erupted once again, red beams meeting the Khornate soldiers head-on. Unlike the insane cultists, men of the Blood Pact soldiers ducked behind mounds of dirt and the bodies of those who came before them, returning fire with their own weapons. These soldiers fell almost as quickly as the cultists before them, but the Guard fell all the same.
I am a servant, A servant of The Emperor.
Malty whispered this mantra to herself as she slammed another powerpack into her lasgun, the magazine sliding in with a sharp click. As she raised her lasgun once more, she stared down at her enemy. The Blood Pact soldiers were now much closer, their eyes burning with fury towards the soldiers of the Corpse Emperor. Malty squeezed the trigger of her weapon, red beams slamming into a charging Blood Pact soldier, the man stumbling forward as his new wounds smoldered. With a grunt, the heretic fell into the dirt, breathing his last.
Still, more came. A Blood Pact soldier climbed into the trench, skewering the throat of a Guardswoman as he stepped inside. With an audible Schlick, the Khornate pulled his bayonet out of the dying Imperial. Before he could find another target, a lasgun round slammed into his unarmored kneecap, severing his leg at the sight of the wound. The heretic fell onto his ass, growling in defiance before another burst of lasgun fire finished him off.
I am a servant of The Imperium
Malty yelled as she spun around, the barrel of her lasgun facing a Blood Pact woman. The feral soldier snarled and pulled a knife out from her holster. Dried blood flaked off the weapon as she leveled it towards Malty. Before the traitor woman could go for the kill, Malty fired. A red beam slammed into the heretic, hitting her in the bridge of her nose and cleaving the top of her head in half. Flash-cooked brain matter oozed out of the wound as she fell backward.
With little thought given to her now dead foe, Malty spun around again, her eyes falling onto a struggle between Guardsman and Heretic, one the Guardsman was losing. The former first princess moved forwards, slamming the butt of her weapon down onto the Blood Pact member's helmet. The traitor loosened his grip on the Guardsman's neck and stared at Malty, only to be met by the butt of the lasgun once again. Blood spurted out of the man's nose, but he cared not, as his master cares not for where the blood flows.
Malty cared even less, as she slammed the butt of her lasgun down onto the heretic's face, again and again, turning the wretch's head into a morass of flesh and bone.
"Go to hell…" she spat, resting her weapon once again onto her shoulder. The gore from the man's face dripped from the lasgun, staining her uniform. There was a time when Malty would've cared, a time when she would have ordered a servant or the Hero she was with to clean it up. That was a time when her priority was on becoming the next queen, not on sending the Xeno and the Traitor to the abyss.
I am a servant of The Emperor
Malty spoke her mantra once more, now audibly. All around her, the men and women of the 907th Sobreitune desperately fought off the tide of Blood Pact that washed over their lines.
Malty looked to the right. A guardsman slammed his bayonet into the stomach of a female Blood Pact soldier, only to have his head pulped by the guns of five more traitors. She looked to the left, only to see a crazed traitor slam an ax into the skull of one of her comrades. As the Khornate's victim fell dead, the heretic stared down the former first Princess. Crazed green eyes peered out from the chrome skull he wore for a mask. Strands of matted black hair poked out from the top of the mask, stained by the blood of loyalist and heretic alike.
"I AM A SERVANT! A SERVANT OF THE EMPEROR!" Malty cried, her own eyes staring at her new target. Sure, it probably wasn't the Shield Hero, but it damn well looked like him. With a loud yell, she charged the heretic, the butt of her lasgun meeting the head of her enemy's ax.
Just as Malty and the Blood Pact soldier clashed, more booms filled the air, booms that were much, much closer. Columns of dirt kicked up all around the dueling soldiers, the eardrums of both tearing as the barrage erupted. Then, a shell hit much closer to them…
Malty's eyes fluttered open. No longer staring down heretic soldiers, she was now staring up at the sky, a toxic, beige sky that began to give way to a soft blue.
"I am a servant...of The Emperor…"
Malty softly croaked, the mantra escaping her lips once more.
Author's Note: This is a one-shot that I wrote. I don't plan on expanding on this at all, it's a one-off crossover. That said, I plan on resuming work on Over The Top sometime soon. I really let that one fall to the wayside, and I have no excuse for that. Hope everyone has a Merry Christmas/Holidays/etc.
P.s. I probably should put this in Crossovers...