Purge and Burn
Lasfire scorches the air boiling away the thin mists still stubbornly clinging to the city. Mutants screech and curse as they throw themselves into the maelstrom of lasfire and bolter shells. The 4th Hydran Storm regiment presses forward relentlessly. Clad in their grey urban camouflage fatigues and the thick Cadian-pattern flak plates painted in the same pattern they present a unified front. Their foes charge forward armed with chains, blades, lengths of iron bars, and the odd lasgun or slug thrower. The grim faced Hydrans march forward, shoulder to shoulder, lasguns spewing death as they march over the corpses and wounded.
Officers, armored and clothed in the same way as their soldiers, march in step with their men, leading from the front as their blood calls for them to do. The streets are soon filled with the twisted and scorched corpses of the mutant hordes. The Guardsmen press forward, not flinching when the man beside them takes a slug to the throat and falls to choke on his own life fluids. Squads break off the assault and clear buildings with precision and professionalism aided by storms of lasfire before rejoining their brethren. All the while the Sledgehammer of the Emperor crushes their foes in the open, the Inquisition moves in the shadows.
Hunter moves silently through the sewers beside the 'Tempestus Scions' of one Inquisitor Reymose. The sounds of a raging battle above him, even if it is changed in tune with the addition of laser weaponry, is familiar if not reassuring. His hands clench around the unfamiliar weight of the 'Hellgun' now held in his hands. He was unsurprised when he was told that his new allies lacked any 9.5mm rounds for his battle rifle and instead issued him one of their weapons. The backpack power source seems to be a little troublesome but he has already adjusted to it.
He was told that the weapon has the power to punch through a man with ease and that his ammunition is limited by the power setting that he has the weapons set to. While he appreciates the flexibility of the system he still would prefer individual power packs to power the weapon like the lighter lasguns and carbines. The squad of 'Scions' around him move like the ODSTs of his time, each foot set before the other with barely a sound and their eyes never linger too long on any one point. The sewer system is bare and utilitarian, a welcome reprieve from the garish gothic architecture that every other structure on this world possesses.
The occasional dog-sized, semi-scaled...rat scampers by in the shadows illuminated only by the VISR system in his helm. His companions don't react to the creatures as they scitter away into their burrows. All of them are thankful for their fully enclosed helmets as they follow the path beside the putrid mess that is a super-city's waste disposal system. The squad of commandos follows a map downloaded onto a wrist-computer, known as an 'auspex' here, through the maze of passageways recesses and nexus'.
An explosion blows a hole in the streets above them allowing a stream of light to pierce the murk and obscuring the passage ahead with a cloud of dust. The muffled sounds are suddenly more clear...as are the surprised screeches of the surviving mutants. Hunter doesn't hesitate as he takes aim at the first creature to emerge coughing at the dust. The Hellgun screams once punching the 'low' powered beam through the mutant's chest and into the next one's face. The Scions don't waste their breath as they form up on either side of the Spartan already blasting with their own rifles.
"Push forward men of the Imperium!" the squad's sergeant, Falt, bellows over the screeching Hellguns. Hunter has no problem with that. He stalks forward hammering each mutant often before the Scions can even recognize their presence. Hunter grunts approvingly at the Hellgun's performance as he boots aside the final mutant...minus half its head. Two hours later the squad, plus one, arrive at junction F-3-3-5/S-3: their objective. The massive door is covered in the unspeakable filth one expects to find coating every surface of an ancient and active sewer system nearly obscuring the massive block letters and numbers painted in a faded white across the surface.
"Gears get this door open."
"Aye Sergeant." A skinnier stormtrooper locks his Hellgun to the mag-strip on the side of the power pack and draws his knife. The others including Hunter form a perimeter, glancing over their shoulders every once in a while, as the specialist pries open an access panel with his blade. Hard crusted grime and rust pops free with the panel. A minute or two of fiddling with the corroded wires, and a good deal of curses regarding the door designer's parentage, and the door begins to grind to the side.
"Secure that door!" Half the squad splits off and whirls around to cover the door as if pulled by the muzzles of their weapons. Hunter joins them eyes taking in everything. The sewer of the T-intersection is much the same as the rest of it with a layer of filth and rust on every surface. The difference, however, is the fact that there are mutants occupying the floor like a band of merry hobos. With guns. And rusty knives. Once again the air is full of screaming Hellguns cutting a swath through the stunned and now panicked mutants. One mutant rises up right at Hunter's feet, sludge still dripping from its hand where it emerged from the muck beside the walkway. Gills flare on either of the creature's neck as it screams bloody murder, before blood erupts from its mouth courtesy of sixteen inches of steel planted in its lung.
Hunter wrenches the knife to the side carving a bloody path across the mutant's chest before kicking it back into the water. Turning he fires the Hellgun single-handedly lancing another sewage-loving mutant.
"That is nasty!" a stormtrooper remarks and proceeds to decimate another trio of mutants. Hunter nods in agreement and sheathes his knife laying both hands on his weapon once more. The mutants fire off a few ineffectual, and wildly inaccurate, shots as they scramble to full wakefulness. The Spartan has to wonder just how they were sleeping through the massacre occurring over their head...as he guns them down with single laser pulses. No mercy is offered to the twisted creatures as lasfire cuts them all down, the Scions walking over their corpses without a second glance.
One of the Scions staggers for a moment as a slug fired from a bulky pistol slams into his chestplate without even denting the plate. Three burning white beams spear the wounded gunman's chest in retaliation and it falls back. Hunter weaves around a few wild las-shots missing the stunned looks from the Scions as he proceeds to perforate the attackers with a well placed volley from his Hellgun. The squad presses forward like an armored, light spewing juggernaut. The Spartan can admire the Scions' bravery. Never once do they flinch in the face of the overwhelming numbers arrayed against them. Never do they let up the pressure.
A grenade thrown by one of the mutants is swiftly punted back into the masses and detonates in a cloud of smoke and flying metal. And a few body parts. The Spartan simply grins to himself and adjusts the power setting of his rifle.
The final muck and graffitti smeared door is vaporized by a cluster of melta-bombs. The ionized metal particles are blown inwards and consume a goodly number of the defenders. The Spartan is the first into the gap moving at his post-human speeds, Hellgun spitting death. The Stormtroopers follow hot on his heels (read swiftly left in his dust) blasting every mutant that comes across their path. The squad is unsurprised to find themselves in a massive chamber occupied by what appears to be a horrid twisted congregation.
The mutants chat in their foul tongue, their voices twisted by their corruption. Both physical and spiritual. Foul symbols are painted across their bodies and decorate tattered banners. Bloodied skulls dangle from hooked chains wrapped around the gantries. The Spartan's world slows to a crawl as his adrenaline kicks in: the phenomenon known as "Spartan Time". His eyes take in everything. The face of the screaming mutant before him as his Hellgun spits a beam of light into its chest.
In the center of the room is the head of the snake: the leader of this mutated and debased cult of demon worshippers. Bloated with the strain of containing so much power the once-man's body is swollen to obscene proportions. Hands so fat that fingers can no longer grasp the lightest object. The head seems to simply melt into the neck and the body is so large that the stumpy legs can no longer support the bulk for even a single step. The exposed skin is painted over with runes so foul and drenched in evil that it makes the Spartan's eyes ache to look at them for too long.
What once might have been a priest's habit is now torn into filthy strips to preserve some form of dignity before his unholy congregation. Pig like eyes set deep into the swollen skull actually glow with an eldritch light as the...thing exerts his power to levitate his bloated form off the floor. Runes carved into the stone floor and filled with what appears to be blood glow with the same corrupting light as the demagogue's eyes casting the entire room in its unholy light. Shadows seem to dance with a mind of their own behind their owners and Hunter's HUD mounted clock jumps between varying times with no rhyme or reason.
"Interesting." Time snaps back into motion and Hunter blitzes forward. His skin crawls the closer he gets to the cult's leader but he ignores it. He's a Spartan, the sworn defenders of man and the end of all threats against them. An uneasy feeling is nothing compared to that simply indisputable fact. The Hellgun hisses as steam escapes through the cooling vents along either side of the barrel. The weapon spews death into the mutants each shot fatal in the hands of the supersoldier. He leaves the Scions behind, letting them fend for themselves, and carves a path through the ranks of the mutants.
He bursts from the ranks and takes aim at the leader, not missing the sickening grin on the figure's face. One fat arm rises and points at the Spartan, only his instincts screaming a warning saves his life. Faster than thought he throws himself to the side avoiding a bolt of eldritch lightning that freezes the ground behind him along with a cluster of unlucky mutants. Once more the Hellgun snaps up and a bolt screeches from the muzzle. The bolt of light spears the mutant in the gut...and only serves to widen his smile.
"Puny lapdog! Your weapons pale in comparison to my own!" A bolt of warp-fire strikes the spot where the Spartan stood but an eye-blink before.
"Behold the power of the Dark Gods! Your Emperor is but a corpse rotting on a broken Throne of a bloated and dying beast! We are ascendent!"
"Silence Witch!" a booming voice cuts through the cacophony of combat. All eyes turn to see the imposing figure of Inquisitor Reymose standing on the upper gantries. His coat hangs from his shoulders but parts at the front to reveal his breastplate spattered with the blood of his foes. A power sword in his hand glows a cold blue, a bolt pistol trails smoke in his other hand. A squad of black armored figures stand beside him. Broad pauldrons protect their shoulders, crusader style helms bear the fleur-de-lis of their sect. Red vestments hang from their shoulders and a tabard bearing a sword wreathed in a black flame adorn their torsos. Hunter notes, oddly enough, that every member of the squad is female judging by the shape of the armor and their narrower, more graceful forms.
One woman steps forward, an immense chainsword clutched in her arms. Larger than her sisters, standing almost as tall as Hunter himself, she is clad in strips of cloth instead of the thick plates of her companions. Her brown eyes burn with a zealous fire as she regards the mutants coldly.
"The Emperor's will is with us. Smite the mutant, the Xenos, the Heretic! The stars belong to man and man alone, for He declared it so! All ye' faithful sons and daughters of man rise up with His flames and purge your homes of the taint that plagues you! Only in death does duty end, only in holy flames is Chaos cleansed!" the Inquisitor intones raising his pistol to regard the cult's leader. His eyes glow a brilliant gold as his faith flows through him smoldering in the hearts of all present. Pounding boots announce the arrival of the rest of the Stormtrooper company, Hellguns humming like a swarm of demonic hornets.
As one the females in the strange armor snap to a firing position, the cold red eye-lenses plastered to their weapons sights. One ignites the pilot flame of a flamer cradled in her gauntlets. Nothing moves for a moment as everyone holds their breath. Hunter snaps from his trance. His Hellgun screeches once more spearing the unholy priest through the heart and he screams in pain. The air is filled with the blindingly white beams of Hellguns and the streaks of the thundering projectiles of the armored women. Blood and ozone penetrates the filters of his helmet as the fire picks up. The battle swiftly turns to a one sided slaughter as flames scorch through the ranks of mutants. Oily smoke rises from the screaming corpses as the women press forward firing single shots into single bodies.
The Spartan is surprised to see a secondary explosion from the large caliber rounds after they penetrate flesh. The explosive rounds send shreds of flesh and bone flying through the air with every impact and the wounds are invariably fatal. The Spartan is also getting very annoyed at how the creature leading the swarm is rudely refusing to die when he makes lethal shots. The wounds seal up after it is made every time he pierces the flesh.
"Please die," he pleads as he switches to fully automatic and hoses a charging group of mutants. His attention forced away from the leader he now lays into the lesser creatures, hoping that someone else might be able to deal with the creature in his stead. A screaming Eviscerator answers his prayer-not-prayer as the scantily clad woman from earlier descends on the mutants. The massive sword carves through two mutants with every swing, teeth screaming as they chew through the corrupt flesh and bone. A rogue slug finds its way into the Spartan's Hellgun leaving him no choice but to drop it and draw his knife and pistol.
The Spartan becomes a whirlwind of slashing steel, titanium clad fists, and gunfire. Mutants pile themselves waist high around the supersoldier almost burying him under their combined weight of numbers until–
"Purge and burn!" Flames suddenly roar to life bathing the mutants in hungry flames and scorching liquids. Flesh boils from bone and chars the remainder until naught remains but ash and lumps of bone. The Spartan hisses in pain as he leaps away from the conflagration. His eyes lock onto the armored woman with the flamethrower a slight indignant tilt in his shoulders. Solid gold faceplate stares into the twin crimson lenses of the crusader helm. The woman tilts her head as if daring him to challenge her actions for a moment before whirling and bathing another cluster of mutants with her weapon's angry flames.
The Spartan darts forward and plants his blade into a mutant attempting to flank her and then leans around her and fires a single shot that takes an unharmed creature in the face before it can so much as scratch her armor's paint. Using the mutant still lodged on his knife as a shield he whirls around and lets its body soak up a volley of las-fire. The body jerks in his grip as the super hot lasers tear into its flesh, while his pistol barks over its shoulder. 12.7mm armor-piercing hollow-point rounds slam into the soft flesh and hard bones of the mutant's skulls. Quick as thought Hunter flings the dead creature away from him...just in time to see the Inquisitor plant his sword in the cult leader's bloated brain.
"For the Emperor!"