A Hammer Blow
The stuttering roar of bolters slams into the Eldar with all the force of a battering ram. Colorful armor plates shatter as the rocket propelled explosive rounds find their mark with uncanny accuracy. Shurikens and volleys small missiles scream in retaliation only to be shrugged off by the thick plates of armor, barely scuffing the paint in their fury. The bolters spit in return taking an alien's life with every pull of the trigger. Hunter takes one look and does the one thing that all soldiers hate to do: retreat. Rifle locking to his back, enhanced muscle propels him back into the woods, bolts and lasfire chasing him back through the trees spraying his armor with splinters and shards of hot metal.
He moves faster than any mortal man easily reaching fifty kilometers per hour. The trees blur around him into one endless wall of brown. It's only thanks to his enhanced reflexes that he narrowly avoids danger. The world slows as adrenaline spikes through his veins and his brain kicks into overdrive...allowing him to drop into a baseball slide to avoid the massive gore soaked chainsword screaming for his neck. Monomolecular teeth spin through only air just a centimeter above his visor, close enough for him to see the viscera stuck between those same teeth. He slides farther than anyone should before springing to his feet and drawing his pistol.
The M6C/SOCOM fires a 12.7mmx40mm or .50 magnum round known in the manuals as M228 SAP-HP or semi-armor-piercing high-penetration. A round that has been shown to go through the battle plate worn by Sangheili and Jiralhanae warriors like wet paper within ten meters. In the hands of a skilled marksman it can extend that range to twenty five. In the hands of a Spartan it can be a veritable designated marksman rifle. The Chaos corrupted Astartes is seven meters away from Hunter, motionless as it roars its fury at missing its swing. His pistol blurs from the polymer holster, the safety snapping off and the iron sights settling on the once noble warrior's head.
The pistol coughs three times. The first slug slams into the helmet's cheek doing nothing more than scratching the paint. The second shatters against the brow doing nothing more than jerking its head back. The third however drills through the tiny eye-piece and into the transhuman's eye. It roars in pain as the round, deflected by both the eye-piece and the toughened hide of an Astartes, carves its path down the side of its head. It staggers and reaches for its eye and Hunter doesn't hesitate, ripping one of the magnetically locking krak grenades from his harness and priming it. He lets it cook for but a moment before throwing it so that it locks to the Astartes' leg. Snow flies through the air as Hunter kicks off once more. An explosion sends him tumbling through the snow head over heels through the snow. He whips around to see the Astartes charging through the smoke and steam without anything worse than soot staining its armor.
"You will pay mortal!" it roars furiously revving its chainsword. The teeth scream as they reach peak RPM promising naught but death and pain. The giant slides to a sudden stop as a trio of white armored figures suddenly appear from the shadows.
"No further servant of Chaos!" a high, clear voice declares as the three Banshees ready themselves for the coming battle.
"Weak xenos whores! The Dark Gods will feast on your souls!" the fallen Angel snarls and charges forward. Hunter's eyes track the fight nervously as he swaps his pistol for his rifle knowing that he might as well be pissing on a wildfire for all the use that the weapon be against those thick armor plates. Shards of ceramite fly through the air as the Banshees deliver quick stinging strikes against their gargantuan foe, making a mockery of whatever skill he might possess with their sheer speed. They don't rely on the crushing blows of a human fighter but rather sting like a swarm of venomous insects. One blow rips the helm from its head revealing the snarling, weeping sore ridden, mutated features that replaced a once noble contenance.
The Spartan's eyes lock onto this weakness immediately battle rifle pressed to his shoulder. The glowing optic in the center of his scope settles on the exposed cranium as it roars in pain. Three 9.5x40mm rounds rip through the back of the fallen Astartes' head from its mouth. The behemoth freezes stiff for a moment as its brain registers the sudden damage, before it topples to the ground shaking the earth beneath Hunter's feet. All falls silent for a moment before one of the Banshee's turns to regard the Spartan, crimson lenses flashing as she regards him critically.
Olavara looks over the lone Mon'keigh taking in everything. From the more streamlined and ergonomic armor to the deadly slug thrower held in his ready hands and the long combat knife strapped to his thigh. A golden visor stares her down waiting for the slightest sign of danger, and she of all the Warhost knows just how deadly he can be at any range. Her fist tightens around the grip of her power sword in hesitation before she sheathes it at her side.
"Come Mon'keigh, the Fallen Ones cannot be far behind us."
"Affirmative, let's move," he replies mechanically and sprints off into the trees at speeds that put all other non-modified humans to shame. Despite herself, she grins beneath her helmet and chases after him with long graceful strides. She and her sisters quickly catch up to him only to witness him reach even higher speeds straining her like nothing else.
"What is he?" she wonders for the hundredth time as her lungs begin to burn with the exertion. The mechanically powerful movements belay the skill and grace that she has seen him move with in the past. The trees suddenly part to reveal the black armored forms of the Imperial Stormtroopers that accompanied the strange Mon'Keigh. The primitive, if effective, laser rifles in their hands swivel around to regard them with the typical sluggishness of humanity. But then...if her speed had been put to shame by one such as this Spartan then who was she to judge?
"No, humans will always be lesser than Eldar no matter what their priest shout at the masses," her mind returns nearly instantly. It matters naught, as the Eldar break off to return to their own lines leaving the Imperials to return to their fortress monastery and hunker down.
Reymose can't help the blasphemy that slips through his lips as the first reports begin trickling in again since the Spartan and his team engaged the enemy. The presence of traitor Astartes sent the Battle Sisters into a near frenzy of zealous rage and they wanted desperately to ride out and face them in the open. A notion which only the liberal application of the Rosette on his chest and the soothing words of the head priest had shot down. This didn't stop the sisters from breaking out the heaviest weapons in their arsenal however and even now the towers are armed with sanctified missile launchers and multi-meltas.
"Where could this demon be hiding...what do the traitors hope to gain here?" he wonders aloud for the thousandth time as he pours over the updated pict-table denoting the approximate positions of the enemy lines and his own scattered squads. The picture: not looking very good for the Imperials and temporary allies. A full regiment of traitors and their mutant auxilia are within light artillery range and, if eye witness reports and the half dozen picts he was sent are to be believed, then there are easily two squads of traitor Astartes of the Word Bearer Legion accompanying them.
With just under four hundred Battle Sisters, initiates and Inquisitorial Stormtroopers to defend the battered walls there seems to be no hope. Not against the Astartes. Whole worlds have been reported to capitulate at the mentioning of just a hand full of the transhuman warrior monks, worlds that would have hardly batted an eye at whole armies of Imperial Guardsmen. He only stirs from his thoughts when the gates open with a squeal of abused metal admitting the few returning squads of Stormtroopers...and the Spartan. The super soldier brings both good and bad news: with the death of the traitor Astartes he invigorates the garrison with tales of a mere mortal, if modified, slaying a demigod. At the same time the presence of such beings sends moral plummeting near rock bottom.
"If I may Inquisitor...the Saint was a vocal champion against the forces of Chaos in particular, more so than even is the norm. She led many forces against such foes and cultivated many enemies that...may have lived on after her demise," the head priest, a Cardinal by the name of Farone, supplies in the whimpering tone of one trying to avoid being berated by someone in a much higher position than he.
"Oh I don't doubt it Cardinal, I'm much more concerned with who among our ranks would be the host of such a creature. After all: this is a chapel devoted to a Saint. The Emperor's Holy Light is within every stone, every brick, every piece of glass in the chapel. One must wonder…" the Inquisitor trails off, a horrifying thought dawning on him as the Cardinal begins to change. The veteran Inquisitor has seen many things in his decades of service to the Imperium. From tiny bugs that could control a man by implanting itself within his skull, to the full horror of a demonic incursion. At every occurrence that has been orchestrated by the foul denizens of the Warp his senses have alerted him.
A shiver running down his spine, an odd smell in the air, a sound that borders on the edge of his hearing. Oh yes, one of his training and experience is still fallible yet in this case there can be no doubt.
"...what they promised you for your soul heretic!" the Inquisitor spits venomously drawing his sword and plasma pistol with a flourish, both weapons humming with energy as he whirls around to regard the swiftly mutation Cardinal with an oath to the Emperor on his lips.
A/N: I know this took forever to get out but schooling and the number of things that I have to deal with in the last few months has been asinine. However now that I have orders I can get a little bit more writing done than I could before. Hopefully I'll be able to ramp up production of this and a few other stories as time goes on.