'Untin' Kaiju

Some would say a warpal garden is already dangerous enough. Frequented by less-defined daemonic forces on one side, and polluted by nurgle's rot-corps on the other, they are most certainly a place only for the hardiest of travellers.

What happens, then, when such a garden springs about in a place with malfunctioning fire suppression systems, which operate with advanced water recycling systems in tandem? Why, things go extra crazy, as they often do when the Warp is involved in any capacity.

Watchful plants grow to tremendous sizes, aggressive ones become a more dominant part of the food chain. Unfathomable beasties lurk within the shade and any herbivores go extinct within weeks. And last, but not least, such a deadly set of circumstances attracts a special kind of thrill-seeker, armed to the teeth with ego and a small, usually non-nuclear arsenal. The crazed hunter, who may not actually be crazy, but might as well be.

There was a handful of them, a group of humans and tau making their way through the lush vegetation, only occasionally having to fend off quasi-romantic advances. In the core of the group, walked two commanders and coaches, leaving most of the literal jungle fighting to their entourage.

"The taint of the Warp is truly unpredictable."

She smiled. Mont'yr was clad in a much lighter battlesuit than her usual one, possessing little more than a few plates of armour and a jump-pack. The helmet was crafted for her specifically, as the hole for her braid demonstrated.

"It is fascinating, to be sure."

"And horrifically deadly."

"True. Still, my kind does not have many dealings with it or its creatures. Yours seems to agitate it wherever you go."

"Count yourselves fortunate," the conversation needed a change of topic, he felt, "bah, but enough about that. We are here to hunt, after all!"

"Hah, well said! We of fire can never help but feel excited on such an occasion. Runs in our blood to this day."

"I have a more rudimentary interest. I like hanging trophies on my wall."

"You gue'la and your need to show-off. Part of the reason why you're always so inefficient."

"A bit of decoration never hurt anyone... well, except animals, but you get the point."

She shot the lord general another smirk:

"Mayhaps I do, gue'la."

One of the vanguard, a tau, suddenly came up to them:

"Shas'o. We've found... someone."

"What, who?"

"An ork. He seems... frightened."

Frightened did not fully describe the situation. Perhaps adding shocked, brought to the brink of lunacy, or un-orky would have been more descriptive. Clad in scraps of plating, yet unarmed, the ork in question sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. Marek crouched before him and listened for a bit:

"Jus' one look... and dey'z gone... just da' look..."

Silently, he spoke:

"Hey. You hear me?"

"Yeh, I'z gud. Just playin' it out in me 'ead," the ork looked up, visibly shaken, "Iz ran so quick, I'z dropped me shoota', see? I'z also thinkin' of lootin', but there ain't much left."

"Okay, well, let's start from the beginning."

"Oh, yeh. See, me and me boyz, wez went up 'ere, hopin' to get some shootin' done. Rukzug got 'is big dumb 'ead eaten in da' first ten minutez by some kitty thingy. Dat woz a gud larf."

"So your 'boyz'," said with only the slightest hint of standard imperial disdain, "all died to this 'kitty thingy'?"

"Oh, noez, noez. We'z shot dat 'un real gud. 'E got uz."

"He?"

The men meanwhile helped themselves to some cups and drank their rationed water.

"Some call 'im King of da' Jungle. I'z dunno', ain't got no boss pole or anythin'. 'E'z da' biggest and meanest, dat'z fer sure."

The men suddenly started staring down into their cups. Mont'yr already felt what Marek continued to ignore.

"What are you talking about?"

"Marek..."

It was then that he finally noticed the tremors. Powerful, steady, at regular intervals. Their drinks rippled in perfect sync. The lord general grabbed the ork by the collar and asked once more:

"What the Warp is it?!"

A roar shot through the jungle. Creatures of various size flew above them, scurrying to safety. In the distance, a dozen of the mighty warpal trees fell without warning. The ork finally blurted out, in half-whisper:

"Squigzilla."

A massive, clawed foot stomped down within view, easily the size of a battle tank. Muscles thicker than a man stretched up high, attached to the underbelly of a monster. Rather slim, for a squig, anyway, the gargantuan creature towered above them like a mountain. Its hide was crimson, dotted here and there with signs of gunfire. Its eyes were serpentine and emerald green, located in several groupings all around its body. One such set caught glimpse of their most unfortunate expedition.

Its maw opened up, splitting in two thanks to two separate jaws. The roar was just as intense as the first and as soon as it ended, it took a step closer to its would-be snacks. Some of the fools, some way to the right, were shooting. Slugs bounced off the beast's hide without so much as leaving a scratch, pulse fire burned, yet could not seem to penetrate to any important organs. It did succeed at attracting the monster's ire, though.

Its massive jaws burst open and death spewed forth, draped in the guise of a azure wall of warpfire. And while the unfortunate hunters were vaporized within nanoseconds, the vegetation around them seemed to almost relax in the scorching haze.

"Idiots," she exclaimed, already darting into the treeline, "this way, Marek!"

He did not hesitate for long and also sought cover within the flora. The last thing he caught a glimpse of was the ork standing dumbfounded, before being crushed into a fine paste with a single step.

They ran for a good ten minutes before finally coming to a halt, gasping for breath. Squigzilla's roars could only faintly be heard, in the distance. Roars of victory, he thought. A few more deep breaths, and she asked:

"You know what we must do now, right?"

The swiftness of his answer almost shocked him:

"Indeed. We must kill it, figure out where the head starts, then mount it somewhere."

"While I still find the mounting highly unnecessary, I am glad we see eye-to-eye on this. Our fellow hunters must be avenged. The question now remains, how?"

"It is quite the beast... and I say we turn its strength against it. Strike it when it is at its most vulnerable. Sleep."

She rubbed her chin, nodding slightly:

"The alpha predator need not worry during rest. I like your thinking. Now we just need to find its lair."

"That won't be too hard," with a smirk, he pointed towards the ground, "just follow the tremors."

Sure enough, there they were, the small, regular quakes, emanating from deeper within the warpal jungle. It did not take them long to locate massive paw prints. It was like getting a map on a silver platter... a very strange dinner course, certainly.

It had been almost twenty minutes of dutiful, though quite elementary, tracking before the lord general exclaimed:

"I have always wanted to ask, Mont'yr."

"Ask away."

"If I understand your culture correctly, your names are a sort of badge of honour, correct?"

"I suppose it could be likened to that, yes."

"How do you communicate with others before that? That matter has always perplexed me."

She chuckled lightly, then began:

"And that stems from your upbringing, gue'la. From birth, you are addressed, you are told what is yours, what you can and cannot do. From your earliest days, you are you, for lack of a better expression. With us, it is different," she came to a stop on a massive, twisting root, suddenly towering above him, "from birth, we are tau. A cog in the machine of the Greater Good. Replaceable, yet necessary for its goals to be achieved. You are never addressed by anyone other than squadmates, even then only under certain circumstances. Orders are given to squads, cadres and battlegroups. We train, eat, fight and die with others devoted to the Higher Causes. Our identity is insubstantial, our deeds all devoted to the glory of all tau. And then..."

"There are names."

"Quite right. I dare not speak for all other tau, but for me, the feeling was intoxicating. Can you even fathom it? To suddenly not just be another helmet in a crowd? For others to suddenly call out to you, you specifically, with reverence? Oh, that is a sensation you may never experience, though," she looked away, "never without a cost."

He did not voice his question, yet she answered anyway:

"I got mine almost fifteen of your terran cycles ago."

Her eyes seemed to gaze into space.

Death world. What a fitting moniker. Not only was almost all of the wildlife carnivorous, some of the diseases they had seen spread seemed as if they were purposefully designed to inflict agonising demise. And then, there were the borderline insane humans who considered such a hellhole homely.

Bolter fire streaked above their heads. Their comms were unresponsive, no other squads in sight. The line was broken. Not even the guile of kauyon could keep up with the world around it, for once. She looked over her squadmates, just as more humans emerged from the foliage. Only six left.

A fitting last stand. Raising her rifle to the air, she shouted:

"For the Greater Good!"

They charged. Battlecries from both sides. They clashed. Screams, shots, cracking of bones. One rams her to the ground, machete raised for a strike. A fateful incident of friendly fire. She grabbed hold of the weapon. She was alone. Fury, hatred, mighty shout. Cut, slash, narrow parry, crushing of bone.

Silence.

No screams, no dying, nothing. Just her breathing. Blood everywhere. She reached for her helmet, the only one dyed differently in her squad, and almost ripped it off. The air was surprisingly fresh. Almost gasping, she looked down at her sword. Blooded. Mont'yr.

"That day, I will never forget. Even now, sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear the squadmates I grew up with die."

A silence fell upon them, as they continued with the easiest tracking in the galaxy. Marek finally formed his first sentence, ever so carefully:

"I know the feeling only too well."

A backwater world, its name seldom remembered even by its inhabitants. The local PDF, if one could call it that, was used only to fighting the occasional band of feral orks. The marauders of the dark gods thought it easy pickings, a stop on the path to greater glory, little more than a supply depot.

And when the planetary governor did little more than pray and call for aid, when the commander of the PDF almost immediately chose the coward's way out, a las-shot to the forehead, the men were ready to break.

Not him, though. The marauders were overconfident after wrecking what little industry the planet had and aimed straight for the capital. As soon as some of the men started discussing desertion, he acted. A single shot was enough to make everyone listen to a lowly, moustachioed captain. A rousing speech was delivered:

"So, this is how you think? You would live as dogs under the dark ones? Pathetic! This is our world, ours, you hear me?! And we're going to make the scum pay for every inch! Ask yourselves, do you wish to live as dogs," he raised his old, trusty sword into the air, "or die like the Emperor's finest?!"

Oh, they died, alright. But the marauders paid dearly for every man or woman they slew. With knowledge of local terrain and routes, and under the guidance of this mysterious captain, the PDF set up a defence to be remembered.

Yet while the enemy seemed endless, their own numbers dwindled. It came down to a last stand in the city's capital. He fought in their midst, and that was the key to the troops' fervour, even in the face of doom.

A mighty chaos abomination, part flesh, part machine, rammed through the ranks and aimed right at him, only the intervention of one private Thompson saved his life. Lucky guy, that Thompson, considering most others in its path were simply obliterated.

The sky suddenly lit up, but not with foul energies, no. A drop pod, landed right on top of the abomination, crushing its servos, though it still emitted a faint groan. A giant among men exited from the pod, his mighty armour a faded gold. A standard was attached to his back, on which a dark blue, draconic beast roared in fury. He shouted:

"Wyrms, the hunt is on!"

She managed a smile:

"Well, aren't we a sad pair?"

"Quite. We also have something else in common. Grim determination," he pointed into the distance, "I do feel that's our target."

"How perceptive you are."

Another ship had burst through the jungle ceiling and seemed to serve two purposes. Firstly, it was a rather wonderful new venue for the jungle to spread, secondly, a den for the jungle's most ferocious predator. And while the gaping hole in the side was a dead giveaway, the monstrous breathing from within only further reassured the two hunters. As they crept near the entrance, he commented:

"Now that we are here, we do have a plan, right?"

She answered while making one final check on her pulse carbine:

"Think. What did we see?"

"Shots bouncing harmlessly off its hide?"

"And?"

Realisation struck him like a chainsword:

"Eyes. Many eyes."

"Weak points. Ones I intend to use to our advantage. I do hope you will follow suite."

"I would have it no other way," his own rifle was a bit on the older side, but what it lacked in high tech, it made up for with raw stopping power and some nasty specialised ammunition, "so, who draws it out?"

"Find a good firing position. I hope your aim is good."

"Only the best."

The inside was rather cramped, if only because the monster took up most of the space. The tau crept along one of the inner walls, bracing herself whenever Squigzilla breathed out, threatening to blow her off her feet. Finally, she reached the main torso and readied herself. She blasted into the air, carried by her miniature thrust-pack and landed on its back. She froze as it stirred in its slumber, sweat running down her forehead, and relaxed as its breathing became regular once again.

Slowly, she made her way towards one of the many clusters of eyes, closed, oblivious to the coming danger. She grabbed an unassuming knife from her belt, the pride of a small team of earth caste designers, and aimed her pulse carbine. One burst was all it took to violently wake the beast, the rounds piercing through the sensitive flesh beneath like a chainsword through butter.

A mighty roar shook the surroundings as the massive squig scrambled to stand. Immediately, she plunged the dagger deep into its thick hide and held on for dear life. She was rocked from side to side as it charged out of its den, consumed by rage. A shot suddenly rang and she saw another cluster burst somewhere near the creature's maw. And then another, with pinpoint accuracy. It only seemed to make Squigzilla even more angry, however. Time to up the ante.

With all her strength, she swung herself closer to the cluster she had already shot and, with one hand, jammed her carbine inside. Click, after click, after click, she released countless pulse rounds deep into its insides. A sudden, furious movement almost made her fall over the edge, but she managed to hold on. The same could not be said about the carbine, which was crushed by the monster's massive foot seconds after landing.

Another shot, another burst of gore. Its movements seemed to be getting more jerky, more predictable. It was working, she thought to herself with a fair bit of relief. Now if only it worked a bit faster. Boom, came once again. She could already see muzzle flashes from the treeline. Squigzilla roared, thrashed... whimpered.

It stumbled. A few dozen tons of meat were slowly falling. She had to move. Aided by a small thrust of her pack, she managed to get some footing, only to lose it moments afterwards, as it crashed like a rather ponderous comet. She came tumbling off the edge, with a shout. Her impact came sooner than expected and was much, much softer. As soon as she got her bearings, she noticed a very pronounced frown on a distinguished imperial officer.

The impact had hurt, certainly. Though, neither of them seemed to have broken anything, so he supposed that was a blessing. Her hair was a mess, running down the sides of her face, almost into his eye. She smiled:

"Thanks."

"Ugh, I would say anytime, but this is actually rather uncomfortable."

Her chuckle was like a short, pleasant chime.

"I suppose I should be thankful I don't have a nose to break."

"That's one way to look at it," a droplet of water suddenly fell down onto his forehead, more followed suite "oh, wonderful."

The small drizzle soon turned into a mighty rain, soaking them and the entire forest. The plants all seemed to turn and twist to capture the maximum amount of droplets. She laughed as her hair was completely soaked:

"At least we won't need a shower, hahah."

"Yes, merely a decently long grooming." his moustache was already a mess, he was sure of it.

"Now, the only question remains," she looked over to the fallen giant, "where does the head start and where in the name of Puretide can it be mounted?"

He mustered up some courage and asked:

"Well, I'd say neither of us has one that's sufficiently large. Perhaps we could build a new one, together?"

She shot him a puzzled look, though the smile he so loved returned soon:

"Should I perhaps not take that sentence at face value, gue'la?"

"I would want nothing else more."

Their eyes met, for a few fateful seconds. The rain continued to fall, yet they did not seem to notice. They closed in and their lips met in a passionate kiss.

An exceptionally exciting game of arm wrestling was suddenly interrupted by a rather obnoxious beeping. The half-cyborg human almost effortlessly finished his current match, earning laughter from the opposing ork. Grabbing hold of his portable vox caster, portable only because it was attached to another trooper, he answered:

"Thompson here. Yes, sir, we can carry any beasty. Half of a squad, sir? Wait, what? Half of ALL the men?"

She wandered through halls forged of the finest wraithbone. The lights were out, yet the stars outside shone brightly, along with a close-by moon. A figure stood in the distance, his arms wide open in a greeting. It was him. Her shadowy moon.

Her walk turned to a light jog as she screamed out:

"Father!"

Suddenly, the lights died and she froze, in utter darkness. The universe itself went dark. And then, suddenly, the moon lit up once more. Crimson red, the Blood Moon of Khaine. As the red light washed over the hallway, she saw him again. Blood gushed from his chest, his face twisted into a grim mockery of its former self.

She immediately awoke with a scream. Everything was as it should be. Her room was clean, no other figure stood there. Her armour and weapons were in their respective stands. The few baubles she owned were on the table, next to a few old picts.

Gasping heavily, she realised that her night gown, and her bed, was completely soaked in sweat. The vision, again. But what did it all mean?