After Activation 1149 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1110 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 122-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1981 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Yevgeny shook his head, things were a little… ringy. Like there was a little bell in his head that just would not stop ringing. Which would be really bad now that he thought about it. Is really bad.
He shook his head again, trying to get his bearing back. A little dizziness. Or rather a lot of dizziness actually. What had happened?
Why was he here? Why couldn't he think straight? What was going on?
Kneeling. Down on the ground. Head still ringing. Trying to kneel. Not working. Need to lie down. Hand can't find ground. Hand on ground. Can't find steady ground. Down. Lie down.
Trying. Trying very hard. Elbows. Yes elbows on the found. Very nice. Can lean forward. Can stand soon? Maybe. Yes. Good. Up. Legs, head getting clearer. Sound, can hear… shouting? Can hear something. Yes. Something. Not important. Need to get up. Upright. Slowly now.
Oh no. Left. Leaning left. Can't get back to the right. Going to fall. Can't stop it. Oh no. Falling. So much falling. Down. Just lie down. Yes.
Close the eyes. Just for a little bit.
Yevgeny opened his eyes, the brightness of the sun stabbing into them. His head was throbbing with a headache, but he couldn't remember drinking the night before. What was going on? His entire body was sore. All of it so very tired. He just wanted to sleep.
Just wanted to sleep.
No. No sleep. He had a… a… a something to do. He needed to do something. Yes. Something. He was sure of it. Just needed to get up and maybe… walk outside? Yes. Walk. Up.
No. No. There was. Oh. The artillery. He had been knocked out when it had landed.
Yevgeny shook his head and immediately regretted it, the throbbing increasing to crippling levels, the sharp pain stabbing into his temples.
He knelt down and took a moment to take some pills out of his first aid kit, it being underneath his vest. It would help, but not immediately. But he had a job to do, he needed to… he needed to get back to the squad and help.
Yevgeny leaned against the sandbags, his knees having given way to gravity. Not the most graceful of things. He just needed a little rest. Just a little bit. His ears were still fuzzy, he could hear gunshots, he could hear the explosions, but it was like they were far away, all over on the other side of the world. Too far away for him to do anything, too far away for him to care. Yes.
Just. Sleep. He just wanted to sleep.
No. He couldn't, his Comrades needed him. He needed to get back up. He was needed.
Yevgeny forced himself to his feet, knees wobbling while he did so. He groaned a bit, the effort he needed to do so being just that much more than he needed ever before.
Next time. Let's catch the shell before it lands.
He gave a little morbid chuckle as he considered his thought. Ah, it does not get better, it always gets worse does it not?
The Americans were still attacking. His head was clearing up and his strength was returning. Yes. He had a job to do. He was a paratrooper, if jumping into the middle of nowhere hanging by a bit of cloth was fine with him, then walking when a bit tired was just the same. He should be fine with it. It wasn't like it was too hard.
Yevgeny tried to convince himself, his legs straightening out, head slowly looking to the left and to the right. He was trying to find his rifle, a rifle that was missing. A weapon then. Any kind of weapon. Nothing. He had nothing.
Yevgeny groaned and pushed through it. Eventually, the pain would stop registering, he just needed to keep going. If he said it enough, maybe he would even be able believe it. A man's ability to delude himself was unrivalled and he was going to make very sure that he would be able to delude himself some more. He needed to get through this, needed to be able to help his squad.
Just a bit more.
Yevgeny aimed his new rifle, leaning it on the sandbags in front of him. The Americans had attacked in force, a hurricane artillery bombardment, tanks leading the charge with IFVs ranging to their flanks, infantry following behind, disembarked to keep themselves alive in case the IFVs were hit by rockets of some kind.
For the Russians however, it had been a very frantic fight. Is a frantic fight.
Yevgeny pulled his trigger, a short burst scything down an American that was trying to leapfrog toward him. Yevgeny was braving the suppressive fire from the Americans, but it wasn't truly that dangerous for him, or rather he didn't think it was dangerous. His hearing had not fully returned in full and not being able to hear the Americans shooting at him meant that he was able to simply ignore anything coming his way.
He saw the muzzle flashes of course, but rather luckily, they all missed. Or was it because they were very poorly trained? Who knew, it wasn't as if he had anything to judge them by.
Head back down, Yevgeny frowned. Nikolai was dead. He had heard great things about what he had done. While Yevgeny had been out of it, he had stood up, braved incoming machine gun and heavy cannon fire to make sure that each rocket went where it was supposed to go. 1 dead Abrams tank, 4 dead IFVs, all on his own. When he had run out of rockets, he had picked up his rifle and wedged himself next to a sandbag, firing on the Americans, helping in any way he could.
Now the poor fool was dead, a bullet through the head.
Yevgeny took the chance to lean over, closing the man's eyes before returning to his original position. His body almost as if it were attached to the rocks and the sandbags to his left, so tightly was he packed. If he could not stand up properly, why not simply make sure he was sitting properly? If he needed to shoot, he would lean up, if he needed to duck, he would lean down.
As the bullets ricocheted off the rocks, shouldered their way into the sandbags in front of him, spraying him with little fragments, bruising his shoulders as they did so. It looked like they were using the big bullets this time around, maybe a Dushku.
Yevgeny grunted, it looked like it was time for him to get out of this little hidey hole. Digging a little hole in the ground he primed a grenade for booby trap mode and made his way out. He would crawl his way over to the rest of the squad, what was left of them. The squad was left with the defence of the east most flank, the others, the northern, southern and rear lines being left to the other squads of the platoon that had been sent or rather what was left of them. The American attack had been of a high enough level of aggression and dedication that they had been pushed back.
A first.
Yevgeny crawled his way out, he would link up at the third line of defence, what he was abandoning being the second line. As he did so, bullets slammed into the sand walls that made the "wall" that separated this side of the trenchline. The "door" being just a gap in between the two lines of sand walls. A little wiggle, a little shake, and he was through. A hand lifting him up by the armpit, another patting him down.
"Ah, Yevgeny, you are still alive. Good good. Let's go, we will blow the walls, make it hard for the Americans to hide da?" Ah, Gregory, always cheerful, the Ukrainian giant being a steady bulwark for the squad to lean on. He was shouting, Yevgeny wouldn't be able to hear him if he wasn't. Then again maybe the rumbling of his chest as he spoke would be enough to translate for him.
"Yes, yes. Lead the way Gregory." Yevgeny said, his voice still slurred.
"Ah, still hazy my friend? Just sit down, Gregory will get you home." He said, leaning down and throwing one of Yevgeny's arms over his shoulders, his own gripping Yevgeny by the waist and lifting him up, equipment and all. As always, the giant defied reality and did yet another feat of strength that made other men cry with jealousy. The worst part of it being that he didn't realise what he was doing.
Yevgeny sighed and let himself go limp, letting the big man drag him around like he was a child.
The Americans kept coming, Their bullets cracking through the sky above their heads. The Soviet forces keeping themselves occupied, occasionally shooting back, occasionally throwing grenades, occasionally fending off a foray into their little trench network, it having been reduced to the final line of defence. Their artillery wasn't able to dig them out, and the Russians had their own artillery that meant that the Americans couldn't commit to an attack without exposing themselves to a retaliation strike in kind.
The Soviets weren't able to push out on their own, the American artillery had them ranged, their own trench network self-destructed to prevent the Americans having easy access into it.
As it was, Yevgeny was just poking his head over the wall, shooting a few bullets, and then ducking back down.
He couldn't commit, the American camouflage hiding them away from his sight. All he was doing was reminding them that he was here and not to take the Soviet inactivity for granted. Best for them to keep their heads down, it would make it easier for them to do what was needed… assuming there was anything that they were going to be doing.
Yevgeny wasn't sure as to what would be happening next, they had blunted the American assault, yet at the same time, they were stuck here. There was an egress point out the rear, but it would be one bracketed by artillery. Which meant that they were here, with slowly dwindling food and ammunition.
Not that it really was an issue for the platoon, they had enough ammunition and rations to last them for several weeks, enough time for them to be relieved. Which left them in a rather awkward position. Where the Americans were unable to push through, where they were unable to do anything more. Shooting a few more Americans, doing nothing in the long term scenario. Just waiting for the next big attack to root them out.
"Yevgeny." His sergeant's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Follow me." He said, Yevgeny standing up as he walked away and dropping off the firing step.
"Sir?" He asked.
"The Lieutenant's got a mission for you."
"Oh… is it going to be bad?" When an officer asked for you, things never went well.
"..."
"Oh."
When I get back I'll shoot the idiot in the face!
Yevgeny threatened the Lieutenant in his mind, his head filled with expletives and anger. He was meant to run a message back to command, the telephone line having been cut, and the Lieutenant didn't want the Americans to be able to intercept his message over the open airwaves.
As it was, he was running in a half crouch like posture, working his way down the ravine, itself coming out of the rear of the firebase, ending somewhere a kilometer down the line. He would follow the ravine, then make his way west to the base camp where the Company commander was located. He needed to request reinforcements, the Lieutenant could call in artillery, but if he called reinforcements, he would alert the Americans that now would be a good time to strike.
So here he was, running, leaning down, rock to rock, crawling when there was no cover, making sure that he was at the very least hidden. He didn't want to try and survive an artillery shell again, he wasn't that lucky. Neither did he wasn't to try and see if he could survive a sniper bullet to the back.
No, he was going to keep his head down and get the message to the Company Commander. Maybe he would be able to hitch a ride on a BMP on the way back.
After Activation 1149 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1110 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 122-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1981 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Francis Thorn was what one might call an operator. Not an operator that cruised for women mind you, but a special forces operator, one that was… very good at getting things done. When the Joint Chiefs as part of a scaling back of the military had decided that the Special Forces did not need to really exist, but maybe having a few well trained men, capable of going into any environment and coming out the other side clean as they went in… would be a good idea.
And so following World War 2, there had been a cutback on the special forces, a rolling back of the sniper corps, of the Marine engineer corps, and so many others found themselves operating on life support. When Korea had rolled around, the US military had found itself without what it might call "operators", who could go behind enemy lines. Instead, they were all hammering away at each other in the frontline, where a few key bullets to a few key heads might have done a better job.
A few bridges that could have been destroyed without risking so many pilots, a few dams that could have been destroyed, a few power lines that could have been cut. The little things that would have made it so that the war would have been marginally easier on their troops. A bit of extra training for the peace of mind that a few hundred soldiers might make it out alive, a worthwhile trade.
The revelations came late but it was enough for them to reactivate the programs to begin preliminary training. It wasn't until Vietnam however that things became immediately obvious that they should have had these teams ready years ago and not preparing now. Where their infantry tried to bull rush through the enemy, relying on the same tactics as they had in the Second World War and Korea, using the superiority in numbers of both man and machine, crushing the enemy under overwhelming fire. They had failed, the militia was ready for them and they had the superior weapons. Thousands of men died in the first of the attacks, the second not faring any better. What special forces they had in the Green Berets, had not gone over as well.
Soldiers that were trained better, but soldiers still, with a mentality that wars were to be fought a specific way. Mentalities that saw them come off the worse with every engagement against the Caretaker mercenaries. Hundreds of men were killed as a result, men that had been operating off an assumption of how they thought future wars would be waged. They were not truly special forces, not yet.
During Vietnam, there had been rapid attempts of rectifying the situation, none of which truly offered anything that they could use not in the time frames they had. The Navy SEALs existed, but as men trained to lug small backpack nuclear weapons into enemy territory and detonate them. It would not be long before they were trained to do something slightly less suicidal, but by the time that had happened, the war had been over and the US had sued for peace.
Too many men had been lost in too short a time in a country that nobody cared about in the eyes of the public. Retreat and fight for democracy at home, there was no need to go and spend those lives out in a country that wasn't even communist, to begin with. It was a weird quasi military democracy thing they said.
The Vietnam conflict was over before they could test their newly trained special forces, but that didn't mean that like last time, they would be forgetting the lessons learnt. There would be no scale backs, no reorganizing, no cuts to their special forces. The recent conflicts had shown that there was a definite need for their "skills". And so they waited, Thorn being one of the few that had joined in the peace not 5 years earlier.
A quiet man, one that preferred drinking his coffee in the quiet of an IFV passenger compartment as opposed to being out, watching the sunset. A man that liked to be around his weapons of death, a man that would be in a word, aimless without his military posting. He had joined the army, thinking that it would be something that he could do to get away from home. Only it had been loud beyond belief, the cramped barracks having 100 plus men all burping, farting, shouting, brawling, and wanking.
No, he wanted out and the Green Berets had been that out. They were more elite than the army the recruiters had said, never say 5 words when 1 would do. Thorn knew he had found his people and signed up the first opportunity he got. They were different from their Vietnam War brethren, these were professional.
The training had been brutal, the selection process even more so, but he persevered. For his perfect world, he would do whatever it took. He had graduated and was promoted to Corporal for his efforts, leading his little section of 4 men. Following the end of his training however, had been a chance to do more training, and then Thorn that had discovered his motto as it were, it was the perfect opportunity to change his life.
Destroy your enemies swiftly in great bursts of violence. That way you can go back to enjoying the quiet all the sooner.
Not the most pleasant of mottos but one he lived by quite religiously, the extra training would just help him realise that goal faster. Paratrooper training, diving, mountaineering, demolitions, explosives defusal, enemy territory survival, outdoor survival, and so many more. In the 5 years previous, he had done all of those that he could, learning off his own team when he couldn't. All of them sharing their experiences in order that they get the most well rounded education.
What it meant for Thorn was that he was one of the most well rounded men on the planet, able to survive in every environment he was thrust into with only the clothes on this back and his knife.
It also meant that he was a well honed killing machine when it came down to it.
Which it did right now. Thorn lay prone, his sniper rifle, a bolt action beast chambering a 12.7mm round, pointed down range. The target in this case, was a Russian officer. He was in the middle of a South American Federation base, overseeing what looked to be a deployment of some kind. Thorn was a kilometer away, his scope trained on the man's head, his rifle ranged and deflection due to humidity had been accounted for.
It would be slightly harder given that he was aiming down at a 70 degree angle, the parabolic arc of the bullet in this case not fighting gravity as hard and that would have to be accounted for. The base itself was in a valley, likely an attempt to hide from the observational satellites above, it had failed, of course, the base's construction being visible even if the finished product was not.
Still, Thorn wasn't here to judge, he was just here to gather intelligence and to take out key figures if he deemed it necessary. Right now, Thorn didn't feel it was necessary, the man was just a Major and if was killed, well Thorn would have a hard time getting out. The intelligence he had gathered was worth much more than the Major, in any case, something he needed to get back to command for it to be of any use.
His entire body was covered with a ghillie suit, itself being a simple overall that had little straps all over it. Straps that were meant to be where you placed bits of foliage into, all the better to break your outline and make it harder to spot. A well done ghillie suit being able to hide somebody quite literally underfoot of someone else. His rifle had not been forgotten, the entire thing covered in a net and the barrel was painted. There wouldn't be any harsh greys to give him away. Careful attention was paid to the scope, the glint of the glass was yet another key part that many forgot about while camouflaging the rest of the rifle.
And so it was that Thorn lay in place, observing the Russian Major, seeing the number of officers that came up to speak with the man, checking the sizes of their units, their vehicles, their arsenal, basic kit, and more. Anything that might be useful was jotted down, one never knew when their memory decided to stop working properly.
All the while Thorn kept an ear out, it wouldn't do for him to be snuck up upon. That would be the height of embarrassment and probably would see him dead. A few tripwires designed to rustle the leaves a certain way was all the warning he needed.
A battalion in strength. Less than expected for this region. He wrote, his observation of the Soviets coming to an end as he prepared to exfiltrate the area, careful to do it as slowly as possible. There was no reason for him to rush, doing so would jolt the wildlife, rustle the leaves, basically making it obvious that something of a certain size was moving in the area. All it took was for one patrol to get it into their idea to check the source of the disturbance, and he would be dead. It wasn't like one could be stealthy when trying to move through a jungle quickly.
Slow and steady wins the race, but it also gets good people killed because they were caught by the fox and eaten in front of the rabbit.
Thorn eased back, hands, knees, making sure to stay prone the whole time, pulling his rifle back gently as he did so. It would be disassembled and placed into a special case on the back of his waist, ready to engage any who might need it. Carefully dusting the area, removing any traces of his presence, Thorn made his way out of the area, the Soviets and South Americans none the wiser about his presence above them.
The return would hopefully be uneventful, they were far far behind enemy lines here, so far that it would be faster for him to exfiltrate by submarine than to try and walk back. This far behind the lines there would be no helicopter support for him to rely on, best to make sure he wasn't caught. The rest of the team would rendezvous with him a few kilometers away from his current position. A few of them trying to get into the base proper and find documents of use, the suicidal idiots had obviously been successful given that the base had not immediately gone into alert mode while he had been watching.
It had worked… which was probably a bad thing considering how many would try to emulate them down the line. Thorn was a Sergeant now, he wasn't looking forward to yelling at idiots who thought crazy ideas equalled daring ideas which equalled good ideas.
Just being daring was not something to be lauded, one had to be intelligent at the same time.
Thorn kept crawling, he would keep crawling until he was at least sure they would not be able to spot his movement through the treeline. No startled wildlife, no strangely vibrating tree, nothing. Some might say he was being overly cautious, but then again, he wanted to live and too much caution simply did not exist in his book. Do whatever is needed them do it again, too many failsafes is always a good thing.
As he finally braved a chance at crouching, Thorn watching everything around him, stretching his senses to their maximum ability. The slightest whiff of human and he would be playing at being a log. Too many risks came with trying to engage.
Nothing.
Okay.
Thorn got up slowly and crouched his way over to the extraction zone, 4 more kilometers away. A pain on the knees but that had been what the training had been for.
Thorn took the opportunity to enjoy the peace and quiet, even if it was as tense as hell. His team was loud and moments like these were rare and in-between, he would enjoy them while he still could.
After Activation 1149 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1110 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 122-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1981 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Francis Thorn had left behind his sniper rifle for this one. Infiltrate the Russian base, gather any pieces of intelligence that could be of use and then leave again. The mission was simple, the objective was simple, the execution… maybe not so much.
To begin with, the Soviets occupied the base of a valley, which while it made observation much easier, also made infiltration that much more difficult. He had to pick a route that was going to avoid the multitude of sentries that they possessed, the majority of the valley being within eye sight. The high elevation of it allowing for the everything to be brought "closer" as it were. Close enough that they faced no real issue in being able to see anyone trying to sneak in.
What made things more irritating was the fact that the Russians had also decided to denude the jungle itself about half-way down the valley, all the way to the base. Meaning that if he wanted to get in closer, he would be pushing himself through what was essentially naked land, with only a tree stumps as cover. There were what appeared to be mortars set up around the location and more emplacements, making it extremely dangerous for infantry to try and breach the base, let alone steal papers from inside and leave undetected.
Thorn sat back and stared, it appeared that this was a mission that was impossible. There was nothing that he had in his arsenal that could change this, there was nothing that he could do that would change this. Thorn was good, but he wasn't suicidal. He was a professional and sometimes that meant going back and saying "sorry sir, that's not possible."
And so Thorne packed up his observation kit, and began the long trudge back to the radio transmitter that would send a tight band message up to a satellite in orbit, bouncing it back to base. He had 2 hours to reach the radio before the satellite in question passed over the communication range of the communication range of the radio, forcing him to wait until tomorrow.
They wouldn't change the orbit of a satellite for him, so waiting was all he would be able to do.
Thorn kept moving no point in waiting. The sooner the message came, the sooner he could either get help, or be reassigned.
Francis Thorn was back, looking down at the Soviet base that was very much proving to be a thorn in his side.
Orders had come from above that the Russians needed to at least be occupied long enough for their own offensive to gain some ground. His mission to gather intelligence was secondary, his primary objective was to actually cause a diversion. Thorn wasn't sure what he felt about that.
He understood the sentiment and agreed with it, partly. A single soldier was worth an entire advance, especially when there would be many soldiers dying to secure that advance. The cost of a single man was worth it. Only that man was him, something he was very much in disagreement about. A man did not enjoy being told that he was going to die, that was just not something that ever went through someone's head, whereupon they would say "ok", and cheerfully go off and do it.
Still, they did need that land, and Thorn was a professional if he did this right then maybe he would be getting out of this one alive. He would rather be sitting back and drinking coffee, but his hand had been dealt.
With the binoculars on their little tripod, the lens covered by a piece of netting as to prevent the glare of the glass from alerting anyone below, Thorn stared down at the camp. In particular, he was looking at the various patrols, the sentries, the walls, the vehicles, the checkpoint guards, anything and everything he could use as a means get inside.
The slightest of weaknesses and he would exploit it as far as he could. If one of their sentries had a habit of leaning over the parapet of his tower, he could use the time to crawl a few extra centimeters. If a patrol had a habit of stopping for a cigarette, he could use the opportunity to crawl over the wall, if the checkpoint guards didn't check underneath the vehicles, he could use the opportunity to hang underneath as it drove on through. Many little things, each allowing him to complete his mission if he paid attention and did what he needed.
Thorn breathed out, it was becoming increasingly clear that there was no real weakness he could exploit. The men underneath him were professionals, professionals that did not display any of that vaunted Soviet casualness. Where was the laziness that was promised to him by the propaganda videos? Where was the rampant corruption and inability to stand up and do their job? Where was the weaknesses in their defences that made it like Swiss cheese?
If anything it made him feel bad, the American soldiers he had known weren't as professional as the Soviets were, all doing their jobs with clockwork precision, no gaps he could use to squeak through.
Thorn was seriously considering just using his M79, firing a few grenades into the base and leaving. It would be his only opportunity to disrupt them at this rate, that and running at the base and getting shot down. They would spend the next few minutes or hours trying to find more special forces and maybe that was the delay that the American forces needed to crack through.
Still, he wasn't going to die unless absolutely necessary, which it currently was not. Maybe.
Thorn kept looking, maybe there was something. There had to be something he could use here.
Quiet. Thorn kept looking but it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that the jungle had grown quiet, far too quiet for this time of day. Sure the mosquitos were still trying to drink him dry, but they were standard, it didn't matter if there was going to be explosions, nerve gas, or napalm, mosquitos were a constant of life.
He gave a savage grin, it looked like the Soviets did have perimeter security after all. Straining his ears, Thorn lay and waited, eyes closed. The guard would likely try and come close enough to try and apprehend him with his hands, thinking that Thorn would be surprised by the sudden contact, enough to subdue him.
It would be much easier for him to react that that kind of apprehension as opposed to being told to move with a gun being pointed at him from range, there wasn't much he could do in that situation. Bullets were faster than men after all.
Ah, the lack of air from the left side. The man was good, no noise despite all the loose rocks on the little perch that Thorn was using. If it was anywhere else, he would be showing his appreciation to his fellow soldier.
As it was, one of them was leaving here alive, Thorn intended it to be him. If the man had his squad behind him, at least he would be able to take one of them with him. It was not as if he was doing much else from what it looked like, people tended to not keep living after being perforated by bullets.
There.
Thorn turned to his left and looked up. He was blinded by the sudden blister of sunlight directly into his eyes, but it was still enough for him to catch a glimpse that was the general outline of a human. Left hand shooting out to grab the man by the back of the neck, using him as a pillar to pull himself up, and a leg hook behind his right to trip him over. Right hand meanwhile was working on the harness on his chest, the knife within being brought out, and a quick check to see if his eyes were back to normal, blinking, yes.
A glance down to confirm that it was an enemy and not a friendly that was trying to play a malicious trick of some kind. No. Enemy, Slavic descent, facial structure evident, Russian uniform, distinctive camouflage patterns. Ok. Man lying face down, knife into the back of the neck, immobilization. Knife into the back of the skull, work it gently to make sure all the important bits were chopped up, and he was done. The only audible sign that something had happened at all being the thud as the man dropped down. A quick check. Hmmmm…
Russian Paratroopers. Not quite special forces, but not quite regulars either. They were the elite, but not the creme of the crop. Adequate in numbers but in a fight against him, a one on one would be a bad idea on their part.
Which meant that it was likely his squad was behind him, now would be a good time to leave then. A grenade launcher aimed at the base underneath them, (Thorn and the dead man), work out general trajectory, doing a little bit of mental math. Ok. Lay out his shells, 3 HE, 1 phosphorus. The He's would be going around the base itself, the WP into what he had identified as the main administrative section.
If he couldn't get inside, then nobody could.
Time to go loud then and get out of here. Assuming he hit in the first place, it was over 200 meters away as the crow flew. A kilometer if he walked, but from up here? Barely 200 meters in the horizontal axis.
Ok, time to start, the paratrooper's squad was likely looking for him as they spoke.
A loud "thump" that sounded suspiciously like a "pop" came out of launcher, the noise it made being the reason it was called the Thumper in the first place. A quick jerking of the barrel down, pulling out the used shell canister, putting in another HE, firing, reloading, firing, reloading, firing the WP, putting away the grenade launcher, and he was off.
Quickly moving through the jungle along the path he had mapped out in the event he was ever compromised. He was doing so accompanied by the shouts of the Russians behind him. He grinned, a bit loud, but it was always a good feeling to be able to escape without anyone else being able to find him.
More shouts, coming from around him it looked like, they were very coordinated. If it was anyone else they might have been able to catch him, as it was, Thorn displayed a skill that he had cultivated ever since he was a child. Making his way to the premarked spot, he dropped to his knees, dug his knife into what looked like the base of an innocuous fern of some kind, loosening it and then lifting the entire plant up to reveal a little woven manhole covering underneath it.
Thorn set aside the plant, pulled up the cover, dropped down the tunnel to a little footstool he had created from a rock, grabbed the plant, put it back over his head, put back the wooden cover so he wouldn't have dirt falling on him constantly, that and the plant not falling through the hole.
From there Thorn moved forward in the absolute darkness, his hands searching out ahead of him. He had not much time, all he had been able to do was just dig out a little chamber about 3 meters away from the initial entrance into the tunnel. It would do for now, enough for him to remain seated and comfortable, enough for him to wait out the search that was going on over his head.
Thorn smiled, he was not like other men, not terrified of being underground, of being locked in the complete darkness, unable to see even his hands before his eyes. No, for Thorn it was rather comforting, so much so that he leaned back and closed his eyes.
The Soviets would be searching, but they wouldn't find him. All he needed to do was wait a day or 2 before leaving, the little hole he had made in the ceiling being more than enough to supply him the air he needed to survive.
It was all a matter of being prepared, didn't matter if the entire world was against you so long as you had a well dug hole.
After Activation 1149 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1110 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 122-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1981 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Charles Cutting, Marine, artillery liaison, gentleman, was pushing himself up through the undergrowth that was the French countryside. While there wasn't the proliferation of bulldozer required bush/trees as in Northern France. It still, wasn't as nice as the rolling countryside of England, sweet sweet England.
Cutting was an Englishman born and bred, joining the Marines as a lad, growing his way up the chain of command, now a Captain. Not just any Captain, an artillery observer. When someone needed to bring the rain, they called on Cutting to make sure that there were 155mm shells streaking down from the heavens with extreme prejudice.
Sometimes there were enemies that couldn't be dug out with extreme firepower, sometimes there were numbers that needed some air burst thinning. And sometimes some things needed to go boom.
"Cutting, isn't it about time you showed off some of that cutting wit of yours?" Asked the American next to him. A Captain on loan from the Marines. Good soldiers, it was too bad they thought they were the best.
Foolish really, everyone knew that the Royal Marines were.
"That's not how it works Roberts." He replied, tilting his head a little to the right as a particularly determined volley of fire slammed into the embankment in front if him.
"Aren't you Brits known for your dry humor?"
"Dry as in well aged my American friend. Not dry like the sop you call beer." was his retort. The guffawing of the men in the American's squad brought a smile to his face.
"He's got you there Captain."
"The Brit plays the game."
Those were just a few of the comments, the more savoury ones at any rate.
"Keep your heads down lads, it's getting a little messy." Cutting said, poking his head over the trench. The shrubbery was only marginally effective when it came to preventing bullets from passing through. Slightly above paper, slightly below body armour.
"Messy he calls it. In America, we call this FUBAR, fucked up beyond any repair." Said Roberts, his voice rising as he spoke, the inbound fire was rather drastically increasing.
"You yanks and your proclivity to swearing." Said Cutting, fiddling with the radio on his radio operators back. It looked like he wasn't going to be calling in the big 'uns today, just the medium sized ones.
"Alpharius, Foxtrot, Turner." He said into the mouthpiece, taking out one of the gun grey cylinders from the bandolier. It had a band of purple around it, bright fluorescent purple.
"Skyhammer hearing you loud and clear. Call your fire mission." Came the voice over the radio. It was as cool and collected as he expected his fire support to be.
"Danger Close 50 on the purple smoke, grid 5991, Map 5A." Cutting said in reply. Pulling the pin, Cutting threw the smoke grenade towards the center of the base.
"Cutting it a bit close there aren't we?" Asked Roberts, his hand was keeping his helmet on his head as he looked over the embankment. There was fire coming from the base itself, the Marines that were being sieged giving back what they got. Which in terms of firepower, was certainly quite a bit.
Enough that even the Marines were having trouble keeping up, what with them getting done in by petty things like dying. Wounds, on the other hand, were serious and Cutting motioned a few of his men to go and retrieve the wounded, no need for them to be put out of action, he needed those men.
"Best chance we got chap." Cutting said, hand over the radio's mouthpiece, didn't want to confuse the buggers on the other side.
"Copy that, Fire Mission out." Skyhammer clicked the mike, ending the conversation.
For his part, Cutting nodded to his Adjutant who stood up, placed both hands in a cupping position around his mouth and started shouting with admirable vigor.
"Danger Close Fire Mission, keep your heads down lads!" He roared before ducking down again. The call was repeated by the Marines themselves as they dove to the ground.
Skyhammer was an AC-130, heavy cargo plane, heavy guns, a match made in heaven.
Skyhammer had a 155mm cannon sticking out the side of the aircraft with an automatic 40mm cannon and a 30mm gatling. If there was one thing that Cutting could say about the Americans, it was that they loved their guns, enough to put cannons on aircraft.
All of them would be firing down on their position, or rather they likely were already firing on them, ducking down was a very good idea. A 155mm had a kill radius of 200 meters, the shrapnel, and debris that came out of the impact zone could tear through a man like paper. Anyone on the opposing side tended to not fare very well once the Skyhammer unleashed the big guns. Especially the poor sods on the other side, it was all open ground out there.
The 40mm was essentially an automatic grenade launcher, hammering the shells home, while the 30mm fired solid slugs, tearing through flesh and light armour alike.
Skyhammer was in a vulnerable position however, the Africans had some very dangerous anti-air options available to them, if it hung in the combat area for too long, the chances of it being shot down increased exponentially.
Cutting for his part merely knelt on the ground, he was an officer of the British Army, he wasn't going to embarrass himself or his Regiment by something so mundane as going prone.
BOOM
It wasn't so much as a sound, but an experience when a 155mm landed next to you. Well not really next, but 200 meters away next. It was the air pressure being pushed out of the lungs, the oppressive feeling like you were being covered on all sides by a weighted sheet. A hug by the most dedicated of stingrays.
Then came the shockwave as the dirt was thrown about reached them, then the sound a moment later. A dull roar, one that rang in the ears long after the sound dissipated.
The 155mm was the default shell size for the artillery corps and it was not difficult to see why. Then came the sounds of the 40mm, dull crumps as they detonated in a string of explosions.
The screams of the soldiers outside filled their ears, the 40mm tearing apart arms, legs, and who knew what else. Cutting didn't try imagining it, it was improper for a British officer to imagine his enemies being torn apart, that was for the lads.
The 30mm came with a long ripping noise as the atmosphere was torn apart, the sound barrier being shredded in a systematic murder. These would be aimed at clumps of infantry or any light armour that they were using, what better way to tear through the sheet metal.
The explosions continued, the 155mm returning sporadically to shatter any attempts the attackers made at trying to regain their unit cohesion.
Then it was over a "Fire Mission Complete" coming through the radio.
Cutting was on his feet, shouting to the Royal Marines still hunkered down. "Up and at 'em lads, we finish this right smart and we'll be back home in time for tea." He said, walking forward down the slope.
Those pesky bushes were either shredded into oblivion or burning away merrily.
Cutting remembered exactly how many times he had nearly been tripped by the pesky things. Clearly, someone needed to commit some bush genocide earlier.
As the Marines rushed down the embankment, their weapons firing, closing in on the enemy and pummelling them at close range with gunfire and pelting them with grenades, Cutting strolled down the elevation, a baby hill really, just gave a tad of sight in the surrounding countryside. Not exactly worth losing so many men in trying to take but he could understand why they had done it. It wasn't like he would have been so blase about losing so many of his men to artillery strikes.
It was war, and both sides needed to do whatever was necessary to emerge victorious. Of course, Cutting was going to be a gentleman about it, he was an officer after all.
"For fucks sake Cutting, what do you think you're doing. Get down before you get shot!" Shouted Roberts to his right. The man was crouch walking, rather undignified really, but then again he was a colonial, it wasn't as if it was their fault that they were the way they were.
"I am leading the assault, Roberts. What are you doing?" He asked in reply.
"I'm trying to keep my fucking head on. Why are you just walking? Do you want to die?" Roberts the poor chap just didn't understand, did he?
"No I'm not as you say, "trying to die", but I am an officer and thus I must display the bearing that is necessary for one of my station." Roberts said as he crested a little knob of rock on the elevation. He wondered how it got here, it wasn't like the frenchies to be so callous regarding their farms.
"Then why are you standing up? If you die then who's going to lead them?"
"You fail to see the point, Roberts, I am an officer and I must display myself to the men at all times. If they do not see me, then they will assume that I am dead. If they are lost, they can see me. If they need reassurance, they can see me. I am playing a vitally important role you see, Roberts, let the men do their job, and I shall do mine." Cutting said, deviating slightly as he identified a body that was moving, not quite the norm when it came to corpses.
"Hop on lad, I'll get you out of here in a jiffy." Cutting said, leaning down and slinging the man across his shoulders. The poor chap had been shot in the leg it looked like. No time to patch him up now, they needed to leave this area before the Africans gathered their forces and tried a counter-attack. That wouldn't do at all when their rear was exposed as it was.
"What of the wounded sergeant?" He asked his adjutant.
"The evacuation is going as planned sir. Once we have a corridor secured, the ambulances will drive them through." Said his Sergeant. Good man his sergeant, followed him from the suburbs when they used to play ball together.
"Good good. Let's see what we can do for the boys, can't just leave them behind." Cutting said, nodding as he did so. Hmmm. Where was it.
Cutting absently patted at his chest pockets. He had lost it perhaps? How vexing.
"Here sir." Ah, the good man. His Sergeant had it the whole time.
"Thank you Sergeant." Was the only appropriate answer. Opening his mouth, Cutting accepted the pipe and gave it a suckle as the Sergeant held a lit match to the bowl. As the tobacco caught, Cutting gave a quick experimental puff, quite satisfied when it sucked in smoke into his lungs. Not the most healthy of things, but as an officer he had an image to uphold.
And so it was that Captain Cutting, carrying a man in one arm, slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, smoking a pipe, and swinging his walking stick was filmed. The video was quickly disseminated throughout the world press and he became something of a legend in military circles, a return to the military officers of old. The officers that would stride through an artillery bombardment to check on their men as they quivered in their foxholes.
Cutting was something of a resurgent force in this regard, single handedly bringing back this style of leadership, if only for Captains that is, the ones least likely to die if they copied him.
But that was a story for another time, the Cutting of the present was currently strolling down the corridor that was being established by his marines in preparation for their full scale evacuation of the area. They had orders to hold it, true, but Cutting was a man that valued his men above all else. He wasn't going to let them die over a piece of rock that could just be retaken at a later date. It wasn't as if it had lines of sight into their lines, just the enemies. A rather nice elevation now that he thought about it.
In the end, they got out, the American officer upon returning to his unit had the simple sentence to say about his time with the British.
"Their officers are fucking crazy."
After Activation 1167 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1128 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 140-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1999 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
The war was simmering. The world was acclimating and the tensions had helped stratify the various blocs that had formed around the world as countries sought security in what was looking to be a drawn out conflict, or rather conflicts.
Besides the push that the Republic of Africa made into securing parts of France, Spain, and Greece, their advance had been pushed back by the European Union's forces. The resulting trench warfare resembled that of 1915 France, one where there were sporadic attacks, but nothing major, both sides settling into the equilibrium.
The same could be said of the South American Federation and the United States of America. While the US fulfilled their obligations to NATO, they also had a duty to their own citizens. The initial foray into the United States proper had been beaten back, Mexico turning into its own Korea, divided in half by a DMZ of sorts. While there were still raids across the sea, circumventing Mexico altogether into the South of the US and the North of the Continent of Africa, it was not to the scale of an actual war.
If anything it was much more along the lines of a testing bed for the new Soviet designs flown into be tested by the South American Federation and their Soviet "advisors." The same could be said of the American forces, their Abrams having been upgraded to the Paladin with lasers mounted on the turret to counter the threat of missile attack. Both states were raiding each other, the Western Seaboard for the US and the Eastern for the USSR, small scale raids that were more for training their troops than it was for actually waging war. NOD had engineered it so that they would have an excuse, they were not willing to waste such an opportunity.
The USSR was at loggerheads with China, their "communism" at odds with the others. The USSR's call for the unification of the people into working for the same goal without Capitalism, was clashing with what they saw to be the Capitalisation of China, one where money was once again supreme. While it had not descended into open warfare as of yet, Russia was making overtures to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand. If open conflict were to erupt, they would prefer to have as many allies as they possibly could. It would certainly even out the playing field when China could field a truly massive army, straight into the heartlands of the USSR.
To the south meanwhile was the South East Asia Alliance (with Australia), what they lacked in military strength, they made up for it with resources, both in terms of minerals and people. It was a race against China, trying to sell their labour to the world while ensuring that they were competitive enough to make it viable for them. A problem in a society that desperately needed an education system in place, by elevating their workers, they would elevate their nations. In the 18 years that had passed it had indeed worked the way they planned, their peoples educated but to no avail, there was nothing that they could use their people on. The manufacturing jobs were being taken by China, leaving them with an economy based around services, yet having nothing to service. They were losing out and it was only with the material wealth of Australia and a mutual exchange system that the South East Asia Alliance was able to stay soluble.
In their desperation, there had been a bargain struck China and the SEAA would unite and provide to each other their different specializations in order that both of them stand strong against the wider world. One with its focus on the labour intensive manufacturing sectors and the other with the service industry and the raw resources that China required in increasing amounts as its economy grew. Both of them would provide to the other and in turn grow mutually from it. Leaving both of them stronger than when they started. Something that was necessary when considering a world that had increasingly powerful factions, each very much willing to use force. It was a miracle they had not already, but they weren't willing to test their luck that far.
Of course, these explanations barely touch the surface of the reality of their circumstances, it was enough of a report to explain our at least assist in the explanation of what NOD was about to do.
It would be rather disappointing after all, if the weapons that the various different blocs had spent so long designing, weren't able to be used to their fullest extent. NOD was planning to launch their own offensive, one that would see the world finally unified in preparation for what was coming.
There was 18 years after all between now and the commencement of the hostilities. 18 years in which the peoples of the world had grown accustomed to hearing air-raid sirens, of hearing a call to arms when the enemy got too close to their towns, of hearing the assembly order as saboteurs or commandos were discovered. An entirely new generation of children, growing into their maturity had grown up with the idea and knowledge that being in a perpetual state of war was "standard". A peoples that were very much being molded into an effective force for when they were needed.
The 18 years had seen the rise and the development of multiple new technologies and systems, courtesy of the little presents that NOD left behind when one of their raids failed, the materials forming the basis of countless research teams. It had reached the point where analysts were considering that perhaps NOD was not a force of chaos and evil but acting on very well planned and considered options, something that was becoming increasingly evident as they marched down technological trees they never even considered previously.
The EU was using their technologies of directed energy weapons, that of laser systems to good use on their new vehicles and weapons systems, courtesy of a rather innocuous focusing array that had turned out to have a million different uses. The US was using its new understandings of ballistics and materials to design vehicles and armour that was worlds ahead of anyone else in penetrative ability and defensive qualities.
The USSR was working on electromagnetic and electrical weapons systems, their Tesla weapon's systems were terrifying to behold, capable of turning a fully grown man into ash in a single strike. Mounted defensively on structures and even on their vehicles, the Tesla weapons were capable of striking anything and everything that needed to be destroyed, whether that be aircraft or vehicles.
The Republic of Africa was not as technologically advanced as its neighbors, instead focusing on the quality of its infantry to the point where they were terrifying for the other factions to face up against. Each one trained to the very peak of human existence, able to duel even a NOD operative on a one to one basis. Their only weakness being their lack of advanced weaponry, leaving them vulnerable to vehicle engagements at range and a lack of flexibility that advanced vehicles brought.
The South American Federation was using stealth technology that was quite simply, beyond anything that had been considered previously. Capable of electromagnetic stealth, their new technologies allowed for vehicles and aircraft to be considered invisible to the mark one eyeball, as well as the more advanced sensory arrays, present in the various militaries around the world. While it was limited to vehicles with particular designs as of right now, their research into using electromagnetic waves to further create illusions was coming along.
As for China and the South East Asia Alliance, they had been focusing more on using their enormous reserves of manpower to their advantage. Using simple yet effective weapons like the flamethrower systems, the Asiatic Alliance was very much using their numbers to win against the more technologically superior enemies they would be going up against in the future.
India now united again with Pakistan after a brief but bloody unification war, had attached themselves nominally to the US, EU, and SEAA. Trying in a manner of speaking to avoid being drawn into one particular group as they modernized the country and grew the military to where it needed to be. Drawing in vital trade that brought with it technology, India was playing the long game, they were waiting and they were developing until it was their time to take the stage.
It was into this disjointed mess of a web that NOD had agents all over the world in positions as high up as presidential aides, to generals, admirals and heads of research initiatives. To positions as low as the janitorial staff, general secretary duties, guards and more. After all, there had to be someone to clean up the restricted areas and if they just happened to come across something incriminating, then all the better.
The assault would be launched on all countries of the globe, ensuring that the "correct" targets died, and those that would be amenable to a global alliance were left alive. In essence, NOD as very much ensuring that future survival of the human race by creating an enemy for them to unite against. Nothing said brothers in arms like having a common enemy.
The militaries of NOD was prepped, massive armies using legions of brainwashed soldiers, all the better to gain the ire of the world. Brainwashing, kidnapping, torture, all of it to make NOD an acceptable enemy to fight, and to blame all their problems on.
By ensuring that NOD would be an easy scapegoat, NOD itself was allowing the world the use of a "get out of jail free card". By blaming everything on NOD, the public would be convinced to accept the other nations that they had been in conflict with as friendly, conveniently putting away the troubles of their past under a veneer of "blame NOD."
It was a good plan, one that was going to work out since NOD would still be around even after their "defeat." All the better to guide the world into a state that ensured that it was ready to engage the Scrin when they finally arrived in 60 or so years.
Which was why everything went wrong. Because of course, it would.
"What the fuck is that?" Was the question spoken aloud, the question that was on all of their minds.
"It… appears to be some kind of portal sir." Said the technician as he tried to monitor what was on the other side of the screen that he and the assembled personages were looking through.
"A portal." Said the general, his voice deadpanned so hard it could catch gold.
"Yes, sir. We have sent through a preliminary advance team and we have found what appears to be another Earth. One with humans. I believe our scientists call it a "parallel world" sir." Said one of the general's staffers.
"A parallel world."
"Yes, Sir."
"And why exactly has this discovery had all of us assembled here?" He asked again, looking out to see the dozens of military officers from all over the world. Regardless of whether or not they were at war with them, the officers were all here, non-violently.
To be sure there were heated gazes, a few subtle motions with the fingers and the body language, but so far there had been nobody killed or maimed. The fact that they were all here in the first place was enough to be of concern. Apparently, it was a threat that applied to all of them, although he couldn't see exactly what that would be. It was a dinky little portal which could be defended by a company of tanks with little trouble.
"Attention please." The voice came from the front of the auditorium. Standing there was what appeared to be a researcher of some kind, a scientist to be sure. The man certainly wore the right lab coat for it.
"I am Doctor Percival of the UN global taskforce codenamed Braver." He said, tapping the microphone in front of him as he did so. The man spoke softly so it wasn't any wonder he was concerned that nobody could hear him.
"Everyone attention please!" His aide spoke up, a young woman with a surprising set of lungs on her. The assembled officers, politicians, and analysts looked up.
"Ah thank you Eviline. Well, now we are here regarding a matter that concerns all of us. Please, look at the screen behind me."
And on the screen was displayed an image that none of them were familiar with.
The floor continued to move and they moved with it. The Emperor looking in front as another screen appeared before him. This time it was very clear who it was being followed, his gloriously sculpted muscles and presence and that fabulous hair told all of them that this was the Emperor.
"Father… is… that who I think it is?" Asked Horus.
"Yes son, that is I." He replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Voyeuristic aliens were always the creepiest kinds.
"You're… naked."
"Not quite, I have a loincloth on as you can see." He replied, trying to sound nonchalant and keep his dignity.
And so he was, standing on a mound of bodies, all featuring broken bones, missing limbs, and disfiguring wounds. All of them dead or so wounded that they may as well have been. Each face showed them in at the bare minimum, extreme pain. Agony frozen on their features to be immortalized in the minds of they who watched.
Atop this mound he stood tall, a blade of copper in his hand, dropping in the blood of those underfoot, baying for the blood of those who were not. They stood, knelt or cowered before him, their bodies clad in treated hide, their hands gripping their bronze axes and blades before them. Their hands wrapped around the hilts, knuckles protruding as their hands turned red from the strength at which they held their blades.
"To crush my enemies and see them driven before me. To hear the lamentations of their women." The Emperor muttered as the screen showed him baying at the enemy, daring them to step forward. To climb over the gruesome trophy display he had created, to treat on their own dead, their kin to reach him, to die before him.
The others could hear the language but did not understand it, all of it foreign to them. As it rightly should have been, he had wiped out all who spoke the language when they had dared attack his tribe. A tradition he had maintained for generations, if a tiny bit more lenient in the amount of those he let survive. Sometimes he even let some men live, if only to watch them die from the elements and starve.
"Pardon father?"
"It is what I lived by in my formative years. When I was but young and did not know the destiny laid out before me."
"How long ago was this father?"
"Tens of thousands of years ago, in objective time. Many times that in subjective time."
They looked upon him in awe, he didn't dare risk looking, the weight of their gazes on him told him exactly how much they were pressuring. As if they could find the secrets from the manner he stood.
The slide finished with all of those before him dead, the half naked god made man standing tall, right arm slick with the dark red, almost black blood of the enemy. The setting sun lengthening the shadows and giving the scene a macabre look. Some escaped, fleeing when they judged the fight unwinnable but enough stayed behind to justify his killing, their bodies culled of their souls.
He had no use for their souls, it was merely something he could do. An ability that he had from birth, an ability he abused on a widespread scale to gain knowledge and skill. At that point in history, it was mainly the different ways one might farm, smelt, sculpt, quarry and kill. Minor skills of a race that was learning the agrarian way.
He had long left his family behind, his tribe behind. Leading a journey across the world, smiting his enemies, laying with legions of women and exploring the world that was rightfully his.
Another slide knocked the Emperor from his mental exploration of his past, the slides stirring up the unfathomable depths of his memories. The silt slid off to reveal what had been preserved perfectly. It was very interesting, to say the least.
The next scene was him on a platform of some kind, standing before a small crowd of 32 people. He was speaking to them, his voice deep, in a language that was different from the first slides. A chieftain he was, establishing a village and leading these peoples to a better life. Unlike the Emperor of before, the figure radiated a presence that the others did not. Something that was very similar to the Emperor of now, a presence that indicated the being before them was greater. Someone who had touched something and grasped it within his hand, something that was beyond their wildest comprehensions.
Only complete submission was possible before the man before them, even the Primarch Horus, the closest a human could reach to that pedestal that the Emperor stood was overwhelmed. It was only by keeping it contained could the Emperor stand with them, to be near them without all who gazed upon him collapsing to their knees immediately.
At this early stage, however, the Emperor still retained the visage of being yet another man. A man who had the proportions and physical exterior of perfection to be sure, but still a man. The Emperor did not feel he was being arrogant when he thought that, his body after all, was the peak of human development. A being that was as much a spiritual entity as he was a physical one.
The village itself was a non-existence. The younger Emperor guiding and directing those present to raising and constructing the village, the knowledge of the Shamans guiding him. It had been not long prior that he had awoken to his true nature, of the Shamans who had sacrificed themselves in order that the Warp presences didn't devour their souls.
Their mass suicide had been both an act of spite towards the Eldritch entities that occupied that turbulent and terrible expanse of the mindscape, as well as a means that they could ensure the future of their peoples. There was still no real understanding of a "humanity" at this time, merely many different peoples spread across a relatively small expanse of space. A mere planet, a mere drop in the vast emptiness of the universe.
This village would be in a new civilization, a means for humanity to join together and be great. As they were destined to be, to reach for what was just out of reach, to break past their potential and grasp it firmly with both hands. What stopped them was their mentality, their primitiveness, what they thought they knew and what they actually knew.
Their own ignorance was their worst enemy and the Emperor planned to do as much as he could to assist them to rise. He would guide them to where he was, to elevate them above, into their full potential. It would take eons he knew but it would be done.
The others standing behind him did not understand the significance of what they were watching. Their Emperor building a village? Was their Emperor even back during ages past trying to build empires for the glory and safety of man? Was he truly so benevolent? Their thoughts radiated out in a dense cloud, bathing him in their ignorance. It was irritating to be sure but they did not know better.
No, the Emperor was not as benevolent as that. While he was influenced by the Shamans, it was more that their memories were now his. Their personalities melding together to subordinate themselves and eventually merge into his primary one formed as he fought and pillaged his way across the world. A man who had forced the world to submit before him, had been given the power and the knowledge to ensure that the world would itself, willingly submit. He was not some altruist, while he did do it for the betterment of humanity, it was for a very singular and selfish goal.
He was lonely.
Being the most powerful being in existence was like standing on the very peak of a mountain. There was only enough space for a single being to stand. How could he stay at the peak, to maintain his dominance yet also have others around him? The answer had come to him then, his primitive mind understanding and accepting the conclusion he had come to. He would simply elevate the entirety of humanity, so the peak that he stood upon would become nothing more than a mild bump in a vast field. He may stand taller than all the others but they would be a mere head shorter, enough that he would no longer be alone.
But it was not as easy as he thought it would be. The next slide he was sure would tell of that particular story.
He was vindicated. A hive city, one that was built to stretch towards the heavens. It was enormous, almost beyond mental reckoning, a city that spread out over hundreds of kilometers and stretched up past the clouds. It was build from stone, mortar and sweat, each placed by bare hands to settle the foundation and to raise it. It was something of beauty, crude to be sure but beautiful in scale nonetheless.
There was no ornate carvings of skulls, of great men, of anything but what that was absolutely necessary. Still, it was beautiful and it was enormous. Something that would have taken thousands of years to build, to raise up with nothing more than flesh and sweat. It stood proud and strong.
A city that stretched to the stars. A city that was the labour of untold millions. A city that was the pinnacle of human civilization. A city that was afire.
High in the sky was the Emperor himself, standing on air itself, held aloft by wings of fire and fury. His face was a twisted visage, a face that screamed of his rage. In his hand was a sword blazing in fire, in his other was a scroll of papyrus, its roughened surface obvious even at a distance.
The Emperor was above the city and the Emperor judged them. Their hubris of ignoring the heavens when they were but a step away, their sheer complacency of their place in the universe and the manner in which they believed they were special, that they had been chosen above all others. They had subjugated and enslaved those outside the city, still living their lives as hunter-gatherers. They who had the knowledge of the Shamans passed unto them by the Emperor used their power to lord it over those who did not.
Using the weapons provided to suppress, to kill, murder, enslave and rape in his name. It was merely part of life of the time, the Emperor was himself an Emperor through blood and conquest. No, what had caused him to feel so much rage was the manner in which they threw away what was given. To dare rise up against him, claiming that they no longer needed an Emperor for they were capable of governing themselves. That they were superior, beings who did not need mere tricks to show their ability.
They had dared, to claim that they were superior, to even think that they were even equals. No, the Emperor saw where he had failed. In building a city, in forcibly uplifting humanity, he was doing nothing more than increasing their hubris. Their lack of self-drive had seen them fail, their desire to break the boundaries that made them human ensuring they would never be capable of reaching where he stood.
No, he had failed them as they now failed him. Humanity would have to rise on its own, to elevate itself, the drive coming from within instead of being imposed upon it. He understood that now and the responsible being he was, he would wipe the slate clean so that they might begin again from scratch.
He swung his sword and shattered the city in a single blow. There was no rumbling, no gradual shifting and shaking. The rocks did not shiver as the vibrations from below shook them. No, the city simply vanished, its sheer mass simply evacuating outward around a single point. Every single block, every brick, every grain of sand being sent outward. Those closest to the core had faced the terrible fury that powered the movement, melting and vaporizing from the heat and the pressure.
A vast crater was all that was remained, the explosion tearing apart the sky itself, the resulting scene being as if a god had smote the city from existence. All around the slaves who had survived and saw the terrible scene ran as fast they could, they would in time tell their tale and the city itself… translated to Babel would be enshrined in myth. A tale to not anger the gods with one's hubris.
Mankind would reach the Emperor but no longer would he pull them up. No, he would push them, they would do so with encouragement and not force. It would be pointless otherwise.
That being said… he stared at the crate and a single word escaped his lips.
"Woops."
Bob the Emperor of Mankind, and all round most awesome guy in existence was having a bit of a dilemma. Should he keep going down this corridor and show them more of his deep dark and frankly terrible past, or should he bolt out the other side.
The problem of course, being that MAGI fellow who is rather insistent that he follow and he hadn't gotten to where he was without a healthy sense of self preservation. Sure his body could handle anything thrown at it, but some things were not meant to be experienced by human minds, even transcendental humans that had shed all trappings of humanity behind it, only maintaining a human body since not having one made leading them more difficult.
Things like extremely kinky Eldar porn from before their Fall and Slaanesh had eaten them all up. He had been hired to film a set and it was all ok, he was getting to dip into all the Eldar hookers, who had to be separated from normal hookers since they were at least 10 times better. The way they could handle him, both figuratively and literally was many times better than mere mortal human women who broke far too easily. Back to the porn shooting, it had gone well, it had gone very well actually, the problem instead came when the hookers started killing each other and doing a literal murder fuck right in front of him.
Bob liked sex, he was the epitome of human development and that meant his body was the product of that. Every single cell in his body was attuned to perfection of function which translated obviously to perfection of form. It meant that for him, sex was an experience that was several times more intense than that of a mere human, every single fiber of his being relaying its experiences in glorious detail to his mind. In short, Bob liked his sex, he just didn't like wallowing in pools of blood while he was doing it.
Bob had noped out of that as hard as he could and went all the way back to human space, which coincidently was just before the fall of the Eldar. Now that the Eldar were all prudes, the only place he could find Eldar hookers was on what seemed like the other side of the galaxy inside this deep ass hole that had a city with a name that started with a C. He was going to need some kind of super fast method to travel there and back while also remaining in control of his empire. Maybe he should just hijack the Eldar webway, it wasn't like they were using it now that they had murder fucked themselves into extinction.
Bob gave a sigh, he was avoiding the main subject, he needed to keep going, might as well see where this train of emotion ended.
He sighed and followed after MAGI, not that he needed to, the ground was already dragging them along fine. Huh. That was something to consider then. Bob felt tired, not physically, that was impossible. Rather he felt mentally tired, having his deepest memories exposed to the universe was a distinctly uncomfortable one.
Still, he was the Emperor of Mankind, or rather he would soon be, he would need to prove that he had the mettle to do so. Owning up to his memories would be a good start.
He might even consider it some father-son bonding time with Horus. Something that felt a little ridiculous given that they were both enormous and very clearly not of the child status and had not been for years now. Eons in the case of Bob.
Horus was thinking the same thing as he looked at Bob and grinned, "so father, what do you think they are going to show next?" He asked.
This was a first for Horus, his "father" had been largely a figure that wielded immense power and seemed so far about petty humanity that Horus had never been sure of how to approach him. Now however, the scales had been evened out and his father was proving to be very human indeed, creating an empire when he had first realised his potential? What was the bet that this was a genetic trait that carried through all of his children? Was not Horus the same?
"It better not be what I think it is." Said The Emperor, in a much more subdued manner than Horus had ever heard from the man.
"It's starting." Said Valdor, breaking into the conversation.
Both father and son turned to look at the floating screens. This time it was of an Emperor wearing what looked to be some kind of… foil wrapped around his body. On his head was a helmet with a wide clear canopy of some kind. He was wedged in between several others all wearing the same clothes in what looked to be a capsule of some kind.
"Ah, this was the moment that I truly became the Emperor," Bob said, looking at the scene with what looked like the glimmerings of tears in his eyes.
"What is going on?" Asked Horus, looking at the strangely dressed men with a raised eyebrow.
"Watch, watch and see." Said Bob, leaning back and taking in the view. While he did have perfect recall, it was something else to watch it on a screen of some kind, make the experience that much more enjoyable. He might have to find some kind of memory player in the future to relive his memories.
There was a countdown before the capsule shook violent, the peoples inside bracing themselves as the roaring of the engine behind them masked any other sounds that might have the pertinence to stand up for themselves.
Then it stopped and the view rotated out, it was a view of a typical water planet in Horus' view. What was so special about it?
"This was the first time that I had ever seen Terra from above, to see it without all the squabbling humans, all the national boundaries, all the waste. It was an ideal, a perfect humanity living in peace, a humanity that was so truly small. Yet it was a humanity that was destined for greater things. I became the Emperor that day, determined to guide my peoples into the depths of space, to free ourselves from the homeworld and take our rightful place in the stars.
"You are watching the moment that I, the Emperor first came into being," Bob said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "I will never forget this moment." He finished, staring at the screen as the capsule rotated gently, panning to include the entire planet in its view.
Horus realised that his father was being serious and looked at the scene with renewed appreciation.
"I was one of the first humans to have ever seen the world as it was, I thought it would be funny to join up with the program, something to ease the boredom of being human. When we got up there… it changed everything. Everything started from there, everything." Bob said, eyes staring at a faraway sight, far in the past.
The sliding floor continued to drag them along. Drag them through to new memories, ones that were serving to remind him of what he was doing this all for in the first place. Things that he had forgotten as time had passed. He had been trying to elevate humanity, to allow them to reach up and to not fall down again. In the thousands of years in between his revelation and what he was embarking on now. The belief that he was doing it for the betterment of humanity was still there, the methods in which he was doing so had changed.
It was a reminder that he was going to pay attention to, assuming he could. It had been a long time since he had last ventured out from Terra into the reaches of space. While he could penetrate the Warp Storms that covered most of the galaxy, doing so was irritating in the extreme.
As a result, he had not explored what was left of humanity following the great darkening. He would be exploring new frontiers, which if Terra was any indication, would be an enormous pile of shit that needed kicking to get into motion.
Even then it would be a highly inefficient piece of shit that was going to take an extraordinarily long time to get into any semblance of Order.
"The next scene is up father!" Horus cried out, his voice tapering a little towards the end.
Bob chanced a look up and could only stifle a groan. One that was not very successful judging by the way, Valdor looked at him from the corner of his eye.
"Everything OK my Lord?" He asked, voice the picture of innocence.
"No. No. Everything is going wrong." Bob replied, resisting the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. Maybe he could look down and use his pauldrons to cover the sight of it.
On the screen projected before them was a room that looked like it had been created by an Adeptus Mechanicus Adept that had consumed strange chemicals of some kind and used their servitors to go crazy.
Steel or what approximated to look like steel hung across a large cavern of some kind. The inside of it being full of bright neon lights hanging from the ceiling while others still branched off of the walls to give it a disturbingly organic look. The neon fibrous fixtures swayed as if there was a breeze, an atmosphere of some kind, as if they were disturbingly enough… alive.
Then came the lighting, the ceiling of the cavern had been cleverly sectioned off by low hanging beams, allowing for the multi-coloured lighting to be blocked as needed, creating a kaleidoscope of colour, all different, yet none of it mixing. Sharp lines of opposing colours denoting different sections it looked like.
Spread throughout it all were many circular little bars where figures were serving beverages… probably. The glasses they were delivered in defied gravity in some cases, upside down glasses with straws where the base was, the drink contained by the glass upended over it. In other cases, it looked like the glasses had been replaced by living creatures, straws sticking out of their eyeballs.
Dotted around were little mushrooms that were being used as stools. Each one could be inflated into something larger apparently, some were being used as beds for some very public… fornication.
Elsewhere there were what looked to be elevated platforms where there were people performing in the background, some more deviantly than others.
"What in the Warp is that?" Asked Horus. Eyes wide open, mouth agape.
"Providence. The place where you can get anything you want, for a price." Said Bob, looking at it with mounting horror. He knew what was coming next and he was not in any way looking forward to it.
"What do you mean. What are those?" Horus exclaimed as the figures walking toward flashback Bob became visible as the light washed over them. The shadows had hidden them before, but the now… now they were visible. "Are those Eldar?" Asked Horus? He had been briefed on mankind's enemies, but had never seen one in the flesh and sooo… unclothed and... sinuous.
"Yes. Yes, they are." Sighed out Bob.
"What are they doing?" Asked Valdor, curious.
"Rendering services for payment." Said Bob.
The words floating around inside Horus' head for a moment before the realisation of what he was seeing came crashing down.
"Prostitutes? Those are Eldar Prostitutes? Father? Really?!" Horus was barely able to string together words into a sentence, the revelation had very much knocked him on his back.
"I was younger then, and I was really looking forward to trying something new out." He said, looking a little embarrassed.
The next few minutes was filled with the sound of Bob's moaning, the Eldar moaning, everyone cheering, and what was essentially pure decadence in video form. There were bodily fluids everywhere, there were flashing lights, the works.
Bob could only maintain a stoic facade as Horus and his Custodes stared in horror at what they were witnessing. Perhaps this was not the best time to mention the father/son bonding.
The four of them were watching Bob, or rather the Emperor of Mankind as he battled what appeared to be an enormous dragon made entirely of self-healing metal. He deserved to be called by his title, in this case, something this awesome was one that deserved their respect.
The Custodes had seen the Emperor fight occasionally as had Horus, the Emperor smacking down a Thunder Warrior that was too impertinent, the Emperor crushing a few tanks here and there, the Emperor using his psykic might to hundreds if not thousands of lives in a single breath. The basic things, the things that any self-respecting Emperor of Mankind should be able to do.
In this case, however, the Emperor was displaying a level of skill that was absolutely beyond them. Each of them could only look on with awe and garner the most minuscule of understanding as to what techniques and abilities he was using.
Wearing what was not even proper Power Armour, the Emperor of Mankind was exchanging titanic blows with what looked to be solid metal, each strike of his flaming sword carving pieces out of the beast, rivulets of molten metal cascading off of its dark grey skin. The giant lizard being, a dragon if you will, roared with a rage that even they who were watching from a screen that itself was several thousand years removed felt shock at it.
The Dragon was not helpless however, its roars filled the air and it swung out a titanic paw, each stub filled with a claw that looked to be sharp enough to cut through ship-grade adamantium. The Emperor for his part merely laughed and swung his sword at the paw, parrying it in a blow that destabilized the beast enough for the Emperor to dash forward and slam his blade deep into its chest.
The bellow as the Emperor of Mankind withdrew the blade and leapt back was enough to shake the ground around the Dragon, clearly, the gaping wound in its flesh that was bleeding profusely, a torrent of molten metal had something to do with it. A second roar and the beast was diving at the Emperor of Mankind, two paws swinging in from both sides.
He was not phased it appeared, rather he grinned widely as the camera panned to the front of him as he then planted the sword in the ground before him and swing his fists out to meet the incoming masses of metal and anger. This time the force of the impact was enough to destabilize the ground around them, blowing out a massive crater.
The Emperor of Mankind remained stable however, the sword had melted the soil beneath and it was on this that the Emperor floated, his island of grass underfoot being the only untouched piece of land in a radius of what looked like 50 meters.
Looking up at the Dragon he grinned at it and asked, "Is that all?" To which it roared again and rose up on two legs, maw opened wide.
The Emperor dodged to the left, his primitive plate armour would do nothing to prevent what was clearly coming for him. His face was split in a wide grin, baring his teeth with a savagery that Horus had never seen before on his father's face. It was the face of someone who had found a worthy adversary, that the battle was incredibly dangerous and ever the more appealing for the exact same reason.
It was the face of a man that had found his niche, that felt the most alive that he ever would. As much as he was the perfect human, his father was still human and an intense desire to test oneself against opponents was a core component of that fact. He was simply far too human to not find an irresistible thrill when it came to combat against an evenly matched foe, let alone close quarters combat against a foe that was several times your own size and strength.
No, it made perfect sense that the God Emperor was enjoying this moment as much as he was, he would not be human if he didn't.
The Dragon's roar produced a vast cone in which a silvery liquid metal came bursting forth, gushing out of its mouth as it turned left and right, coating everything in its path. There was no way to escape once it had finished of course, like turning one to stone but worse as you would suffocate once covered by the metal.
Still, that did not deter the God Emperor as he laughed out loud and swerved to dodge the torrent of impending doom.
Frustrated, the Dragon roared again, only this time to the sky. In doing so nothing happened… for now. Instead, the Dragon waited with what looked like bated anticipation and an aura of smugness about it that said whatever was going to happen next would be amazing and the Emperor of Mankind would not be able to defend against it. One could feel the smugness radiating off the beast, it even crossed its arms in a distinctly human gesture.
The Emperor for his part was content to wait, what new phase this fight would bring would no doubt be awesome he was sure. After having played the Dark Souls games, this was his first time coming across something that could be considered and adequate boss and he was going to milk this for all he was worth. No matter if it was something that he would never be doing ever again, the fact that he could fight against a giant fucking dragon in the first place was reward enough. He would cherish this for the rest of his days. Which no doubt would be long and boring as all Warp, unless he decided to wage war against the Warp predators that infested that disgusting pit that was called the Warp.
No matter it looked like the next phase was beginning. Oh yes. Was that what it looked like?
Horus and Valdor stared as the camera panned upward. To show ships more immense than even the largest Battleship of the Great Army descend from orbit, their mere presence causing rumblings in the earth as gravity bowed to their demands. This was certainly not something that could be considered normal by any means.
The Emperor of Mankind for his part laughed even harder, posturing with both hands wide open, mocking the Dragon. As if he was saying that the Dragon's last resort was puny and it should feel ashamed for even considering their use. A few ships? Hah. The Emperor of Mankind would show the Dragon exactly why the Emperor of Mankind had picked this fight in the first place.
Leaping into the air, wings of fire emerged from his back and the Emperor of Mankind roared with exhilaration as he accelerated upward, to the point where his armour was having a difficult time staying on his body, with some of the parts being torn off entirely as he rose ever higher.
Sword extended in front of him like a spear, the Emperor ignored the incoming flak and anti-aircraft fire that was swarming towards him, the golden-red aura that began to surround him blocked the shockwaves, melting the shrapnel, and simply vaporizing the shells that were coming on a direct heading towards him.
Then he hit the ship, his sword piercing into its underbelly and he burrowed his way to the center. It was here that the Emperor of Mankind roared again, this time clenching his sword arm, concentrating ferociously as the veins on his head expanded outward, making it seem as if there were worms, wriggling underneath his skin. Each pumped erratically as the Emperor of Mankind pulled as much power as he could and put it directly into his sword.
And then with a final pant, the sword telescoped outward, until it was kilometers long, the blade wider than the ship that it was in, thicker than the length of the ship. A blade that had been made to fight against titanic foes by the most powerful psyker that humanity had ever known. It was with this that the Emperor of Mankind swung the blade, parting the ship that he was in the middle of from one end to the other, the cutting edges molten and dripping their adamantium as the two halves fell downward towards the planet itself.
Swinging his enlarged blade, the Emperor of Mankind spent the next several seconds carving his way through the ships that were hanging just outside of the atmosphere, cutting them in half and if he was feeling artistic, maybe a second and a third time.
It was not long before all the ships were destroyed and the Dragon that had flown upwards to meet him was just below his feet, its maw opened wide in an attempt to swallow him whole.
The Emperor of Mankind refused to die so foolishly and instead retracted his power, instead directing it into his wings and propelling him downwards. Downward directly into the Dragon, slamming his way into its chest, breaking its upward momentum and sending them both towards the planet at supersonic speeds, the air resistance tearing off one of the Dragon's wings.
The impact as they both slammed into the ground was enough to send a shockwave that collapsed much of the earth in a 10 kilometer radius, sending a mushroom cloud of dirt and debris into the air. The resultant crate was enough that the Emperor of Mankind standing in the center, could not see beyond the edges.
Standing up, a little shaky, he grinned, it was a hard-fought victory, one that had taken so much of his strength and power to accomplish, it had pushed his skills to their very limits, the battle had taken several days and it was only just now that he managed to get the upper hand and crush the Dragon. It was too bad that it was dead, too bad.
He could do with another one of those fights, something to keep him occupied while he was bored.
"Father… what was that?" Horus asked, staring at his father in awe. Horus understood on an abstract level that his father was one of, if not the most powerful being in the galaxy, capable of turning entire planets inside out if he so wished. But seeing it directly in front of his eyes as his father used nothing but his own abilities to destroy an entire fleet, to fight an enemy of gigantic size and strength with his bare hands… well it had put things in perspective
If he wanted to be his father's equal, clearly he had much work to do.
"That… that was just the beginning." His father said cryptically, grinning at the confused expression on his son's face.
"There is a time to be cryptic, and I don't think this is one of those times." Said Valdor, raising his eyebrows at the Emperor in a sardonic look.
"Cryptic? That implies that there is something to be cryptic about. Just watch." He said, turning his attention back to the screen, face expectant.
The others without the man holding the answers actually paying attention to them, could only turn and do the same, looking at the screen of the Emperor of Mankind holding his flaming sword, looking upwards at the sky, eyes closed to prevent the pieces of gravel and dirt on re-entry from entering his precious seeing organs.
It was then that the ground began to shake, the entire planet itself shook, large swathes of it simply falling away as the being revealed itself. It was enormous, large enough to twine its way around the world and have enough left over to form a few mountain ranges.
A serpent of some kind, made of the same metal as the Dragon had been.
"Well then, let's get started on the real deal why don't we?" Said the Emperor of Mankind, his face lit up as the Serpent's head slithered its way across the world to regard him in between its enormous glowing green eyes.
"Come at me." He said, wings sprouting out as he rose into the air and dove at it.
The Serpent merely roared with a screech that sent the discarding ships, still fskiesng from the skis tumbling through the air, before it too dove the meet the impertinent little organic that dared to challenge it.
The two met in the the air and the force of this blow cracked the crust of the planet they were on, the magma underneath bubbling up to the surface.
The Emperor of Mankind merely grinned, unfazed, this would be something to remember. He had played enough God of War to know where this was going.
And with another roar he sallied forth to meet the Serpent.
"Malcador, answer me seriously ok?" Said the soon to be Emperor of Mankind, currently King of an island of mankind, or at least 2 of mankind, 1 of which was himself.
"Yeah… what's up bro?" Said Malcador, lying back on his hammock.
The Emperor of Mankind was inside his secret base underneath the Himalaya's, a cavern that was large enough to have an entire island underneath it. Where there used to be nothing but rock and dirt, the Emperor of Mankind had used his powers to summon water to fill up the basin so that they could have an island. Malcador on the other hand, had used his powers to create a miniature sun so that they could sunbathe and pretend that the outside world did not exist.
While they had been doing that for a while now, it was here that they could do in the proper style that such an endeavour demanded. The Emperor of Mankind had used his affinity with technology, having absorbed the knowledge of a few thousand scientists and technicians to repair a few large turbines so that he could simulate waves. All in all, it had taken them half an hour to do so once they discovered the large base underneath the Himalayas in the first place.
The two of them had been looking for somewhere to establish a base prior to their conquest of the entire planet and since Malcador was his bestest bro, the soon to be Emperor of Mankind had brought him along for a most awesome hiking trip through the planet. Malcador truly deserved his title as bestest bro, the two of them had been double teaming Eldar Hookers since they had met in Providence.
Best buds from that point forward, despite the many thousands of years that the both of them had existed, Malcador would always be a bro. Even if he was a pothead. The Soon to be Emperor of Mankind hated that, the fact that Malcador could get high but he couldn't. His body was simply too perfect, things like drugs, both artificial and natural simply did not work on it. He could wade into the dankest and most filthy of places in the galaxy, and he would emerge from the other side as clean as was physically and psychically possible, his body automatically preventing dirt from clinging to him, stopping diseases from rooting themselves in his body, and preventing drugs from working since his body regulated all of its own drugs, like a bloody cartel.
There would be no overdosing Bob and he hated that so much. Everyone he knew up till this point had made it a point to get high in front of Bob, knowing that he hated it, and worse… that he would always be the designated driver.
"Dammit Mal, I thought you said you weren't going to be getting high anymore. We have a planet to conquer." Snapped Bob.
"Bob, dude, you gotta chill. You can't go and conquer planets when you're so full of rage man. You gotta take it a little slow, relax a little, make sure that you enjoy life you know?" Malcador replied, hands behind his head, sunglasses covering his eyes as he tried to get a tan. Which was physically impossible, Bob had spiked his DNA with a distinct lack of an ability to tan. He would only get red. Revenge that was subtle, but oh so sweet. The man still thought it was that STD he had gotten from that Dark Eldar hooker, man she was hot. But also insane, and packed with more STDs than her name had letters. That was fucked, but hot. Really hot. He would have gone back for eighths, but she had kicked the bucket not long after from an STD with a name even longer than her own.
"Fine. Ok. Anyway. Back to the question. It's a serious one Mal."
"Yeah? What's up bro?"
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Bob said, waving his arm to encapsulate the entire cavern. Metaphorically encapsulating the world as he did so. The question of whether or not they could take the world never came up in their minds, total victory was assured, it was merely the fact about whether or not it would be worth it.
"Right thing? Man, you gotta be a little more sense-like you know? Making it so that you are sensing. Like. Sensible. No, wait. Wrong word. Like you make sense you know man?" Malcador stumbled over his words. Clearly, whatever it was he was smoking was a particularly strong blend.
"As in should we do this at all? We could like, just guide humanity from the shadows and have them grow and be independent on their own you know?" Bob asked, turning and pacing in the little strip of yellow sand that they had managed to find. Good beach sand was hard to get these days, what with there being no actual beaches left for them to be made on.
"Dude, you said it yourself right? Humans are like totally sheeple. They need someone to lead them around you know? Like someone to make sure they know what they're doing and shit you know? What if the like pick… a… um. Fuck man. I got this. Right! Like they pick an idiot you know? What if they like, pick an idiot? Right back to square one man, and like, there ain't enough squares to be messing around with anymore you know?" Malcador was being especially eloquent today it seemed.
"Right. Totally right. Still, I just want to believe in humanity, they can surely do this without me right?" Bob asked, face a little desperate. He wanted to be back on Providence 2 (the original had imploded along with most of the rest of the Eldar and that sucked ass. All the ones left were massive prudes that looked at his Emperor sized weapon and stuck their noses up at it. Too much pleasure for my safety my ass.) banging Dark Eldar, having time shenanigans with the local Hrud, racing around with the crazy assholes that were like made from shells.
It was a life of awesomeness. Should he assume the mantle of Emperor of Mankind, he would be once again responsible for the lives of countless people, all of them depending on him, all of them being oh so very human. Which meant they were depressingly vulnerable, weak, soft, open to corruption. If he rose up, he would be spending his time ruling humanity and when it came down to it, he would troubleshooting a majority of the time. Humans were simply too weak and fragile for him to do anything else with them, not if he wanted for them to grow and succeed in the long term. The longest a human empire had lasted was 4 millennia, barely any time at all on the cosmic scale. It was going to be work that would take the rest of his life likely, all work and no play.
But if he refused to step up now as he had done during the Dark Age of Technology when the Men of iron had risen up against humanity, then he would be forsaking them once again. Just as he had failed them in believing in the human spirit, he had learnt then that humanity needed a guide, someone or something to ensure that they would develop properly and to not collapse in on themselves when the leading rope was taken off.
If he accepted his mantle now… it would be permanent and Bob wasn't sure he wanted it. If he did not, humanity was very likely going to be going extinct, the Orks had expanded and if they found a humanity that was divided and weak, without the protection of the Eldar nor of the Warp storm that consumed the galaxy… well, there wasn't any way out.
Bob sighed. It looked like he was going to be taking up the mantle after all. Everything had been in preparation for it, the laboratories were just as he remembered them, perfect for his plan to create an army of super soldiers. In a few years, he would rise up and conquer the planet, at the head of his armies.
His name would be stripped from him, no longer would he be human. He would be the Emperor of Mankind, he could do no less, not if he wanted to humanity to be all that it could be.
"You're right Mal. Looks like it's time to get golden." He said, sighing.
"Don't look so down bro, I'll be here every step of the way. All the way to the end right?" Malcador grinned at him, tipping his sunglasses down. Fist held out for a bump.
"Right Mal. Just stand behind me all right? You're still thin like a fucking twig. What have you been doing all these years?" Bob asked, raising his eyebrows at Malcador, his own fist bumping into Malcador's.
"Dude. Just because I'm not a perfect human like you are, doesn't mean that it's all right to tease me. I am awesome just the way I am. I am my own perfect human, the greatest of them all." Malcador said, sounding as self-righteous as he could possibly be.
"That's just you being lazy isn't it Mal? Just do some pushups or situps or something." Bob said, taking a seat in the hammock next to Malcador's.
"Dude, I gotta tell you a secret. Just… just come a little closer man. You gotta hear this, hear me out, man." Malcador sounded serious, more than he had ever been. More serious than when Bob had slept with a Dark Elder's favourite "wife" and his entire pack had been summoned to hunt the human down. Of course, Bob had killed all of them and claimed the Dark Eldar female for himself, but it had been a close-run thing. Or that time when Bob had been shot out of a cannon into a star, that had been a little close until Bob learnt he could create wings that let him fly in a vacuum.
"What is it?" Asked Bob, sounding a little concerned.
"If I exercise, I'll die. I'm being serious here man." Malcador said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bob pulled his head back and stared in a deadpan fashion at Malcador, his eyebrows were too shocked by the revelation to bother rising. They didn't want to get out of bed today.
"If you weren't so fucking skinny, I would punch you right now." Bob said.
The sounds of Malcador's cackling laughter filled the cavern, faint echoes of it coming back as the walls reverberated like little speakers.
"I got you there man. Got you so good. Admit it, you were got by the great, and the illustrious, Malcador the Bringer!" Cried out Malcador from the ground. He had laughed so hard he had fallen out of his hammock.
"Yeah, you totally got me. So bad. Argh. I have been gotten and I am now going to die. Ugh. Am Ded." Said Bob, dramatically flopping to the ground after Malcador.
"Oh fuck man, the high's wearing off. Gotta take another puff. Just wait here." Malcador said, sitting up and walking over the esky where the last proper beers on earth were kept. Bob had used an immense amount of power to travel back in time to make sure he had something to drink. It was too bad that the store he had ended up in only stocked Emu Bitters, something he was going to complain about the next time he was there.
"What the hell is the Bringer part of your name about anyway?" Asked Bob, trying to puzzle it out in his head.
"When the ladies hear the name "Malcador" they know that Malcador the Bringer of Pleasure is about to arrive. I make the ladies moan, I make them scream, I am Malcador!" Cried out the wizened, wrinkled and skinny old man wearing the most disgraceful outfit that Bob had ever seen. The tiny little budgie smugglers… ugh. Bob wasn't even sure how a pair had survived so long, let alone be in a wearable state.
"Riiight. Totally how that works. Just forget about me. What was the record? 15 orgasms to your 13? Bringer of what again." Bob drawled out, grinning at the man.
"Bah. Doesn't count, you can't ever get tired. It's bullshit I tell you." Malcador spat out, lighting up the bowl and taking a deep puff.
"There we go. Back to the hammock I go." Malcador muttered, stumbling over to it. The fake palm trees shivering from the tension.
Bob sat back and relaxed a little. It was going to be the most relaxing he was going to be able to do for a long time. Maybe even the rest of his life.
Might as well make the most of it.
"The fuck am I looking at here?" Asked Malcador.
"The greatest fucking soldiers ever." Said the Emperor of Mankind Soon(), gesturing at the rows and rows of men standing at attention. Each of them was an extreme representation of what one might call a "man." Their vast shoulders, broad chests, muscle legs, all of them looked like men that had taken far too many steroids and instead of being admitted to a medicae facility, were instead being used as soldiers.
"Your "Thunder Warrior" project I assume?" Asked Malcador, staring down at the rows and rows of soldiers, each of them ready to wage war in the name of the EOMS().
"Yup, fucking awesome aren't they?" Asked the EOMS(), his face beaming with pride.
"I haven't seen them in action before but sure, yeah, they're pretty awesome." Said Malcador turning away.
As the two of them walked down the corridors of the upper levels of the Himalayan base, Malcador turned to the Emperor of Mankind and asked. "Why did you call them Thunder Warriors anyway?" His face full of curiosity.
He did not expect the EOMS() to put his arm around his shoulders and drag him closer, face extremely close to his own. Like they were conspirators of some kind. He began to whisper.
"Well they were just going to be "Super Warriors" [he continued on despite Malcador's stunned face.] but then I heard one of them fart. Sounded like a cannon, I even pulled out my sword thinking that someone had infiltrated the base." Whispered the Emperor of Mankind Soon().
Malcador stared at his leader, the one that he had staked his life and future on. He had thought that maybe leadership of what was soon to be the entire planet would make him just a little more mature. But clearly, he was oh so very wrong.
Unfortunately, the Thunder Warriors found out that their entire existences were part of some grand joke and rebelled against the Emperor, necessitating overwhelming force to take them down. The Emperor thankfully learnt his lesson and called his new army "Space Marines" (on very heavy and persistent advice from Malcador), so that they wouldn't try to rebel for having a joke name. Knowing the Emperor however, it was highly likely that he would find a way to annoy them regardless.
"Sooooo Mal… What do you think?" The Emperor of Mankind Soon() said.
"Hmmm. What am I supposed to be looking at here?" The advisor to the Emperor, Malcador the Sigillite asked.
"My masterpiece. The greatest of all my works. The epitome of human development and design." The Emperor of Mankind Soon () said, flourishing his arm at the pedestal behind him. His other pulling off a cloth that covered and hid it away.
"What the fuck are you doing with your spare time?" Asked Malcador, walking over to the pedestal and staring down at the little box that had been set up on it.
"This is the best thing that Mankind will ever produce. It is the combination of every single piece of technology into a single device, the consolidation of tens of thousands of years worth of knowledge and development, a device that breaks the very reality of the universe itself. It is perfection incarnate." Said the EOMS(), his voice proud and almost… fatherly.
"It's a fucking toaster. You called me all the way out here to look at a toaster?" Malcador said, deadpanned. I was about to take a hit as well and this is what you give me instead? Do you want a fight? I will fight you." He said, staring at the EOMS().
"Can you not see the genius Malcador? Come come, look. Yes. Look." The EOMS() bent down and pulled Malcador closer. "See this? It uses plasma technology to ensure that the toast is heated as fast as possible with as little energy waste as possible, this here is a power blade used to cut the toast when it gets shot out so you can get perfect toast shape at all times. Then there's this bit where you can angle the blade and the toast, so that it can cut it into perfect triangles, and then shoot it onto your plate. Oh and see this here? This is a miniaturized Volkite gun to make sure that the toast is cooked properly in the middle. It's the perfect device for any home." He said, looking at Malcador expectantly.
In turn, Malcador simply stared back at his leader, the soon to be Emperor of Mankind, the greatest and most powerful human to exist.
"You're fucking with me." He said, voice flat.
"Yeah I'm fucking with you. Gonna show it to the Cogboys, it's gonna be fuckin hilarious. You wanna come with?" The EOMS() said, grinning widely as he spoke.
"Why the fuck not. It's not like I have anything else to do today. Like, make sure your armies are ready for galactic conquest or whatever the fuck is coming next. Or maybe the fact that I have a pile of reports the size of my balls on my desk that need doing. No, fuck it. If my day is fucked, I'm gonna go watch you fuck up someone else's day too." Said Malcador.
"That's the spirit. Let's go fuck with those Cogboys, it'll be fun." Said the EOMS().
"Oi Mal!" The EOMS() burst through Malcador's office door and stepped in, completely ignoring the fact that it was;
A: Locked
B: Had a "Don't Disturb" sign on the handle
C: Was charged with enough electrical current to kill even one of those Thunder Warriors
D: Was made of adamantium with sliding bars to make sure it locked properly
E: Was a meter thick and required use of psykic powers to open
No, the EOMS() had just burst in, ignoring any sense of propriety and ignored all the defences that Malcador had set up to protect his precious 'puffing' sessions. A little way to relax as the planet was being devoured by the Emperor's armies. His foot slamming into it hard enough to bend it in half at the waist.
"What." Malcador said, the pipe not even at his lips yet.
"The guys from the Gotham Hive city are coming over to discuss terms of surrender. We need emergency supply dump #56! Stat! Quick! The EOMS() looked frantic as he barely refrained himself from grabbing Malcador by the shoulders and shaking him.
"This is the perfect moment man. We cannot let it go to waste." Said the Emperor of Half-of-Mankind.
"No." Malcador drawled, taking a puff of his pipe.
"What do you mean no? We won't ever have another chance like this one." Whined the Emperor of Half-of-one-Planet.
"What I meant when I said no." Said Malcador, not bothering to look up.
"Whyyyyy."
"Look. [He grabbed EOMS()'s arm to get his full attention.] We are not going to ambush the delegates with water balloons." Malcador said in as serious a voice as he could muster. Something that was becoming increasingly different as he felt himself just… loosen up. It was a glorious feeling. Who cared if he was found out, fuck em. He would just explode them with his mind or something.
"But!"
"No."
The EOMS() did his best impression of a defeated puppy as he turned and walked out of the door, a door that had been smashed wide open, the door itself resting inside of the wall opposite the entrance.
"It's like herding fucking cats in here. Why did I ever sign up for this?" Malcador wondered at the ceiling.
The Emperor had great charisma and a plan for the future, only he left the little details by the wayside. Which was what Malcador was here for he supposed, making sure everything worked at all. He wondered what would have happened if the Emperor didnt have someone to keep him in check.
"Wait. Wait. Wait. What the fuck did you just say?" Malcador said, trying his very hardest to not try and strangle his oldest friend and boss.
"I just went and like… stole the power of the Chaos Gods and am going to make babies from them." Said the Emperor of Mankind Finally().
"Ok. So I heard you correctly the first time. Right. Ok. I'm not hearing things. Ok. Ok. Ok." Malcador took a deep breath and turned to the Emperor of Mankind, his face red with the amount of repressed rage inside of him.
"WHY? FUCKING WHY?!" He shouted.
The two of them were alone here, deep inside the laboratories where the Emperor of Mankind had developed the first specialized treatments to turn normal people into Thunder Warriors.
"Dude. Like chill man. No need to go around shouting. Like I just did something totally awesome and here I am getting shouted at for it. I should totally go and find someone who appreciates my awesomeness." The EOM said, looking like he was about to go sulk in a corner somewhere.
"Ok. Ok. Ok. Why? Why did you do that?" Malcador asked, trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check.
"Well I have like a galaxy to conquer right? So I'll just like make these dudes who can lead the army for me. It'll be great, they do all the work and I'll just like sit and chill on my ship." Said the EOM, displaying once again the utter lack of common sense that characterized so many of his decisions. If everyone knew exactly how insane their leader was, and how much time Malcador spent trying to modulate his more… insane orders, they would have probably defected a long time ago.
"Ok. So why didn't you just make normal babies? Or just pick some babies from the millions on this very fucking planet and train them to be your generals?" Malcador asked, staring at him.
"Dude, can you imagine how much time I would need to spend to train those squirts up? Like it would be so much easier if I just like made super babies that learnt everything so I didn't need to teach them." The EOM said, as if it was the most obvious and logical answer he could come up with.
Malcador just gave up. He couldn't be bothered doing this to himself, he didn't want to involve himself in this anymore. It was probably going to go tits up and he would have to fix it all again later.
Fucking. Fuckkkkkkk. Fuck.
"Hey Mal! Guess what!" The Emperor of Mankind shouted at Malcador as he returned from the planet of Cthonia. He had gone originally since apparently there was something there that was calling to him. Enough for him to divert the fleet to find exactly what the source of this strange calling was.
It was enough to make Malcador a little suspicious given how flighty and impatient his Emperor was, and just how much the Gods of Chaos liked to fuck around with everyone. This could be a trap and he had to be careful. As they orbited the planet, the guns of the fleet were trained down below, any strange moves and there wouldn't be anything left.
"What?" Mal asked, a little half-heartedly.
"Dude. Guess what I just found!" The EOM shouted, eagerly bouncing into the room that was reserved for the tactical and strategic planning of the campaign. It was currently empty, Malcador having sent out the commanders to do their work while he deliberated in peace.
"What?"
"Dude you gotta be more excited and shit you know? It's kind of a bummer when you're all down like this." The Emperor said, pouting slightly.
"Ok. What is so amazing oh Emperor of Mankind." Malcador drawled out, injecting negative enthusiasm into his voice.
"I found my son!" Shouted the Emperor, jumping up and down and punching the wall in his enthusiasm. If it had been anyone else, it would have been funny to watch him break a few bones, but instead the wall caved in slightly. Malcador sighed.
More work.
The son which it was very likely that Malcador was going to be raising and getting a crew to fix the wall. He wasn't sure which was going to be more annoying.
Probably the son. Definitely the son. If it was the Emperor's son, it was likely he had inherited the Emperor's temperament, which meant that he was going to be annoying as fuck to teach.
Malcador sighed.
"Are you sure?" He asked, hoping that for once that the galaxy was on his side when it came to the Emperor's shenanigans.
"Totally man, our souls resonated and shit." The EOM looked slightly less excited about that, probably something to do with his utter fear of icky things, souls included. Malcador gave another sigh, it looked like the galaxy wasn't with him on this one.
Fuck.
Double fuck.
"Where is the little tyke?" Malcador asked, it had only been a few years, the boy was probably only a feet or 2 high.
"Umm… well, he's not so little anymore." Malcador sighed again, it looked like this family just killed any and all laws of reality that tried to bind them.