So here I am back in writing once again!
Hope that I'm not rusty enough to seriously affect the story quality XD. Nonetheless, I hope you guys like this new journey, I made with a lot of help from Boyo99 and BillyFish1409, both incredible authors who are also here on the site, you may as well know very well their works already: "The Fate and Destiny" and "Of Rangers, Knights, and Leopards". So yeah they helped me organize my ideas and thoughts into this new story.
While some may be asking: "What about "when duty is not enough"?". I assure you that I'll return to this story shortly, and I hope to redo it entirely since I made some mistakes that I wish to change/rework. So yeah, but one day you guys will see it come back, but now hope this is enough to gather your attention!
PS: This will be an interspecies romance focused on EldarXHuman dynamics, if this is not your cup of tea I would advise not reading it. It is going to be a slow burn, so I'm warning now for anyone who may be caught by surprise.
Good read! Feel free to give your input and suggestions, also questions are welcome.
Shadows of the Dark City
The sound of something scraping the metal ground was the first thing to reach Marcus's concussed brain. Little by little, the blackness in his vision filled with blurred images of a deep, dark purple floor. The metallic taste of blood was ingrained in his mouth and nose, making him gag. Faint screams and pained moans reached his ears, confusing him further. He tried to look around, but his neck was stiff, and every fiber of his body ached. Marcus could only manage to look around with his eyes. Unfortunately, the only things he saw were blurred, imposing shadows he couldn't make sense of. The sound of chains and metal scraping was ever-present.
Soon, the noises got closer and louder, and the sound of a hissing door could be heard as the Imperial Officer was taken inside a very poorly lit room. The cacophony of sounds became almost unbearable. The familiar stench of blood reached his nostrils, making him have to compose himself not to vomit due to the strong scent. The sound of laughter and giggles filled the room, accompanied by blood-curdling screams and loud crunches. Marcus tried to focus his vision to gather more information about where he was, but his head only ached at his attempts. Soon, the sound of a metal door opening was heard, and with it, something was said by one of the people holding him. Before Marcus could process what was happening, his face hit something cold. In trying to grasp it, he felt the well-known feeling of metal. The Captain realized he was holding metal bars.
As he turned, the sound of a locking mechanism reached his ears. Two imposing figures stood in front of his cage, staring right at him. He couldn't define who these figures were, but the Imperial was certain they weren't humans. As the mental confusion of the concussion wore off, he started to notice more of the surrounding elements.
The beings who were just near him were far too tall by human standards, wearing black pointy armor with helmets featuring menacing glowing green lenses, with many of them having strange manes of hair on top. No foe Marcus already faced used such gear, and their limbs appeared too slender and lean, but what gave away the fact that he was not looking at humans was their movement. In his still messy vision, they appeared to be moving like a piece of fabric waving in the wind, almost ethereal. Their gestures seemed purposeful and intentional, as if they were communicating non-verbally. 'Who are these people? Where am I?' Marcus thought as he stared at their forms. Both figures stopped their interaction, acknowledging his stare, which prompted them to look back at him. The poorly lit room shadowed their frames, not giving away any discerning characteristics, but the Officer knew they were gazing right at his soul.
One of them muttered something he couldn't hear, then turned away, leaving the other alone with him, still staring daggers. The dark figure knelt, grabbing both bars with his hands. Then, in a raspy, quiet voice, it said in a language that sounded ethereal and threatening:
"Tha mi an dòchas gum bàsaich thu bàs dòrainneach san raon Mon-keigh."
Marcus could only gulp and whisper in confusion.
"What?"
The figure simply stood up, turned on its heel, and started going somewhere in the dark part of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Marcus tried not to think too much of this recent interaction to avoid worsening the ache in his skull.
The Captain held his head in an attempt to soothe the pulsing pain. Likewise, he tried to lie down on the ground, but the cage he was in was too small, forcing him to sit uncomfortably while supporting himself on the cold metal bars behind him. As soon as he got into a "comfortable" position, his consciousness started to flee from him once again. His eyelids slowly dropped, and the screams and orchestra of horrible sounds around the room were drowned out by exhaustion and pain. With a final breath, he lost himself in a deep sleep.
The first thing to greet him was the familiar smell of the trenches around Valia, the town Marcus was responsible for protecting. The smell of wet soil, bodily fluids, and sweat greeted him every morning and waking hour for the last eleven months of his deployment.
This was the reality he had lived with since he was 18 years old, serving the Astra Militarum with valor throughout his career, now being in service for 12 long years. In all this time, the Officer managed to score many victories for the Imperium, even though his unit is a small defensive company. Marcus's track record on the battlefield was spotless since his first deployment.
As a fighter, the Imperial had proven time and time again to be just as efficient a killing machine as a leader, managing to have more than two hundred confirmed kills, with more unconfirmed. However, such success as a new captain for the guard came with downsides. Everyone he fought with on his first deployment to Ophelia VIII was dead, making him the last original member of his unit. Until this moment, he has been the sole survivor of three different units, all meeting their end in gruesome battles.
And the bigger evidence for this fact was his body. Every inch of him was filled with scars, each telling a gruesome and horrid tale of a broken warrior who had seen and been through much. Some of these old wounds which were just scars now, hurt from time to time, a phantom pain as real as if it were made on that very same day. Marcus knows that this suffering is the echoes of distant battlefields, along with the memories of long-lost comrades, brothers, and sisters. On days when he was haunted by these pains, it was the worst for Marcus, as it brought memories he wished would stay in the past alongside those who perished.
Looking around from the improvised shelter, he saw at the curtain door Private Janessa Thorne, or as her fellow guardsmen called her, "Jax," trying to wake him up with small shouts.
The 5'9" woman had short, dark brown hair pulled back into a practical ponytail, with a few strands of gray hinting at her age and the stress of her experiences. Her light violet eyes reflected a lifetime of vigilance and battle-hardened determination as she stared at him expectantly.
Her build was lean and muscular due to years of rigorous military training and combat. Furthermore, her weathered, tanned skin was marked with scars from countless battles and skirmishes. A prominent scar ran from her left temple down to her cheek—a souvenir from a brutal close combat encounter. Several tattoos on her arms symbolized different regiments she had served with and battles she had fought in.
Jax's face featured a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a slightly crooked nose that had been broken more than once. Fine lines around her eyes and mouth hinted at her age and the harshness of her life. She wore a serious expression, her face bearing the hard lines of someone who had seen much suffering and hardship.
Her gear consisted of standard-issue flak armor customized with additional plating and personal insignia. As for her weapon, Janessa carried a lasgun that was always strapped to her shoulder.
He groaned deeply as the light of the sun reached his eyes, making him close them instantly. In an annoyed voice, Marcus addressed the guardswoman.
"What is it, Private? You know well enough not to wake me from my rest, so I hope by the Emperor's holy name that it's something important, or I'll personally make you take the rounds on cleaning the company toilets."
Jax nervously gulped before saluting the Officer. In a hushed tone, she replied:
"Sir, we've been trying to contact Supply Station 4 as you ordered, but they have not yet responded to our last checkup."
This instantly woke him. The worrying update on both stations' lack of communication confirmed his previous suspicions about the presence of a strange force on this side of the planet. Marcus had noticed something amiss the night he saw those strange shapes in a thunderstorm two days ago. Many of the other commanding officers, including Colonel Marston Wold, thought it was just a play of his mind or an electrical anomaly from the usual violent storms that riddle Arina, the planet they were currently stationed on. However, something was off from the moment he took notice of it. So from that day on, the Captain asked his communications teams to maintain constant updates with the closest resupply unit in case of an assault from a hostile force, as these would be the main targets, at least if their enemy were more competent in tactics and logistics than the local rebellion.
Putting his khaki coat on as well as his decorated cap, the tall, imposing Imperial stepped out of his shelter while the Private followed him with a haughty march. Marcus went towards the area where the Vox technicians manipulated all sorts of communication devices. Once there, all stood up, saluting him.
"I want you all to notify nearby stations of the lack of communication with Supply Station 4. Make sure to inform them of our intention to send a scouting party to ascertain the reason for their lack of comms."
The moment Marcus stopped talking, the technicians started their work, notifying Units 7, 6, and 5 of the current situation. They all returned the hail, agreeing with the initiative and asking for further updates on the situation as they came.
One step done, now all he needed was confirmation of his suspicions. In a quick march, the Officer left the communications station and approached a group of guardsmen armed with sniper rifles, scanning the horizon for any possible threats. Once they noticed the superior behind them, they quickly turned and saluted Marcus, to which he returned.
"I need you four to go to our nearest resupply station and ask them why they are not in comms. Update us on any out-of-place situation you find and report any strange presence you may encounter."
All five men turned to him, confusion clear on their faces.
"Did something happen, Captain?" the youngest and most naive-looking of the group asked.
"We have no idea yet. So your mission is to go there and give us an answer."
All of them nod, understanding the assignment, so they proceed to fetch their gear while Marcus takes a map and starts drawing a crude path to Supply Station 4 location.
"This is the closest to ours, a walk of around twelve hours. Unfortunately, I can't spare a vehicle since they are for a possible evacuation of the city, so you'll have to do this on foot. Take a Vox operator with you to keep your status updated."
The oldest of the group stepped forth, picking up the map and saluting Marcus, and without further ado, marched into the direction of the comm stations alongside his squad mates.
"May the Emperor guide your path and sword."
Marcus mutters as they leave, the only one able to hear him being Private Janessa.
"What do you think it is, Sir?"
"I don't know. For our sakes, I just hope it is just the fears of an old veteran, ghosts of a fertile imagination. But if my suspicions are right, it could be anything."
Janessa nodded the fear of the unknown gripping her heart tightly. She had already fought traitors, rebels, and some cultists. But the prospect of having an unknown enemy never fails to haunt her. Marcus takes notice of her grave expression and, with a quick pat on her shoulder, tries to cheer her up.
"Don't fret, do you know how many times I was wrong in my suspicions? That I was just being paranoid?"
Jax stays silent while staring at her commander.
"Almost every time. People believe or expect that soldiers don't have fear, or that we are immune to it. But from what I can safely say from personal experience, we are the most fearful people there are, and the older you get on the job and the more battlefields you see, the more fearful you become."
"Is that so Captain?"
Janessa asks surprised with his input, even more so with all the Imperial propaganda and narrative that the Guard should be perfect stoic fighters. He nods looking at the horizon, just before turning to her with a kind smile.
"Fear is a tool when used correctly it makes you aware of threats and to be cautionary when going to the unknown. So all this talk about us being akin to fearless killing machines is all fantasy, not feeling fear is a disadvantage. Without fear, we are blind to upcoming dangers, and we become complacent believing to be bigger than anything including death. But also beware letting it control you is just as bad as not having it, since it stops being a tool to become a limitation, that will inevitably make you a coward."
Janessa smiles at the Captain's wisdom gazing at the cloudy horizon being calmed by his words.
Marcus wakes up with a jolt as a surge of energy courses through his veins, every fiber of his muscles contracts in painful synchronized movements. The smell of burnt flesh invades his nostrils as he realizes what is happening.
A strange blunt trident is touching his skin as a bolt of electricity comes from out of it, giggles and laughter echo through the walls of the room. His vision this time focuses on the image in front of him of a dark figure wearing obsidian armor holding the shock weapon while staring at him, its face hidden with a long shiny black helm, a mane of blue hair going through the top. While being shocked this sadistic creature laughs as his body convulsed with the high voltage.
The shock stops, leaving him gasping for air as Marcus vomits the last content of his stomach on the floor, hearing a giggle coming from the dark shadow. But he is cut short as another one of these things steps in front of his cage shoving the assailant away.
The first thing Marcus notices of the new arrival is its smell, a mix of flowery scent with dried old blood. It is faint, but enough to reach his still-muddled mind, he struggles to focus his vision on the new arrival and what greets him deeply shocks him.
The Imperial was expecting some deformed abomination but he never once expected to see this. In front of him stood the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on, of course, he did not have many to compare to since the woman on the guard rarely had the time to take care of their appearance, however, whatever this being is, it certainly earns the medal.
The first thing he noticed was her piercing violet eyes with a predatory gleam. Her gaze is intense, cold, and calculating, making him feel extremely uneasy as well as intrigued. Her long, midnight-black hair is tied in a high ponytail and flows behind her back as she stares at him.
Her angular face has high cheekbones with flawless, porcelain-pale skin. Her features are strikingly beautiful but carry an air of cruelty and arrogance, the being lips are full and painted a deep, blood-red, accentuating her dark and deadly allure. She also has a mark on her left temple which Marcus fails to understand.
Her ears are long in a knife shape, far different than his. Her movements are similar to those we observed earlier but appear to be far more fluid, which for his brain hurts even trying to understand how all of this could be possible.
Next, he stopped to take a look at her attire trying to get as much information about the enemy as possible. The being wears a form-fitting suit made of dark, flexible materials that appear to provide both protection and mobility. The suit is adorned with intricate, dark blue patterns and silver accents, enhancing her commanding and deadly presence. She also wears lightweight armor plates on her shoulders, forearms, and shins. Her boots are high, tight, and reinforced for both combat and acrobatics.
Marcus takes a good look at her, enough to realize who this strange being his confusion now settling into dread.
"Eldar?"
The Captain mumbles to himself, desperately trying to remember every bit of information he knew about this particular race. But unfortunately, his remembrance is cut shot as the female speaks not to him, but to the one beside her.
"Tha e coltach gu bheil am Mon-keigh mu dheireadh a' faighinn grèim air fhèin, a' faighinn an fheadhainn eile. Tha mi gan iarraidh còmhla airson na slocan."
The thing beside her nods as it goes away, the female xeno stands near the cage as the doors open with a loud hiss from it two armored soldiers drag by its feet and arms what appear to be a fellow wounded warrior. Marcus expected them to be quick to give immediate help, even more so since there was a huge hole in its stomach, however, these things just laughed as they carried this poor bastard over to somewhere else, all while his deafening screams could be heard, which prompts all of the room to rupture in cackles and giggles.
This scene while odd and completely deranged has given a particular memory back to Marcus. One from before he was captured by these demons.
The air around him was thick and heavy, his mind filled with nervous anticipation. The scouting party was due to give any updates for the last six hours, their last contact being marked by their approach to the Supply Station 4 position. After that, they went radio silent. Marcus was certain that something was happening there were too many coincidences piling on now...First, the objects in the sky, and now his scouts were MIA, the Captain could only imagine what type of enemy they were facing. One thing was certain: they knew at least the basics of their current logistics to opt to cut their most important asset first, that being the closest resupply group. Now they are sitting ducks. If they run out of ammunition and explosives, their unity will be easy kills for any opposition in a prolongated fight.
Soon, one of the Vox radios came to life as the booming and authoritative voice of Colonel Marston Wold came through.
"Captain Marcus, I received your report on the suspicious activities in your sector. I sent a mechanized unit to support your position in case of an assault, however, due to the recent storms and the ever-present mud, we believe it will take around two days for their arrival."
"Two days!? Colonel, we probably don't have two days; the enemy must be encroaching on our position as we speak!"
Marcus clenched his fists, his voice rising in frustration. Wold simply scoffed at his outburst.
"I'm not a miracle worker. I work with what was given to me, and this is what we currently can do. The northern front has been overrun by the local rebels already, so be glad that we are sparing a mechanized unit for you, Captain!"
Marcus understood the Colonel's point, but he expected orders for them to retreat with the civilians or move to another defensive position to join forces. The number of soldiers they currently have and the fact that they are close to a strategic point makes them the logical next target for whatever hostile force is present in their sector.
"Yes, Colonel, forgive me for my indelicacy. We are just nervous about what could come for us."
Marston's words softened as he spoke through the Vox radio.
"I understand; however, like I said, this is all I can do for your unit...at least for now. I wish you well, Officer. May the Emperor guide your sword, and may your victory be swift."
Marcus tried to sound more optimistic when giving his farewell to the Commander, but it was clear in the man's voice that dread was the only thing he was feeling.
"Emperor protects, Colonel."
With that, the radio went silent again, leaving only the sound of static. Marcus let his mind wander while the static played, wondering how he and his unit would die. The Captain had survived previous battlefields, but this one felt different. The ice-cold grip on his stomach, alongside the chilling wind coming from under the tent where the comm station was, added to his dreadful musings.
What is he to do? Wait for the enemy to strike without having any information on their numbers or identity?
The fact that he was in total darkness about the situation made it far worse. If he had intel, the Officer could plan around the enemy, give the call to evacuate the civilians if needed, or, in the worst scenario, prepare himself for a horrible death.
Marcus tried to calm his raging mind and devise a course of action for his unit. Sitting on a wooden chair near the walls of the trench, he paused to gather his thoughts and composure. Taking his knife out of his belt, he drew a crude map of their position in the mud, using his memory to be as accurate as possible.
The trenches were dug around the small town, with a single road leading south where the settlement received supplies. There were around two thousand people in the town; if he decided to evacuate them, it would require at least two trips, and the next Imperial position was at least four hours away. They would also need to send a considerable part of their force to escort the civilians, which would further weaken their combat effectiveness.
Another factor was that the enemy could target the evacuation effort instead of the trenches, making the civilians a far easier target than them. Marcus hated putting innocent lives in danger, their chances of survival were far greater if they held their position.
'So leaving is not an option', thought Marcus while staring at his crude drawing on the ground. For the Officer, it was clear that their only real chance of getting through this was to hold the line, but he didn't know the size of the enemy force or their weaponry.
Then it hit him. In this situation their role was a defensive one, meaning that the enemy must come to them and not the other way around. This gave him the advantage of preparing not only his forces but also the area. They had the entire sector mapped, which meant they knew the best places to set traps and where the best locations for an upcoming attack were.
They may not have intel about who they were dealing with, but he sure as hell knew the surroundings. On the ground, Marcus started to draw traps and possible choke points where the enemy could be held. He turned towards one of the guardsmen standing guard in the tent.
"Fetch me ten soldiers. I have an important task for them."
The Soldier nodded before quickly leaving the tent to obey the Captain's orders.
Marcus waited patiently for the soldier to return. In the meantime, he took notice of the structure of the trenches, the overall shape of the dug-out holes, as well as the inner chambers and bunkers that spread throughout the area around the town.
Just as he finished drawing, the man he sent arrived alongside the required guardsmen. Satisfied with his crude representation of their position, the Captain started explaining his plan.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I called you here because you will play a crucial role in our defense plan. I need you to pay attention, so listen to every word that comes from my mouth as if it were the Emperor speaking..."
Marcus took a deep breath as he pointed his knife toward the center of his drawing.
"The enemy will probably come from the north since the south is the entrance of the town and is one of the more fortified and well-armed positions. It is also safe to assume they have air vehicles, so they could strike multiple places at once."
One of the men raised his hand mid-explanation. Seeing this, Marcus lets the Guardsman ask his question.
"But what leads you to think so? Throughout this campaign, we have only fought local rebel forces and some cultists, all armed with crude improvised weapons and vehicles made out of scrap."
Marcus knew that his suspicions were based on the strange objects amidst the storm. That may be the product of a very troubled and imaginative mind, yet he begged to differ. The Captain knew that whatever those objects were, they were directly related to the complete blackout from the Supply Group.
"A few nights ago, while scanning the ever-turbulent, cloudy sky, I noticed strange objects amidst the storm. Their shapes were unclear, but they seemed to be some kind of craft."
The Officer explained calmly; he understood that anyone hearing this could either believe him or dismiss it as some kind of pareidolia. However, the men hearing him did not show any uncertainty.
"Okay, Sir, so what do you need from us?"
"First, I need the three of you to go to the machine gun team and tell them to point their guns skyward and keep a constant watch for any possible airborne threats."
He took a closer look at the first three of the group, then he stepped in front of the next five.
"Second, I need a group of five to organize a task force to set mines, booby traps, and razor wire throughout the trench system. Also, I need a map of these traps to be made to organize a relocation effort for the civilian populace to our underground bunkers. Keep in mind to make routes free of any kind of deadly obstacles; we want these to be more effective for the ground forces' retreat if needed."
The five soldiers saluted as the Captain proceeded to the last two.
"And you two will have one of the most important tasks of all: Go to town and warn Baron Thorpe of an upcoming battle. Tell him that he needs to get his militia and people to our bunkers in an orderly manner. But do so with haste!"
The two men proceeded to do just as their comrades before them. Marcus then returned the gesture and dismissed them to their current duties.
After this, he proceeded to take a long walk through the trenches, letting every detail of his surroundings soak in. The ever-present rain that fell from the sky in quick droplets hit his face and eyes, making everything around him annoyingly wet. But the Imperial knew from the moment they arrived on this planet that it would be like this for most of the year. It was a beautiful place compared to his last deployment, filled with flora that appeared to be from a tundra biome, and fauna composed usually of prey animals, creating a friendly ecosystem. 'One less danger to look out for', thought Marcus, making the only known real problem the rebels who were giving the local Imperial Forces a hard time. He had seen few of them, though, since this sector was one of the first to face the rebel forces, the battle had started years before he set foot on this planet.
This place had been his station for at least eleven months now. His makeshift quarters dug out on the trench wall greeted him. Deciding to have a moment alone to ready himself for the upcoming battle, the Officer marched inside. The familiar smell of mud and old wood greeted his nostrils. Taking heavy steps towards a mirror nailed to a log, he stopped to take a good look at his appearance. What greeted him was the all-too-familiar face of a very weary and tired soldier. The amethyst eyes that had seen so many unspeakable things stared back at him.
He takes a handful of water from an aluminum bowl just under the mirror and uses it to wash his face and short, dark brown hair. Marcus liked to maintain the same military style not due to the regulations, but because it was practical and no-nonsense, just like himself.
Taking care to comb his hair to perfection, the Officer took a last look at it. Still, the heavy lines under his eyes were something he wished he could get rid of.
After making sure he was presentable for the inevitable confrontation that approached, the Captain decided to verify his equipment, a habit he acquired after a particular fight where his lasgun failed to fire, prompting him to receive a shot to his shoulder. Since then, he has always given proper maintenance to his gear, even more so before any confrontation.
The twelve years of service had taught him a lot about the ins and outs of his gear as well as other weaponry. For Marcus, taking his guns apart and putting them back together was second nature, similar to shooting them. It did not take long for both of his laspistol and lasgun to be properly calibrated, his flak armor polished, and its straps well-fixed above his uniform.
Having nothing to do while waiting for his orders to be carried out or for the enemy to attack, the Officer took a book from his collection just beside his makeshift bed. "A Quick Overview of Anglerre History and its Heraldry," a book he received from a fellow officer on his last campaign. He had served under its banner before and, as a token of their camaraderie, gave him the book.
Continuing from where he stopped, the Captain started reading from where he had previously stopped, trying to entertain his anxious mind with a different topic of a distant place and distant people. This was usually a very good distraction who managed to make his mind work with something else outside of war. Since he started collecting books, the ones about culture, doctrine, and strategies were the kinds that resonated with him.
The Imperial liked to balance mundane topics such as how a group dresses and eats, with actual practical strategies of commanders of old. This balance is what helped him not lose his mind to the horrors of war.
He turned one more page before his eyes slowly closed, giving him space to sleep.
Marcus woke with a jolt as one of his most trusted guardsmen ran inside his quarters.
"Captain, your men have returned. They are waiting for further orders. Also, there is something you must look at, Sir."
The Veteran quickly got up, making the book that was on his torso fall to the ground loudly. He took his lasgun and strapped it on his back, proceeding to go to the mirror to take a look at his appearance.
"Aye, Corporal. I'll be right there, just give me a minute."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Corporal Elias Voss quickly saluted before stepping out of his superior's quarters. Leaving Marcus once again alone with his thoughts, with a deep sigh and a last look at his face and tired eyes, he took the book from the ground, tapped the dust off its cover, and put it back in its place alongside the others.
Stepping out into the familiar trenches, the first thing that greeted him made him frown in confusion. The cloudy sky was painted in a sickly tint of neon green, with the multiple electrical discharges inside the clouds shining in the same color. Throughout all his service, the Officer had never seen anything like it. While completely haunting, it had a certain beauty to it.
His focused stare into the skies was cut short as Elias stepped beside him and, with a weary tone, added:
"It started an hour ago. At first, it seemed to be some weird natural phenomenon. Then, just some minutes ago, the Vox signal started to be all over the place. We still have some comms, but they come and go, and many still believe it is just a natural occurrence, including the Baron. But I'm not so sure of it, Sir."
Marcus agreed with his corporal's suspicions, but he couldn't acknowledge that out loud, since it risked decreasing troop morale. He knew that if this was deliberate, whoever had this ability was a far greater threat than mere rebels and isolated cultists. So even though his gut was screaming at him about the imminent danger, he had to maintain composure for the sake of the unit.
"Hmm...Take me to them."
Opting to be direct, he cut straight to the point, not wanting to entertain the soldier's suspicion. The Corporal only nodded as he led his superior to the ten men. Standing just outside the comms station, the guardsmen stood anxiously, waiting to divulge their reports.
As soon as Marcus stepped into their vision, they formed a line. Taking a close look at each one of them, he finally questioned in a booming voice:
"Group one, report."
Three men stepped forward, saluting the Officer before replying.
"The machine gun team complied and is ready for any airborne threats."
Moving further down the line, Marcus stepped in front of the next five.
"Group two, report."
They repeated the same salute as their previous comrades.
"The traps have been set and were properly mapped."
The leader of the group stepped toward their superior, delivering an old piece of paper showing a map of the sector with different drawings indicating where the traps were, what kind they were, and various red arrows showing paths free from them.
He took it, folded it, and put it inside the pocket of his coat. Once his fingers touched the other content, he remembered that he forgot to put back one of his most prized books.
"Romeo and Juliet."
Marcus mumbled to himself as he remembered his mistake. This copy was free of any imperial censor and was also his guilty pleasure—a piece of literature he wished on his father's grave no one would find out about, since he would never stop hearing the end of it. One of the most disciplined and serious members of the regiment reading a romance.
But putting aside these thoughts, the Captain straightened himself out and proceeded to address the duo who were the last of the teams sent.
"Group three, report."
They stepped forward and in unison answered.
"The Baron has been warned. And just as you instructed, he is relocating the townsfolk to the bunkers."
Perfect, now all they needed was to wait for the upcoming confrontation and organize the infantry along the perimeter. However, before he could do any of that, a vox operator came running from the tent.
"Sir, our communications are down! We lost total contact with the other divisions and command."
This complicated things—in case they got attacked, they were basically on their own.
"But that is not all...come with me, Captain, please."
Seeing the complete dread in the Cadian's eyes told him that the situation was far worse than previously thought. He followed the soldier inside the vox operation area, where multiple operators were frozen, hearing something.
They turned to him, unadulterated terror on their faces.
"Explain to me what is the meaning of this?"
He bellowed, trying to shake them out of their shock.
The Vox operator picked up the receiver, trying to regulate the signal for his superior. He pushed it to his ears.
"Captain, you must hear this."
He complied approaching their station and what met him was one of the worst things he has ever heard throughout all of his career. Blood curling screams, the noises of cackles, and maddening laughter which gets louder proportionally to the screams of pain and terror, in the background of this cacophony of nightmares, bones crunching and gore are ever-present. The transmission suddenly stopped, and the familiar, static sound returned. Marcus couldn't believe what he just heard.
"By the Emperor..."
This is all he can manage to say after such a terrible orchestra of sounds, one that will certainly fuel his already numerous nightmares.
"This is on all channels. It is impossible that this is natural. We tried to pinpoint the transmission, however, it doesn't make sense at all..."
The pale-faced Operator explained, frenetically adjusting various apparatus.
"What doesn't make sense?"
He pointed towards a small screen displaying a radar, one blinking a small dot just where they were supposed to be.
"What is the meaning of this?"
One of the operators pointed towards the radar grid and, with a confused voice, tried to answer with the best explanation possible.
"According to the radar, the signal is in our position. However, this is not possible since we are not broadcasting whatever this is."
"So, it's not us?"
"No, Sir."
The young soldier answered as he kept staring at the screen, trying to figure out the meaning of what they were all seeing.
"If it's not us, who is it then? And most importantly, where are they?"
Just as he finished speaking, a very low whistling sound could be heard, one that was all too familiar to any soldier who has been to the frontlines. As the noise grew louder, Marcus instantly screamed while getting to the ground.
"BOMB, GET DO..."
With a deafening crash, something hit the ground, instantly releasing a menacing cloud of blue, shaking the entire tent. Screams could be heard outside as chaos ensued. Marcus quickly put on his respirator to avoid any possible toxic fumes from getting into his system.
Many started to do the same, yet some didn't manage to put it on in time and collapsed on the floor, convulsing. Seeing this, Marcus felt a surge of urgency and fear. He got up and sprinted towards the siren in the center of the trench system. He ran as fast as he could, skillfully weaving through the chaos, avoiding fallen comrades and dodging panicked soldiers. He almost fell after tripping over a body on the ground, but the Officer managed to reach the alarm. He then pulled the lever, activating the loud alarm announcing the start of their battle.
After that, the Captain went to the front lines, whistling with his fingers to gather the men around him. Through the noise of heavy fire and the alarm, few actually heard, but it was enough for the Officer to relay his plan of action. Thirty men gathered around him, and as quickly as he could, he started addressing the assembly.
"Soldiers, I need to divide this group into two. One will go to the east side and organize the defending forces at the choke points near the entrance of the bunkers, and the other will go to the west and do the same. I unfortunately did not have enough time to copy this map, but this should do."
He gave the map to the two men to have a quick look. Then the one leading the group that would go to the east folded it and put it in his pocket, nodding while running away with the other fifteen guardsmen. The other soon followed to go to the west side of the trenches to organize the defending forces.
Just after the last one of them left, a strange black hoverbike zoomed just above Marcus' head, making the Officer instantly drop to the ground.
"Frakk, what the hell is this?"
As he turned to look, a strange armored being rode upon a very strange vehicle, which he could see was being used as some kind of motorcycle. The being stared at him with a sharp razor whip weapon in his hand as he made a turn to come in his direction again. In his way, some soldiers stood, trying to hit the figure with las fire, but they were quickly decapitated by the strange flexible blade in the warrior's hand.
He came in quickly, trying to deliver a blow to the Captain's neck, but Marcus managed to evade it once again. However, before he could try again, someone managed to hit the warrior in mid-air, sending him out of the vehicle. The strange life form fell in the mud on his back, but with a quick and fluid movement, he rolled to his feet again, whip in hand. Turning around, the enemy started to swing his weapon, cutting down anyone who got too close. Some tried to shoot him down, but he managed to evade almost all the shots, except for one that hit him in the leg, causing him to lose his composure. The perfect opportunity presented itself as Marcus took his gun from his back and aimed directly at the warrior's head. With a quick pull of the trigger, the shot hit its mark, opening a searing hole as it pierced through the warrior's armor.
Moments after the being just stood still before finally collapsing to the ground, dead. Barely escaping death twice, Marcus had to regain his breath as the events replayed in his mind. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, the sound of his ragged breathing was loud in his ears, and his mouth felt dry.
The adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream kicked in as he once again focused on the battle at hand. A quick scan revealed that the machine gun team had managed to down some crafts, but they were currently being targeted by the flying enemies trying to take them out.
He saw one of them, mounted on a hoverbike similar to the other, coming with a long crooked spear and quickly impaling one of the machine gun operators. Others threw strange explosive devices towards the nests, trying to disrupt the rain of fire and steel delivered by the guardsmen operating them.
Soon, a blue-greenish flash appeared alongside a loud bang. Realizing that the enemy sought to destroy their main tool of defense, the Officer ran through the trenches, touching fighting soldiers to follow him. When he had gathered enough of them, he started firing upon the bikers attacking the nests.
They missed most of their shots but managed to hit two that were harassing the machine gunners. The remaining biker turned towards the firing group, hoping to stop their covering fire. He skillfully evaded all the shots but couldn't get closer, opting to retreat to a higher altitude, leaving the soldiers and nests alone.
Fire echoed through the trenches as soldiers in other positions fired upon the assailants. They saw many of their comrades being taken alive, flying towards the large craft hovering above their positions, while others were impaled by the long, crooked spears of the strange warriors.
However, soon many of the vehicles above them started to retreat into the ship. Silence ensued as the last of them returned to their ship.
"Did we win?" one of the soldiers asked, confused by the sudden retreat.
The huge craft then lowered itself towards their position, casting the town in its shadow. A quiet humming could be heard, probably coming from the ship's engines. The human troops waited expectantly for the next move of their opponent, all staring at the shadowy presence of the ominous black craft.
A huge horn blared, shaking everyone and everything. It was deafening and extremely annoying, becoming even worse as the sound turned into something similar to chalk being dragged on a blackboard. All covered their ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise.
However, the sound ceased abruptly, and as the soldiers looked around, they were taken completely by surprise. Encircling their perimeter were black-armored warriors identical to those on the bikes. By the time Marcus's brain processed what he was seeing, it was too late. The enemy rushed at them with deadly precision, cutting down the first line of guardsmen as if they were nothing.
The worst part was that they weren't even using guns—they were just straight-up cutting through them. The scene was brutal, with blood and guts flying everywhere as the unknown enemy advanced toward the trenches.
Having no other option, Marcus screamed to the men behind him, "Retreat! To the bunkers, all of you now!"
At his command, chaos ensued as the soldiers ran frenetically towards the choke points. But soon, Marcus was reminded of something he had forgotten—the traps.
One of the men just in front of him stepped on a booby trap, falling as a stick pierced his boot. The poor guy collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony, while the others continued running for their lives.
Seeing the man struggling in pain, Marcus went back to help him. Kneeling beside him, he grabbed the soldier's foot firmly and pulled as hard as he could. The soldier screamed in profound agony as the sound of blood and muscle tearing filled the trenches.
"Almost out," Marcus said as the last centimeters of the sharp object left the foot. However, he was soon cut short as he noticed an approaching warrior. This one didn't wear a helmet and walked towards him with flowing hair in the wind. Its features were strikingly similar to a human's, but its movements, ears, and eyes revealed that it wasn't human.
"Well, well, look what we have here... Two Mon-keigh for the price of one. The Muses must hold me in high regard to allow me such a prize," the creature said in heavily accented Gothic, but Marcus could understand its words. What did it mean by "prizes"?
Was this some kind of unknown heretic creature they had never heard of? They seemed and spoke like it, so it was safe to assume they were some demon spawn horror. The word "Mon-keigh" was extremely familiar, but Marcus couldn't remember where he had heard it.
The strange warrior kept a steady and fluid march towards him as the battle raged all around them. Marcus knew from the way they fought that in melee combat he didn't stand a chance. They were far too agile, easily evading shots, especially when only one person was shooting.
Marcus looked around, searching for something, when he noticed a small object near them, entrenched in the ground—a mine. With a single movement, he pulled the soldier's foot out of the trap, making the man scream in bloody agony. As he managed to free him, Marcus began to drag the guardsman away. The demon continued its approach, its expression contorting into one of pure bliss.
"Hmmmm... his pain is delicious. But don't worry, soon it will be far worse and loooonger than this," it said, staring at Marcus in a uncanny way. Its neck behaved similarly to an owl's, rotating as if it had no joints. Its black mouth opened to reveal jagged, pointy teeth, and with each word, saliva dripped from its lips. In an almost sing-song voice, it threatened Marcus.
"Also, don't think just because you are not in pain that I'll spare you from suffering. Pain is a constant, and I'll make you remember that for the rest of your miserable existence, prey."
As the being advanced, completely focused on him, Marcus aimed and shot. He knows he can't hit this being this close, it will be upon him before he fires the second shot, yet he is not doing this in a sincere attempt at hitting it. The creature, wanting to take him down before he could shoot another time, ran in a fluid motion towards him but not before stepping on the pressure plate of the mine. The explosion sent it flying away in a heap of meat.
His mind becomes clearer as his memories slowly return. Looking around the dimly lit room, the Officer begins to piece together the environment. The walls are painted a deep, dark purple, making the room seem even darker. Small holes in the ceiling let in shafts of white light, poorly illuminating the space.
When his gaze falls upon the far wall, Marcus flinches at the gruesome scene. Guardsmen hang with their shoulders impaled on curved spikes resembling hooks, their feet dangling at least five feet off the ground. The soldiers are immobile; the only movement comes from their slow, labored breathing and the blood dripping from their wounds.
The room is numbing in its silence, broken only by ragged breaths and pained moans. Marcus looks around, trying to attain more info on his current situation. Near the door stand two tall guards, holding spears and staring straight ahead.
So far, he has managed to understand three things about these beings, based on his limited observations:
First, these beings are not cultists or demon spawns; they're Xenos. Marcus has a hunch about which race they belong to. While he's a seasoned fighter familiar with the usual scum he faces, the Officer rarely engages with aliens. When he does, it's usually a backward civilization trying to get in humanity's way, rarely anything noteworthy. However, he remembers enough from manuals and conversations with other Guardsmen regiments to know about a knife-eared race called the Eldar.
Second, these fuckers are sadistic assholes who thrive on torture and suffering. If the room hadn't made that clear before, their combat style and strategies certainly did. They chose close-quarters combat over long-range, treating it like a sport, reveling in tearing people apart. The tactical vantage of certain strategy certainly absent if they just wish to take their position.
Third, to them, the humans are not just enemies. If they were, the Xenos would have finished them off already. Instead, they tried to capture as many as possible. For what purpose, Marcus still doesn't know, but based on what's happened so far, their future looks grim.
His stomach churns with a familiar, ice-cold numbness. The realization that his end is near, and it won't be a pleasant one, exacerbates the sheer hopelessness of it all. Trying to distract himself, Marcus slips his hand into his coat pocket to see if his favorite book is still there. Feeling the hard, weathered cover with his fingertips fills him with relief, knowing he has something to occupy his mind.
With slow, careful movements, he feels the book, its old pages, and the satin strip he uses as a bookmark. Enjoying this simple moment, cherishing the object that helps him escape the jaws of trauma, brings a brief calm to his heart.
Closing his eyes, Marcus focuses on the sound of his breathing to further calm himself. However, this soothing moment is cut short by the sound of the door opening with a loud hiss. A group of Xenos marches in, dragging three guardsmen he knows well: Private Janessa, Corporal Elias, and the unit's dearest Specialist Darius Reeve, or simply "Doc" the combat medic of the Holy Bravery squad.
They are thrown into cages near him in the dimly lit part of the room. The Xenos, with quick movements, toss them against the cold metal bars. The soldiers, too distracted by the Xenos' presence, don't notice Marcus in the cage across from them. From their expressions, he knows they are terrified, but Jax is in the worst mental state, frantically looking around as if looking for an escape route.
Realizing the severity of the situation, Janessa starts visibly shaking in fear. At that moment, she spots him.
"Captain?"
He gives her a small, reassuring smile in a vain attempt to calm her. But as soon as she recognizes him, her fear turns into a full-blown panic attack.
"Captain, what is going on? Where are we? Who are these guys? What will they do to us?" she asks in quick succession, almost shouting, which draws the guards' attention. The group of six Xenos circles her cage. One of them raises a black shock stick and slowly approaches the Private.
In a moment of either courage or simple stupidity, Marcus decides to draw their attention to himself.
"Hey, are you scum considering shocking such an easy target? Why don't you try it with someone who has the balls to endure your 'rough play'?"
He knows some of them speak Low Gothic. His taunts should draw their attention. They stop just millimeters from her neck and turn their full attention to him. One of the black-clad warriors steps out of the group towards him, each step exuding a natural elegance and confidence that Marcus finds unsettling.
The Xeno stops just in front of his cage, holding the shock stick in its hands.
"So the Mon-keigh think it has the balls to endure my 'rough play'?"
Marcus just kept his stare on the lenses of the helmet.
"Yup, your worst is just tickles for me."
He knew he was fooling himself, but he preferred to be the victim of these vile creatures' spite rather than let his soldiers, whom he had promised to lead and protect, suffer.
The warrior paused, took a good look at him, then started to laugh like a maniac. His body contorted as he cackled and giggled, then he turned to his comrades.
"Seall air an amadan seo tha e dha-rìribh a' creidsinn gum faod e ar saoradh a chumail. Ionnsaichidh sinn don Mon-keigh seo fìor bhrìgh fulangas pronnadh anama."
Soon after uttering those words in their weird language, the six Xenos surrounded him, each wielding different blades, vials, and strange pointed objects Marcus didn't want to identify. They started to encroach on him, their tall shadows covering any remaining light. But before they could reach him with their clawed gloves, the door of the room opened with a loud hiss, and a loud feminine voice pierced the moment as the warriors turned on their heels, assuming a straight and formal posture.
"Tha an Archon an seo. Tha e airson ar n-ionnsaighean a sgrùdadh."
The six Eldar moved away from his cage to stand in a line beside the door. From it emerged the same female from before, accompanied by a far more imposing figure. This Xeno wore ornate dark armor crafted from a strange material and adorned with crimson and silver accents. The armor was designed for both protection and intimidation, with sharp edges and menacing spikes. His chest plate bore the sigil of a bleeding heart impaled by a dagger.
The being looked around disinterestedly, walking slowly and silently towards the center of the room. His face had high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and finely arched eyebrows, giving him a regal and sinister appearance. His expression was one of cold indifference. However, what caught Marcus' attention more was the network of fine, silvery scars running across his face and neck, surely remnants of past battles and torturous rituals. His left ear was adorned with a series of barbed earrings.
His long, flowing white hair contrasted starkly with his dark armor. Adorned with intricate silver chains and jewels, it signified his high status among the Xenos. His tall and imposing figure moved with both elegance and deadly power. Inspecting everything in the room, he stopped just in front of Marcus' cage, staring him down as if looking into his soul.
"An e seo am fear a tha a' stiùireadh an luchd-dìon?"
The female stopped beside the imposing Eldar.
"Chan eil mi cinnteach, cha do dhealaich na kabalites na h-ìrean aca gu ceart."
The alien growled, turning toward the elegant warrior, anger present in his ice-blue eyes.
"Amadain! Feumaidh iad a bhith air an sgaradh le inbhe, a-nis tha cunnart agam feòil phrìseil a chall, air sgàth do neo-chomasachd."
The female warrior bowed in what appeared to be an apologetic gesture.
"Duilich, Athair, bha an t-strì a bha air fhàgail a' bualadh air na feachdan againn gu math cruaidh. Cha do chuidich na ribeachan air an iomall cuideachd le bhith ag eagrachadh ar stoc gu h-èifeachdach."
"An ath thuras a bhith nas fheàrr. Tha ainm aig an Kabal againn ri ghleidheadh, agus tha an leithid de fhàiligeadh neo-iomchaidh! Tha thu fortanach a bhith nad nighean agam no bhiodh tu ann an cèidse còmhla riutha airson sabaid san raon."
The figure turned to look at the other guardsmen in their respective cages. He examined each one closely, taking in every detail. It sickened Marcus, as it seemed like someone evaluating a piece of meat in a butcher's shop, a cold and calculating gaze. The Eldar then stopped in front of Janessa, and while Marcus couldn't see the being's expression, he was certain that if she wasn't panicking before, the Private certainly was now.
The Imperial heard the creature sniff the air as if it were a shark-smelling blood. It knelt to be at the same level as the guardswoman, whispering something to her that Marcus couldn't quite catch. Soon after, Janessa screamed in sheer horror as the guards approached to open her cage.
He tried once again to gather their attention, but it was useless. They roughly dragged her out of the cage, her desperate screams filling the room as the Eldar cackled and giggled. The leader of the group grabbed her by the arm, digging his claws into her skin, prompting her to scream painfully, her throat sounding sore from the strain.
In a fit of rage or panic, Janessa managed to headbutt their leader. For a moment, everything fell silent as the imposing Eldar looked at his bleeding nose. He nonchalantly stared at the blood on his hand before slowly looking at the female alien and nodding at her in some form of unspoken communication.
"Gabh Elaeb an t-sùil chlì bhoireann agus an làmh dheas. Is dòcha gur e sin am binn dhaibhsan a tha airson an Kaltharis Vex cumhachdach a bhualadh."
What followed would be a memory that would haunt Marcus until the day he died.
They kicked her to the ground, her head hitting the floor with a loud thud. She was disoriented by the blow, but that was not the end of it. Two warriors held her arms, another her head, and two more her legs.
The one who remained standing took a small, razor-sharp dagger from his belt and pointed it toward Janessa's left eye. He slowly lowered the blade until it touched her eye, prompting her to scream in excruciating pain.
Marcus was too shocked to scream, Doc and Elias were equally horrified, both completely enthralled by the gruesome scene.
With a loud pop, the Eldar extracted her eye with the tip of the blade. Her screams were now reduced to ragged breaths, her voice gone from all the screaming. But these bastards were not done. They took the same blade to her right hand, slowly and precisely severing her fingers.
By the time they reached her third finger, Janessa had passed out from the shock and pain, much to the relief of her comrades, who silently thanked the Emperor for the end of her suffering. But one of the Eldar holding her pulled out a vial of red liquid, popped the lid, and poured the scarlet concoction into her mouth.
After a few seconds, Janessa awoke in a painful seizure, her ragged screams resuming as all the pain returned. They continued until only a stump remained where her hand should have been.
What surprised Marcus more than the horrific torture he had just witnessed was the fact that as soon as they were finished, they injected another strange pink liquid into her neck. Whatever it was, her open wounds and bleeding started to heal, leaving only faint scars.
Soon, all five Eldar lifted her back into her cage, throwing her in as if she were a sack of potatoes, not caring if they hurt her further. Janessa lay there, barely conscious, shivering, her face stained with tears and blood from her missing eye.
The sadistic beings, apparently satisfied, turned to leave. Only the female warrior stayed behind, taking a long look at Janessa. Her elegant and cold expression changed to one of glee and satisfaction. She sniffed the air like the imposing Eldar before her, letting out a small, satisfied hum before leaving the room.
At that moment, Marcus knew their end would be horrific. Never in all his years of service had he witnessed such brutal and raw sadism. However, a small part of him was satisfied, knowing that the last thing he accomplished before being captured by these frakking Xenos was to make them retreat and protect the city.
Even though what awaited them was probably the most gruesome fate imaginable, he at least had the last laugh. These monsters got what they deserved. If the price was his life, so be it. At least Marcus had honored his name and the Emperor, and for a Cadian, that was all that mattered.
"We won in the end," Marcus says loudly enough for his comrades to hear.
"What do you mean by that?" Elias asked skeptically. Doc and Janessa turned their attention towards their commander, waiting for his reply.
"The last thing I remember before being captured was them running back with their tails between their legs. The west and east wings managed to retreat into the bunkers alongside the civilians. These foul creatures got caught up in our traps pretty badly and weren't expecting us to employ aerial defenses."
The three stood in silence until Janessa spoke in a very coarse voice.
"We are here, though."
The other guardsmen nodded at her remark.
"What good is victory if we are stuck here with these frakking bastards?" Elias asked with seething rage in his voice. The corporal was known for losing his patience quickly around the trenches, famous for his fiery temper and direct approach, so it was only natural for him to ask such a question.
"They managed to live another day and secure another victory for the Emperor's Name. We were unfortunate to not partake in this glorious moment, but we all know the risks that come with the job. There were previous times when we were the ones celebrating a victory, while our battle brothers lay dead on the field or shackled by the enemy."
Marcus took a deep breath, struggling to keep the defeat from seeping into his voice.
"It was our time to be the unfortunate ones. Let us just be happy that our last battle was one marked by victory, not defeat."
The three, while not showing any reaction to his words, fell silent in acceptance of their fate. They knew they were dead men walking; it was only a matter of time before their captors did to them what they had just done to Janessa. His words, while inspiring, did little to improve their current predicament.
Marcus stared at the ground, trying to recollect his memories of their last victory, trying to hold onto something to avoid falling prey to the utter despair taking hold of his heart. Memories were the only refuge that could momentarily free him from this cage and his cruel fate.
His plan had worked, the traps alongside the previous relocation helping them focus on dealing with the raiders. The machinegun nests had been crucial in reducing their aerial support.
Marcus assisted the injured soldier to the bunker, ensuring that the soldier would make it alive. A member of the local militia, wearing civilian clothes and a lasgun on his back, emerged from the darkness to help them put the wounded guardsman inside the shelter.
Once inside, the Captain and the militia member placed him on top of a wooden crate.
"Now I must go back to the front lines."
He turned to leave, but before he stepped outside the shelter, the Officer heard the raspy and tired voice of the man he had just saved.
"Thank you."
Marcus turned to him, giving a hearty salute before smiling and turning to leave for the battlefield. As he emerged back onto the surface, what greeted him was the complete anarchy that had overtaken the trenches. To his right, deep within the front part of the northern trench, alien warriors had impaled a still living and breathing man on a spear. To his left, not too far away, were only corpses of both humans and xenos alike spread throughout the area. What surprised him most, however, was the lack of coordination among both defenders and attackers. Traps were being activated left and right, injuring both his soldiers and the enemy.
It was complete and utter chaos, with neither side managing to maintain control of the situation. Then he heard feminine giggles coming from all around him.
"What?"
He muttered as the weird and out-of-place sound reached his ears, causing every hair on his body to stand on end as if a daemon itself were standing just behind him.
"Well, well, look what we have here... a lost Mon-keigh."
Quickly, he turned and fired in the direction of the voice, his las fire cutting through the air and causing whoever was there to vanish in thin air.
"The fear coming from you is intoxicating... I want to taste it myself."
The sultry voice spoke again from somewhere behind him, mocking him. Anger quickly gave way to dread in his stomach.
"Show yourself, Xenos! Face me like a true warrior."
And just like that, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around in time to face the owner of the ethereal voice. However, this being was faster than him, snatching his gun mid-raise and keeping it pointed at the ground. He was confronted with a face he did not expect. Different from the previous warrior, this one was beautiful, with red hair tied into two pigtails and rich golden eyes. Her face was sharp yet feminine, and she sported two pointy ears adorned with various jewelry. Her armor consisted of little more than cloth covering her privates and spiky shoulder blades, her entire body covered in tattoos that moved in different patterns as if alive.
"Too slow, Mon-keigh."
She kicked him, making his gun fly from his hands as he fell back onto the muddy ground. She swiftly threw the gun further away and drew her dagger from her back.
"Now no guns, just blades like "true warriors"."
He retrieved his knife from his belt, knowing that any wrong move could mean his end if he tried to draw his laspistol from its holster while she remained entirely focused on him.
Gripping his knife until his knuckles turned white, Marcus prepared himself as the female warrior circled him like a predator sizing up its prey.
Focus was his main weapon against an opponent like her, so he attempted to anticipate her movements to buy himself time.
She struck with rapid thrusts, aiming to pierce his abdomen, but he managed to evade most of the blows until she nicked his hand, causing him to drop the knife. Examining the wound, he confirmed it was bleeding but shallow.
"Pick up your knife again, Mon-keigh. Come on, I don't have all day."
As she kicked the knife toward him, her voice carried a mocking tone.
"Pick. It. Up!"
A Cheshire grin adorned her face. Marcus knew she believed victory was assured, but her overconfidence would prove her downfall, perhaps his as well, but definitely hers.
Struggling to his feet, he retrieved the knife, assuming a defensive stance once more. Once again, she approached with the same strategy, aiming for his abdomen. This time, instead of dodging, he allowed her to stab him.
The blade broke his skin, slicing through muscle. He screamed in agony, struggling to maintain his composure against the searing pain.
The female warrior stared closely at his face, cackling and reveling in his suffering.
"Such delightful pain! The sweet fragrance of suffering, blood, and guts fills me. This is incredible! Now, let's end this, little Mon-keigh."
At her final words, Marcus gazed at her, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile, confusing the Xenos.
"I agree. Now let's end this, Xeno bastard."
Before she could understand the true meaning of his words, he plunged his knife into her neck. Her eyes widened in shock, blood gurgling from her lips.
"This time, I didn't drop my blade, bitch."
With a squelch, she collapsed, her back hitting the mud of the trench. Her breaths grew rapid and shallow as she drowned in her blood, a fitting death for such a vile creature.
"If it were anyone else, I would grant them the mercy blow to end their suffering. But you and your kind deserve no such mercy."
She continued staring at him, a lone black tear escaping her eye as she struggled to breathe. She attempted to utter something, but her last breath cut her short. Her eyes, once bright, now lay dull staring at the mudded ground, there she lay defeated.
Marcus struggled to move away from the scene, his wounds and the blade still embedded in his skin severely limiting his mobility. The adrenaline that had sustained him was fading, replaced by fatigue. He sat on the muddy ground, his back against the trench walls, struggling to catch his breath.
Almost losing consciousness, he prayed to the Emperor, asking for protection for his battle brothers and the civilians. However, his prayer was interrupted by a sound that pierced the chaos of battle around him: laughter.
Not the demonic, maniacal laughter of the Xenos, but human laughter. Supporting himself against the wall, the Officer looked around and saw enemy warriors fleeing the trenches, their morale shattered and cohesion lost as they ran for their lives.
Marcus couldn't help but smile at their victory. The north and south wings had managed to fend off the attackers. But if he were honest, it was a Pyrrhic victory. Surveying the battlefield, he noticed the numerous mangled and dismembered corpses of his fellow guardsmen, a testament to the enemy's limitless cruelty.
Of all the battles they had fought, this had been the worst. Few of them remained standing. They had won, yes, but at a great cost. Before Marcus could join in the celebrations, he felt his feet leave the ground as he was seized once more.
Struggling against whatever held him, he realized it was more of those Xenos riding strange flying vehicles.
"Let me go!"
He fought against the female warrior holding him. Before the Imperial could struggle further, a punch to his gut doubled him over in pain, exacerbated by the blade still embedded in his side. Looking around, he noticed more of these warriors taking the survivors captive. Screams of joy quickly turned to terror as they attempted to flee from their captors.
Glancing at his captor's face, he saw her anger, her fury, the same was true for those flying beside them. They were silent, and not a single giggle could be heard. In close inspection of their demeanor, Marcus saw something priceless.
These fools had been bested by the Guard. The visible anger on their faces and their retreat revealed their failure to achieve their objectives. In the end, his unit had won, and these bastards had lost. Marcus could die in peace, knowing he had outmatched these sadistic demons. However, before he could revel in this realization, the Captain was spun around, a fist connecting with his face which sent him into the black void of unconsciousness.
Thx, dear reader for finishing this chapter! It means the first chapter managed to gather your energy and attention enough to give this a chance, so this alone is already a huge thing.
I plan to release the chapters in a schedule like one chapter within the window of two weeks. Some months be more than one chapter inside this timeframe, but others less since it depends on my RLF schedule.
Also for anyone wandering I used Gaelic for the Eldar language, so if you guys wish to understand what they are talking about here is the way XD.