Battle of Kervax IV - Warhammer 40K Fantasy

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  1. #1
    Returning Lawman! Riptor's Avatar
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    Jan 2006
    Stoke-On-Trent, England.
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    Battle of Kervax IV

    Hey guys, this is a story I attempted to write about a year and a half ago, and never ended up finishing. I recently found it on my computer and figured you guys might like to have a look. It was originally going to set up the reason for my friends commander to be constantly chasing and attacking the armies of my main commander in the model game of 40K (Mine being Sleath). But unfortunately I never got around to getting to the part where the Space Marines came out to defend against the Chaos.
    The following story shows why I would never make it as a writer.

    Steel clashed and bullets rang the air of the wastelands of Kervax IV. This once prosperous planet had been almost entirely reduced to rubble due to the assault of the ‘Warp Puppeteers’, a legion of Chaos Space Marines . The attack had been swift, turning almost overnight from simple cultist attacks on civilians, to an entire company of mighty chaos marines emerging from the warp. Their defiled vehicles being drop podded from the mighty battle barges of the legion, ‘The Prophet’s Vision’.

    The imperial fighting forces of the 1st, 4th and 18th Cursed detachments, along with the mighty space marines of the ‘Warriors of Terra’ stood in the way of the Puppeteers and their prize, buried deep under this planet.

    None of these events seemed to go through the head of second company master Sleath, however, as he surveyed the battlefield. He only sought new opponents to test himself against, the champions of this chapter would fall by his hand, and the grunts that were here were purely a minor distraction.
    He looked down to the left of him, his eyes gazing on the blade under his tentacle-like arm, gifted to him by his patron God, the God of disease, Nurgle. It was about the size of an average human being, however the huge daemonic prince towered over the puny blade. Its edge razor sharp, odd for a sword kept by a champion of nurgle, most were blunt due to neglect. The true beauty, if such a word could be used to describe the vile gift from the lord of pestilence, of this blade was the venom that seeped from tiny cracks in the metal. This dark poison could stop a man dead in his tracks if it were to get near any vital organs, this had been proven against many foolish champions from countless races across the galaxy.

    Sleath caught glimpse of an imperial guard heavy weapons team setting up not 200 feet to his left, aiming a tripod mounted missile launcher towards one of the demonic engine machines, a defiler, which was engaged in a close combat battle with an imperial dreadnought. Sleath calmly began to walk towards them, despite his size, he was still faster than most humans.

    The poor guardsmen never stood a chance as the daemon moved towards them, the two men let loose with their lasguns, in a futile attempt to slow the coming doom, but the laser bullets deflected harmlessly off the daemonic armour Sleath donned. He laughed as his sword bit through the shoulder guard of the first guardsman, silencing his scream within seconds of causing it, Sleath then turned his attention on the second of the pair, who was cowering by the sand bags they had just set up, reaching out his right hand to the guardsman’s head Sleath grabbed him. Sleath tore the guardsman’s head away from his body with ease, and threw the body to the ground. He held the head towards the air, mockingly, before crushing it and dropping it to the ground… He had drawn enemy blood now, the battle had truly begun.

    Across the battlefield Commissar Iskar Quell barked orders for the guardsmen to hold the line, his laspistol in hand, ready to field execute any who would attempt to run. The oncoming mutants and zombie hordes must be held away from the space marines field base only a few clicks back, meaning that the imperial guardsmen must hold this position at all costs, at least until the marines were ready. The commissar was here to make sure they did just that, although he knew they would not hold these hordes back for long, he had to buy the space marines all the time they could. “FIRE!” He ordered, “TO LET THE ENEMY TAKE THIS BASE WOULD BE BLASPHEMY TO THE IMMORTAL EMPEROR!”

    The guard fired, mowing down zombies with their superior weaponry, spent heavy bolter shell casings littered the floor, and mutant bodies lay where they fell. The guardsmen’s morale was, however, dwindling, whenever they killed one mutant it seemed another ten took its place, and they could not go on like this for much longer. One stood up and tried to flee back towards the base, the commissar shot him before he could get more than ten paces.

    The mutants number continued to rise, and the numbers of the guardsmen were all but depleted… It would take a miracle to save them now, many of the remaining guardsmen flung themselves to their knees, crying out that ‘the Emperor protects’
    “The Emperor protects” The commissar repeated, under his breath “The Emperor will protect us”.
    He didn’t.

    Mutant hordes tore through the guardsmen’s wall, taking no prisoners and showing no mercy. The ‘leaders’ of these hordes, foul looking zombie-like creatures, dragging along a huge arm that could tear a man in two with ease, directed the mutants to where to attack, they seemed to be the only ones of them capable of something close to speech. One approached the commissar, and reached forward its large arm to lift him up, the commissar reached for his laspistol, and shot the mutant squarely in the eye.

    The creature didn’t even flinch as half its head was blown away by the laser bullet, it continued to stare at the commissar with its one eye, and then looked to the skies. It heard something that seemed to distract it, it called to its brethren in a horrible growling voice, and they all looked with it.
    The commissar was dazed for a moment, but quickly regained focus and pulled his power sword from its sheath, slicing the boss in half with ease.
    Then he saw what they were all looking at, Space Marines! Silhouettes of assault pack wearing space marines jetted into sight, and the commissar felt relief wash over him, maybe they would make it out of here alive yet. The mutants still stood there, dumbstruck, so the commissar called to him the remaining guardsmen and readied to charge once again to back up the newly arriving marines.

    But something was wrong, these space marines were not of the Warriors of Terra! The commissar felt horror flood his every thought as he realised they were wearing the insignia of the Warp Puppeteers. The aspiring champion of the marines turned to the guardsmen, and gave a call for both mutant and traitor marine to attack. The last thing the commissar saw was the rotting hulk of a mutant move towards him, ready to feast on his still-warm flesh.

    Sleath could wait no longer, sending these small groups of mutants and assault marines forward to weaken the enemy fortifications was a waste of time, they had over one hundred of their greatest warriors, the chaos marines, here ready for a fight! Each of the marines was willing to sacrifice their life to further the ascent of the legion into daemonic blessing. But no, those aboard the Prophets Vision seemed to see it fitting to waste thousands of workers first, just to wear the enemy down a little. Well Sleath did not care for their ‘greater plan’, he wished only to gain the blessings of his god Nurgle, and the respect of his lord and master, the chapter commander.
    The foolish naval officers on the battle barge could shove their ideas, what did THEY know of true fighting? They hid in an armoured behemoth of a ship while the marines, traitor guardsmen and mutants died down here for their leaders to whom they had pledged eternal loyalty.

    ‘No longer shall I be stuck back here, killing puny guardsmen as they try and infiltrate our lines’ Sleath thought ‘I shall lead the charge of marines!’
    He turned to his personal sorcerer, Kharinious, telling him inform each veteran on their duties.

    “Combat Squads!” Kharinious called “Gather the marines under your command and charge towards the enemy lines, utilising any cover needed to make it to the guardsmen’s makeshift wall, the ‘poor’ guardsmen will not know what hit them!” The sorcerer spoke in an eerily calming voice, a disturbing sound for any who had not embraced chaos “Havoc teams, take your heavy weapons and destroy those turrets, try and stay out of sight until you strike, we do not want our heavy firepower to be destroyed by some little guardsmen now, do we?”
    “I want the tanks to stay back until those heavy weapon emplacements” He highlighted some areas on each marines NAV inside their helmets “are destroyed, those imperial lascannons can cut through even our mighty chaotic armour. The only exceptions to this are our transports, they will be moving forward and deploying the marines.”
    “Many of you may be lost in this battle, however the prize will be great, and the gods will bless your eternal soul for the bloodshed you shall cause.” The sorcerer stopped for a moment. “Now get going, you have two terran standard hours to get in position and be prepared. Anyone who is not ready will be fed to the chaos hounds.”

    “Master,” a marine began, as the others scattered towards their squads “I am led to believe that the orders from the battle barge said…”
    “DO NOT TAKE ME FOR A FOOL, MARINE!” The sorcerer screamed at him “The commander and I are well aware of the orders, and choose to ignore them”
    “With all due respect sir, this charge will be…”
    It was never found out what it would be, as the sorcerer struck him down with a bolt of dark energy there and then “Foolish mortals” He shook his head “Questioning orders is not for lowly space marines.”

    Veteran Karskin Kain held his nose as he entered the smoke filled tent belonging to commander ‘Scar’ of the 18th cursed detachment. The nickname had been used among the rank and file guardsmen due to the series of large gashes running vertically down the entire left half of his face, rumours floated around that it was the symbol of a chaotic cult, of course no-one would DARE even suggest it to anyone but other troopers, as it was an executable offence to falsely question your commanders loyalty, and none of the guardsmen would want one of those ‘inquisitors’ skulking around, trying to prove the rumour.

    “Sir?” he coughed, the smoke in here was worse than that exhaust of a leman russ battle tank! “The mutant attacks have stopped, however the chaos marines are forming up on the horizon, they could charge at any time”

    A large, barely human sized figure rose from the main chair, facing the many optical screens full of data that covered one ‘wall’ of the tent.
    “Excellent” ‘Scar’ replied “We will show these chaos bastards what a TRUE, loyal imperial guard army can do, gather the troops and meet at the podium in the centre of the camp in fifteen minutes, in the mean time I shall speak to the head psyker and see what they can tell us of the enemy army.”
    “Yes Sir!” Kain saluted, and hurried out of the tent.
    “Excellent, not much time now” ‘Scar’ said to himself “Soon these foolish guardsmen shall see the TRUE path, not that of the false emperor”
    He didn’t need to speak to the head psyker to find out what the chaos army contained, he already knew EXACTLY what they faced, and soon these troopers would too.

    “I grow impatient, sorcerer” Sleath muttered “I no longer wish to stand back here and watch this battle, I should be out THERE, slaying the so called ‘Champions’ of these pitiful fools.”
    “Soon, my lord” The sorcerer replied “All the preparations are complete, only your word is needed now to begin the assault”
    “Excellent” Sleath smirked, raising a hand to him. A green glow formed in his palm, and then enveloped the psyker “Then you are no longer needed, Sorcerer.”
    Kharinious realised too late what was happening to him, and that Sleath had not planned to share the glory of commanding this battle with anyone, he could only curse and swear to the chaos gods as Sleath’s spell transformed him into a mewling chaos spawn, a puppet for Sleath to dispose of as he saw fit.
    “BROTHER MARINES” Sleath called to his company “PREPARE TO ASSAULT!!”

    Last edited by Riptor; April 16th, 2008 at 13:13.
    Rork: In the dark future of the 41st millennium there is only friendship.
    Fenrir: and magic.
    Kaiser-: My Little Chaos Marine, Friendship is Heresy?

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