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Fighter pilot story

1K views 14 replies 10 participants last post by  Marlinspike 
#1 · (Edited)
This is the first story I've written in a while - I hope you enjoy it, as I've had much kudos from my other work. It's still WIP, but expect a superhuman fighter pilot enthralled by a daemon weapon, a duel between a carnifex and said fighter pilot and Orks versus small teams of guardsmen.
It's mainly centred around the fighter pilot who discovers the powers of a daemon weapon and turns against his friends, cutting a swathe through his former allies for abandoning him and killing lots ofOrks and Tyranids too. There will also be flashes to the action around the hive city and other guard units being slaughtered in the planetwide forest.
Well, here's the beginning - more will be added soon.

“All fighters, scramble, scramble!� Came the voice from the room’s main vox-speaker. A klaxon wailed in the small hangar as a gaggle of pilots tore their way to their aging Lightning and Thunderbolt fighters. A screeching cut through the freezing air of the huge room as the rusty cogs ground the hangar doors open, and even before they had come to stop engines were whining into existence within. Like a huge mouth spitting metal flying machines, the Imperial fighters span and twirled from the cavernous maw, slicing through the cold morning air as they reached optimal engagement height.
“Engage weapon systems.� Flight commander Jex ordered his squad over his vox-bead, following suit by flicking a number of switches on the dashboard of his Lightning fighter. “Target enemy aircraft. Break by pairs and fire at will.� At that, eighteen of the twenty fighters under his command banked into couplets, and his wingman joined him at his side. Below him, dense jungle rushed past, every now and then breaking up to reveal a gun emplacement or command post , while off in the distance, and displayed on his sensor board as glowing green circles, he could see the swarm of ork fighta-bommaz chugging towards the air base. It was incredible how fast they could move – they seemed to be bolted together in such an unaerodynamic and haphazard manner that it was a miracle they got off of the ground. But in some ways they were superior to Imperial fighters – the layers of salvaged armour plate that made up their hulls offered surprisingly good protection from enemy gunfire, most of the time by sheer accident, and the way they were built, from different metal plates that could flake off one by one rather than an entire shell that could be blasted through meant that a hole in the wing or missing tailfin did little to decrease the fighta-bomma’s effectiveness – rather it decreased their target silhouette and made them even harder to hit. Their durability in a battlefield role was sickening as well – they were able to carry high-yield explosives and light anti-aircraft weaponry, aided by an engine that was supremely powerful, but very heavy. The worst thing was the sheer tenacity of Ork pilots – indeed, Jex had seen Orks loose off their entire payload in a random spray if they were cut off from their main objective, or fight on with one wing remaining, or even none. Whether they were too proud or too stupid to disengage when the battle was lost, he didn’t know; and he didn’t care really. His job as a fighter pilot was to kill the enemy in the air and the enemy on the ground, and in this situation, the best Ork was a dead Ork.
A faint ping echoed from the dashboard, and he activated his vox bead again, this time on a different frequency.
“Hydra one-thirteen, this is Raptor one, copy?�Hydra one-thirteen was the officer in charge of the anti aircraft batteries. The hydras were permanently set in an enormous ring around the air base, around twenty metres between them, each sitting in it’s own clearing that the guardsmen had painstakingly burned away. The relentless jungle still fought back though – Jex tended to wake up early, and he could often smell the promethium, and sometimes see the process of the guardsmen burning back the vines that had crept in close overnight.
Strangely, in the past few weeks the foliage was getting more relentless, and changing. The vines were a lot thicker, grew faster and whipped so hard when a guardsman stood on them that they could break a leg. Up until a few weeks ago, they had barely curled up.
One-thirteen was a stern man, short, shaved bald and with a face of a true veteran, he had trained his men up to a high standard. Jex still didn’t know his name.
“Receiving you Raptor one, go ahead,� One-thirteen’s voice crackled back. In the background, Jex could hear a clunking – probably the Hydra flak platforms loading their ammunition in their characteristic rusty way. They were old, and wearing out. Just like the defence force fighters. Just like the tanks. Just like everything on the verdant world of Tyreth. The only thing that remained was the rapidly mutating plantlife, but as for machinery and weapons of war, the backwater planets got served last, the small brother of the forge and hive worlds.
“We’re gonna go head-on with these greenskins. Once they pass through us they should be in range of anti-aircraft fire, but don’t start firing until we’re all clear – my pilots aren’t that good.� The reply was a grunt of acknowledgement, and then the line went dead.
Anticipation rose in Jex’s stomach like bile as the rangefinder on his dashboard counted down to his maximum effective weapons range. The fighta-bommaz rumbled closer, thick black smoke issuing from their exhausts and ungainly wings wobbling as they crawled to their target. Suddenly, a double set of flashes glinted from each of the aircraft and more trails of filthy smoke joined the exhaust fumes. A blast of realisation hit him like a flak round, and he opened the squad channel.
“Raptors, rockets! Evasive man-� He was cut off suddenly as something did hit his craft like a flak round. He could hear a faint whistling behind him, just over the metallic juddering of a Hydra launching it’s payload into the air. Suddenly, his attention was more on the flak platforms behind than on the approaching rockets. He wheeled around just to catch a burst of cannon fire cut into his wingmate and turn the fighter into a ball of flame. Tracking the shells back to their origin, he tried to hide the panic in his voice as he switched the vox link over to another frequency.
“Hydra seven-thirteen, stand down!� he shouted. It was quite clear his order had been ignored as the guns began to turn around and target him. But he was too quick. A burst from his wing-mounted lascannon sent the platform up in flames, setting alight the trees and scattering green silhouettes over the Hydra’s clearing. Fething greenskins, Jex thought. They had got into the PDF lines before the fighters had even launched. That meant they were further forward than Jex had thought. Even as Jex turned on vertical wing, back to the fighta-bommaz, he could see defence force guardsmen rushing to the flaming wreck of the Hydra, obviously to ascertain what was going on.
The flight commander had barely turned his craft around when a rocket flashed past his viewport, before spinning into the ground and exploding. Jex cursed to himself. A recruit’s mistake, he thought. Two seconds earlier and that rocket would’ve hit me.
The fighta-bommaz seemed awfully close now. Well within weapon range. As if responding to his thoughts, the green crosshair stencilled onto his canopy turned red, and he squeezed both triggers on his hand grips.
His feet vibrated as the long-barrelled autocannon beneath his feet spat metal death at his enemies, but the wings of the craft stayed firm whenever the lascannon fired their stream of coherent light. A fighta-bomma closing with him caught the brunt of the autocannon barrage; it’s ****pit windows shattered, sending a rain of crystal shards sprinkling through the air behind it. Flame engulfed it’s nose, and the pilot appeared to be making a suicide run towards one of the hydras before two lascannon shots hit it in the rear and it’s fuel tanks exploded, knocking it out of the sky and vaporising most of the tail. He rolled away, searching for another target. It came to him soon – a fighta-bomma, it’s rear quadrant peppered with bullet holes and it’s left wing shredded by flak. The flyer was low to the ground, spitting a mixture of large-calibre gunfire and bombs into the hydra next to seven thirteen. The platform enclosed in a writhing fireball, but still the Ork launched it’s payload into the defence – the pilot was clearly in the throes of bloodlust, and that gave Jex an opportunity.
He throttled back, matching speed with the ramshackle vehicle and gently rested his crosshairs over it’s silhouette. Squeezing the triggers tightly, he watched as his gunfire connected with the craft, further devastating it’s fuselage. Something burst in the back, spraying flaming fuel over the treetops. The flier, it’s back broken, went into a wild head-over-heels spin before it became tangled in the upper branches. It juddered to a halt, it’s engines finally dying before the rest of the craft caught fire.
“On your tail, one!� Jex dragged up on his control yoke instinctively, as the voice of Bren Calik, raptor seven crackled through the vox. He saw the fighta-bommaz lumber past, followed by the sleek craft of raptor seven. His weapons ate into the enemy craft, and as it struggled to manoeuvre and engage him, it’s overstressed wings tore off and it dropped like a stone to the floor of a clearing, falling to bits when it hit the ground. The pilot ripped his way out of the wreckage, shaking his brawny fist at the fighter, before Jex dived downwards and vaporised the Ork with a precision lascannon shot.
Calik was probably a better pilot than Jex – how Jex had made squad leader before Calik, he didn’t know, but Calik didn’t really crave responsibility and fame as a squad leader – he was simply a fighter pilot, and he was dedicated to the job only, he didn’t care if he advanced or not.
Jex watched as Calik cut a swathe through the enemy fighta-bommaz, darting and weaving between flight groups and destroying enemy fliers in droves. He was like some angry flying insect, deftly flying and delivering a lethal sting to his prey.
He was so involved in the fight that he didn’t even notice the enemy fliers that were clustering behind him. Jex activated the vox-link, but it was too late – the fighta-bommaz were blasting away at Calik’s fighter even as Jex swooped in. His first few bolts of lascannon fire caused two of the Orks to corkscrew away in surprise, one colliding with a tall tree, and the other vectoring off to attack a hydra. A final one remained, hanging on with a tenacity that outweighed the armour of his craft – even as Jex poured autocannon fire into the centre of the enemy crafts fuselage, it’s guns flashed, blowing apart the rear of Calik’s Lightning. The fighta-bomma shattered along it’s side, but still the guns fired. There was a flash from the rear of Calik’s craft, and he went down hard, trailing smoke and chunks of metal.
“No!� Shouted Jex, wheeling around towards the direction that the Orks were coming from, anger pulsing through his body. The sky was now swarming with fighta-bommaz, trails of black smoke from rokkits and blast clouds indicating destroyed fighters. But still, he was going to take them all with him. He was going to keep them away from Calik’s crash site, and he was going to kill them all. A ring of redness was beginning to appear around his vision, and he depressed the throttle slightly as the rage ebbed – he’d been so eager to combat the Orks that he’d forgotten the effects of acceleration, but still his goal was foremost in his minds. Destroy the Orks.
“Raptors, fall back. Fall back to the secondary base, this hangar is lost,�
The order to withdraw crackled through Jex’s vox-link, and he could see the surviving Raptors whirl around to the secondary base. But Jex would not turn. He couldn’t leave Calik to the Orks, he thought as he blasted another Ork out of the sky. One of the enemy fighters struggled to turn around and engage Jex, but Jex piled lascannon shots into it’s c0ckpit until the nose was reduced to slag. He put another fighter under his crosshairs, and squeezed the autocannon trigger. It rattled off hundreds of rounds into the fighta-bomma, but suddenly there was an explosion in the rear of the craft and the dashboard went dark. His weapons refused to fire, and he heard his engines go silent behind him. More and more explosions sounded as the fighta-bomma he hadn’t noticed blew the rear of his craft into fragments. He kicked the dashboard hard, and it flickered back into life. Frantically flicking switches, the keening pitch of a heavy damage alarm was all the reward he received before the lights died again.
In total despair, Jex prayed to the Emperor. The ground rushed up to meet him, but still no salvation came. He wrestled hard with the controls as gravity drove him towards the ground.
Twenty years of service, he thought. Twenty years of death, scars, and watching planets burn beneath his craft and then being blamed for it. And still the Emperor forsakes him.
A fighta-bomma flew past as Jex glided roughly through the air, and Jex noticed a piece of hull plate on one side. Etched into its glossy surface was an eight-pointed star, the symbol of Chaos. And for the first time in his life, Jex prayed to the ruinous powers, as the ground filled his windows.

(There you go phobos - sorry, i copied it into the forum from word and they were blocked, but for some reason it left a gap between them)
 
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#3 ·
Yeah for sure, keep it coming. I want more.

-Invic
 
#8 · (Edited)
The second installment - enter my favourite Tyranid bio-construct!

Garis’ lasgun shook in his hands as he trekked through the thick jungle. He wasn’t normally like this – while nerves did affect him from time to time, it was usually only in the heat of battle that this happened, but something about the jungle today…
The rest of the squad around him, seven more guardsmen, didn’t seem to notice it. The small squad was dedicated to their assignment – scout ahead and note the position of the Ork horde. But still, Garis had a feeling that they’d never make it to the Orks.
Hallis with his flamer was up in front, following sergeant Drac. The sergeant was slashing away at the foliage in front of him with his power weapon, while Hallis burnt away at any of the mutant plantlife that Drac missed. It fascinated Garis how quickly the foliage was growing and mutating – no sooner had the sergeant cut a vine, it would heal over and swell as it began to grow again. Something was seriously wrong with the jungle, and this was simply making Garis’ hands shake more.
Someone slapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. He turned, and saw Cariq, tall and whip-like, with a smile on his face. He pointed to Garis’ quivering hands.
“Calm down,� he chuckled. “Save the adrenaline for the Orks.� Cariq sped up and walked ahead, and Garis glared at his back. He wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up at the moment.
“Stop!� ordered Drac, and Garis jumped as the harsh voice shook him from his reverie. “Garis, get up here!�
Garis jogged forward, seeing Drac staring at something on the ground and Hallis struggling to scrape something off of his boot. He was native to another jungle world, and as such, Garis was the expert on all things biological in the squad, so it was clear that whatever Drac wanted advice on was something to do with nature.
The sergeant cleared his throat and pointed to something on the floor. It was a sticky puddle – in Garis’ opinion, some kind of mucus, but shimmering and shifting to change colour on the floor, like fine silk.
Suddenly, Hallis gasped, and all eyes snapped around to look at him. He had his boot off, and was staring wide-eyed at the sole. Shockingly, the high-grip rubber was now a dripping black mass, eye-wateringly acrid smoke pouring from its turgid surface. Sergeant Drac recoiled from the puddle, turning to Garis.
“What in the Emperor’s name is this slime?� He exclaimed with disgust. The same question ran through Garis’ own mind. But something scratched at the back of his mind, an idea that worried him so much it made him sick. He’d seen this somewhere before-in the Adeptus Biologis database that he had been given access to since becoming part of the squad. But it couldn’t be that…
“No one…move…� Garis whispered. Everyone froze. Well, almost everyone. The sergeant looked angrily at Garis and raised his power sword threateningly, stomping through the undergrowth at him.
“I’m the only one who’ll be giving orders around-� Just as he reached to grab Garis’ by the collar, the slaughter began.
Something dropped from the canopy above, mottled skin blending almost perfectly into the background. Drac’s chest burst suddenly as a massive talon drove into him from behind, running him through like a hot knife through butter. Garis, diving backwards, caught the faint form of the creature ghosting forward, and suddenly another guardsman was lifted into the air. A casual observer would have seen an eerie floating guardsman, but that image was shattered as the creature finally revealed itself. Muscular upper arms ended in scythes, two lower “hands� with spikes for fingers held the guardsman, and a mouth full of writhing tentacles made a horrific visage. Just as Garis had suspected. A lictor.
“Fire!� someone roared in the confusion. Garis struggled to bring his lasgun to bear, and his bursts of lasfire joined the rest of the squad’s. The creature undulated like a serpent, shrugging off the bolts as though they were nothing, before deftly shredding the guardsman that it clutched. Dropping the remains of the human, it zig-zagged to the main throng of guardsmen, slicing one man’s head off before headbutting Cariq to the floor. It turned to face Garis, stamping on the floored guardsman's chest with a sickening crunch, and pushed off of the bole of a tree. Garis threw himself aside, but the creature was too fast. A trailing facial tentacle cut him under the eye, before it pinned him to the floor with its pointed claws. Two more guardsmen ran up either side of the creature, firing their weapons at point blank into its hide, but it simply flicked out its two scythe-arms, and the guardsmen fell eviscerated, dead.
Garis struggled hard as the lictor’s head lowered closer and closer to his face, tentacles bunching and unbunching. But suddenly, the creature let Garis go and reared back. A pointed claw slashed his arm before he dragged himself to his feet, and saw why the creature had left it’s prey – Hallis, still with one bare foot, was on it’s back, battering the creature’s cranium with the pommel of his machete, flamer in the other hand.
“Run!� Hallis shouted, flipping his machete around and opening a hole in the lictor’s side with the monomolecular blade. Hallis rammed his flamer nozzle in line with the wound, and held down the trigger, burning the creature’s insides horrifically. The Lictor screeched and struggled to shrug Hallis off, finally managing to grab its tormentor off of it’s back, and Garis watched as the creature thrust its tentacles into the guardsman’s scalp. He flailed, a garbled shout coming from his sagging face as he managed to turn to Garis, waving his arms frantically in a shooing motion.
As the creature feasted on the brain of the burbling guardsmen, Garis turned, crashing through the undergrowth, ignoring the stings as sharp plants sliced his skin or the bites of angry insects as the disturbed their nests. And as he ran, one thing was at the forefront of his mind – each step would take him further from the lictor. The thought that more of the things could be hiding in the treetops simply spurred him on, but at least he couldn’t feel the shaking of his hands anymore.
His whole body was quivering in terror now.
 
#10 · (Edited)
Next paragraph -

Jex awoke as the first few drops of rain began to fall on his head. They ran over him, soothing his burnt flesh, running into his mouth and offering sweet release to his parched throat. He opened his eyes, the lids scraping back like sandpaper, the sign that he’d been out for some time.
But all he was greeted with was darkness. Panic flared in his body, and his breathing began to quicken, hurting his smoke-stripped lungs.
He was blind! He must have caught some of the shards of his c0ckpit, or taken a serious blow to the head! He dragged himself to a sitting position, his shaking hands reaching to his eyes, as his breath caught in his chest. Something appeared in front of him.
The faint silhouette of the jungle.
He wasn’t blind. It was night. He slapped his forehead, scolding himself for his idiocy as a starburst of pain emanated from his burns.
Dragging himself to his feet, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The faint reflected light from the twin moons brightened the clearing he had crashed in, glinting like stars from broken glass all over the leaf-covered floor. He turned, seeing the smouldering skeleton of his Lightning behind him, as the crash rushed back to him in a storm of swirling flashbacks. His c0ckpit filling with flame as his skin burnt. The rear of his craft snapping off and the fire suddenly dousing itself as he hit the tree canopy, skidding to a halt in a clearing.
And the worst memory. The memory of when he forsook all he believed in, forsook the Imperium of Man, for the ruinous powers of Chaos.
What sickened him the most, was that he didn’t even regret it.
The Emperor had ignored his pleas. His unit had abandoned him when he was fighting for the life of another pilot. But Chaos had saved him. He had pleaded to the Dark Gods and they had rescued him for an otherwise fatal crash.
But he didn’t have time to think about that now. He would go back to the base, and continue his work, pretending he served the Imperium. Pretending that he had never worshipped Chaos in his life. It did not matter; it was likely he would be killed in battle against the Orks anyway, and then his heresy could be forgotten.
He walked over to the wreck of his fighter, clambering over the warm metal of the lip of his c0ckpit, and tearing up the melted remains of his seat. It came away in his hands with no resistance, the leather warped by the intense flame that had obviously engulfed the it after Jex was thrown from his craft. Underneath, a steel box, blackened by otherwise intact from the heat, “emergency� stencilled into it’s lid. He lifted the box out, yanking on the top.
Ok. The box was not totally intact. The lid was almost totally melted on.
He dropped the box on the floor, looking around for some kind of tool to help him open the container…and his eyes fell on it.
It was the same piece of hull plate that was on the fighta-bomma, flat and broad at one end, with the eight-pointed star he’d seen stencilled into it, and tapering to a sharp point like a sword at the other. At the broad end was a thin cylinder of a metal support strut, creating a kind of “handle�.
It was perfect – shaped like a sword and obviously incredibly sharp. It was as if someone wanted him to use it.
Well if it did the job, he would use it. He strode over, picking the blade up. It felt light and perfectly balanced in his hand, its lacquered surface glinting in the moonlight, the symbol of Chaos catching the light, illuminating the carving.
Bracing the box with his foot, he drew the blade back behind his head, and swung hard, readying himself for the clash of metal against metal.
He nearly tripped over as the blade sliced the top straight off of the box, with no resistance at all…and straight towards his foot.
The blade cut deep, shearing through bone and muscle like nothing was there. He dragged it back frantically, his vision swimming as blood poured from the slice.
Jex almost passed out when an arc of lightning shot from the blade, and the wound crackled loudly. A tingle shot up his leg, but as he looked down…
The wound was sealing itself. The lightning was dragging the two edges painfully together, but it was sealing.
He held up the blade in front of his face, his face distorted in its shiny surface. Jex noticed something that he hadn’t seen before. Below the surface of the blade, something was swimming, indistinct, grey, like smoke. Also, the blood on the blade had totally disappeared – no stains, no marks, nothing.
Emotions stormed within his body. Disbelief, at having found something so useful in this situation. Wariness, at how convenient that was. Strength of will, at the thought of what he could do with this weapon.
Placing the item that was now his only companion on the grass next to him, he reached into the bag, pulling out it’s contents – a small rucksack, containing distress flares, enough dehydrated food to last him at least a week, a rolled-up survival blanket and and an extra clip for what he pulled out next.
His autopistol. It had cost him two month’s pay to buy it, but boy was it worth it now. It’s matte-black surface seemed to draw in all of the light, it’s boxy outer casing and clip downsized greatly for ease of transport. It’s barrel was thin and precision, adorned with an expensive laser sight that meant that even he, a pilot with little handgun training, could hit a target at a fair range.
He holstered the weapon, lifting his blade off of the ground, and began to walk through the growing torrent.
 
#11 · (Edited)
Next installment - the true nature of the blade.

It was on the third night that Jex heard the voices.
He had settled down to sleep in the jungle, curled up in the warm folds of his survival blanket, blade clutched in his fist. It gave him reassurance to hold the weapon in his hand at all times – none of the natural wildlife seemed to bother him while he had it around, and it seemed to let off a contented “warmth� when it was close to him, useful in the rainstorm that he had been caught in days before. It had demonstrated it’s formidable abilities several times, too – it had healed his cuts from trekking through the jungle, and it’s razor-sharp edge, unlike the flamers of the Imperial guard, seemed to stop the jungle vines growing back at all – rather, it turned the inside of the vine a sickly, dripping brown whenever he cut through one.
But it couldn’t protect him from madness. He had heard about this. People lost without company for days on end, without any hope, formulated subconscious personalities in their minds – in the end they would resign themselves to death, their only company the gibbering speech in their head.
"No, not madness, master…"
Jex jumped. Fear ran through his body as an aristocratic, but somehow serpentine voice coiled through his mind. It did not enter through his ear like normal speech…it just appeared in his mind.
"Not madness, master. You simply begin to accept me…"
“Get out of my head!!!� Jex roared at the jungle, bringing his blade up in a defensive posture.
"But you allowed me in, master…you used my edge. You took advantage of my healing power…"
Healing power…edge? But that could only mean…
Jex looked quizzically at the blade, the smoky movement below the surface writhing in more intricate patterns than before, hypnotic and beautiful.
“You?� He questioned, holding the blade away from his face.
No answer came. Of course it didn’t. He was talking to a weapon, a piece of hull plating that-
"You are sharp of mind, master. I knew it would not take long for someone of your intelligence to figure it out…"
The voice trailed off as Jex tried to make sense of the situation. A talking piece of metal. In fact a piece of metal that could infiltrate his mind. It was ludicrous.
"Master…I sense your disbelief…I will “level with you� as your kind says…"
“Level with me?� Jex questioned, sitting down once again as his initial panic began to fade. For some reason, he felt at ease with the voices, as if the blade exuded something that calmed him. There was a sharp noise in his head, like an intake of breath.
"I am an…entity…of what mortals call the warp. A daemon, if you will. Through your faith in Chaos at the time of your crash, I was able to break the bonds through which I was attached to…"The voice took on a tone of disgust. "That, craft, if you could call such a filth-encrusted beast a craft. I am trapped in this blade, and I merely wish to…serve you, master, in reward for my liberation."
Jex remained silent, but his head span. A daemon!? In this blade? While it was true from what he had heard that Chaos was powerful, this stretched the realms of possibility to breaking point.
“There must be a catch,� Jex spoke into the blade warily. He was sure that a creature powerful enough to heal instantly or kill instantly at a command would not be content with servitude to a mere mortal as the daemon had said.
"Ah, you are indeed powerful of mind, master. A mighty servant of darkness, I can see you becoming." The daemon paused, obviously waiting for a reaction from the term “servant of darkness�. Jex gave it none – already there was an inkling in the back of his mind that he could accomplish much with this creature at his side.
"I simply wish…that you listen to my advice, my teachings, master. There are no bounds to knowledge or power in my realm. I can share this with you, master. If you just give me the opportunity."
Jex was deep in thought. Yes, the preachers taught of the evils of Chaos and how it’s servants only ever walked the path of damnation. But surely listening to the creature would have no effect on him. The preachers were being disproved anyway – the hundreds of worlds Jex knew of that had fallen to the Dark Gods were testament to the power of Chaos.
And so, he made his decision.
“Come then, daemon,� Jex said. “Teach me.�
 
#13 ·
Commander Direc van Chirald half-crept into the darkened room in front of him. Lord Commander Telness’ war room seemed to exude some kind of aura, an atmosphere of secrecy and tension. Maybe it was the red light that bathed the room in a bloody red glow during crises, or the occasional muted bleeps from the huge, outdated cogitator banks that broke the silence. It was most likely the sheer size of the room – it was almost twenty metres by ten – made that big as to incorporate the cogitators, grainy holographic projecters and battle computers themselves. With a room that big, and the lighting as it was at this moment, garish shadows stretched themselves across the walls, that were themselves as worrying as the thousand evil creatures that could potentially hide in their inky, bottomless blackness.
One large shadow stood over the central table, watching as holographic runes representing battle tanks or tiny swarms of dots representing guardsmen trudged over the table’s green crosshatching, clashing with overwhelming numbers of green dots representing greenskins. Direc cleared his throat, and the image disappeared. The huge shadow turned and materialised in to the features of Lord Commander Telness.
“News from the front line, commander?� Telness rumbled. Direc nodded, and lifted up the roll of paper in front of him authoritatively.
“Ork forces have attacked Bunker Gamma, to the west of us. Guard-� Telness cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“If they attacked Gamma Bunker, what was that bombing run for on our bunker?� That was strange. The Orks had wasted several bombers to kill some pilots and destroy a hydra platform. They hadn’t even landed troops –
A shadow shifted in the rear of the room, and Direc’s hellpistol was out in a second. Telness jumped, but Direc pointed to the back of the room, and crept forward. He heard a snap and the scrape of metal on leather as the Lord commander pulled his laspistol out.
Direc pointed his gun to the shadow he’d seen shift.
And a small servitor, its spindly arms waving, rode forward on rubber tracks. Direc let out a sigh…
Which caught in his throat as the half-man half-machine fell into two pieces. There was a roar, and something huge barrelled from the darkness.
An Ork, brutal blade clutched in it’s burly paw, it’s face a mess of scars and tattoos, tore from the shadows, straight towards Direc. Reflexively, he squeezed the trigger, lighting up the room with the blast from his hellpistol. The Ork went down hard, a ragged hole bored through it’s left eye.
Direc span as another shoulderbarged it’s way into Telness, throwing him into a boxy cogitator. The databank buckled under his brawny form, sparks flying as something wailed in the distance. The damage had set off an alarm somewhere, and assistance would soon be here. Not that Telness would be much use now. He was unconscious.
The Ork that had thrown Telness skidded to a halt, turning to face Direc with it’s rusty axe raised. It wailed a guttural warcry, it’s eyes full of bloodlust as it bared it’s teeth and bounded towards him. The Ork was only a few feet away from him when he stepped aside and stuck out a foot. The alien tried to halt himself, but it’s momentum carried it’s into the commander’s trip and sent him flying. It hit the stone wall face-first with a sickening crunch, and slid to the floor.
Direc span as he heard Telness grunt. Another of the monstrous greenskins, snakelike tattoos curling down its arms, had kicked the middle-aged man across the floor. It now stood above him, a bellowing laugh ensuing from it’s split lips. The Ork lifted its blade, taunting the Lord Commander as he lay on the floor. Direc knew he only had a few seconds as he crossed the distance, drawing the ornate power sword that he barely ever used, thumbing the power on.
The ork pricked up its ears as the humming of the weapon reached him. It’s ears remained pricked up even as it’s head fell from it’s shoulders, landing with a wet thud on the floor. The body soon followed.
Something clunked behind Direc, and he looked over his shoulder. He regretted that action immediately as blood-tainted sputum hit him in the eye, spat from between the lips of the Ork he had tripped. His power sword went flying from his hand as the Ork backhanded him across the face, and he felt the skin part on his cheekbone as the meaty fist slammed into it.
He landed on his back, pulling himself up into a sitting position, wiping his own blood and the greenskin’s off of his face. His head was banging like an artillery bombardment, and the wound was pouring a steady flow of blood down his face. He shuffled backwards as the hulking beast bore down on him, and he touched a surface behind him – a cogitator, the one in the row after the broken one – he was cornered…there was nowhere to run.
The Ork grinned maliciously, it’s bloodied face becoming a horrific death-mask as it swung it’s hand back.
And suddenly stopped.
The greenskin’s eyeballs were vibrating in their sockets, and it seemed to be stuck in the same position, while pulsating rhythmically.
And then he saw it – the Ork had swung it’s hand back and touched a bare wire in the damaged cogitator bank – the high voltage that kept it running was now coursing through the creature’s body.
Direc raised his hellpistol in a shaky hand, pointing it towards the Ork’s smoking head.
His eyes swam, and he heard his heartbeat in his ears.
No, he thought. If this bastard has killed me, I’m gonna make it painful for him..
He lowered the weapon down, sighting down the barrel at the Ork’s legs, and loosed off a storm of fire.
The rounds cut into the alien’s legs, tearing gobbets of flesh from its shins. The bone snapped, and it roared in pain, still attached to the cogitator. Smoke began to rise from the wound too, as he fired up the Ork’s legs, into its groin, all along its waist. The ragged mass that was left of his lower body slapped to the floor, leaking blood as high voltage drained the final remnants of the twitching thing’s life.
Something slapped his wound lightly, and he knew he was dying when the blow caused little pain. He tried to raise his gun, but he couldn’t summon the strength. Suddenly he was being lifted, and something sharp dug into his neck – that would be the enemy stabbing him.
But then his eyes swam into focus, and he saw someone above him. Two medics, and the ceiling of the room.
The slap was synthflesh being applied. The sharp dig – an drug of some sort injected. He lay with his head on his side, looking into the room. The Lord Commander was standing, throwing punches and miming shooting to the surrounding medics as they listened to his story. Most likely saying that he did it all.
Something shuffled behind Telness, and a pair of red eyes glowed into existence behind him. Direc lazily raised his pistol and fired between them.
His aim was not a centimetre off. A spray of blood hit the Lord Commander on the back of the head, and he jumped forward as storm troopers moved to surround him.
Direc smiled, and closed his eyes as he was stretchered out of the room.
 
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#14 ·
Very nice, will be good to see how the two plotlines come together. One thing I did notice was that a lowly guardsman probably wouldn't know what 'chaos' is, or have heard of teh Horus Heresy or Chaos marines. Anyone who would have encountered such a force would have either been driven mad, or mind-wiped by an inquisitor. Other than that this is top stuff.
 
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