The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Sixteen
Continued from The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Fifteen.
9-145-001-M42
Word of Jaghatai’s success emboldened the Imperial defenders facing down the gaping maw of the Tyranids. No longer would Imperial convoys ferrying troops and ships be subject to the depredation of marauders. As the Emperor himself returned to the front, fighting against the xenos juggernaut, the Guard was heartened yet further. Stopping briefly to sign off a few new Writs of Trade to bolster the sagging numbers of Rogue Traders, the Emperor arrived back at the front, utilizing his awesome power to relieve the Imperial defenders whenever he could…and with a weapon they had never been able to use before.
The Tyranid Hive Mind is so alien to humans, and so impenetrable to the power of Chaos, that if it were not for the fact that some genestealer implants had taken place in latent psykers over the years, it would have been useless to employ the powers of the Warp against them except in brute force. Certain human psykers, however, had employed Warp mastery against the Hive Mind. Tigurius and a few Inquisitors had managed to ‘tap’ the sense of direction that binds the splinters together, and some even claimed to have been able to do much more.
Like the Emperor.
The Hive Mind directed the splinters of its armies forward, spreading its might over the galaxy. The loss of one of its tendrils at the hands of that accursed Kryptmann had hurt, but now its inertia was carrying it onto a course with the Orks of Octarius, and the Craftworlds in its path. As it guided itself forward, ever seeking more biomass, it noted a world growing dark, as more and more synaptic creatures died on its surface. The Mind extended a tendril of control towards the planet, seeking the problem.
“DAMN, IT’S NOISY IN HERE.”
The Mind faltered. Something was trying to speak to it?
“HOW DID TIGURIUS MANAGE THIS, ANYWAY? HE’S NOWHERE NEAR AS GOOD AS I AM.”
Something was…inside the synapses? Utilizing the power of the ambient energy of the dead, native to this galaxy?
“LET’S SEE IF I CAN CHANGE THIS…NOPE, TOO COMPLEX. SHAME.”
The Mind reacted, severing the link. Moments later, the world went dark completely, as something killed off the last synaptic creature. The Mind noted that perhaps that world was unsuitable for future conquests, if something powerful enough to disrupt its focus was present.
4-145-001-M42
Vulkan balanced the Spear in his hands, staring down at the haft. He had spent the last four hours trying to rebalance it, and to his relief, it seemed to have worked. “One problem down,” he said quietly.
A quiet knock on the door of his workshop on the Chalice drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see a member of the Prometheus Station’s crew standing at attention behind him. “Yes?”
The serf bowed reverently. “My Lord Vulkan, our dispatch instructions have arrived,” he said.
“Excellent,” Vulkan said, placing the Spear in its cradle. “Do you have them?”
“I do, my Lord,” the serf said, handing his Primarch a sealed container. He backed out bowing at a gesture from Vulkan, who opened the container to see a holocard within. At a touch, it sprang to life.
“Lord Primarch Vulkan, et cetera et cetera, by decree of the Senate, so on and so forth…” Vulkan parsed the letter aloud. His eyebrows shot up when he reached the actual dispatch order. “…Security and containment? What did they capture?...A space station, hmm. Interesting.” He finished the letter in silence, crushing the holocard to powder and tossing it in the forge as he finished memorizing the contents. “A skirmish with the Duskwraiths themselves, eh? Sounds like a grand old time,” he said with a dark grin.
9-175-001-M42
The Dark Eldar outpost on Curria was aflame. It wasn’t their fault, though. More or less everything between a Salamander and their objective catches fire.
“UNTO THE FIRE!” Elysius roared, casting about with his crozius and Power Fist. The Dark Eldar who had decided to escape the burning building through that particular door disintegrated as the Fist connected, showering the room beyond with bits of his armor. Two Fire Drakes leapt into the gap, laying the room beyond to waste with their meltas. High above, on the top floor of the structure, the Dracon commanding the slavehold powered the Webway Gate at the structure’s core, intending to make his own retreat.
“This will set us back some stock, if we are to retain our position,” he remarked offhandedly to the haemonculus beside him.
“Your position, perhaps, Dracon. Mine is somewhat more secure,” the foul being noted. The Dracon turned to glare at the fleashreaver, but couldn’t argue. It was right.
“Hold your tongue, or I will remove it,” he growled. He turned back to the Gate controls, aligning the runes at last. “Ah. We go.”
“Leaving so soon?” a deep voice snarled.
Both aliens whipped around to see a gore-drenched suit of power armor standing stock still in the middle of the room, both hands resting on its hips.
The Dracon reacted in an instant, drawing a shard pistol and firing. The rounds bounced off of the apish suit, leaving no visible damage.
The suit did not move. “What sorcery is this?” the Haemonculus grated.
“Now why did you go and do that?” the suit – or the ape within – asked. In a heartbeat, the suit twitched, sending a beam of red light through the air from its hand. The Dracon melted into the shadowfield it carried, unhurt. “I was willing to discuss the possibility of letting you die painlessly,” the suit replied. The eyes of the helmet flared with a brilliant red light. The human in the suit – was it human? – suddenly moved, snake-like, to grab the liquefier out of the Haemonculus’ hand, twisting until the arm itself left its socket.
The fleshreaver screamed, a horrible darkness pulling at the edges of its sight, as the suit drew back an arm. The Dracon watched from the shadows as the ape mulched his lieutenants’ head, then fired his splinter gun from the hip, sending a withering stream of shards at his target.
The suit rolled low, faster than even an ordinary Space Marine should have been able to move. “Problems, xenos?” the suit asked, a resonant gibe. It sprang back up, the generator in its backpack whining. The red beam appeared again, transfixing the shadows into which the Dracon melted.
“Stalemate, ape,” the Dark Eldar snarled.
“Not really,” the creature replied. “I think this diversion is working perfectly.”
“Div-” the alien’s slanted eyes flew open as the sound of a Gate activating sounded…again. “What? What have you done?”
“As my liege and Lord have commanded,” He’Stan said, firing the hotshot laspistol he had mounted on his wrist once more.
“Ape! You defile MY tower? You open MY gate?!” the Dracon roared, hurtling a grenade towards the human warrior. He expected the monkeigh to dodge the grenade or scramble to leave the room, but it did neither of these things. He instead reached forward and caught the Vortex bomb in his hands, gripping it until his gauntlet creaked. Head down, He’Stan bulled forward, directly through the shadow-shifted Dracon…and into the wall beyond.
The Dracon leapt back, ready to fire on the dumb animal’s back, but He’Stan wasn’t there. He had bounced off the alien substance from which the wall was made, rebounding with a kick from his artificered armor. He shot through the Dracon’s shadow once more, landing on his back in the middle of the room in a heap, far from the alien lord.
“Burn, you foolish beast,” the Dracon crowed, sighting the pistol at the neck joint of the prone Salamander.
“Nah,” He’Stan said dismissively.
The void grenade – which He’Stan had left lodged in the wall – exploded, sucking the Dracon into the Warp, alive and screaming, in an instant. He’Stan rolled to his feet, watching as the entire wall was sucked away. Then, the black orb where it had been disappeared, leaving a perfectly symmetrical gap in the building.
“Lord He’Stan! Are you there?” Elysius asked.
“I am, Recclusiarch. Is the Gate secure?”
“It is, brother. No casualties amongst the Fire Born, but the vermin gassed their slaves when they sensed us winning.” He’Stan sighed, commending their souls to the flames. “Shall we lock the Gate open?”
“Immediately,” the former Pilgrim said, looking out the hole in the wall. “I suspect that the Emperor will want to handle this one personally.”
Sure enough, the wave of purple smoke roiling outside the building put proof to his claim. The massive Emperor of Man appeared outside the structure, bowling over the totems and various other things the Eldar liked to put outside their slave pits for some reason. “EXCEPTIONAL WORK, GENTLEMEN. IS THE REPRISAL READY?”
“I believe it is, Sire,” He’Stan noted, a data stream from orbit entering his eye. “Yes…their teleportorium is charged and shielded.”
“NICE TIMING. I NEED TO BE ELSEWHERE FOR THIS PART, MY PRESENCE HERE WILL OVERWHELM THE GELLAR TUNNEL ON THE TELEPORTORAE. BE BACK SOON,” he promised, vanishing once more. As soon as the mist cleared, He’Stan gave his signal.
“Reprisal, this is Pilgrim. We are clear. All hostiles neutralized, Gate locked open. Advise departure, over.”
“Pilgrim, Reprisal, reading you five by five. Passengers are en route,” the cruiser in orbit reported. With a shimmering flash, a quintet of Land Raiders appeared in the center of the clearing the Emperor’s arrival had cleared, and promptly began disgorging troops. With another flash, a platoon of serfs in Salamander armsman colors and medicae uniforms arrived, hustling into the building.
Vulkan emerged from the Land Raiders alongside his troops, resplendent in his repaired Terminator armor. He glanced over the ominous structure before him, shaking his head in disgust. “It never fails, you know,” he said aloud.
“Lord?” one of the other Fire Drakes asked.
“The Dark Eldar. The Dusk Wraiths. Whatever. Ten thousand years since they first attacked Nocturne, and they haven’t changed one bit.”
“Why would they?” the Drake noted. “They are perhaps the only race in the galaxy for whom things have consistently gone well. Such as it has.”
“Save the Orks,” Vulkan noted.
The Drake chuckled. “Yes, sir.” He hefted his multi-melta, slotting in the power feed, and shook his head. “You know, they still tales of the Night of Storms, my Lord.”
“Eh?” Vulkan glanced over at the Terminator as he saw to his own kit.
“The Night of Storms, my Lord. The night you stood in the square of Hesiod and hit the Eldar with hammers until they ran away in fear,” the Fire Drake said, finding his weapon suitable. “It must have been glorious.”
“Glorious? Not so much, really,” Vulkan said modestly. “I didn’t even realize that the others had joined me until we had nearly won.” Before he could continue, the Reclusiarch Elysius emerged from the dank building and sighted his Lord.
Without a word, Elysius marched straight up to Vulkan and took a reverent knee. “My Lord Vulkan.”
“Reclusiarch.” Vulkan bowed, eyeing the panopoly of relics on the black-armored Chaplain. “I owe you thanks, for maintaining the faith and devotion of my brothers in my absence.”
“It has been the honor of my life,” Elysius rumbled, rising to his feet at a gesture. “I will gladly follow you back to the Webway.”
“Back?” Vulkan asked, cocking his head.
“Indeed. I have fought here before. The Dark Eldar are an ancient foe.”
Vulkan eyed the icon around the Reclusiarch’s neck. “That looks familiar.”
“It is yours, Sire,” Elysius said, lifting the golden trinket. It was an Icon of Vulkan, which he had worn at Isstvan over his Terminator armor. The Reclusiarch handed it over, and Vulkan stared at it in the palm of his massive glove.
“I forgot this when I left,” Vulkan said quietly. He tapped it against his breastplate, remembering. “Thank you, Brother.” Elysius nodded and watched in silence, as Vulkan threaded its golden chain through the loops that held his cape in place. “I don’t know if you ever noticed, but there’s a magnetic coil in here,” Vulkan said.
“It correlates to the magnetic seal on the Reclusiam, we know,” Elysius said. “We store fragments of the Tome in there.”
“Good,” Vulkan said. A rising roar announced the arrival of a dropship. Vulkan tilted his eyes up and watched as the colossal slab of metal parted the clouds and descended towards them. “Well…we have trade,” he said, shaking his memories away.
“Indeed,” Elysius said. “I will be honored to join you in battle personally, if you will allow it, my Lord Vulkan.”
“Absolutely, Reclusiarch, you’re welcome to join us. Was that not the plan from the beginning?” Vulkan asked.
“No. It was the plan for me to accompany the Guard waves in, and assist them in securing a foothold. But…with no disrespect intended to the Guard, they have their own Chaplains. My place is with my Battle Brothers,” Elysius said.
“Ah.” Vulkan considered. “…Very well, Reclusiarch, you may accompany us. What’s your name, anyway?”
“I am Elysius, my Lord,” the Chaplain said, inclining his head.
“All right, then Elysius, accompany us if you wish.” An Aquila-class shuttle sped past the colossal Guard dropship, settling down at the very edge of the field the Emperor’s arrival had created. A number of Guard officers disembarked, looking at the Dark Eldar structure with disgust and trepidation in equal measure. One Commissar especially seemed repulsed; perhaps he had been in one before. Elysius noted Vulkan’s attention and explained. “They are the advisors of the Guard commander. Commissars, War Clerics, Chaplains, Enginseers, Sanctioned Psykers, a Primaris…so forth.”
“Good. I’m surprised the Munitorum was able to divert so many forces from the Tyranid fronts,” Vulkan said, walking into the Dark Eldar structure with the other Drakes in tow.
Elysius laughed. “I imagine the Emperor’s word was persuasive.”
Cain looked up at the Dark Eldar structure, his stomach tightening. There were forces of darkness and Chaos in the galaxy that unnerved him more – Necrons came to mind – but none were quite so unapologetically evil as the Dark Eldar. Even the Tyranids, really, were just hungry. But these abominations…
He shook his memories away. Here, at least, with the Emperor himself leading the charge, the odds of his survival were, paradoxically enough, higher. Hearing the rumble of Promethium engines up ahead, Cain looked over to see several Land Raiders in Salamander colors rumbling up to a large door in the battle-scarred building. Even as the vehicles pulled up, a shaped charge on the frame blew the door down, and the Land Raiders rolled on in.
The contingent of Guard officers moved up to the structure, as several Salamander Terminators surrounded the structure and started hosing the bodies down with flamers. Cain had worked with Astartes before, of course, but never a First Founding Chapter.
A gigantic Terminator with a billowing drake-skin cape was entering the building now, sweeping the room beyond with a glowing spear. Reasoning that he at least must be in charge, Cain and Jurgen followed him in, both men grimacing in distaste at the carnage beyond. “A rough job, that,” Jurgen said, staring at a heap of discarded Dark Eldar weapons that a Techmarine was busily melting.
“Disgusting,” Cain sniffed. The Terminator turned at the announcement.
“Commissar?”
“The xenos weapons,” Cain said, gesturing at the wrecked wargear. “Weapons of intimidation and pain. They’re not martial weapons, things designed to kill as rapidly as possible.”
“True enough,” the Terminator said. His gaze turned to Jurgen and lingered for a moment, then seemed to shake itself loose. “Well, the dropships ferrying the first wave of armored and mechanized units arrive soon, Commissar, so see to your men before the Emperor returns.”
“Lord Astartes, I would ask what role your own company will take in this assault,” Cain said, wrinkling his nose as the smell of the flamers torching xenos bodies reached him.
The Terminator turned back to him. “Lord Primarch, actually. And I am leading all armored units in person,” he said.
Cain gaped. “Will…wonders never cease,” he murmured.
Mere moments later, a shockwave outside announced the Emperor’s return. “GENTS, GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT. VULKAN, ARE YOU READY TO GO?” an earsplitting voice asked.
“I am, my Liege, as soon as the Guard units dismount,” Vulkan said, walking back out.
“NO TIME, PROBLEMS HAVE ARISEN. JAGHATAI’S UNIT IS READY TO GO NOW, BUT THE DARK ELDAR MANAGED TO GET A SIGNAL OUT THROUGH YOUR GATE BEFORE YOU KILLED THE GUYS CONTROLLING IT, AND THEY MAY BE WAITING FOR US,” the Emperor said urgently. “IF WE’RE GOING TO DO THIS WE NEED TO DO IT NOW.”
“I see…then we’ll have to send the Guard units in as they arrive,” Vulkan said, processing that. “We may need to divert more, as well.”
“I KNOW, AND WE WILL, I’VE ALREADY ‘REQUESTED’ ADDITIONAL MECHANICUM AND GUARD UNITS BE DIVERTED HERE,” the Emperor informed him. “BUT REALLY, WE NEED TO DO THIS NOW. IF THEY GET SOUL EXTRACTORS SET UP BY THE GATE, EVERYONE WE SEND IN AFTER THE FIRST WAVE IS GOING TO DIE.”
“All right, then…” Vulkan said, tapping his helmet vox. “Father to Pilgrim. We’re out of time. Open the Gate.”
To be continued...