Editing Heretical Love (section)

=== Thread 9: ALL GLORY TO THE PARTRIDGES ===

“Ugghhh…” You groan as you grab your head.
That wasn’t a soft landing, but good thing you had this solid concrete wall to stop you. Good thing it wasn’t a pillow manafactorum or something.

You hit the release for your belt and, still grumbling, pop the cockpit canopy as well.
“Sorry about that one Mika.”

But she doesn’t respond.
You look over and see her slumped over in her seat.
“H-hey! Mika!”

Quickly rushing over to her, you grab her arm and feel for a pulse.
It’s there, thankfully, and feels entirely normal. She must still just be out cold.
After a bit of fumbling you manage to unhook her from the seat. You would have thought she was heavy with those two metal arms attached to her back, but she’s surprisingly light. Well, you have carried a fully decked out sister after all.

Making sure not to bang her head into anything or drop her, you slowly and carefully lift Mika into your arms. She still isn’t responsive, and you begin to worry that maybe she took that landing harder than you did.
Now secure in your arms and free of overhead obstacles, you carry her off the wreckage.
The front of the Thunderbolt is smashed in, a wing bent forward, sheered at its base. It was a good plane, but it isn’t going to be taking you anywhere else.

Mika must have known what she was talking about though, because the bunker complex in front of you looks more or less impenetrable. Even from here you can see an obscene amount of turrets, cannons, and missiles.

Well, by the looks of it, those turrets are automated. You look like any other commissar and you are carrying a tech-priestess. Hopefully that will mean you won’t get turned into goo by heavy bolter fire.

The main entrance is large, large enough to fit a tank through.
A tank which comes roaring up the ramp at you.

You jump to the side as the baneblade speeds by, probably at its max speed. You manage to see the word “Rex” painted across the side.
However the tank pays you no mind, and instead begins circling the large field, it’s turrets rotating as if scanning for threats.

Well, at least it didn’t kill you.
You enter the large door which is still open. The room is enormous, filled with computer terminals and whatnot, and also completely empty.

“~Oh good. Company.~” Comes a melodious robotic voice.
You look around quickly, but don’t see anything.

“~I hope Rex didn’t startle you, I’ve just let him out to play.~”

Finally you look up, and see what’s been talking to you.
It’s some kind of contraption of robot orb things, attached to the ceiling. It peers down at you ponderously with a glowing orange eye.
“Rex… The baneblade?”

“~Indeed. This fortress is fully autonomous, and currently empty.~”

You were hoping to find some other people, hopefully someone who could help you out with Mika.
“Hey, robot thing, I think my friend here might be hurt.”

The orb whizzes as it extends its lens, taking a closer look at Mika.
“~Medical bay, follow the red line.~”

“Hey, thanks!”
As you pass by underneath the robot, you look up and notice the word “SLaDOS” painted on the side of it.
Whatever, it seems trustworthy enough.
The red line takes you through a series of large passages, and terminates quite early at what you can easily tell is the medical bay.

You enter, and notice the place is empty. A medical bay isn’t going to be much help without someone who knows what they are doing…
Carrying Mika through the ward, you finally give up, there isn’t anyone to help you here.
You set her down on a bed and think hard.

But before you can start to play doctor, a metallic voice sings from behind you.
“~Preliminary scan complete, tech-priestess condition highly suboptimal. She is simply unconscious, Commissar.~”

You sigh in relief.
“Thanks. When will she be awake?”

“~Difficult to tell, but she will. You can entrust her to my care.~”

You don’t feel entirely right about leaving Mika here…
Your communicator interrupts your train of thought.
It’s a call from your friend Douglass.

Your DEAD friend Douglass.

Quickly you accept the transmission and whip the phone to your ear.
“Douglass, man, what the fuck? I saw you die!”

There is no noise for several seconds.
Until finally the silence is permeated by a series of soft metallic clicks and what sounds like metal scraping against something.
The transmission ends. You call it back, but whatever it is that has his communicator, it doesn’t pick up.
“I can trust her with you?” You finally ask SLaDOS.

“~I will take good care of her, Commissar.~”
You don’t have much of a choice, you need answers.
Mika’s communicator isn’t difficult to find, on an inside pocket of her robe. You pull it out and quickly exchange frequencies.

You find a pen and some paper and quickly scribble her a note telling her what just happened and that she needs to call you as soon as she wakes up.
“Make sure nothing happens to her, because if something does, I’ll come back to kick robot ass and chew bubble gum. And I don’t think Yagis V has any gum.”
The robot laughs cheerfully.

“~This is a safe place Commissar, she will not be harmed.~”

With one last look back at the limp tech-priestess, you head back into the outdoors.
You are going to find answers, but you don’t even know where to start. You have a feeling you will find out somehow though.

----

A long, last drag of his cigarette.
Douglass looks out over the raging seas far below, wind whipping the yellow ribbon he always kept with him into a frenzy. His fingers run over the fabric, remembering.

“Almost hard to believe, isn’t it Max?”
He doesn’t look back at you, face hard against the weather, jaw set.

“I mean, can you really believe it? All of it? Passing training, the graduation, getting shipped off to serve the Emperor?”
He flicks the butt and watches it soar through the air, taken by the wind.

You aren’t exactly sure what to say, it should be a happy day, but you know it can’t be, not entirely.
“Something to be proud of, all of us.” Is all you can manage.

Douglass doesn’t turn around but nods slowly. He might be the toughest guy you know, but everyone has their weak point…

----

Lycheria and his sisters show up in parade march. Usually cheerful, zealous faces, now rendered solemn.
The battlefield is covered in a light layer of snow, preserving the scene before you as it was when you left it.

Guardsmen, your comrades, dead where they fell.
“Thanks for doing this for me.” You tell Lycheria, who squeezes your hand.

“They passed on as they lived, in glorious service to the Emperor and in protection of their families.”
She turns to the Sororita waiting in the open hatch of the Immolator, and nods.

Fire erupts from flamers, bodies crackling peacefully as they are consumed.
The night grows dark, and you haven’t moved, watching the fire as it slowly begins to die down. The sisters each clap you lightly on the shoulder or speak soft, encouraging words. Lycheria puts her hand on your back for a moment, watching with you, before she turns to go. She knows now isn’t the time, there are some things a man just has to see through himself.

You watch the fire for hours as the sky grows ever darker.
Finally, nothing but glowing coals and ash.

You look at the yellow ribbon in your hand, dirty and torn.
You try to think of something to say, but you can’t come up with anything. Douglass was always the quiet, stoic type anyways.
The ribbon slips through your fingers, the stiff wind lifting it away from you. It spins and dips in the cold evening air. You watch silently as it finally disappears into the darkness beyond.

A Necron tomb is close by, and the data on the servo skull showed it to be abandoned. Perhaps it’s dim halls can provide some time to reflect.
With a final salute, one you hold for several moments, you turn your back, commending your friends to the afterlife.

All of your friends except Douglass, who’s body you didn’t find.
The crypt is as silent as well, a crypt.

You know there are active Necrons on this planet, but this isn’t a place they use any more, according to the skull anyways.
The tomb is illuminated by soft green light, which is nice because you probably wouldn’t have entered if it was dark.

Despite what it is, you find the tomb peaceful. The quiet a reprieve from everything you’ve gone through since first touching down on this planet.
Deeper and deeper you descend, making sure to keep track of exactly how to get out as you do.

You pause, however, when you hear something.
Almost indiscernible, a soft rhythmic clanging.

While you are curious, there is no need to tempt fate.
You crouch and continue quietly, making as little noise as you can. The deathly silence of the tomb doesn’t make that easy.

*clang* *clang* *clang*

The noise is getting closer, and is probably loud enough that whatever’s making it hasn’t heard your footsteps. Your heart beats ever harder the closer you get.

*Clang* *Clang* *Clang*

Its so close now, just inside a room ten feet in front of you. You inch closer and closer along the wall, your heart in your throat now.

*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG*

With a bit of trepidation, you slowly peek out into the room.
You aren’t sure what to think of the sight that greets you.

A Necron, or what you at least think is a Necron, has another more generic one bent over a rock.
The one standing is dangling with flesh, sickeningly moist flesh which jiggles and shakes as the Necron thrusts.
The one bent over the rock struggles, but is held in place by scythe-like claws stuck into its back.

Before you can react, the flayed one looks quickly over at the doorway. Eyes meet yours.
Douglass’s eyes. Or where they should have been anyways.

His face is contorted in what looks like a scream, stretched across the head of the Necron like some kind of mask. Pale, dead skin taut against metal underneath. The jaw bounces and the cheeks jiggle as the flayed one continues its rape.
You realize, feeling sick, that this thing is wearing Douglass.

*CLANG* *CLANG* *CLANG*

The Necron doesn’t take its eyes off you as it finally stops thrusting, reaches forward with its other clawed hand, and starts pulling off the other one’s head. The injured Necron cries out, which quickly falls silent, as it’s spine is ripped from its body.

The flayed one tosses the head and spine at your feet, before uttering a terrible metallic screech.
You don’t even think, you just run.

You cry out in pain as sharp claws rip into your back, tearing through your skin. You are still running, fast enough to keep the flayed one just out of lethal range, hopefully.

As you sprint up back the way you came, you draw the laspistol and fire it over your shoulder. Even the shots that connect seem to have little effect.
The flayed one is screaming in its soulless robotic tone as it chases you down, enjoying the hunt.

Blood is pouring from the wound on your back, the pain would be too excruciating to move if you were not currently fleeing for your life.
It doesn’t seem like it’s any use running, as the claws rake you again and again.

You can feel your legs growing weaker, though you keep pressing on as hard as you can. Your back, much of which now is shredded, is slick with your own blood.
The claws lash out again, and with a terrible dread and disbelief, you feel much of your left arm fall from your body. Your eyes take in what used to be your arm, now a stump that ends before your elbow.

Screaming at the pain, you fall to the cold floor below.
You turn around to see the flayed one working it’s bladed fingers madly as it stands over you, it seems to be reveling in your impending death.
Until a green bolt of energy catches it in the side, tearing away metal and scorching the flayed one’s skin dress.

The flayed one turns around, screaming madly.
Another bolt of gauss fire catches it, this time center chest.
The skin-wearing mother fucker falls to its knees, jaw working furiously but emitting no sound.

One last shot obliterates its head, and the monstrosity of metal and flesh collapses right beside you.
You look up even as you grip your stump, trying to stop the bleeding as best you can.
Another Necron steps into view, this one far more humanoid. The pariah peers down at you curiously, poking you lightly with its staff.

You can’t even struggle as it walks closer still. You notice its long black braid, held together with glowing green jewelry. Its features are soft, feminine even. The Necron looks almost like a human girl.
One who stands back up and levels it’s gauss gun right at you.

Until a bolter round whizzes past its head.
“We claim victory over this tomb, and all shall know of our glorious battle here!”

More bolter fire, and the pariah hisses furiously before retreating into a dark side-passage.
Heavy boots approach from behind you, but you can’t even turn to look. You can actually feel your heart slowing.
“…Call for the Apothecary, quickly!” The marine beside you yells.

Just before you black out, you notice the paint scheme. 
Gold trim…

----

“Commissar…”
The voice a million miles away.

“Commissar!”
You awaken with a jolt. You are laying on a white bed, heavy bandages wrapped around your chest.

Was it all a dream?
One look to your left, at the stump greeting you there, confirms it was not.
You feel sick. Where you once had an appendage, now you have nothing. You can’t even look at it, turning your head away quickly.
“Feeling alive again?” The voice turns away, “Thank you for your assistance brother Genevus, please go help any other wounded.”

“Chapter master?” Genevus asks hesitantly.

“It’s quite all right, leave us.”
You turn to look at the source of the conversation.
One space marine is already exiting the room; and another, a giant in what you think is terminator armor, sits down beside you. His obscene amount of purity seals rustling as he adjusts in the chair.

The marine next to you sits back and takes a drink out of a mug, which curiously bears the symbol of a wolf.
“Well Commissar, or should I say, guardsman, what say you?”

You remain speechless, disbelief sinking your stomach. How they found out, you don’t know.
“Guardman, you do know the punishment for committing such a crime, do you not?”

“I…Err…”

“As Harry Partridge, chapter master of the most glorious of all astartes, the Galactic Partridges, I ask again. You are aware of the repercussions for what you have done, are you not?”
You swallow hard.

“I… I am. But I can explain…”
He holds up a massive hand to stop you from talking.

“Then you know it is well within my right and even perhaps my obligation to execute you here and now.”
You try to back away, but there isn’t anywhere to go.

“I was just doing what I had to, I’m the last guard on the planet sir.”
The Chapter Master laughs, a booming laugh that echoes through the small building.

“I care little for such trivial matters, there is only one thing that interests me.”
He stands up and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Glory, guardsman. Glory is all I care for.”
You watch as he takes another drink.
“I’ll offer you a proposition in exchange for your life. My good friend Logan has just arrived with his force on this planet, and I would like you to aid me in giving them a proper… Greeting.”
He pours something into a cup similar to his, which he extends to you.

“T-to the glory of the partridges?” You stutter.
He reaches out and clinks his mug against yours.
“All glory belongs to the Partridges!” He responds, taking a long drink.

Several moments pass as you enjoy whatever is in the mug. You aren’t sure what it is, but it seems to rejuvenate you a bit. Well, as much as you can be when you remember you are missing an arm.
“If I may, Chapter Master, what is it exactly you want me to do?”

Harry Partridge smiles as he raises his mug to his lips again.
“Well, guardsman, you are going to help me troll the Space Wolves.”

And that is how you found yourself, sitting on a log in “rescued” Space Wolf power armor.
Being the bait for the Tyranid swarm.
You look up as you hear a screech, and turning around, you curse.

Tyranids.
A fuck ton of Tyranids.

“Uhh… Harry? Dude, shit is getting uncool pretty fast down here!” You grab the runic axe they gave you tightly in your one remaining arm. You are swimming in the armor as well, it being made for someone about your height but roughly ten times or so your weight.

“Don’t worry, Max, we’ve detected Space Wolf drop pods coming down toward your position. Just hold out until they arrive.”
As much as the Chapter Master said it was an easy and safe plan, you had your doubts.

Now, those doubts seem affirmed.
A swarm of gaunts is bearing down at you, gleeful at the prospect of ripping apart what they believe to be a space marine.

You take the first strike, lashing out hard with the axe. A powerful cut severs one gaunt clean in half and cuts hard into the carapace of another.

Still, you are getting swarmed here.
The Space Wolf armor, though much much too large, proves tough. Claws bounce and scrape off the hard ceremite.

You swing again and again, the axe meeting little resistance it can’t easily overcome. You are thankful they at least gave you a nice weapon before sending you out here.
With a thunderous boom that echoes across the valley, four drop pods slam hard into the ground a hundred or so yards from you.

With a loud hiss the doors fly open and Space Wolves jump out, roaring at the Tyranids as they prepare to save you. The Wolves waste no time and begin ruthlessly ripping into the gaunts. You notice a large figure who Harry showed to you in a picture, Logan Grimnar.
“Hold on brother, we shall dispatch this foe quickly!” He calls out to you as he punches a jumping gaunt in the head, which explodes into bits of chitin and gore. Very few gaunts remain.

“ALL GLORY BELONGS TO THE PARTRIDGES! HATERS SHALL HATE!”
A furious barrage of plasma fire from the sky as thirty or more Partridges fly toward you on their trails of fire and smoke. They land around you, swinging their power weapons madly and cutting down the last of the Tyranids.

Logan stops suddenly, mouth agape, eyes wide. He can’t even express his fury.
“Pa-partridges?!” One of his retinue yells in disbelief.

The Partridges quickly dispatch the remaining five or so gaunts that the Space Wolves hadn’t gotten to yet.
“Another day, another glorious victory for the Partridges.” Harry says as he steps over the crest of a hill.

“YOU!” Logan howls madly, clenching his fists.

“Oh! Hello brother Grimnar, I didn’t see you there. How glorious was our victory? I just missed it.”
Logan Grimnar is too furious to form words, his mouth foaming and his eyes wild.

“Excellent.” Harry says with a smile.
You quickly remember your lines.

“T-thanks be to the glorious Partridges, I would have surely been lost to the swarm had you not arrived.” You bow quickly to Harry.

“No matter, friend wolf, we cannot leave a fellow astartes in such peril.” He replies, taking a sip of his mug.

“I wish to relinquish myself from the Space Wolves and join you in further pursuit of such glory as only known to the Partridges.” You say, impressed you remembered.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?!?” Logan yells, grabbing a gaunt corpse and ripping it to pieces.

“We gladly accept your offer, welcome to the Galactic Partridges, brother.” Harry reaches down and places a partridge on your shoulder.
“Rise now, as one of the glorious victors.”

“YOU FUCK, I’LL KILL BOTH OF YOU!!!!” Logan screams, flailing madly as several of his retinue hold him back.

----


"Oh, Hat-chan! You're just so dirty," Senna purrs, as she places you on the table. She folds her arms under her breasts and leans down, batting her lashes at you. Her eyes are memsermizing, and the curve of her smile promises so much . . . Your hatband tightens.

You are snapped out of your reverie by something cool and wet on your crown. Senda has appeared behind you with some sort of soap or lotion that she is gently rubbing into your fabric. Every droplet seems to send electricity through your fibers, but you can also feel the dust and grime coming away. "Don't worry, we'll get you clean," she says as she works her fingers in, probing and carressing. Your peak stiffens from the attention, and she starts working with a rhythtm. She traces your creases gently, then digs into your seams roughly. You relax and imagine what it would be like to feel her hair and forehead pressed against you.

Senna grabs a long-handled tool covered in bristles and gently brushes your bill free of the arena dirt. As more of your material becomes exposed, she grows more vigorous. You can feel your wide, thick bill begin to glisten as she polishes it. She stops to smile at her reflection in your gleaming visor, leaving you desperate for more. Bringing her face even closer to you, she blows slow and hot across your front. She slowly wipes the fog away, dragging her delicate fingers back and forth on your hard surface. When you shiver from this treatment, she grins and fogs you up again. As she finishes blowing, she leaves her lips together and plants a kiss.

They both stand up and smile at you. Between the fabric massage and the polishing, your mind is floating away on a warm pink cloud. You can almost see yourself soaring over a landscape made of glorious feminine coifs and ponytails.

But could it get any better? Senda gently picks you up and starts to raise you higher. Her forehead is tantalizingly close, so smooth and welcoming. Senna comes closer, running a hand through her hair. Your headband aches with anticipation.

"Better not, sister. We've already had a long day."

"Good point. Sorry, Hat-chan. Maybe you can ride around on us next time." They put you back down and skip away to snuggle under the covers with Max.

What a bunch of cap teases.