Chapter 30: Cloudburst

I felt like I was going to explode. When I was sitting or kneeling at a chokepoint with my rifle at the ready, I wanted nothing more than to get up and move around in a desperate attempt to work off the energy that was building up in me and threatening to burst out. But then when I actually got to the point where I was moving around, whether it was helping moving shells, construction barricades or viciously beating a legionary that had tried to make a break for it, I was shaking uncontrollably and felt like I had to sit down.

The first thing that I had been told by my CO when I had been deployed for the first time was that the wait before the battle would often be worse than the battle itself. It was a fact that had been piledrived into my head over my two centuries of service, as my CO had been proven right more times than I could count, but this was easily far worse than anything else I had ever had to deal with. Word had come down, the Chaos Lord had launched her fleet three weeks ago, it was heading straight to Wasteland. Even with the black sorcery she was using to speed up the transit, Warp travel from a distance that great took time. But now, they were due to arrive any day now. I had a plan to carry out. If I fucked it up...don't think like that.

"You ok?" I blinked and looked to my side. My daughter was sitting next to me with her wife, both of them with cups of steaming recaff in one hand and protein blocks in the other. We were sitting on the ramparts of one of the many bases that dotted the perimeter of one of Wasteland's cities. One of the ones on the shitty little island continent that would most likely be the point where the Chaos Lord would try to make a breach. The base itself was a decent sized thing, small compared to the mighty mountain fortresses that the Imperium was capable of building, but seeing as how this base hadn't been here a few months ago, it was a sturdy thing. Strong walls, heavy gun emplacements, and thousands of soldiers manning it. By some massive stroke of luck, they even had a Space Marine. Would it be enough?

"How can I be?" I said simply. "This whole mess? Not a single thing about it is ok," I said, doing my best to only let a little bit of my bitterness slip out. I can't do this to her, not now. "She's been hanging over me for half of my life, and just when I was finally starting to be happy with my life, she comes roaring back. She just couldn't go off to her little corner of the galaxy and die. Or, I don't know, work on raising her little shit of a son."

"Look...not to be an asshole," my daughter-in-law said, "but you killed her son. Is there any chance that she, you know, might try and get some form of ironic revenge on you?" She tried to keep her tone casual, but her eyes kept darting towards her wife, naked fear evident in her eyes. I didn't blame her. I had spent countless sleepless nights wondering the same thing, terrified that she would go after me through my daughter.

"I don't think so," I said honestly. "I've been thinking about it, and I don't think that's her style. It'd be poetic and karmatic, but at the end of the day, it wouldn't kill the person that killed her son. She doesn't even know that I have a daughter. She wants my head, my suffering, she wants to take my life and snuff it out when she's finally bored of torturing me. So no, I don't think so. I mean, no more than she wants to kill you for being an Imperial soldier that's standing between her and her revenge."

There was a small bit of relief in the eyes of my daughter-in-law, one that she seemed to be ashamed for feeling and was trying to hide. I didn't mind, I fully understood. In a way it was selfish, hoping that the Lord would go after me instead of her wife, but it was a human thing. To value the one you were married to above all others, even if you were ashamed to admit it. But really, if you stopped to think about it, I had well over two centuries of life, and my daughter was only three-quarters of a way through her first, and the two of them had plans to start a family. I had already formed a family, the best family I ever could have. I didn't want to die. I really wanted to squeeze as many years out of this miserable little thing that I could. But if it came down to me or her, it wasn't a contest.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" my daughter asked, looking at me with heavy concerned. Emperor, no many how many decades went by I couldn't help but see her as the little girl who had been bouncing off the walls when daddy was home. Oh Emperor fucking damn it, I was tearing up. Not now, now's a bad time. Please? Just hold out until this is all over, then you can let it all go and cry your eyes out. Please. You need to hold on for just a little longer.

Speaking slowly, making sure my voice didn't crack, I reached into a pouch and handed my daughter a thick bundle of papers. "Just what you already promised to do," she gave a weak smile as she took the papers. My daughter-in-law's eyes darted back and forth between the two of us, guilt evident on her face. I had a good feeling that she was now severely regretting her earlier question.

"Look," she said, sounding as if she was half expecting me to punch her. "Earlier I didn't mean that-"

"It's ok," I said softly. "It's ok." She swallowed, forced a smile, and gave a crisp nod. I took one look at the cup of recaff I was holding in my own hand, considered taking a sip, gave up, and tossed it over the side. "I think our little break is over," I said, getting to my feet, the other two following me. There was an awkward silence as we looked down over the base. Dozens of Leman Russes were rolling in and out, some coming in from patrols to refuel, others heading out to replace them. Sentinels were pacing the edges of the base, hard-eyed pilots scanning the horizon for anything they could turn to ash with their lasers. The truly odd thing was, here and there, an Eldar moving about the base, either idly walking or sharing guard duty with the humans. Imperium Eldar alliances weren't unheard of, but they usually didn't last this long.

Although, while it was the oddest thing, it wasn't the most stunning thing.

A great booming laugh from the center of the base's courtyard boomed up. In the very center, a Space Wolf was clutching his gut as he laughed, the Sister of Silence and her apprentice standing across from him. "Clean off," the Space Wolf chortled. "Separated his head from his shoulders. Oh. I hope Magnus saw you do that." He grinned widely, his wild, red hair and his teeth that looked viciously sharp, or maybe that was a trick of the light, giving him an almost feral look. Thankfully, it was a feral look I had grown to draw some form of comfort from. Space Wolves could be scary sons of bitches, even if they were fighting for you, but they were an invaluable asset to have.

"I must say, it's an honor to meet a member of your order," the Space Wolf continued. "I've heard many a tale of your achievements and deeds. Bjorn the Fell-Handed speaks highly of you, how you stood against sorcerers and witches, as well as their ilk. And now the Imperium sees your light again, when it needs it the most." Another laugh. "Guiliman was wise."

The apprentice bowed her head, while the full-fledged Sister mimed her reply silently. "My master thanks you, and she offers you this gift." A pure while bottle was held up to the Space Marine, the same type of bottle that had been offered to me. Looking curious, the Marine took the bottle, popped the cork out, and drank heavily from it. He let out a sigh of contentment as he lowered the bottle, his beard still glistening with the drink. "Like nothing I had ever tasted before," he said. "I thank you."

I knew what he had meant. In a bit of stress relief, I had shared the bottle they had given me with my family. I tried to not be a profound-sounding twat for the majority of my life, but the only words that could accurately summarize it was that it tasted like liquid gold. When I was a stupid little kid, I had heard that phrase before to describe some cheap shit that had been brewed in my father's bathtub. My imagination had run wild on what something like that would taste like before my dreams had been brought down by the cruel heartless bitch known as reality. That golden wine though? It had tasted what the young me had imagined a drink of liquid gold would taste like.

"I'm Brand, company champion of the 4th company," the Space Wolf said, bowing slightly to the sisters. "My captain bid me come here. Many of my company died nobly fighting this slave of Chaos the last time she rampaged across the Imperium, and I was ordered to avenge them. The Old Wolf would have come to avenge such a slight, but he is busy contending with the forces of the traitor Magnus." A look of disgust coated Brand's face before he continued. "I must admit, I am uncomfortable leaving the side of my captain, but I was commanded to by the Great Wolf himself. But I must admit, I am glad that Space Wolves and Sisters of Silence are fighting against the enemies of man side by side once again."

Another series of gestures from the Oblivion Knight. "My master thanks you for your kind words, and assures you that the blood debt owed to you will be repaid ten times over and that she hopes that you will not be slighted if she kills those you seek revenge on," the apprentice said.

A great booming laugh came from Brand. "From one who has such a noble and respected history with our chapter? I think not! I would be honored if revenge was taken by your blade. Though I do thank you for asking, you show far more respect than the Lion ever did." Another laugh. "A gest of course. I've met many a noble Lion." Grinning widely, the Space Wolf heaved the massive power axe at his side and the shield at his other. "A shame more Wolves could not be here, though I suspect our Rune Priests are glad to have distance, no slight intended." The elder sister gave a silent shake of the head, something even I could tell meant that no offense was taken. "I'm surprised so many of the Eldar are so close to you though. Or, have they learned how far they need to stay away from you?"

I had a gut feeling the Wolf was onto something with that. Each Eldar did seem to be taking great care to not go within a hundred meters of the sisters. They probably thought themselves the type of person that could strike that delicate balance and be close enough to contribute to the battle while not killing themselves by accident. I wonder what would happen if I shoved one in the direction of them. Oh right, I'd probably get my head cut off and destabilize an alliance that's kindling what little hope this pathetic planet has left...ok, that was supposed to be a dark little joke to cheer myself up, that backfired big time.

"Ok," I said, trying to focus on anything else, "I think we should hook back up with the colonel and see if-" the door leading down to the interior of the base was kicked open and my vox operator came bursting through, the rest of my platoon, what was left of it from that disastrous patrol, right behind her.

"Sarge," she heaved, holding up the receiver of her vox set to me, "it's the colonel. Said she needed to speak to you, top priority." There was not a single way in which this could possibly end well. That receiver was essentially a pistol that I was being asked to use to shoot myself in the head with, and there was no way to avoid taking it. Gingerly, treating it like something that could blow up at any second, I picked it up and held it to my ear.

"She's here," a voice said. A calm but strained voice, the voice of my commanding officer of the last century. "Warp ruptures are opening by the thousands. Most of it looks like transport ships, but she's brought every last warship she has to bear too. Do what you need to do. Everything we discussed has been arranged. The fleet will do what it can, but that's a slim chance. Good luck sergeant."

"Ma'am," I replied dumbly, not knowing what else to say. Limply, I let the receiver fall with a clatter to the ground, my operator hastily crouching down to pick it up. I felt a slight pang of guilt for doing that to her, but it was overwhelmed by the return of an old, terrifying feeling. The gnawing in my bones was back. Once again, it felt like tiny little monsters were crawling around the inside of my bone marrow, chewing away from the inside. Except it was somehow even worse this time.

I took a quick look around, and at a glance, it was clear that word was making its way down the chain of command. Many soldiers, around half of them penal legionaries and around a tenth of them their Arbites handlers, were glancing up at the sky or nervously checking their weapons. The rest were assuming their positions along the walls, sandbags, gun emplacements and every last other defensive position we had set up, while the tanks, massing together into a mob of a few hundred, rolled forward to form a multi-layered defensive line in an arrowhead formation. Normally, the sight of so many Leman Russes, with a few variants noticeable among them, would be comforting. Right now, I wish we had Baneblades instead.

"Form up with the rest of your platoons," I said, turning to both of my daughters, "do whatever you can and whatever the colonel tells you to do. That's the only way the two of you stand a chance of getting out of this alive, got it?" Instead of a response, a pair of arms were thrown around me and I was pulled into a tight bearhug. Normally I would tell my daughter that this was a bad time, but right now I couldn't give less of a shit if I tried. I hugged my little girl as hard as I could, doing everything I could to not start crying because if I did I was terrified that I would slip into a spiral so bad that it would end with me eating my gun. "You gotta go," I whispered.

"I know," she said, breaking away, a sad smile on her face. "I love you." She unholstered her grenade launcher with one hand, and gently brushed my forehead with the other. And I will always be proud of you her voice echoed in my mind. I gave a weak smile. There were benefits to having a psyker for a daughter.

Me too, on both accounts I thought back to her. Still giving me that sad smile, she turned and took her wife by the hand. They were both gone, lost in the sea of bodies that were surging in and out of the base, assuming their battle positions. Rifles were aimed over walls and sandbags, mounted weapons were placed and grabbed, munitions were topped off, and everyone settled in for a fight that they had been anticipating for months.

I ordered my platoon to a position on the second level of the base, near the right wing and just in front of a heavy set of AA batteries. Several of my men took up a pair of las-cannons that had been positioned there, while two more took up mounted heavy-bolters. This base was well fortified for its size, and it was clear that Chaos wasn't going to be taking it without a fight. I just hoped it was enough of a fight. I checked my hellgun one last time, took up my position at the center of the fortifications, and I waited.

Up in the heavens above, I could see faint stars blooming into sight and flashing brightly. To the unwary eye, it would look like a meteor shower. To the experienced veteran, it was hundreds upon hundreds of warships clashing against each other, vaporizing each other and the burning husks of those that were vanquished being vaporized by the atmosphere. Countless people were dying right now, and I could only hope that they were ones we didn't care about.

Then, a deafening noise filled my ears and a bolt of red energy arched upwards, in the direction of the flashing stars, a volley more following after it. Planetary defense cannons that were assisting the fleet. The problem was that, due to the short notice with which the Imperium had time to respond, the anti-space capabilities on this continent were the weakest across the entire planet. The Chaos Lord no doubt new this and I doubted she was stupid enough to launch an attack on a section of the planet that was too much for her to handle. I didn't tell anyone this.

For an agonizingly long time, this continued. The stars continued to flash, lasers arched upward from surface mounted cannons, and we all had to just sit and wait for something to happen that we could do something about. A faint hope blossomed up in me, foolish as it was, that the navy would stop the invasion before it began. Crush the Lord's warships and then crack her transports wide open, leaving billions of Chaos servants to die in the vacuum of space. And then the dropships appeared. Valkyries, Vendettas, and Valkyrie Sky Talons, gunships doing what they were made to do, but also Aquilia Landers, Arvus Lighters that had had weapons crudely bolted on to transform non-combat aircraft into front-line dropships. So many of them that they become a blob with specks of like poking through as they tore towards the planet's surface.

The occasional thumping of the of the anti-orbital lasers was quickly drowned out as the AA batteries behind me lit up. An overwhelming cacophony of lasers, bolters, and heavier cannons being fired, not just from behind me, but from other batteries from within our base, from nearby bases, and from within the city itself. All of it rose up in a solid wall to meet the oncoming craft, which was so densely packed that aiming was hardly needed. Explosions dotted the skies above, drowned out by the roar of Emperor knows how many weapons firing in unison, but still shining brightly as hundreds of Chaos aircraft were destroyed long before they could reach their destination, a number that easily became thousands as the minutes stretched by.

A small part of me took comfort from this. All those dropships being destroyed, along with troop transports being obliterated in orbit, translated to hundreds of thousands of Chaos soldiers and warriors being killed before they ever got a chance to fire a shot. The craft that was supposed to take them to glorious battle had become their coffin and funeral pyre both. Every bit of training they had, every weapon they had been given, every last bullet and power cell they had been equipped with, all of it was gone before any of it had been used to hurt or weaken the Imperium.

And yet, this only blunted the enemy's assault, the first of what would doubtless prove to be many.

Minutes dragged on, and the wall of AA fire continued to claim hundreds of Chaos craft a second, but it the massive wall of hulls was too much for the Imperium's defenses. Many of them were starting to land, disgorging their cargos of men and machines of war. To our direct east, I could see flashes of las-fire, tracer fire and exploding shells that indicated that Chaos thralls were attacking the walls of the base directly. If I squinted, I was also fairly certain that I saw a Baneblade firing its main cannon and blowing a hole in the defense perimeter of the base. I looked away, I had my own fight to deal with.

Counter-fire from the enemy aircraft was starting to rain down on us. It wasn't as accurate as our AA fire, as the enemy craft doubtless had to fire while also attempting to avoid out flak and while also avoiding crashing into friendlies, but there was a lot of it. Bolter rounds raked the ramparts as they tried to reach the AA guns, a poor few bastards being reduced to clouds of red mist when they were hit and I pressed even further into cover with the rest of my platoon as a response. There was an explosion behind me and I had the sinking feeling that we had just lost a couple of our AA turrets before the hostile fire abated. For a second I was relieved, but then my instincts kicked in. If dropships weren't firing at us anymore and we didn't have enough firepower to take them all down, then they had landed.

I poked my head up. Sure enough, while countless dropships were still coming down, hundreds of them had handed. In hindsight, it seemed that the fire we had taken had actually been a handful of cocky pilots attacking the base directly, possibly in a suicide mission, because the stream of hulls heading downward didn't seem to be firing back. They did seem to be taking fewer losses though, having fled to a point farther away from our defensive lines. Our more heavy and long-range AA weapons were still claiming dozens of kills each second, each time a heavy mounted laser cannon throbbed, an explosion noticeably erupted in the distance, the bolters' shots weren't getting as many kills from this distance. Though the plus side was that only the occasional bit of enemy fire found its mark at this range.

And then I heard it. The chanting. Chanting in foul, inhuman tongues that I had heard far too much in my life. In the distance, I could see them. Hundreds of thousands, maybe more, some of them wearing work clothes, others rusted bits of armor, a good portion in defaced Imperial Guard kit and here and there one in custom armor with the runes of the Dark Gods on them. The tide of Chaos, looking to wipe us all away. And with them, tanks, APCs, Sentinels, and everything else someone would need for a frontal assault on an enemy line. All of them moving towards the line of bases between them and the city.

"FIRE!" I roared, not that anyone could hear me over the mess, and even if they could hear me, it was most likely unneeded. Every last weapon in the base was pointed at the enemy horde and was being fired. Slugs, lasers, bolt rounds and the occasional bit of plasma joined the hail of AA fire being spat out of the base, engulfing the enemy lines. Those in the very front fell first and fell fast, but it had hardly been a victory. They had all been malnourished husks of men and women that had been clutching spears as opposed to proper weapons. The Chaos Lord probably would've been shocked if they had actually killed anyone.

The tide of cultists was hardly stemmed at all, with the fallen being trampled underfoot with nary a care, the rushing tide closing the gap bit by bit. My hellgun fired until the power cell ran dry, at which point I removed the connecting cable and slung my power backpack off. I took a quick glance over my shoulder to see a trio of guardsmen hastily piling my backpack and a pile of depleted power cells into a wheelbarrow before pulling a fresh set of cells and a fresh backpack out and hastily tossing them at the ground before running off. Ammo runners, the people whose job it was to take spent power cells to the base's reactor for recharge while also keeping the front line troops supplied with fresh ones. A role that seemed simple, but I could tell was highly stressful, demanding, and kept the war machine oiled and running.

With a fresh backpack slung on and plugged in, I resumed firing. I didn't need to aim at all, no one did. The horde mirrored the cloud of aircraft that had delivered it, more a solid mass with dots in it than it was an army. Any shot fired in its general direction would hit something, it was just a question of whether it would be the front line cultist with spear in hand and dick out you were aiming at, or the one in the very back with shit in his pants and the hope that the battle would be over before he got to the front line. And no matter where I looked, I saw Chaos cultists doing what all of them should do, dying, but it didn't make a difference. Not a single place in the advance was thinning, in fact, it was all growing thicker as even more craft dove down from the orbital battle with fresh troops.

Despite the fact that my heart was pounding in my chest and the gnawing in my bones was growing even worst, the battle took on a surprisingly mundane routine. Fire until hellgun was empty, remove and replace powerpack, switch to las pistol that I still carried due to regulations if the ammo runners took a bit to show up, duck down if fire started to rake my section of the base and order my men to do the same. All the while, the roar of weapons all merged together in an incomprehensible mess, vehicles exploded, and no amount of enemies fell that put a dent in the incoming rush.

I lost track of time after a bit, things started to blur together, with me just firing, giving basic commands, and trying to not die. The mounted weapons and infantry beside me continued to fire, with the gunners of the las-cannons scoring a couple of tank kills. "Damn it, overheating!" one of them shouted. "I took out the treads on one, two o'clock, nail it!" There was a flash of red next to me and a whoop of laster that I assumed meant another enemy Leman Russ had gone up in flames.

One thing I that was changing, however, was that we had reached effective combat range for the tanks. Shells were now flying back and forth between both armies, a tank taking a direct hit or going up in flames every time I looked, an occasional shot missing and landing in the middle of a pack of cultists, reducing a dozen of them to mulch. And my eyes must have been playing tricks on me because I could swear I could see little spirals of energy flickering in the middle of the enemy ranks, multi-colored ones.

Then I remembered who I was fighting, and swore loudly. Psykers.

Sure enough, in the middle of the enemy armor, Chaos sorcerers, warlocks, or whatever the fuck they called themselves, were doing their bullshit. Flashes of bright like were now cropping up like weeds among the advancing army, and I saw a what looked like a lot of inhuman figures appearing among their ranks, otherworldly voices breaking through the haze of weapon fire and explosions. Some shrill, some deep, some mystical, all of them made me wish the planet would just get destroyed and take them all with it.

I was pulled from my thoughts as something shot out of the Chaos mob, arching upward in the sky with a bright plume of white flames behind it, before it slowed at its peak. Then, without warning, the plume flared brightly and rocketed towards the base. I barely had time to blink before it smashed into the rampart directly above us, bits of flakboards coming loose as it did. I looked up just in time for two parts of a body that had been cut clean in half fall from the upper rampart, with another right behind it. Terrified screaming came from the upper rampart, as did a flurry of las fire that had been fired at a target I couldn't see, fire that was quickly thinning. As it did, a mechanical roaring became more noticeable, as did the occasional loud bang and the sound of bodies being torn apart.

"Get those weapons aimed behind us and up high!" I shouted, panic coursing through me. "It's a fucking Traitor Marine!" My platoon looked dumbfounded at the proclamation, but I didn't get a chance to repeat myself or order that they get their asses in gear before a hulking figure in armor walked to the edge of the upper rampart, gave an idle glance, and jumped down. The floor cracked beneath its feet as it landed, red and brass armor gleaming brightly where it wasn't covered in blood. Chainaxe in one hand, bolter in the other, the mark of the World Eaters on its shoulders and a jump pack on its back, the Chaos Space Marine Raptor regarded us the same way a master hunter regarded a pack of unfortunate mice. Almost not worth his time.

It drew a bolt pistol with its spare hand as my platoon frantically ripped the mounted las-cannons off of the ramparts, three Guardsman holding each one, and trying to aim it at the Marine. A mocking laugh echoed from the Marine as he aimed his pistol. Eight sharp cracks echoed out, somehow audible above the maelstrom of noise around us, and so closely packed together they almost bled together in one sound.

I blinked. My brain couldn't comprehend what had happened. The Chaos Space Marine was already reloading his pistol, but I had barely gotten more than three shots from my hellgun off, ones that had left burn marks in his armor, but not scorched it. Half of my platoon had fired too, their lasguns doing even less than my hellgun, but the other had not fired a shot. My mouth moved faster than my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream at them to fire, even as I spotted them out of the corner of my eyes and horror flooded over me.

Half of my platoon was already dead, most of them looking like they had swallowed live krak grenades and the rest were missing their upper torso and everything above. Blood still poured out of their crude wounds, massive gaping holes in their guts and chests where the flesh had been unevenly torn, their armor having been ripped apart like it was paper. The liquefied remains of their organs were leaking out of them, barely recognizable. The ones that still had faces had no signs of pain on them, their deaths had been too quick for them to understand for what was happening, that a .75 caliber explosive round had pierced their body and detonated. Fired by a ten-thousand year old warrior who had betrayed the Emperor. And was now readying his axe.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

A lunge, a swipe, and another trooper was cleaved in half horizontally. The Marine's arm didn't even slow down as it tore through flak armor and flesh, the Marine was exerting the same degree of effort that I would exert to swat a fly, maybe even less. Thrice more it swung, each time splitting a trooper in half. It wasn't reacting to the shots bouncing off of it, even the ones that were actually managing to dent its armor he paid no heed. It didn't care. It didn't need to.

A few more swings and I was officially down to a quarter of my platoon's original strength. Getting desperate, I swung my hellgun over my shoulder and drew the plasma pistol that had once belonged to the little shit the Chaos Lord had shat out of her vagina. A screaming guardsman had her head split in two diagonally by the Raptor as I took aim at his power back, firing as many times as I could. Praying, hoping that the Emperor was watching me and would guide my plasma bolts true, what with it being the only weapon I had that had a chance of seriously hurting the Marine.

While I was doing this, my vox operator was backing away, spraying her rifle at full auto, while desperately and frantically muttering a prayer under her breath. "I offer my life to the Emperor, I pray that He accepts it. I offer my strength to the Emperor, I pray that he redresses it. I offer my blood to the Emperor-" but she faltered as the Marine hacked off the leg of another guardsman, the poor bastard screaming in agony on the ground until the Marine finished him off with a quick blow to the head, which was quickly reduced to red mush.

It was around this point that my shot actually hit its target. It was painful to watch, but everything other than the Marine seemed to have slowed down. My brain was screaming how wrong it was. Something that big and that heavy should not be moving that fast, and yet the Emperor had done his work well, too well in the case of his traitor sons and grandsons. A faint hope rose up in my heart as the bolt hit. And then promptly died when I got nothing but a puff of blue smoke and a few sparks for the direct hit. The Raptor's armor had held. And it had finally been a blow powerful enough to earn the attention of the Marine. It paused, looking at me for a second, for some reason not killing me as easily as it had wiped out nearly all of my platoon. For a second I didn't understand. Then I remembered. "FOUND YOU!" it roared.

I swear by the Emperor and all the saints that I could feel something digging its way out of my bones, I was that terrified. So I did the only logical thing a stupidly scared person would do. I shot the thing that was scaring me in the face. It was pure instinct more than anything else. Two centuries of fighting had taught me that if anything posed a threat to me, I had to either run or shoot it in the closest thing it had to a face as often and as quickly as I could. Thankfully, the Marine had stopped to observe his prize, one that would no doubt come with a good word to the Four Cunt Gods from their little attack dog if it brought it back alive. Its hesitation cost it, as it ended up taking a plasma bolt right to the face.

It wasn't a kill shot like I hoped, but it did shatter the right eye visor, blood trickling out of it. I felt a pang of satisfaction that lasted about half a second. Because a Marine losing one eye was something to brag about, but only if you walked away from it. As it turned out, a Space Marine, particularly one that had joined the local clique of a pedophile, a murderer, a murderer that was also a pedophile, and a twat, didn't need both eyes to brutally murder me in a thousand different ways.

"Back!" An arm covered in gaudy, multi-colored armor grabbed me and my vox operator by the shoulder and shoved us both back. I stumbled, and a blur shot between the two of us, a bright, thin silver blade drawn, to meet the World Eater. A slash and a dash to the side just barely avoided an overhead strike. There was a movement and all of a sudden, a dozen different images of the Harlequin appeared, jumping, flipping and sliding all around the World Eater. "Go!" he shouted, his voice echoing from a dozen different sources.

At first I thought he was telling me to run. Then a there was a heavy pounding from behind me, and a gargantuan figure charged past me, almost knocking me over and crushing me as it went. "For Russ and the Allfather!" Not stopping and picking up speed as it went, it slammed directly into the World Eater. I blinked. My brain had struggled to accept that the Raptor could move that far. Now it struggled to accept that the multi-ton giant of steel and sinew had been so easily toppled over.

"Ha! Is this all the sons of Angron can manage?" My brain whirled as the newcomer moved as fast as the World Eater did, multiple powerful blows from a drawn power axe raining down on the fallen Traitor Astartes. The armor that had been indestructible when I had shot at now crumbled like rusted tin. The power axe ripped into it with little resistance, the World Eater thrashing under the strain of the blows, wildly swinging his own axe and attempting to right itself, only for another blow to force him back down, until he went very still.

Now that my brain finally could comprehend it, I recognized the Space Wolf that I had seen earlier, Brand, with shield in one hand and axe in the other, standing over the dead World Eater. The Harlequin approached the corpse, holograms disappearing, and examined it warily before gently sliding his sword into its throat. "A wise move," Brand said, smiling toothily at the Eldar. "As was your diversion. Now then." He turned his attention onto me and the rest of my platoon that was still alive. It took me a few seconds to realize that was just my vox caster. "I owe you a pint when this was all over," he said, grinning toothily. "Not many are brave enough to stare down a Traitor Marine like that."

I wouldn't call it bravery. Fight or flight had kicked in and I had known flight would be a guaranteed exercise in futility while a fight was only a probable exercise in futility. "Listen," I said, my voice hoarse. "Timetables are going to be moving up at this rate. They're hitting us even harder than we expected. You need to get to your position."

Brand glanced at the Harlequin in confusion, but the Shadowseer simply nodded. "Oh, and take her with you," I said, giving my vox caster a small shove forward. "She's got a lot of potential, she should be with the rest of the specially picked unit."

"Sarge? I don't-what the-but the battle?" She was shaking, her hand moving up to brush the hair out of her eyes five times, despite the fact that she had gotten it out only one second ago. I didn't blame her. The only missions I had been on when I was her age were missions against the Tau that turned out to be pathetically simple, she had nearly been killed by a millennia-old trans-human warrior that had probably lay siege to the Imperial Palace back during the Horus Heresy. And now I was telling her to do something that made no sense. Well. Hopefully, she would understand before too long.

"Go with him, we've got something important that needs doing. I've gotta stay here and do my part," I said, telling half of the truth. I glanced at Brand. "You should probably go with him too, someone of your caliber is much better suited for the special operation we've got planned, leave holding the front line to grunts like me." Apparently Brand had come in at the last second before anyone could inform him on what we were planning, otherwise he would already have fallen in line with the Shadoweer. Brand laughed.

"We shall see, if there are more Traitor Marines to kill," Brand said, still grinning. "Loyal servants of the Emperor are counting on me to protect them from those turncoats. I shan't be failing them." I could very much respect that stance, yet at the same time wanted to shout that he really, REALLY needed to go with the knife eared Xenos. Before I could push the point any further, there was a deafening explosion from the front of the base. My heart sank. That was rarely a good sign.

The Shadowseer's hand darted forward, hooking underneath my vox caster's arm and pulling her away with ease, no doubt the Eldar was stronger than humans. The prick. "I'll be back for him," he said, gesturing to Brand. "Don't let him die." I really wanted to make a comment on how, if anything, Brand would be the one that wouldn't be letting me die, but now was a bad time. Brand seemed to share this sentiment,

"Stay high," he said, charging in the direction of the explosion and jumping down into the center of the courtyard. Lowering myself into a prone position, I edged to the brink of the wall and looked down. A small breach had been opened on the corner of the front wall, and five figures had forced their way through. More Traitor Marines, these ones with the blue and gold armor of the Thousand Sons. Four of them marched in front, their movements oddly rigid and stiff, to the point where they didn't seem natural. The fifth's movements weren't very clear, due to the fact that time and space seemed to be warping around him. Unworldly fire that seemed to crackle with a black energy, lightning that looked compressed and viciously attempting to break free, and all of it was billowing out of the staff that the Marine had instead of a weapon.

The Sorcerer flicked its wrist, and in unison, the four Rubric Marines in front of him raised their bolters and fired at the numerous Guardsmen who had set up defensive positions all throughout the courtyard and the ones who were still on battlements. Dozens of them died within seconds, meeting the same fates as my platoon, torn to bits. "Sorcerer!" Brand was charging forward from where he had landed, shield raised. "Too afraid to fight without your pawns and tricks!?"

As a response, the sorcerer gave a small gesture and four bolters were aimed at Brand, all of them roaring to life. The bolt rounds bounced away or shattered mere millimeters away from Brand's shield, an unseen force protecting it, as he charged the Rubric Marines. With a laugh and a swing, he buried his axe in the head of the nearest one, cleaving its helmet wide open. Not stopping there, Brand struck the Rubric Marine again and again, severing the hand that was holding the bolter's trigger, severing the arm that now lacked a hand, something I found darkly humorous, tearing the chest wide open with a brutal chain of hacks that sent the enchanted suit of armor tumbling back, before following up with an overhead blow that came down like an executioner's blade, removing the helmet from the rest of the armor.

Despite all of this, the Rubric Marine's good hand drew a bolter pistol and fired, with precision accuracy, at Brand, who was forced to take a step back with his shield raised to avoid the shot piercing his skull. I swore. Rubric Marines were tough sons of bitches, and Brand clearly understood that. Even the most bloodthirsty of Space Wolves didn't waste that much time hacking an enemy to pieces when they were outnumbered unless it was truly needed. If anything, Brand had actually undershot it.

Brand was about to begin fresh charge when the fire and lightning that was swirling around the sorcerer coalesced into a spear that dove forward with all the ferocity and speed of a lightning bolt. Brand barely got his shield up in time, a high pitched whining from its internal mechanics reaching my ears and making me wonder exactly how much damage that shield could take. The sorcerer made a silent gesture, ordering the Rubric Marines forward, and thrusting his staff at Brand again.

Nothing happened.

Glancing at his staff in confusion, he thrust it again. Again, nothing happened. A third time he did it, and this time, the fire and lightning were compressed together again, but it did not form a spear. It instead shook viciously, the raw energy barely contained, before it detonated violently in the sorcerer's face. The sorcerer roared in pain, its staff hand hanging loosely at its side, blood trickling down its armor.

"YOU!" it screamed. The Sisters of Silence were descending from an upper ramp, both of them with their swords drawn, the younger one also having a bolter slung over her back. I couldn't help but smile at that point. Nothing quite beat being in a situation where your side was in a position to perfectly trump the enemy. But there was something odd about the sorcerer. It didn't sound angry in a "you dare to strike me?" kind of way, a type of anger you heard from every wannabe Chaos cultist that stubbed their toe.

"The butchers have gathered! Trying to protect their rotting Imperium!" Doubtless knowing sorceries would be useless and counter-productive now, the sorcerer drew a bolt pistol with its good arm, taking aim. "I have not forgotten! I will NEVER forget! The millions of innocents that you all killed! I WILL AVENGE PROSPERO THIS DAY!" Three shots rang out, but the Marine's shots missed as the Sisters jumped the rest of the descent.

I remembered how badly the Harlequin had reacted to being in the vicinity of a Sister of Silence, and the sorcerer had to be going through that. I hoped it was really hurting him. Despite that, whatever pain the Thousand Son Marine had been feeling was quickly brought to an end. A single swing from the elder sister's double-handed sword relieved his head from the duty of being attached to the rest of his body. The younger sister was moving amongst the Rubric Marines, hacking at them with her own blade, but that was more cleanup than anything else.

I didn't know if it was the Untouchable nature of the Sisters, the death of the Sorcerer, or a combination of the two, but the Rubrics had ceased fighting. They had collapsed to the ground and were writhing and thrashing in silent agony, easy pickings for the younger sister and Brand to hack and slash until they finally stopped moving.

With all five Marines dealt with, the elder sister drew a flamer from her back and sprayed it at the fallen sorcerer, the fire consuming his body. "Oh come now. Show a little respect for the dead." No matter what planet you went to in the Imperium, there were always stories about old men who were exposed to a great shock and died on the spot. I used to think it was horseshit, but that was before my heart nearly exploded from watching the Chaos Lord idly walking into the base through the breach that had been opened.

She had a weapon in each hand, a power axe in her human hand that looked more like it fit for a Space Marine than her and had been decorated along the blade and handle with marks to Khorne, and an autocannon in her daemon arm. The ammo pack for the autocannon wasn't even strapped to her back, but firmly tied just above her elbow. I swear the thing had grown since the last time I had seen her, to the point where it looked like it was twice as big as the rest of her.

But her face. Emperor help me her face. It was technically human, yet at the same time, it clearly wasn't. Something was terribly wrong about it. It was stretched, it was twisted, it didn't even look like it was actually alive anymore, but something that had been cut off and stretched across someone's actual face. Her transformation into a Daemon Prince was almost complete, the Chaos Gods were most likely just waiting for her to perform the ritual.

The younger sister was the first to act, drawing her bolter and firing at full auto, aiming straight for the Chaos Lord's unarmored head. Any other day, a stream of bolter rounds going into someone's skull would mean a messy death and me thinking up the right combination of swear words as I added another entry to the book. Unfortunately, the Lord forsaking a helmet had not been the hubris it so often was with Space Marines, loyal and traitor alike. A shimmering, dark barrier swallowed up the bolts just before they hit, Emperor knows what happened to them. She had been blessed by all four of the Ruinous Powers, they weren't about to let one of their champions be killed by something as simple as a headshot.

Grinning widely at the outbreak of violence, she charged at her three opponents, firing her autocannon wildly. Even Space Marine Devastators could only manage a brisk walk when firing their heavy weapons, so seeing her run full out while firing added a deeply unpleasant feeling to the other dozen unpleasant feelings that were already churning around in my stomach.

Both of the sisters scattered, each darting off in a different direction to avoid grouping up and acting as an easier target. Brand, on the other hand, ducked his head down and charged forward, his shield held up in front of him. The Lord ignored both sisters after they scattered and turned her full attention to Brand, the rounds from her autocannon pinging off his shield and chipping away at his armor. Both of them heaved axes as they neared before they crashed into each other with a noise equal to that of a Chimera smashing into a rock face at full speed.

Brand had attempted to use his shield as a weapon, bringing it up and attempting to cave in the Lord's throat with its edge. Once again, whatever barriers that the Chaos Gods had put up prevented the blow from connecting, and he followed up with his axe I swore to myself. The Chaos Lord wouldn't be able to use any psyker abilities she had, but that wouldn't mean a thing if her armor itself was enchanted by dark magic. And sadly, that seemed to be what was going on. Either that or even a Blank as powerful as a Sister of Silence couldn't fully cut off a direct connection from all four Chaos Gods.

Leering haughtily at Brand's failed assault, the Lord went on the offensive, forcing back to duck behind his shield as the Lord's power axe rained down on it, trying to overwhelm the Space Wolf's guard. The fact that she was using her normal arm and that it still looked like it was taking everything Brand had to keep her at bay disturbed me. Slowly, the 4th company champion was forced back, step by step. Either that, or she had a force field generator in that armor of hers.

However, as this was happening, two blurs of gold had circled around to the Lord's back. There was a flash of silver among the blurs, and once again a wall of shadows protected the Lord from harm. Craning her neck over her shoulder, she snarled as she brought her autocannon to bear, spraying at both sisters. They darted away, but one shot managed to hit the younger one in the leg as they went. They both still escaped the main brunt of the fire, which harmlessly buried itself in the dirt, but the younger sister was moving noticeably smaller now. There was a noticeable limp in her step as bright red blood dotted the ground behind her. I wanted to look away so badly. The scales were starting to tip, and not in our favor.

While her attention had been diverted, Brand had lowered his guard for a brief moment to make a quick hack. Not at the Lord's body, but at her arm. Specifically, the case of autocannon rounds. For whatever Emperor blessed reason, it was outside the barrier that was protecting the Chaos Lord and the edge of Brand's axe bit into it. Almost instantaneously, the rounds inside began to cook-off, explosions without causing a chain reaction that slowly began to consume the entire case.

Realizing what was happening, the Lord gave a mighty flick of her demonic arm and the exploding case came loose, flying directly at Brand. It hit directly in the center of its shield just as the last of the ammunition fully cooked-off. The explosion didn't overpower his shield, but the sheer kinetic force did knock him off his feet and flat onto his back.

The Lord moved to charge forward, only to have both sisters move in again, their swords flashing in unison. This time, the barrier faltered as it attempted to block them. It had taken too much strain in too short a time. Both brought their blades back and stabbed forward. With the younger sister, the Lord moved her daemon arm into the path of the blade, the bicep swallowing up the sword while causing no visible pain to the Lord, while the rest of the arm twisted around in a way no human arm could. It leveled the autocannon it still held at the younger sister, a short belt of ammo still hanging off of it. The younger sister's eyes widened as she attempted to fall back, but before she could take a single step, a dozen rounds had been pumped into her gut. Her armor was of the highest quality and took most of them, but not the last few. She slumped to the ground, cradling her gut, blood pouring out of it.

On her other side though, the Lord did not fare as well. She attempted to stop the elder sister by splitting her face in half with her axe. However, with her attention divided, the elder sister was able to slip under the blow and shifted her grip on her sword as she did. Instead of stabbing, she did a rising slash upward, right into the Lord's armpit. There was a roar of pain and anger as the Chaos Lord's arm went flying into the air, the hand still firmly clutching the axe. My heart leaped with excitement as the sister pressed the initiative, hacking, slashing and stabbing at the Chaos Lord, her silver sword quickly turning crimson as the Lord staggered back, her barrier weakly shimmering and stopping less than half the blows. For a single, glorious second, I thought she was finished.

Then an inhuman roar filled the base, and the daemonic arm lunged forward, grabbing the elder sister by the leg. Before she could react, she had been lifted up to the apex of the arm's height, which looked like a good dozen feet from this distance, and then brought down hard. Seething with rage, the Chaos Lord heaved back and forth, swinging the Sister of Silence over her head and onto the ground like a rag doll. A horrific crunching noise was barely audible each time it happened, as the sister's golden armor was stained with dirt and blood. Her struggles growing weaker with each impact, the sister glanced at the hand gripping her, slashed at it with her sword, and there was another roar as one of the fingers fell away, the sister tumbling to the floor, freed.

But she was in bad shape. Her armor was dented all over, blood was leaking out of the gaps, and while she got to her feet, sword in hand, she was moving at half the speed she had before. The Chaos Lord took a step back, heaving deeply, and glared at the sister. "Well, the stories live up to reality," she said with what sounded like grudging respect in her voice. "You really are the deadly sword masters everyone says you are." The elder sister didn't reply. "Right, the oath," the Lord said, sounding annoyed. "Though, I have to say, this one isn't quite as good," she said, staring at the younger sister, who was still lying on the ground nearby.

Without warning, her armored foot shot out and slammed into the back of the younger sister, pinning her to the ground. With a single fluid moment and with such ease it didn't seem real, the Lord seized the younger's sister left arm with her daemonic limb and, with a sickeningly wet tear, ripped it off. The younger sister's mouth opened in a silent gasp of pain as the Lord lifted up the gold-clad arm, examined it, and then placed it on her stump. There was an eerie glow and what sounded like faint chanting, and then the golden arm began to flex its fingers, holding them up to the Lord's face. "That's better," she said. "Not a fan of gold, but the armor is master crafted." Kneeling down, she picked up the wounded sister's sword in her new hand.

She looked up just in time to see Brand slam into her shield first, pushing her off the younger sister and back against the wall of the base. As she was slammed against the perimeter, Brand swung his axe, only to again be stopped by a shadowy mist surrounding the Lord. Her barrier had recharged. "No helmet?" she hissed, "shame. I could've used another." She blocked an overhead axe blow with her Daemonic arm, the blade burying itself in her palm. To my horror, I realized that the finger the elder sister had severed had already grown back.

With Brand's shield pinning her and his axe logged in her hand, the Lord was free to stab forward with her newly acquired sword, burying it deep in Brand's guts through one of the thin gaps in his armor. Hissing in pain, his grip loosened just a bit, but it was enough for the Lord. Pulling her Daemon hand back, she formed a fist and used her new freedom of movement to punch Brand in the chest. Hard. He was sent flying back a good ten meters where he landed roughly, coughing up blood.

Walking forward, the Lord's arm snaked forward to where her old arm was and picked up her power axe with it, leaving her with a weapon each in her mismatched hands. Both Brand and the elder sister gingerly got to their feet, the elder sister standing protectively in front of her apprentice, weapons ready. But they were both bloodied, their wounds mounting while the Lord healed herself. They were even down an ally. They were was no way that they were winning this fight.

So I did something stupid.

Standing up, I fired a burst at the Lord before I cupped my hands to my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, "Your son died the way he lived! LIKE A LITTLE BITCH CRYING FOR MOMMY!" I was dead. I was fucking dead. My body had deluded itself into thinking that because all of my organs were still functioning properly, I was alive. But I knew better. The most powerful woman in the sector, the one who wanted me in agonizing pain, and I had taken a fresh wound and not so much poured salt on it as much as I did blast industrial grade acid on it with a nova cannon.

The Lord paused, before slowly turning her head to look at me. I had expected boiling rage, possibly for the last remains of her human face to fall away and reveal the Daemon that had to be hiding behind it. I was surprised. There was no anger on her face. She looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be mournful or weary. For a split second, her face was that of a normal human woman, an exhausted mother.

"I know he did," she said, and even though she spoke softly, I heard her clearly over the sound of millions of Penal Legionaries and cultists clashing against each other. Chaos sorcery was doubtless a factor there. "His last words were to cry out for me. Telling me to avenge him. To. Kill. You." She bared her teeth, her eyes narrowed. Initially, she hadn't been mad, but she was clearly working herself up into a rage. "He told me to kill you," she repeated, her Daemon arm curling into a fist. "And I will, I will kill you, but only after I have grown bored of the noise of you begging for mercy. Only after that will I grant you the mercy of death." Her grimace vanished and was replaced by a smile.

The things gnawing in my bones felt like they had burst out. This was more in line with what I had been expecting. She was staring me directly in the eye, smiling widely, and it was the most fucking terrifying thing I had ever seen in my life, no hyperbole whatsoever. It was a smile that was too wide and had the telltale signs of someone who was thinking particularly violent thoughts right before they moved to enact them. Stretched inhumanly by the Chaos Lord's not quite right face, it felt like a Bloodthirster was hungrily eyeing me, with one hand rubbing a stomach and the other readying the axe.

"RUN!" a voice in my head roared. In my life, I've learned that there are times when you need to learn to take the voices in the back of your head seriously, and times when you need to ignore them. This was a situation in which I needed to treat the voice in the back of my head like it was the Emperor himself mandating his divine will to me. I turned and threw myself over the far side of the base, toppling down the far wall and fell two stories to the ground. I hit the ground hard, pain blossoming all over my body, but it was hard to notice it when the voice was screaming "MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS!" and I was back on my feet within the blink of an eye.

My eyes darted back and forth before I spotted what I was looking for, my way out. A large access hatch that permitted access to the sewers that ran below the city, oversized like everything else the Imperium built. I tore the hatch open, grabbed the sides of the ladder, and slid down until I hit the bottom.

A horrifically rancid smell assaulted my nose, the scent of a city's waste wafting around me, almost distracting me from my need to keep moving as fast as I possibly could. Thankfully there was a walkway next to the free-flowing sewage, one that had been put in to allow workers easier access, and I ran as fast as my mismatched feet would carry me, ducking into as many side passages and narrow corridors as I could.

It could have been my imagination, but I could've sworn that I heard heavy footfalls behind me, broken up only by the sounds of masonry and metal being smashed. She was right behind me.

"MOVE!"