A Visit from Grandma

"Keeper Frymrorth will be providing support, brother."

"That's reassuring news."

A scout team, a scout sergeant and three scout marines posted up upon rubble. They were one of many scout parties spread out– the advance party. Mission directive varies, but the main directive being to warn the main assault force. These were scouts of Assault Team Six. The Assault team consisted of a company: a hundred marines. The scouts weren't counted among them, they were their own separate body. Ranging from four to ten marines in each scout team, they were dispersed among companies as a form of advanced watch. 

These marines were attached to Assault Team Six as previously stated. They were the ones to spot the massive force before them.

Five thousand men with heavy armored support in the mix. This was the biggest force they've encountered. It's been about half a day and the marines have gained ground taken from the Ikons. A good considerable amount but not enough to dent the Ikons. Blood red and dark, murky orange. A sea of them with tanks and nixes. It was easy to spot them; the ground shook with every step.

"Let's keep them posted. Remember, let them pass, we'll hit them hard when Keeper Frymrorth enters the fray," says the scout sergeant, his eyes like a hawk.

"You mean he's to start the battle? What force is he bringing?" inquired a young scout, his eyes too watched for any abnormalities among the enemy forces.

The question firmly out of his throat, the sergeant gave his answer, "himself."

The scout looked at him briefly, his eyes had a hint of doubt to them. The sergeant ended it there; no point in trying to convince someone the experience that would be aligned impassibly unbelievable.

The sergeant was there, at the outpost battle. Before he was assigned to this squad of scouts. These scouts were of the later batch so they wouldn't know. The outpost, their guns weren't to scoff at, but only he could do so. Their Keeper, the voice of the dragon, the guns rained down tainted fury upon him. To which he tanked. No shield, just pure metal on plasma and lasers. A good solid three and a half minutes of abusive firepower and not even a scratch. He didn't kneel, he didn't buckle; he stood with pride like bulwark personified. The astonishing part, he fired back. Within all three and a half minutes of taking all of the aggro, he dished some of his own.

But, he'll leave all that for them to figure out.

"Come, can't stay in the same spot for long."

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Assault Team Six stood idly by as they waited for the awaited battle. There were only a hundred against the thousand. They were sure to take them on, but it was reassuring that a keeper will be personally there to kick things off. As the battle pursued, they took a careful approach. Their leaders Frymrorth, Xarvass, and Dembit didn't use pure strength and brute forced their way in battle. Slow and methodical, all three agreed to push and consolidate before pushing again. This had led to no casualties on their side.

Frymrorth's forces were the middle of the three. Dembit pushed south of Europe and Xarvass was up north. Out of the three, Frym was the slowest to expand. That was intentional. Taking a book from the Germans, Xarvass up north would push hard and fast and surround the forces facing Frymrorth's. Then, they'd annihilate anyone caught within the encircle. But now, it seemed the opposing force had the same thought.

The company had plenty of anti-armor ready with it being more numerous in the devastators department. The least amount brung would be assault squads while the tactical squads filled out the ranks. Frymrorth was a fan of pointing towards a direction… only for said direction to be filled with insurmountable amounts of firepower. Which complimented his commanding style of defensive warfare. 

The marines checked their wargears and saddled up. Frymrorth was close and they'd be damned to be late to the party. Although, some heavy armored support would be nice.

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Among the forces of five thousand, they only had one thought; ravage. Their minds were no longer human. The consequence of worshiping a being not so benevolent. The being in question wasn't even a deity but an evolved shit head. But who are they to listen to, nothing but brainwashed grunts now.

Grunts they may be, five thousand is still a considerable and threatening existence to this campaign.

~Crrck!~ "Hey, don't you think five thousand is a bit much? ~Crrck!~ a tankman radioed over in secured comms.

~Crrck!~ "Have you not heard? Five platoons were wiped out by ten giants. TEN! Sure as hell appreciate the numbers here. Hell, more would've been nice." ~Crrck!~ a random wing-diver said her two thoughts over comms.

Despite their inhuman ability to see reason, they talk pretty human for a brainwashed few.

~Crrck!~ "I heard even a tank round isn't enough." ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "And I heard your mom is open for business. Shut that bullshit, don't believe the propaganda. We've taken them down before." ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "Have we? I haven't heard any reports." ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "Well… a good fang round to the dome always does the job. I mean, the cosmonauts couldn't handle it." ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "Speaking of, do we have monster and alien support?" ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "Not that I know of–" ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "Clear comms! We have company ahead!" ~Crrck!~

The force leader, he was the blacker tank ahead of the pack. Four hundred meters out, the tank systems picked up an individual. Getting a closer look, the systems weren't wrong. A lone silver giant– a big fucker– his own thoughts. The five thousand amply stopped their march, awaiting orders.

~Crrck!~ "Ready yourselves, this doesn't seem right." ~Crrck!~ the force leader alerted over comms.

As they strategized upon the weird situation of only seeing one marine, the tank system beeped. What was only four hundred meters turned 399 and slowly but surely decreased by the second.

~Crrck!~ "Ready guns men! We have a fight at hand!" ~Crrck!~

~Crrck!~ "But sir… it's only one man…" ~Crrck!~ a recruit questioned over comms. The force leader didn't respond as a veteran sufficiently smacked him alongside the head.

"Listen here grunt: when you see a silver bastard, use every means necessary to even put a scratch on the bastard. Do you understand!" The vet passed on his own experience.

"Ye– yes sir!" the young recruit acknowledged.

But in his mind, he still questioned the toughness of a silver giant.

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It burns…

A fire unlike that of a flamer…

It burns so warmly… so bright…

It burns harshly… void of color… yet so colorful…

What is happening…

"Calm…"

Wha…

"Be at ease…"

So warm… so… cozy

A warm embrace… I feel so naked… Where am I…

"You are home my grandson…"

Home… where…

"Hehe, you're so innocent."

Innocent… I'm… no such thing…

"So pure, a rightful judgment. A will to right the wrongs. A pride built upon protection. Protection of the masses, the innocence, your brothers, your father… oh how proud I am to be graced with such wonderful grandsons…"

Grandson… father… who are… you…

"I am a mother, a god, a deity, a human, a normal being, a dream, you'll have to be more specific little one."

I'm… tired…

"Oh my, let me fix that."

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—Gasp!

I awoke… What a weird dream? Was it a dream? A colorful void and a voice so delicate and sweet like the makings of a Slaaneshi honeytrap. What the hell was that? I… remember walking. The force before me numbering thousands. I was ready, I took the first step amongst the field of battle. I was ready to bring the hate that was building within me. Then, as the first step touches the ground– I… black out?

…

What is this? Thankfully I'm still in my terminator armor… but a field of grass. They shined in a beautiful and healthy life. A field of them, so pristinely taken care of, not like the battlefield that raged across Europe. Such a massive contrast baffles me– this entire thing baffles me.

Gear: check. Ammo: check. No injuries… nope.

I stood up from the ground, the grass waving as if to greet me. I looked up and on to the horizon. A solid and clear blue. White clouds like floating cotton candy. It was beautiful. I twisted and turned as I surveyed the lands. Nothing but the same ol grass and sky. No trees, animals, nothing you'd find in normal grassy plains. A first sign of something odd.

Guard up, I took the first step in this strange world. Rubble and scars, tranquil green and ocean blue skies; no matter the scenery, enemies are boundless. Storm bolter on hand, I investigated.

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I don't know how long I've been walking. What was once a beautiful scenery of tranquility was replaced with my perception of boredom. Oddly enough, it feels like I've been walking in circles. It may be due to the way the landscape seems to overlap each other in similarity… but I haven't seen my trail either. I tested it too, I leave no footsteps.

I don't know how long I've been walking, it feels like a long time. Funny, a long time is lost to me– the meaning at least. At some point, I just stopped. Bolter holstered, I just stopped and sat down. I even de-equipped my helm, the cold breeze was soothing to the skin. My helm attached to my hip, I just watched. One thing I noticed was… I never seemed to get tired here.

But it's worrying, I was on the road to battle. My brothers will be in need of me. They could've started, a hundred against five thousand with armored support… they can win but it'd be considered a pyrrhic victory. I dunno, maybe I'm underestimating my brothers…

Looking up, it's so bright… but no sign of a sun or a source of light.

…

What am I doing here? What am I to become? What… Am… I?

…

Such a treacherous question, I'm Fyrmrorth, a Keeper of the Draconic Revenants who serves Lord Father Duraeus Vendrandar.

"Argh!"

A sudden headache, enough for me to clench my head for. Visions of corpses. Man overpowering women, forcing themselves upon them. Children crying for their mothers, their fathers, their brothers or sisters. Wretched Ikons executing civilians with a dirty smugness on their faces. Their eyes sparkled as they skinned the masses. Children– inside out. Men and women, toyed for being unbelievers.

It took time, but things subsided slowly. Then, I was left with my thoughts.

I was simply angry… but why?

Then, the kid I saved before the man could do horrid things to her. The woman my brothers saved and gave righteous judgment in the form of a blade. As I reached out my hand, the kid had this spark behind her dull eyes. What was her name again… Quintess.

She called me Frymy, such a cutesy nickname is unbecoming of me… or maybe not. I remember, as I was called that by her, as she took my hand. I felt warm, I felt whole and accomplished, her smile– a beacon. I felt… human.

But that same humanity was soon drowned in such hate to the point that I was afraid…

I was afraid I'd lash out on my brothers, on Elizabeth and Quintess. I don't remember why… no… I do.

It was that man and the men before him. The– creatures that acted so barbaric towards their own people. Was this the very same people we were meant to protect? The betrayal on Tempest, if it weren't for Lord Father we'd more than likely storm it. Given the state of Earth, the likelihood of doing so is still there. Might have gone up in percentage.

"Do you question the validity of your father's cause that was given to him by his father?"

That same voice rang behind me. It hung in the air like a sweet scent. Seductive, but not in the way of bestial instinct of lust. With that said, I knew the dangers of the unknown. Turning around, I drew my storm bolter and aimed it at the unknown assailant. I would prefer that my head wouldn't be exposed; but the situation calls for action instead of comfortability.

I guess I made a mistake of taking off a piece of my armor in the middle of a combat zone.

Powerfist roaring and storm bolter trained, I took a good look at the owner of the voice.

She sparkled an innocence like no other. She was tall, like that of Lord Father. Her hair is silver, similar to Lord Father. Eyes a sapphire blue… like… Lord… Father. What sorcery is this?

She smiled at me, as if to read my thoughts, "This is no sorcery Frymrorth the Tower. My grandson."

Something about this agitated me. I felt my eyebrows squint in inquisition.

"Who are you to speak so… familiarity?" I felt my hand on the bolter tightened.

Then, just as I was watching her every move for even the slightest twitch. The world around me shifted in an unnatural state. She herself disappeared like she was never there. No sound, no afterimage, no trace. Nothing like the day of destruction. My eyes frantically scanned my surroundings. Left, right, up, down… the environment changing constantly didn't help my senses. New sensations: smells, touch, air, always changing– always a new variable.

But I kept my guard… I had to if I'm to return to my brothers…

Slowly, the transitions of forest, mountains, urban cities, alien structures, and space itself, the world around me settled at a cliffside overlooking a calm ocean. The sight took me for but a moment before becoming aware of my situation once again. I found myself at the edge of the cliff. Below, a black beach filled with rocks and minerals unknown to me. The small tides sweeping the sands below. The water gave the sands a matte black look– at least within the reaches of the element.

"Care for a drink, Frymrorth my darling."

I turned so fast the world turned to a blur. There, I saw her, sitting on a chair facing a round table. They were white, criminally white. Even the legs that kept the chair and table upright were within the presence of grass and dirt, yet I sense no taint from the touch.

"How long are you going to point that toy at me, Frymrorth?" She questioned, tilting her head cutely. Cutely? Why the fuck did I think that?

"As long as I need to, until the threat before me is vanquished," I gave her an answer to her otherwise rhetorical question.

"You should know that if you read my mind just a moment ago," I added, a bit of bite to my guttural tone.

She leans on the table, elbow on the surface of it and chin resting on the back of her hand. She wore this agitatedly teasing smirk as she watched me. Her eyes told of how much she belittles me.

"I do not belittle you little one. I'm simply amused at how fierce a son of my son would be." She teasingly commented like that of a grandmother.

I hate this shit…

Her eyes changed, a reassuring tone to them, "if you feel safer pointing that at me… then I won't complain. But, I'll ask that you do me a favor so that you'd listen like a good child."

"YOU DARE BELITTLE AN ASTARTES!" I angered out.

That only fueled this frustratingly taunting look in her eyes, "Is that so… well then 'As-tar-tes,' care for a drink?" She raised a teacup filled with an unknown substance. Her gesture was gentle and dignified. 

I didn't know what to make of it. I wanted to shoot, I wanted to squeeze the trigger and be down with it. I simply couldn't, doing so felt empty as if I'd miss something. Plus, I had a hunch that it wouldn't do anything to her.

Suddenly, the word deity came to mind, from that distant and foggy dream I had. Something about… flames…

I weighed my options. I could only do one thing and that's something I greatly despised right now.

Slowly, I lowered my bolter. That seemed to perk her up as animalistic ears seemed to twitch in joy. To where they came from, I don't fucking know. They disappeared the very same way as they appeared. Her eyes loosened up to me. They were soft and felt… they felt like I was in the presence of someone closer than I think. Someone deserving even greater respect than that of my Lord Father. How preposterous. I'm thinking like a heretic!

"Take a seat!" she giggled like a girl with no care… Maybe she truly did not care about the situation.

A chair made of the finest care was just there. I don't know if I didn't notice or if she just made it appear there… Thinking about it is going to lead me nowhere. It looked like it's made of clouds. I'll admit, I wondered if it felt like clouds too– not that I know how they feel. I'd imagine soft like feathers, maybe even softer.

"I'll stand," I rejected the offer.

"Booo…" She playfully complained.

"Oh well, getting you to just lower your weapon was hard enough… baby steps."

"NOW! Shall we get to business?"

Her entire tone shifted. No longer was she playful, no longer was the air of aloofness there. Within it was replaced with this seductive, driving nature to her. Seductive maybe too strong of a word… or too undeserving of a word to describe her. A feminine charm that didn't touch the instinctual horn dog in every man. She was the descriptor itself. Beauty, charm, sexy, cute, gorgeous, stunning, she was all and more. Her eyes glowed a bright blue. As she looked at me, it was as if my soul was in full view of her.

Seductive, motherly, bossy, arrogant, prideful, dignified… She was a woman that didn't ask for respect. No implication if she deserved the attention either. Right now… the mentioned attributes gravitated towards her. She had my full attention.

"My name is Alicia Vendrandar, mother of Duraeus Vendrandar… It's good to finally meet one of my many grandsons."

I couldn't speak as she revealed info unknown to me. It sounded ridiculous.

She leans back. Her hand– open palmed– reality seemed to bend and change as easily as she breathed. Then, the space above her hand solidified, leaving my Legions insignia.

"I have… an accord."