986.M41 Emperor's Boot
Three months. Three long months of warp travel and they were almost back to the craftworld. Jarod sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He had spent hours working out the paperwork that he had been putting off for roughly a month before they entered the warp. Three months of travel and nothing to do turned out to work wonders for getting work done.
The paperwork also resulted in him learning quite a bit about the Emperor's boot and it's crew. Manned by over two thousand people, it worked like a well-oiled machine… which it was. They had roughly four thousand guardsmen left from when they were first recruited by Robert, taking enough to raise them to five thousand men.
In total, the number of men and women on board the Emperor's Boot came out at about seven and a half thousand people, with that number fluctuating every so often. Kind of a small number compared to the rest of the Imperial ships out in the galaxy, but enough to keep the kilometer and a half long frigate up and running. There were only a handful of techpriests on board, all of them being under the direct command of Magos Matthias. There was, of course, their navigator, who rarely spoke to anyone and mostly just sat in their daemon resistant room.
Thinking about it, Jarod didn't even know the man's name until he looked it up in the database; and even then he forgot it almost immediately. All things considered, it wasn't all that important, and if what he had heard from the command decks crew was to be believed, the Navigator preferred to be left to his duties in following the Astronomican.
Moving his mind to their encounter with Farseer Tasiel, Jarod only became more concerned about his partners possible psyker abilities. The two of them had immediately gone to Alaric to see if what the Eldar said was true, and the space marine -- while not outright confirming it -- did say that Michael's soul shined brighter in the warp compared to that of a natural human. Jarod was a bit surprised that he didn't notice himself, but Alaric had explained that it was not uncommon for newly discovered psykers to be unable to differentiate relatively minor differences between peoples souls.
Another thing that Jarod had gone and done during the trip was taking a look at the contraption he had attached to the Gellar Drive during one of his drunken escapades. The device would hum off and on when they were in the warp, and while no one was quite sure what it did, it didn't seem to cause any harm -- immediate or otherwise. Though, during one particular experiment, Alaric did note that there were fewer daemons trying to get through the fields when the device was humming.
In the end, the group decided to simply leave it, not wanting to risk breaking something that was, by all accounts, helping.
During the three months long trip, Michael also managed to heal, though… not through 'conventional means'. His hand healed well enough, the bones and tissue healing quickly once they were set back in place, but his legs were another matter. The bone was severely damaged, and metal braces were put in to keep them stable, and while he was technically considered combat ready, Matthias had warned Michael that if his legs took any damage like that ever again, prosthetics might be his only option.
[-----]
Richard could hardly be called a simple man. His life up to this point had been a roller coaster of combat, Chaos, heresy, Xenos, and anything else that would have gotten him shot by a commissar. Fortunately for him, he happened to know the Rogue Trader and Captain Michael personally, though considering the two of them were often accompanied by eight-foot-tall space marines… he rarely sought them out.
It wasn't as if he was ungrateful to have two of the Emperor's own angels of death, but considering at least one of them used to be a Chaos Space Marine -- now a black shield -- and the other a former member of the Deathwatch and a psyker, the two were probably more dangerous than most already dangerous Adeptus Astartes. Still, they had saved his life back in his old regiment, and he owed them a debt.
He was also the one many of the other guardsmen came to looking for advice, more often than not in the middle of his lunch.
"So… I mean, I've heard stories about Rogue Traders, about them being insane lunatics that are hardly better than Inquisitors!" One of the rookies asked leaning over his food tray. Well, 'rookie' wasn't the right term per se, but the man was new to the Emperor's Boot, and that was enough to color him a rookie by most of the other guardsmen standards.
"Well, I suppose that depends. Jarod and Captain Michael are both… eccentric, I think is the right word. I'm sure you've seen them chatting with the space marines, they seem to know just how they'll act as if they've known them for a long time. Realistically it's a good thing your suspicious, better to be so than to just accept such behavior." Richard admitted, "Now, I can tell you right now that it shouldn't worry you. Just… be prepared for what's to come."
The rookie's eyes went wide for a second, before he calmed almost immediately, still leaning forward, "W-what do you mean?"
"Well, to anyone else in the galaxy, making peace with the Necron's of all things would be heresy right?" Richard asked, the rookie nodding furiously, "Well, their not the only Xenos he's managed to team up with. Matter of fact that's where we're headed now, to the Eldar Craftworld of Aurorum-III."
"Eldar?" the guardsmen asked whimsically.
"Yeah, pointy-eared lunatics. They're fast when the fighting starts, I'll tell you that. Still takes more than a few to take down a Chaos space marine though."
The young guardsmen gulped, "T-traitor marines!? You've fought them?"
Richard let out a chuckle, "My friend, if you live long enough, you might even get to kill one. I did after all."
The conversation continued after that, the boy asking a dozen different questions, before moving on. The next day, the conversation would be repeated with a different guardsman. It was rather tiresome all things considered, but Richard would admit it was better than sitting in a trench waiting to be slaughtered by some Nurgle Cultists.
One day, while walking down the halls of the ship, he actually managed to run into Michael of all people, on one of the few occasions he wasn't being trailed by a space marine or a cogboy.
"Ah! Hey Richard, haven't seen you in a while." Michael greeted him, holding out a hand.
Richard shrugged, shaking the offered limb, "Well, We've been in the warp a few months now, and you've been spending the bulk of your time in the Medical ward. Still nice to see you without those space marines trailing you."
"Well, I'm finally back on my feet at least. Though I have to ask, what's so bad about the space marines?" He asked.
"Their Angels of Death for starters, I suppose. I guess I'm just not used to you treating them so… casually." Richard admitted.
"I guess I can see where you're coming from. Though, as far as treating them casually goes? It gets more and clearer answers out of them when we talk. I don't know, it's just what we do." Michael admitted with a shrug.
Richard nodded, and the two of them parted ways again. One thing that Richard was thankful for was how involved Michael was as a commander. While he was in charge of the men sent to the front lines and gave orders to attack or retreat, he didn't do it from behind a fancy desk up in orbit like so many other commanders did, he was on the ground alongside his men.
Jarod held a similar reputation in his eyes, as while he was rarely part of the frontal assaults, he would often take part in some of the riskier moves, such as when he infiltrated the Necron tomb world or dropped from the roof of the Eldar craftworld. Granted the latter of those ended with him getting backhanded by a traitor marine, but he did survive in the end.
Still, at the end of it all, Michael and Jarod were smart. Emperor knows that they needed to be to have gotten where they were now, that and no small amount of dumb luck.
[-----]
"Three minutes until we exit the warp, my lord." One of the bridge crewmen announced.
Jarod smiled. They were finally going to exit the warp, and he could finally get a good nights rest and have a chat with Elirom. Hopefully, they would be able to figure out if Michael really was a psyker.
The minutes passed slowly, agonizingly, until they finally exited the warp. Jarod knew it happened before the crewmen even announced it, the sheer difference in his mind noticing when he exited the warp. What set off a number of alarm bells, however, was the very extreme presence of the warp within realspace not far away.
"How far are we from the craftworld?" Jarod asked cautiously.
"Just over a hundred thousand kilometers sir, we should be able to be there in about twenty minutes sir."
Jarod frowned, sending his consciousness out towards the craftworlds direction. The distance was massive and was difficult even for him to see without unleashing his full power, and so he slowly released bits of it until he could see what exactly was going on. His eyes immediately shot open when he saw what was happening.
"All hands on deck! Tell everyone to prepare for battle!" Jarod yelled suddenly.
"Sir, what are you-"
"My lord! Auger arrays are detecting unknown vessels surrounding the craftworld!" One crewman interrupted another.
"How many?" Jarod asked firmly, the crew already being put on high alert.
"Four, my lord! Unknown size and class, but definitely bigger than us!"
Jarod cursed under his breath, pressing a button in order to vox Michael, "Michael, can you hear me?" He asked.
"Loud and clear Jarod. What's going on? We just exited the warp and now the whole ships been put on high alert. We didn't run into a Tyranid hive fleet did we?" He asked.
"Arguably worse. There are about four chaos ships surrounding the craftworld. Last time it was just the one, but now it seems they've come back with reinforcements." Jarod explained.
Michael cursed over the vox, pausing for a moment, "How long until we reach them?"
"About twenty minutes until we can get you on the craftworld, probably a bit longer as those ships are going to be shooting at us pretty soon."
"Just great. And I was having such a nice day too."
"Welcome to the forty-first millennium," Jarod said before finally cutting off the vox.
The next several minutes were some of the tensest moments the crew had experienced. Almost everyone remained silent as they kept getting closer to the craftworld. After a few minutes, it seemed one of the Chaos ships took notice of them and started heading their way. Once they got close, they realized it was a very much corrupted sword class frigate. While the Emperor's Boot was technically smaller than the former imperial vessel, it would definitely have an easy time taking out something like that frigate.
The Emperor's Boot was covered stern to bow in armor and guns, with overlapping void shields that would make Heavy weapons blush. Richard really hadn't skimped out when the ship had been built, as day after day, it seemed to be showing off new toys for Jarod to play with.
After about ten minutes, both ships were in the range of each other's weapons, and Jarod gave the order to fire. The first volley of shots went wide, not even coming close to hitting, with the first volley from the Chaos ships coming a bit close for comfort, but missing all the same. The second volley was much more successful, with the kinetic shells exploding against the ships void shields. Laser weapons were used as well, though to a less devastating effect.
As the two engines of war closed in on each other, the ratio of hits and misses leaned ever closer to the former, with shots hitting more frequently. However, while the aim of Jarod's crew had only seemed to improve the closer they got, the Chaotic forces seemed to get more frantic, with shells firing at illogical angles and targeting necessary areas of the ship. Even when they were less than ten thousand kilometers away, the forces of chaos still missed around half their shots. And that was including the lasers.
Eventually, they managed to bring down the enemies void shields, and one of their shells hit a vital part of the ship, causing the engines to explode from the inside out, spacing the crew and leaving the ship a lifeless husk. All in all, the void shields held, and Jarod let out a sigh of relief. Fortunately for him, the other ships didn't seem to notice his skirmish… at least at first.
One thing not many people knew, was that craftworlds were absolutely massive. As in, making the death star look like a tugboat massive. These things were what housed entire planets worth of population after all, and the Eldar never did anything by halves. As a result of this fact, the chaos corrupted ships were too far away and too focused on what they were doing to try and deal with one measly ship. They probably didn't even realize that one of their own had been destroyed.
Moving closer to the craftworld, Jarod ordered the ship to swing around and dock with the opposite side of the craftworld in order to avoid immediate ship-to-ship combat. Most of the guardsmen, both space marines, and whatever vehicles would fit on the craftworld were unloaded, with Michael planning on leading the defense on the ground while Jarod focused on the void combat.
Elirom was standing at the docking bay to greet Michael, with a frustrated look on his face.
"We leave for six months and the whole place falls apart!" Michael exclaimed in frustration, "What happened!?"
"The forces of the dark gods have come back for revenge. I saw this as a possible outcome but… not a likely one. It seems I was wrong in that regard." The farseer explained.
Michael threw his hands up in exasperation, "Well, that just goes to show you can't exactly trust future knowledge… anyway, what's the situation? What kind of numbers are we dealing with?"
"There are thousands of mortal cultists throwing themselves at our defenses, with more than a few of their space marine rulers commanding and assisting them. Fortunately, there are no never-born among their ranks, and while the majority of them are pledged to she-who-thirsts, there are many worshippers of the blood god among them, oddly enough."
Michael cursed under his breath, before ordering his forces to advance. It only took them a few minutes to get to the front line thanks to the design of Aeldari roads and the fact that they did have access to smaller armor, but a few minutes was a few minutes too long. When they finally reached the front, it was chaos.
The Eldar held the line, their weapons ripping through the cultists like a hot knife through butter, but the sheer number of crazed and mutated humans was making it difficult to defend against. At some point, the defenders stopped using wraithbone barricades, and instead started using the corpses of the cultists as improvised sandbags. A rather macabre strategy, but functional nonetheless.
The guardsmen reinforcements were a breath of fresh air to the Aeldari defenders, with Imperial lasguns giving the Aspect Warriors time to reload and regroup.
Michael personally set up next to an Eldar dire avenger, "How long have you been holding out?" Michael asked, his voice projecting over the screams and gunfire.
The Elder leaned over the barricade, taking a shot before ducking to avoid a spray of bullets, "Less than an hour, contrary to what the corpses would have you believe." He explained.
Michael grimaced, taking a look at the battlefield in front of them. The forces of chaos, confirming what Elirom had said earlier, were mostly made up of cultists, with a handful of traitor marines directing the hoard.
Michael and his guardsmen managed to cull the tide, keeping the cultists from gaining any more ground. It almost looked like they were going to be able to turn the tide entirely. Until the berserker arrived.
A giant clad in adamantium plate and ceramite charged into the guardsmen line. Michael barely got a look at the traitor before he realized how bad the situation had gotten. Unlike the other traitor marines that commanded the cultists, this Khornate berserker was clad in tactical dreadnought armor. Terminator armor.
The shurikens of the Eldar weapons bounced off the plated armor, and the modified lasguns -- while miles more effective than normal lasguns -- still only managed to scratch the paint off of the armor.
The blood red giant tore through the Eldar, his brutal chainaxe in one hand rendering them in half while a daemonic storm-bolter tore through the guardsmen. Many Howling Banshees, Striking Scorpions, and even a warp spider tried getting in close, but their weapons did almost nothing to the traitor.
The cultists took advantage of the breach as well, and they started pouring through the guardsman line, some getting a bit too close to the berserker and getting ripped apart in the bloodshed. Cursing under his breath, Michael ordered the line to fall back, taking potshots at the cultists whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The allies fell back to the outer gardens, less than a kilometer from the hab-blocks. The forces of chaos slaughtered anyone to slow to reach the new barricade. The Imperial armor managed to slow the advance somewhat, but even the heavy stubbers on the APC's did little to stem the flow of madmen and traitor Marines.
Michael pressed his back against a wraithbone pillar, breathing heavily, before he spotted a Howling Banshee dragging themselves away from the battle, a hand clutching a stomach wound. Sighing, Michael burst from cover, shooting a few las bolts towards the cultists.
At the last possible second, he dropped his weapon and picked up the Eldar in one motion, throwing her over his shoulders as he sprinted back to cover. Bullets and lasfire surrounded him as he slid behind the burning wreckage of an Eldar grav-tank, setting the howling banshee down next to him.
Peeking out of cover, he made sure the line held. Fortunately for him, it seemed the forces of the dark gods seemed to be letting off the assault to regroup. Looking back to the groaning Eldar, he immediately noticed the red blood already crystallizing around the armor. He reached up to take off the Eldar's helmet, revealing a familiar face.
"Salah?" Michael asked.
"Stupid… Mon'keigh…" the Exarch muttered, making Michael chuckle.
"That's the second time I pulled your ass out the fire," Michael said amusedly.
Salah only groaned, turning her head to the side. Thinking quickly, Michael waved down an APC as it drove past them, it's auto-gun turret roaring as it provided suppressing fire for the retreating troops. Picking up Salah, he made his way over to the vehicle, staying low to avoid the enemy.
"Get her to the hab-blocks! Make sure she gets to whatever count's as a medic around here!" Michael ordered as he put her into the back seat of the vehicle. The trooper driving nodded, turning around and driving to the back of the line.
Michael turned back to the battlefield just in time to avoid a bolt round, the explosive shot exploding behind him. Carefully peaking out of cover, he saw Calivar and Alaric fighting back to back, the black shield wielding his bolter and the librarian swinging his power sword and conjuring warp lighting.
[-----]
Above them, Jarod commanded the Emperor's boot to engage the Chaos fleet above the craftworld. While they were still at point-blank range in terms of void combat, Jarod didn't fire on them for fear of damaging the craftworld as a result, and the Chaos ships took advantage of this, not being able to raise their void-shields while lowering troops onto the craftworld and firing upon the Emperor's Boot with their macro cannons. To counteract this, Jarod ordered all power to the front void shields and the thrusters in hopes of ramming one of the ships.
Fortunately for Jarod, his plan worked, with the enemies weapons exploding against the ship's shields but not being able to bring them down. With no time to spare, the ship slammed into the broadside of the first enemy ship. The results were catastrophic, with the enemy ship collapsing in on itself as the Emperor's Boot slammed into it, the ship tearing in two. The two halves of the ships fell to the craftworld, crashing against it.
The Emperor's Boot continued forward between the two remaining ships, it's own macro cannons firing the second they were at the right angle. With the distance between ships only being a few dozen kilometers, there was almost no reason for the shots to miss, and no, they did not miss.
The macro cannon rounds slammed into the enemy ships, tearing them apart and sending the derelict hulls floating off into space. Jarod smirked to himself, silently thanking all that was holy that his plan paid off.
[-----]
"My lord, the ships have been destroyed." One of the Slaaneshi marine's informed Lucius, timidly lowering his head.
Lucius grimaced, looking out at the battlefield before him. Up to that point he had stayed out of the battle to find who was in charge of the situation, and who would provide the greatest challenge. He soon spotted the marine in black and blue armor who was dancing among the cultists with deadly grace, cutting them apart easily. He would at least provide a challenge if nothing else.
"Order the troops to move forward and into the hab-blocks. We've waited long enough." The chaos lord ordered. The traitor marine bowed, before passing on the order.
Up to that point, there had been very few marines in the combat, with only the Khornate berserkers in their impatient rage dashing forward to draw blood. Now, over a hundred Slaaneshi marines joined the fray, tearing into the ranks of the Eldar and Imperial loyalists. It truly was a sight to behold.
At first, it didn't seem like the added presence of Chaos Marines would really change anything, the weapons of the Imperials living up to their reputation of forcing the Marines to stick closer to cover than they otherwise would have. That lasted less than a minute, as one of the Imperial transports exploded, then another, and another, and another. Until finally, the enemies of the chaos gods were forced to break, running into the city behind them, with the rabid cultists and traitor marines following close behind.
Lucius grinned, looking on as the two loyalist space marines covered their allies retreat. Such an act of kindness would certainly fulfill their own demise.
[-----]
"Damnit!" Michael cursed as he ran, dodging bolter fire as he ran into the hab-blocks. The forces of chaos had been holding back, clearly, and had brought more than enough chaos marines to tear through their own forces.
As he ran, he heard the screams of men and women as the cultists raped and killed them, not necessarily in that order. The servants of Slaanesh were sick like that. Turning a corner, he pressed his back up against the wall, holding his breath as the cultists chasing him ran right past him.
He wondered where the attack had gone wrong, if they had made some kind of mistake, or were just outmatched from the beginning. 'Probably some combination of the two really' he thought to himself.
Letting out a quiet, controlled sigh, he leaned out from his hiding spot to see the damage left behind him. It seemed as though most of the civilians had gotten evacuated, if not all of them, giving him some kind of relief. Still, there was an uneasy feeling in his gut, and he didn't like it. This was only punctuated when he heard a scream that sounded like it came from a little girl.
"MOMMA!"
His head snapped in the direction of the scream, and he began sprinting. His legs ached, having run for so long already, and the metal in his legs felt like it was scraping the inside of his bones. He would probably be in a lot of pain in the near future, but he didn't care all that much, his mind solely focused on the scream.
Eventually, he found the source of the scream, and it made his blood boil. A group of three cultists was standing over the broken and bloodied body of a Howling Banshee, a massive hole in her chest. One of the cultists held what looked like a reddish-purple stone in his hand, a stone that Michael immediately recognized as the Eldar's spirit stone.
Behind the three, another two cultists held a small Eldar girl between them by her arms, letting her watch the Howling Banshee slowly be killed.
Michael recognized the girl as the one who had spoken to him less than a year ago -- it wasn't like there were many Eldar children -- and it broke his heart seeing her in the position she was in. Tears streaked down her face, her clothing was torn and dirty, and the cultists holding her were just giggling.
"Don't hurt momma!" she cried out in broken low-gothic, trying to stop them to no avail.
The cultist holding her mother's spirit stone laughed, before raising his dagger and driving it down into the stone and through his own hand. The stone shattered, a cry of psychic energy radiating out of it as it screeched in agony as Slaanesh devoured the soul. The cultist only laughed, even as his hand bled profusely as from his own self-inflicted wound.
Michael cried out in pure rage as he rushed forward, firing his las-pistol, taking the head off of the cultists holding the Eldar girl and blasting the arm off the other. He soon reached the three standing over the banshee's corpse, his metal arm gripping the neck of one of them and crushing his wind-pipe, before ripping it out entirely. Blood spewed everywhere, covering Michael's left side and staining his uniform a gaudy red.
The two remaining cultists were unfortunately given time to react. Now that he was closer to them, Michael realized that he stood a good head taller than either of them, and the only real danger was if they somehow had weapon's available to them. His query was soon answered as the cultist that had destroyed the spirit stone pulled the dagger out of his hand, a twisted, rusty thing that now seemed to glow pink with psychic energy.
The cultist stabbed at Michael, making him backstep before swinging his left arm forward, breaking the cultist's nose with the weight of cold Imperial steel. The second cultist came up behind the first, swinging a metal pipe which Michael caught, her attack poorly telegraphed. Before he dealt with her, he brought his las-pistol to the other cultists head and blasted their face off completely, before flipping the weapon around and pistol whipping the woman in front of him. And just like the other, he blasted her face off as well.
The fight was over in seconds, and Michael bearly heard the girls sobbing over his own heavy breathing. Looking down, he saw the girl holding her mother's shoulders, crying into the crook of her neck. It broke his heart to see, even more so that he had not arrived in time to save her mother's spirit stone.
Kneeling next to her, he placed his las-pistol to the side in order to place his still biological hand on the girl's shoulder. She didn't even seem to notice, as she just kept on crying. They stayed like that for several minutes, Michael rubbing her back in order to soothe her and the girl just crying.
Eventually, she stopped, not for lack of emotion mind you, but it seemed she had run out of tears. Michael continued to stay silent, content to just stay kneeling. The girl looked up at him, her eyes puffed up and red with tears. Michael wasn't sure what to do in all honesty, but she seemed to take the lead as she quickly -- and surprisingly -- wrapped her arms around his neck.
Michael sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do before he slowly and carefully hugged the girl back. She said something, a muffled voice coming from the crook of his shoulder. Carefully, he pulled her away, still holding onto her.
"What did you say?" He asked.
She sniffed, looking up at him, "You stop bad people… you help me. Thank you." she said simply. Michael almost burst into tears himself at that, wrapping her in an even tighter hug. He chuckled, slightly.
They sat there for a few minutes more, the girl content to lay in his arms, not asleep, but calm.
"Kiara, right?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. She nodded. "We can't stay here."
She nodded. She might not have known what had happened, but she knew that there were more of those crazed Mon'keigh looking all over, trying their best to find and kill any Aeldari they came across. Getting up, she stood facing him, and he kneeled in front of her. Her face was covered in grime and blood, and Michael did his best to clean it off with the hem of his sleeve but found his efforts useless as he wasn't in much better shape himself.
For the first time in over a half hour though, his vox rang.
"This is Captain Michael, copy," he called out as he answered the vox-bead.
"Thank the Emperor! You're alive!" the voice on the other end called out, Richard if the voice was right.
"Yeah, I'm alive and I have a little Eldar girl alongside me. What happened?" He asked.
"An Eldar gi-? You know what, nevermind. Look, we've managed to stabilize thing's out here, but it's still bad. We're on the opposite end of the city from where we started, where are you?"
"Inside the city at the moment."
"What!? You're inside the city!? How!? That place has been completely overrun!"
"Dumb luck, a blessing from the Emperor, who knows? But right now I need to know what the situation is, and how I can get me and her out of the city."
"Alright… Alright… ok, you remember what we did when we first met?"
"Yeah. We ran toward friendly lines like a bunch of maniacs."
"Yeah, DON'T do that. Try and get to the girl to a safe place, and then get yourself over here. We can provide cover fire and open a path for you, should be safer than what happened last time."
"Well alright then, I'll see you in a bit," Michael said, cutting off the vox link. He turned to Kiara, grabbing her shoulder firmly, "Alright, you need to stay close to me ok?" he asked, getting a nod in response.
The two soon headed out, Michael leading her by the hand and checking the area around them. Eventually, Michael soon discovered a building that was still intact, and actually had a functioning lock on its door.
"Alright, in here," he said, leading her inside. Looking around the room, he led her to the back of the building sitting her down behind a couch.
"Ok, you stay here alright? And here, take these-" he handed her both his vox-bead and las-pistol, "If someone other than me or another Aeldari comes in here, aim and pull the trigger, alright?" He told her, pointing to the las-pistol receiving another nod, "Ok, When this thing beeps, press the button so I can talk to you. If that happens, then I'll be on my way back, alright?"
"Where are you going?" She asked.
Michael smiled warmly, "I'm going to stop more bad people, and help save some good ones."
[-----]
Alaric grimaced under his helmet as he decapitated another of the traitors to humanity. It didn't make his blood boil in rage like his cousins in the Black Templars or the Bronze Stars, but he hated the forces of chaos, all the same, only he was willing to use them for the further betterment of humanity.
He and Calivar had helped keep the retreat stable, the two of them being the only ones that could really stand against the Emperor's children warband attacking them. Still, even they were not infallible, and both of them had gained more than a few nicks and dents in their armor.
It seemed the tide of cultists and traitor marines had been stemmed, somewhat, but Alaric was worried that something far worse was on its way. He did not sense the foul presence of daemon's nearby, so it couldn't be that, but something else told him that something was coming, something that could kill him as easily as it breathed.
His worry was given form when the towering form of a space marine came from the edges of the city, clad in armor shaped in the form of a thousand screaming faces, wielding a long, vile whip-like creature in his left hand, and a sharp, cursed sword in his right. This space marine wore no helmet, but Alaric knew that was no advantage to the long-ranged weaponry of the guardsmen and Aeldari warriors.
The giant walked out onto the battlefield, slowly, methodically. The cultists around Alaric began to disperse, and the loyalist marine realized just what was happening. That traitor was heading straight for him.
"I see you study the art of the blade as well, loyalist!" the traitor said, his voice a grating yet smooth sound, as if it was meant to repulse and seduce at the same time.
"I am the Emperor's blade, that I can assure you." Alaric informed him.
The chaos lord laughed, openly and filled with mirth, "You loyalists are all the same! Still, I would have your name before I kill you."
Alaric grimaced, "I am Alaric, of the Astral Winds chapter. And I will not die today."
The chaos lord only let out a low rumbling chuckle, "Well, it seems only fitting that I introduce myself as well. I am Lucius the Eternal! Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children, and favored warrior of the dark prince!"
Alaric readied his stance. He had heard of Lucius the Eternal, and he was aware that he had been alive since the days of the Horus Heresy, but fighting him would be another story entirely. Whether he would survive was yet to be seen, but Alaric didn't let himself dwell on the thought.
The two swordsmen rushed forward, their blades held high before the force fields surrounding them clashed, sparks of energy flowing off them. They were a flurry of movement, dancing back and forth faster than the natural eye could see. Alaric blasted the chaos lord with warp lightning, only for the sentient whip to come up and block the attack. Lucius spun, slashing at Alaric with his blade and whip, the loyalist barely managing to dodge either.
Their duel continued, and the battle around them raged on, a stalemate. It almost seemed as though the fight between Lucius and Alaric was tied to their respective forces, and whichever of them fell first would be the deciding factor.
Finally, with a twist of his blade, Alaric severed the whip from Lucius' hand, the creature writhing on the ground as blood poured from the wound. Lucius roared, his blade moving forward quickly, finding purchase in Alaric's gut. The blade went past the armor and into his flesh, rupturing his intestines and causing the space marine a great deal of pain.
Lucius laughed, "Now you see, Alaric, Chaos is inevitable."
Alric grunted, dropping his own blade and reaching up to grab the Laer blade. Lucius blinked in surprise as Alaric pulled the sword deeper into him, the point coming out the other side. Alaric grunted, a painful sound that did not fit an Adeptus Astartes, but one that came from a human nonetheless.
"Say hello to your gods." Alaric spat.
Lucius looked down and saw the grenade Alaric held, his eyes widening a fifth of a second before the explosion rocked the battlefield, the Astartes sized frag grenade sending them both flying in opposite directions, the Laer blade still lodged in Alaric's body.
[-----]
Michael blinked in shock at the duel he just witnessed, and he wasn't the only one. Each side of the battle seemed to pause at the sight as if taking a minute to simply comprehend what had happened. The chaos forces recovered first, quickly running to attack the stunned Imperials. Michael barely wasted a second, however, rushing to where Alaric's body had landed. The space marine armor had shrapnel buried in the adamantium plate, the cerimite layer having been completely destroyed.
Michael cursed, reaching to try and remove his helmet. Undoing the latch, he succeeded in his goal, only to see Alaric cough up a glob of blood.
"Alaric! Oh… oh no…"
Michael looked at the wound where the sword jutted out. There was almost no blood, but Michael knew even space marine biology would have a hard time dealing with that kind of wound.
"Who was that? Who did this to you?" Michael asked.
Alaric lifted one hand weakly, pointing to the other side of the battlefield, "Lucius, the Eternal." he said, before slumping back to the ground. Michael's eyes widened before he looked in the direction Alaric pointed. There, among the corpses of Eldar, guardsman, and cultist, stood a champion of the dark prince.
The loyalist Marine's breath was barely audible but ragged all the same. Cursing the dark gods, Michael stood up and gripped the Lear Blade. Now that he knew who the owner was, he was reasonably sure what the sword was, and how dangerous it could be. Pulling with all his strength, he removed it from Alaric's body, the space marine grunting in pain. Michael lifted the silver blade, stained red with blood, and looked at with no small amount of awe.
This weapon had turned one of the Emperor's own sons to chaos, and while the daemon that once inhabited the gem in it's pommel no longer resided there, Michael couldn't help but shiver at the fact that he was holding it.
"Impressive, is it not?" A booming voice said.
Michael whipped around to see Lucius standing less than a hundred feet away. Too far for Michael to do any damage, but more than close enough for Lucius to get in close and snap the mortal's neck.
"This thing killed a Primarch, and turned the other to chaos. I don't think 'impressive' quite covers it." Michael said, hoping he could stall the chaos lord.
Lucius chuckled, "I see the Imperium has not totally fallen into ignorance."
"Oh it definitely has, I'm just the exception to the rule."
This time, Lucius let a full-blown laugh, "You truly are to smart for your own good, aren't you? You should join me! Join Slaanesh! Taste the unending pleasure and stimulation the dark prince has to offer!"
"And get raped by barbed wire tentacles? No thanks. I'd rather take my chances with the corpse."
Michael's response caused Lucius to pause, "The corpse? So you acknowledge your Emperor's own death?" he asked.
Michael shrugged, backing up a few steps and bringing the Laer blade to bare, "I'll be honest, the Emperor's not a god, and he never claimed to be one. Good on him I guess, but even as a corpse he has enough power to run the golden throne."
Lucius tsked, rolling his shoulders, "So be it, I suppose." and he charged forward.
Michael ducked, barely avoiding the power armored fist flying at him. He thrust the sword upward, but the lack of force behind it kept it from penetrating the armor, instead just scraping against it. Michael used his momentum to roll forward and twist around just in time to dodge yet another fist. This time Michael swung wide, telegraphing his attack terribly but giving himself some much-needed breathing room.
Lucius backed off somewhat, laughing, "You have sparred with Astartes before it would seem." He said, watching as Michael shot a glance at Alaric's body, causing Lucius to look at him, "Ah, a mentor perhaps? Someone-"
He was cut off what Michael dashed forward, thrusting upwards only Lucius to bat the sword to the side and grab Michael by the neck, lifting him upwards, "I must say, you at least know how to distract your opponent. A pity you didn't succeed."
But before Lucius could do anything, snap Michael's neck, decapitate him, crush him, or any other painful death, a single las-bolt impacted his pauldron. Lucius paused, his eyes turning to face what or who had shot him. It wasn't a guardsman, it wasn't an aspect warrior, it was a little girl, barely four years old.
She was shaking horribly. The tips of her pointed ears felt cold, and her hair was a mess, matted with dirt and blood, but the little Eldar girl stood there, the las-pistol Michael had given her pointed at a man a dozen times her size.
Lucius tilted his head in confusion, tossing Michael to the ground, knocking out any air left in his lungs, and began walking toward the girl. Lucius walked towards her, his steps clanging against the wraithbone. The girl pulled the trigger again, the shot barely registering on Lucius' chest.
Lucius laughed. She pulled the trigger again. Again, it didn't even scratch his armor.
"What do you hope to accomplish!!?" Lucius yelled, a massive grin splitting his face, "What could you possibly think you could do!?"
"Stay away from him!" she yelled, causing Lucius to stop in his tracks.
He turned to look at Michael, rolled over, gasping for breath, "You came here to protect him!?" Lucius asked, his booming laughter echoing through the craftworld. He soon stood over her, his form looming, "I will tell you now girl, I will kill you, and then, I will kill-"
A sword, curved and silver emerged from his throat, blood pouring out of the wound. Lucius choked, his grin never leaving his face as he gripped his neck. Gripping the back of his armor, Michael drove the blade further with his metal arm.
"Adrenalin's a bitch," he whispered into Lucius's ear, before jumping off of the space marines back as he stumbled backward. Lucius stumbled, tripping over the corpse of a cultist and falling backward. The force of his fall drove the Laer blade the rest of the way in, decapitating him, his severed head falling to the ground and rolling away, the massive, demonic grin never leaving it.
Michael's shoulders sagged, and he almost collapsed right then and there, if it hadn't been for the thirty-five pounds slamming into his leg and hugging him. Michael kneeled down, picking her up and returning the gesture. Tears ran down her face as she cried into his shoulder.
"It's going to be okay… I'm alright," he said.
She sniffled, "I-I'm sorry I left… I-I didn't want you dead like mother."
Michael's eyes teared up, and he hugged her tighter. Both of them were covered in blood, but neither cared. With the death of their leader, the forces of chaos broke, and the guardsmen and Aeldari rallied, wiping the rest of them out. Michael and Kiara just sat there, hugging and crying.