Shadow of Medusa, MORE UPDATE! 7th Feb

This is a continuation of the 'Burning Sand' storyline, and has a whoooole lot more coming, this is my biggest story arc to date. Enjoy!

Space is a very, very big place. There are vast voids between systems, nebula and warp storms, places so empty and far from anything that even the light of the stars seems dim. For those who do not wish to be found, these open spaces are havens, provided they are well-supplied, as even solar energy is difficult to harvest in reasonable quantities.

The Rock, a particle of dust compared to the vastness of space, drifts lifelessly in one of these voids. In human terms, the vessel is gargantuan, what started as a 80km long asteroid has slowly been mined, the precious metals and minerals extracted from it's depths. Weapons pods had originally been installed to protect the massive source of raw material, and for a time it was a space station. It's current incarnation is more akin to a super-heavy cruiser, large enough that it houses an entire Grand Company of Iron Warriors. Space-craft bays pock it's surface, and a rash of turrets, weapon batteries and sensor pods coat it's black and silver surface. Hundreds of thousands of tunnels run throughout, running in directions that cloud the mind. Many of the larger cavities were made by miners excitedly ripping every gram of mineral wealth from the asteroid, and now served as assembly halls, storage areas, even factories. Beneath the Rock's immense bulk sit a pair of Desolator class cruisers, suspended in mazes of scaffolding. In stark contrast to the dead and unmoving surface of the Rock, the construction zone was a hive of activity. Insectile builder robots scuttle everywhere, deftly crawling through the metal beams, components gripped tightly in their mandibles. Drifting aloof of the activity are several piloted vessels. Occasionally a welding laser or suspensor beam will lance out from one of them, but on the whole they are content to simply co-ordinate the swarming robots.

Something foreign enters the bustling construction site, quietly drifting in from the black space. It is barely the size of a man, almost worth the attention of the Rock's many sensor sweeps, however the great vessel automatically ignores small objects. In a warzone, unless certain filters are put in place, a sensor sweep will be overloaded with contacts as each pebble, frozen cloud of gas and chunk of debris registers. As such, the object is totally unnoticed until it drifts directly in front of one of the construction spacecraft, it's lifeless hand dragging across the pilot's cockpit window. It is quite safe to say the pilot soiled themself in surprise. One doesn't exactly expect to find the corpse of a comrade free-floating in space, does one? Especially not the body of a soldier thought to have died on the battlefield of a planet now ravaged by Warp storms.

Khargoth stormed down the dimly-lit corridor leading to the medical wing. The closest resemblance it had to a conventional medical facility was the presence of surgical tools. If the average person had heard the commotion coming from inside this area, they would have thought they were standing outside a mechanic's shop. Khargoth could hear the distinctive whine of a pneumatic drill, more than likely boring through bone, or attaching the final bolts to a mechanical enhancement. He stopped in a waiting room, knowing that storming straight into the ward would yield little results. The Enginseer he was here to see was probably up to his armpits in a prisoner's body, happily tinkering and modifying. To his left was a pair of large viewing windows. One showed a holding pen. Inside stood a raving maniac, judging by the blood pouring from every orifice in his head, a possessed one. The host spotted Khargoth, screeched loudly and vomited blood all over the viewing window. Khargoth could hear crashes and bangs as it threw itself at the now-obscured glass. The other window proved to be much more interesting. An Ultramarine was strapped face-down to an operating table, most of the back of his armour cut away. Gleaming flaps of skin hung open around the steel parody of a spinal chord, which an enginseer was working on. Khargoth looked down to see a small button at the base of the window, and a vox crackled to life when he pressed it.
"-think that's it. Double-check circuit breaker, energy cell installed, nervous connections made... test 5, time 0619 hours."
There was a violent crackle, and turquoise bolts of electricity arced across the Ultramarine. Whilst strapped down, the Space Marine tensed against his restraints, and roared aloud in pain.
"Well now, that wasn't too bad, I think we'll increase the voltage on that slightly for more penetration into the nervous tissues, and set it to pulse at half-second intervals. But first, I'd like to try something else..." The Enginseer held up a very large hypo-injector, with a similarly immense vial of yellow fluid attached. Jabbing it into the Marine's neck, he gave him the entire vial's worth, at which the marine immediately strained harder still, and roared in not pain, but exhilaration and rage. Khargoth guessed that must have been a concentrated dose of combat drugs, Barbarus had mentioned this experiment. Captured Space Marines were to be bionically enhanced, drugged until they were totally insane, and then given some form of aggression stimulation, and set loose on the battlefield. Often these lunatics were lead by similarly insane Iron Warriors, usually those addicted to the godlike feeling of heavy enhancement combined with a combat drug high.

Barbarus emerged from the sliding double-doors to at the end of the waiting room, striding over to join Khargoth. Barbarus folded his blood-spattered gauntlets across his chest, which bore a rather ironic white apron, also coated in considerable gore.
"Quite a program this is. Our deluded brethren are tough enough to take the most extreme of enhancements, and it's quite easy to enhance their aggression whilst suppressing all other sensations. The docile ones only attack things that move!"

Khargoth quickly cut to the point. "You summoned me for something, something you said was important. Whilst the attack on Tallarn is not under my direct command, it still requires my attention. This had better be good, Barbarus."
"Oh it is my Lord, it most certainly is! Follow me." Barbarus disappeared back through the double-doors. Khargoth had to retract his servo-arm slightly to fit through the door, prompting a sleepy hiss from the daemon bound within it.

The entire medical ward resembled an abattoir. However, there were quite a few genuinely beneficial cases here, mostly injured Iron Warriors receiving surgery and replacement limbs. Khargoth followed Barbarus through the charnel house, through another set of doors into a much cleaner area of the medical facilities. Several small shrines had been set up on top of the banks of data processors, and most of the light in the room was coming from several large tubes placed in a octagonal pattern in the center of the room. Currently only one was occupied, with what appeared to be the remains of an Iron Warrior. Even 'remains' may have been an extreme word, there was little more than a shredded torso, what may have been an arm once, and a lump of gore atop the entire mass that Khargoth hoped had been a head. And despite all, the mass of gore was alive. Just, Khargoth thought to himself.

"Sir, this is Champion-Sergeant Lucius Mendrel, of the Commando Elite. His record states his last action was as a sharpshooter on Medusa V..."
"Medusa V? I read this man's report, he didn't make it to a transport in time, and was assumed KIA. How in the name of the Four Gods did he end up out here?"
"He's ah... he's been drifting in space for the last eight months, sir."
"Slannesh's loins!"
"Not quite. Tzeentch's influence, methinks."
"What?"
"Nevermind. Being in the Commandos, he was given a bound Tzeentchian daemon, quite a complex ritual if I recall. The daemon records all events associated with it's host, and stores them as memories within the Warp. We usually use it for after-action reports, as well as deciding how revenge will be dispensed when the brother falls in battle. I'm sure you're as curious as I to find out how he got out here, and hopefully our little daemon will have recorded the whole thing!"
"Hmmm."
"My Lord?"
"This recording will decide wether this man is executed for failure, or decorated for heroism. How accurate is it?"
"You're doubting the insights of a servant of Tzeentch?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm doubtful of how exactly you intend on recalling these events and relaying them accurately."
"Oh, that's incredibly simple, the daemon is quite smart and can interface with our audio-visual units. It was after all by Tzeentch's influence that we discovered such things..."
Khargoth growled malevolently. "I've heard the terms 'daemon' and 'simple' used in many experiments, and it rarely ends well. How many times have you recalled events in this manner?"
"Plenty my Lord, there's little to worry about. Besides, Tzeentch is never that direct with daemonic influence, if it wished us possessed, it would already have happened."
Khargoth's mind had begun to wander; his growl had sounded identical to that of his bound daemon...
"My Lord?"
Khargoth shook himself. He'd been staring at the ruined body slowly bobbing in the life-sustaining fluids.
"So we're going to watch this on a video unit, are we?"
"Yes, as soon as I finish the relevant rituals for reviving the daemon. For general ease the daemon is kept in a very sedated state while in use. It makes things less... complicated."
"Explain. It sounds like you're putting us at risk here Barbarus."
"Not really my Lord. It's just that during a battle the daemon may get a little over-excited and attempt to possess the host. This generally never ends well. There's a small lounge with a space view that my colleagues and I use during meal breaks and relaxation times. Oh don't worry, we always wash off after surgery," Barbarus said, easily reading Khargoth's expression, even though he was wearing his visored helm. "I'll need a few minutes to finish the ritual, if you don't mind waiting in there."
Khargoth left the room without another word. He had other things on his mind.

Staring out into the void of space, at the too-dim stars, Khargoth brooded. He had become more and more aware of his incredibly short temper and fits of rage, although the latter only generally came to the fore while in the midst of battle. Nonetheless, it was concerning. An Iron Warrior was supposed to be level-headed and patient, how else can they have the clarity to spot the weakness in an enemy, and wait for just the right moment to strike?
Khargoth of course new the cause; one did not live for nearly eight thousand years without learning a few things. He had only heard of the phenomenon among the oldest of Chaos Lords. Many of his fellow traitors of the Horus Heresy had fallen in battle, or had barely aged a few centuries, living inside the Eye of Terror. Truly, he knew of no Iron Warrior as old as he, most of his mentors had died at his hand, in revenge for his embarrasing trial as a battle commander; his 'battle' to test his leadership skills had been the orbital bombardment of Istvaan V, a decision that had been made above his head. Khargoth had been moved to the end of the list of candidates, his trial null and void. He knew his test had been set up on a null battle, a move by his superiors to keep him in the lower ranks. He had personally slain nearly every Iron Warrior of a higher rank than himself who had been involved in that stain on his history, a rampage of vengeance that had lasted over three thousand years and climaxed with the near-obliteration of the 6th Grand Company. How ironic it was when he learned of his predicament from Warsmith Janos Ironforge, one of his only surviving mentors, who had trained him in the Iron Warrior doctrine as a Neophyte.

He learned of daemons and their 'masters' merging, their minds becoming a single consciousness. Hazgaraxlneicht (Khargoth noted he pronounced the name flawlessly, despite the very specific emotions that were involved in it's annunciation; the name of a daemon is pronounced with more than just sound.) and he shared an almost symbiotic bond.
Khargoth's personal retinue had saved his life, his body had been all but obliterated by an Earthshaker shell. They had installed his servo arm into his left shoulder socket, re-routing most of his bloodstream and nervous system through it. Hazgaraxlneicht had been summoned and bound within it, it's daemonic energies keeping Khargoth alive, and once he had recovered; provided him with superhuman abilities. He had an incredibly tight bond with the daemon-arm; his very blood flowed through it, empowered with daemonic energy, then routed back through his body. The powerful symbolism made the Khornate daemon especially close to Khargoth, a lesser bond and Khargoth may well have been consumed during the first months of their time together. Hazgaraxlneicht, whist his metaphysical presence and source of energy remained bound in the servo-arm, was free to move it's consciousness about Khargoth's body, often residing in his bloodstream, and communicating from within the back of his mind. Several thousand years of occupying the same mind had taken it's toll, and the two were becoming part of the same consciousness. Khargoth was the dominant mind, however he often experienced emotions and thought patterns that were totally alien to him, and assumedly those of his daemonic companion. Khargoth was apprehensive of the results; he relished his tactical prowess, and wasn't sure if he'd maintain it with the partial personality of a war daemon. Who was he kidding, he already had a partially daemonic personality, his bursts of rage on the battlefield were hardly comparable to a human's. His sense of self-preservation also felt the merge was a threat. Hazgaraxlneicht awoke from its 'sleep', flooding Khargoth's mind with a feeling of curiosity, it's way of asking what it had missed.
"Not much, although I fear that you and I will not be separate beings for much longer. Did you know anything about this? Don't play coy and pretend you don't realize that we are merging."
The daemon certainly didn't play the subtlety of Tzeentch. It didn't understand what was going on, and was slightly irritated that Khargoth suspected that it was it's doing. Reading my mind... Khargoth thought, although such things happened so often now that he had long ago stopped being concerned. He'd tried to reverse it on occasion, delving back into the daemon's mind. It had been an interesting experience, mostly memories of bloodshed and urges to commit more. It had obviously absorbed parts of Khargoth's mind, prior to their bond it had been little more than a being of pure rage and fury. Hazgaraxlneicht, in it's own strange language, commented that it enjoyed possessing Khargoth's sadistic wit. That made him laugh aloud.

Elsewhere, a door slides open to a darkened room. A sliver of light pierces the darkness for a moment, before being eclipsed again by an entering figure. The light is quickly lost again as the door slides shut. Echestratos could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. He scratched absently at the Chaos star tatooed over his left eye. The damn thing had never stopped itching. He placed a small white object on the ground, and waved his hand over part of it. A tiny mote of green light shimmered to life, hovering just above the object. It was a strangely beautiful thing, it's flowing curves and warm creamy colour distracting Echestratos' eye. The device began to hum, and a circle of blue light appeared with a slight crackle. Emerging from the light came eight black-armoured forms. They were incredibly thin, looking weak and frail to Echestratos. He didn't dare move, their weapons were ready to propel dozens of tiny, razor-sharp discs through anything they percieved as a threat, and at the moment they were scouring the darkness for any signs of an ambush. Another figure stepped from the Webway portal. He was covered in black and bone-coloured robes, and Echestratos could hear the faint tinkling of trinkets and gems moving against each other. The Farseer approached him, arms open, almond-shaped blue eyes looking straight through him.
"You are Echestratos?" His voice was beautiful.
"I am."
"I have been told that you wish to make a trade."
"I want out of this."
"A servant of Chaos wishing to abandon? Never in thirty millenia have I heard of such a thing."
"I am no servant of Chaos, just a Space Marine who made the mistake of trusting the wrong man. These fools have sold their souls, and I fear it has corrupted me. I have accepted this device and opened a portal here so that you may tear out their very heart. All I wish is to join you, and find peace. I offer the lives of those scum as an indication of a common enemy."
"Blood sacrifices hold far less sway over us than your foul gods. You will never join us barbarian. However, helping us fell a massive Chaos force is worth rewarding. You may enter the Webway, and will be given sanctuary from the many defences within it. You may not enter our secret areas, and a forced attempt to do so will earn you a swift death. Beyond that, you may go wherever you please. Reside within the Webway if you must, or find somewhere to live. There are many quiet worlds linked to our network where a man could dissapear. However, know this; once you leave, your favor for us will be considered filled and you may never return."
Echestratos started towards the portal. The Farseer halted him with a raised palm.
"It will take us considerable time to amass a proper strike force from such a small portal. Are you sure we will not be discovered here?"
"I am the commanding officer of the entire C-company, and these are my personal quarters. You will not be disturbed unless you step outside. You-" Echestratos was cut off by a blade digging into his spine. He whirled around to face his attacker, and was greeted by a barbed claw the size of his own torso clamping around his throat. The other Chaos Marine effortlessly lifted Echestratos off the ground, carrying him into the light of the portal. Echestratos noticed the knives protruding from the chests of the Eldar soldiers flanking the room. The knives had been thrown so hard they had literally nailed the bodies in place against the bulkheads, mockingly disguising their deaths by holding them upright. The claw shifted it's grip, moving up to enclose Echestratos' head, and he felt blood trickle down his face as the dozens of barbs pierced his skin. The snarling mouthpiece of the Possessed's helmet hinged open, revealing his mouth had fused with the helmet. Drool oozed out over long, needle-sharp metal teeth, and a deep inhuman growl flowed from the depths of its twisted throat.

"N-no, please..." Echestratos sobbed.
There was a wet crunch as his skull was crushed, and his corpse crashed to the ground, dropped as casually as a piece of trash.
"I am in command now." The Possessed Marine growled, "and I am far less... welcoming of xenos visitors than my predecessor."
The Farseer stumbled backwards in fear, tripping and falling onto the frail wraithbone portal generator, crushing it with even his slight form. He only had time to glance up in terror at the Possessed as it advanced on him, claw outstretched.

Khargoth rejoined Barbarus in the regeneration hall. A portable hologram generator, suprisingly large, had been attached to the device currently keeping Mendrel alive.
"What, no candles and incence?" Khargoth asked, a slight tone of mocking in his voice.
"I said this ritual is relatively simple. I did have to give up three weeks worth of my own life-force to recall the last five and a half hours Mendrel lived before being blown into orbit, however."
"So plug your bionics into a generator when you're done. Can we operate this device as normal? I'm sure there will be scenes I wish to skip, I don't exactly have six hours to spare."
"Yes, I had the foresight to store the data in electronic form for us to view at our own liesure. Do you wish me to transfer a copy to the coginator in your quarters?"
"No, I might as well get this over with now, if I postpone it will be weeks before I see it, and I doubt our brother has that much time."
Barbarus activated the hologram generator without another word. The machine's display flickered several times, and a speaker played a brief test tone. The recording started rather unexpectedly, and Khargoth was greeted with the strange sight of a bullet streaking through the air.

The autocannon round shrieked as it tore through through the air, ripping clean through a man's chest before hitting the brick wall behind him. It even penetrated a full three centimeters into that before the impact-delayed warhead detonated, blowing a foot-wide crater in the far side of the wall. The soldier to the deceased man's left mouthed out silent words.
Khargoth looked at Barbarus quizzically. He had clearly heard the bullet ripping through the other man's torso.
"The daemon records events associated with Mendrel, including the bullets he fires and the men he kills, but not what unassociated people say."

The other soldier ducked down. His thoughts echoed in Khargoth's head. This daemon had some interesting tricks. Throne of Earth, this sniper has us pinned down! The soldier looked at his fallen comerade in horror. What kind of sadistic bastard uses HEAT rounds against infantry?

Mendrel grinned as he pulled the slide on his massive weapon. His 'rifle' was a heavily-modified Autocannon, a longer barrel, larger propellant charge and blast expansion cavity turned it into a .75 caliber sniper rifle. The higher-powered rounds had required the expansion chamber to prevent the initial explosion destroying the weapon, and even then it ruined everything short of heavily-reinforced bolt-action feeds. Mendrel found the bolt-action extremely satisfying, each ejection of a twenty-centimeter long casing like chalking up another kill. He never missed his mark, and he always scored a kill.
The petty little guardsmen had taken cover. Mendrel switched his scope to infa-red, spotting a heat signiature cowering behind the same brick wall he'd punctured just before.
The view chased the bullet as it followed its deadly course. As before, it penetrated the wall a short distance before exploding, propelling several chunks of concrete into the chest and face of the Guardsman. Combined with the explosive blast, he was killed instantly.

"Feth you!" The previously featured soldier yelled at the unseen sniper. Mendrel was casually laying atop an ancient oak table with his weapon in front of him, firing at anything that presented itself to his birds-eye view from the ruined office block. The streets have been pretty quiet for the last few hours, Mendrel thought to himself, there was supposed to be hundreds of evacuees coming along this way. In just over five hours Medusa V was going to be consumed in reality-twisting warp storms, and intel had reported nearly an entire company of Imperial Guard at a full rout to try and reach their transports in time. So far Mendrel had only had brief gunfights with small platoons. Nonetheless the streets were littered with bodies, and a sizable mound of empty casings had formed on the ground below him.

Mendrel switched back to normal-sight, and tried to spot the trooper who had hurled that insult at him. He enjoyed proving to snivelling little turds like him that there was nowhere to hide. A flash of movement in a nearby building caught his eye. He twisted, lightning fast, just in time to spot the disappearing trail of a camo cloak in his sights. He made a quick estimate and moved his sights several windows ahead of his quarry. Something flew past the window he had sighted, and he swatted it out of the air with a deafening report from his rifle. Only after the fact did he realise what it had been, a tossed brick to draw his fire. Clever, Mendrel thought to himself. He heard a scuffle, the sound echoed loudly around the empty courtyard that had once been another multi-storey building. He tracked he sound, spotting a falling trail of dust through a window, coming from the floor above. The other sniper was crawling, avoiding the windows. Mendrel cocked his weapon, ejecting the previous casing, and pulled another round from a pouch. He checked the distance with the sensors in his helmet, and twisted off a miniscule part of the small fuse protruding from the back of the bullet. He loaded it manually into his rifle, and closed the bolt.

The 'flashbang' round exploded right on target, just inside the building. Mendrel had already set his helmet lenses to opaque by the time the bullet detonated, but he knew there would be a blinding flash of light to accompany the tremendously loud explosion. Mendrel heard a scream of suprise, and zeroed in on it like a predatory animal. The next bullet took the sniper while he was kneeling on all fours, trying to shake the dizziness out of his head. It hit him in the side, throwing him against the corridor wall and separating most of his internal organs from his body. The blood sprayed up the wall told Mendrel all he needed to know.

Suddenly, heavy-caliber fire tore up the roof above him and the frames of his window. Mendrel yelled in anger when he spotted the smoking Heavy Stubber laying in the ruins below, the man responsible for the impudent little attack already gone. I was getting bored with this spot anyway.
Mendrel grabbed his rifle and moved out, the half-ruined building creaking beneath his iron-shod feet. Las-rounds fizzed past him as he ran along the corridor. So, there were more snipers waiting for me to make my move before revealing themsel-
He was cut short when a shot riccoched off his helmet, the flash of light blinding him for a moment.
"That is IT!" He yelled, sliding to a stop, rifle already braced against his shoulder. He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, each a clean hit through the heads of three poorly-hidden snipers. They'd obviously hidden totally from sight and only moved into position at some signal. Amateurs.

His helmet radio chimed, and he accepted the transmission with a thought.
"Sargeant, orders from Lord Khargoth himself! You are to advance from your position to the uploaded co-ordinates immediately. There will be a lander approaching for dustoff in fifteen minutes."
At the same time, a vox-caster in the ruined 'yard' below crackled.
"Squad Thravius, come in! Repeat, come in! Do you copy?"
The unnamed trooper crawled from his hiding spot, snatching up the bulky device and frantically scrambled back to his spot of cover. Scanning the windows for signs of the enemy sniper, he caught sight of a terrible creature. He was clad in silver, great barbed horns protruding from his head. The gun resting on the window sill was monstrous; easily two meters long, decorated with baroque gold trim, spikes and a draconic muzzle. THAT'S the guy that's been slaughtering us? Lord Emperor save us...
The monster appeared to be looking at something in the distance, and the trooper didn't waste his blessing. He moved as quickly as he possibly could without making too much noise, adrenaline assaulting his mind every time he even brushed a loose brick or piece of steel.

Khargoth could feel the trooper's terror and anxiety.
"What's going on, I thought we'd only see what was happening to Lucius?"
"This... this appears to be a major event, my Lord. I beleive from this point onward the fates of these two are intertwined, with either one or the other surviving."

The soldier grabbed the mouth-piece for the vox-caster.
"This is Trooper Leyton of Squad Thravius, 35th Platoon, 8th Company. Identify yourself."
"Lieutenant Ares, also 8th Company." The voice sounded female, although heavily distorted by the vox. A woman?
"Trooper, you are being engaged by a very powerful worshipper of Chaos. Intelligence leads us to believe that he is carring very important information, and may be intending on fleeing Medusa V very shortly. This can not be allowed to happen. We have lost contact with the rest of your company, but they were last seen by orbital imaging to be inbound on your current position. The enemy sniper's line of retreat leads straight through them, however you need to keep him busy until 8th can encircle his line of retreat."
"What? I think I'm the only man left alive out here! There's no way I can fight that... thing!"
"Then die valiantly and earn your place at the Emperor's side. You only need to keep him occupied. Emperor Protects." The vox went silent.
Another day of being sacrificed for the Emperor's honour Leyton grumbled.
"Well," He said with a grunt as he stood up, "so be it."

A few minutes later Leyton was on the fifth floor of the same building the enemy sniper had been in just before. The approach to his exact position had been booby-trapped, of course; Leyton had nearly stepped on a trip-wire attached to a pair of frag grenades.
Avoiding the other traps and deciding the enemy's hiding spot wouldn't have much tactical value, he decided to try and press on into the adjacent building were several friendly snipers had been gunned down.
There's no way I can fight him one-on-one, but I might be able to take him by suprise with a sniper rifle. If he doesn't do likewise to me first...

Mendrel decided to have some fun covering his 'advance'. The dropship location had been forward, further into enemy lines, but it was still technically a retreat. He had snuck up on and butchered another five snipers with his combat knife. One had nearly been fast enough to scream before Mendrel tore a three-inch-deep gouge in his throat. The 'dustoff' zone was a large courtyard that doubled as an amphitheater for public announcements, about a kilometer ahead. Mendrel kept to the buildings, leaping across the gaps in wounded buildings. The fourth time he tried to leap the gap, the floor gave way beneath his feet as he pushed off. The half-jump carried him out into the gap, and Mendrel windmilled his arms and legs as he fell three storeys to the ground below. The rubble gave way under his weight somewhat; he collapsed in a heap, winded but unharmed. His ankles were aching, but he knew the pain would pass. As he stood up, sharp pain shot across his back; two broken ribs making their presence known. Mendrel shrugged off the injuries and moved on. He'd been hoping to remain within the buildings, the multiple floors and small windows gave him plenty of cover and lessened his chance of being spotted. On the street he was a sitting duck. However, it seemed he didn't have much of a choice, as the buildings had steadily deteriorated as he travelled down the street. The courtyard had obviously been a source of major bombardment.

Gods, that guy is huge, but he's also FAST!
Leyton was having a hard time keeping up with the monster. He'd found a sniper-modified lasrifle, and it steadily thumped against his back as he jogged along. He was running along the rooftops of the ruined buildings, hoping that the unstable segments had already collapsed. He skidded to a halt above a road; the street below felt like a bottomless chasm, blocking him from continuing. He felt a surge of hope as he remembered an old trick from his childhood. He'd grabbed the snipers wadding bag, which was filled with old rags, and were normally used as a soft brace so the sniper could aim his rifle smoothly. Leyton wrapped several around his hands, and grabbed ahold of a downpipe leading to the ground below. Leyton was fortunate, just like on his homeworld the downpipes were a single long length, welded to metal plates on the wall, meaning the descent was smooth. About four meters above the ground the pipe gave way, unceremoniously depositing Leyton in the middle of the street. The down pipe teetered ever-so-gracefully, falling across the street, smashing a window in the opposite building and coming to rest against the sill, four storeys up.
Leyton grinned, and started to climb.

If there was one thing Malphas hated, it was sand. Of course, several months on Tallarn engraved that mindset into all but the most embittered of mortals. In his prior incarnation it would not have bothered him as much, however the miniscule grains now caught in and filled every gap, every joint and vent of his hulking mechanical body. He'd already had to stop ten times over the last six hours, scraping the grit from his leg actuators and shoulders with the long claws his mechanical tentacles ended with. He was still several hours walk from his objective, a small bunker containing an access elevator to the immense data archive buried beneath the sand. So immense, in fact, that Malphas was probably walking above it, even now. No doubt it would be guarded, but all had been accounted for in the plan. He could feel a grinding resistance within his left hip joint, meaning the foul stuff had worked into the bearings of the joint. Malphas cursed aloud, or moreso his artificial lungs sharply discharged with a sound more akin to a sneeze. He had rarely spoken since donning the Mask, and never since his lungs and throat had been torn out by that abomination of a Tyranid; the so-called 'Red Terror', but he sometimes missed the ability to cuss.

He reached the objective much sooner than he expected; he'd barely travelled for another two hours, although he suspected he'd quickened his pace without realising, to sooner be away from this sand. Fortunately he'd shut down his combustion generator as soon as the required charge had been built up. A stealth approach was useless if they could see your smoke trail hanging in the air for miles. The sand on Tallarn was also quite heavy, so his iron-shod feet had not kicked up a warning-plume of dust. He had reluctantly removed the large, thorned crown that sat atop his hull, a traditional symbol of his rank, and had submitted to having the proud livery of the Iron Warriors painted over with a drab yellow. Even now, peeking over the top of a sand dune, he was confident the netting hung over his form would hide his angular profile, and also stifle the green glow emanating from the pilfered Necrontyr focussing aray that allowed his body such dexterity.
Arriving early was not such a good thing, as he now had to hunker down and wait another two hours for the scheduled strafing run that would cover his entry. No harm in being ready, he thought, activating the large one-shot mortar on his back with a whine of actuators.

Unsuprisingly, a Manticore platform sat adjacent to the bunker, and Malphas now began calibrating his aim to score a direct hit. He would have to destroy it almost exactly one minute before the strafing run hit, which would be the same time they'd just be entering the short-range sensors mounted on the anti-air platform. There was a large gap in the Manticore's detection arcs, targets flying above 1000ft altitude could be engaged up to one hundred kilometers away, but below that and their detection range was less than five. Slowly, the time ticked away, and Malphas calibrated further. With a sudden hollow poot the mortar was flung into the air, gently arcing over and slamming straight through the acess hatch on top of the missle platform. Microseconds later the entire thing detonated in a massive fireball, the four missles exploding with tremendous force, killing nearly every man stationed around the bunker. A klaxxon began howling, and almost immediately three Sentinels came loping out of a small hangar. It seems time had not dulled their battle-readiness. One spasmed as .75 caliber rounds hammered it, and seconds later a trio of Hell Talon bombers flew over, carpeting the area with high-yield bombs. The remaining two Sentinels were wiped from existance, along with most indication that humans had occupied this piece of land. The bunker was still mostly intact, they'd deliberately avoided it to ensure the elevator was functioning when Malphas reached it. The three bombers swooped around, coming back for one more run to gun down a group of men that had assembled into a rough platoon, then departed with a shriek of afterburners. Less than fifteen seconds had passed between when they had come and left. Malphas leapt up, sprinting down the dune and scanning about for targets. He spotted two men limping away, by the looks of it trying to hide on the far side of a sand dune. Malphas let them live.

When he reached the bunker he could hear the elevator cycling up, no doubt bringing up another platoon of troopers to investigate the alarm. The large double-doors had barely opened before Malphas flooded the interior with heavy bolter shells. Malphas reached in with his mechanical tendrils, and dragged out the bodies of thirty mutilated men. Even with the removed weight, the elevator groaned slightly as Malphas stooped inside it. With a clawed tendril he activated one of the elevator's runes. The doors slid shut and the elevator began to descend.

Aboard The Rock, Khargoth fast-forwarded the recording. He watched the Guardsman scramble up a storm-water pipe like a rat on fire, and continue along the rooftops at a blistering speed. The focus shifted back to Mendrel, and Khargoth kept the rune depressed. Suddenly a flash of light caught his eye, and Khargoth rewound to watch the event.

Mendrel gaped as the transport craft flew overhead, trailing a firestorm behind it. It glided gracefully into the courtyard ahead, now totally consumed in a fireball. The ground shook as it hit, and Mendrel stared at the massive plume of dust and fire thrown into the air.
"Iron Warrior transport, do you copy? I repeat, Iron Warrior transport craft, are there any survivors?"
Unsuprisingly his vox remained silent.
"<Deleted by the Gods>, that had better not have been my ride home." Mendrel cursed, casting his eyes skyward as an omnious, rippling crack echoed overhead. The sky above was a violent shade of purple, arcs of red lightning arcing from one glowing crimson blotch to another. Through the occasional gap in the thick cloud cover, Mendrel could see the sky was rippling like boiling water. He had an hour at tops to get off-world.

The vox-unit on Leyton's back crackled, and Lieutenant Ares' voice caught his ear.
"Trooper Leyton, come in! Have you established contact with the rest of 8th?"
Leyton unslung the device and grabbed the mouthpiece.
"Negative m'am, still in persuit of Chaos hostile, no sign of 8th."
"You should have reached them by now. Something must have happened. Trooper, you need to stop that traitor! I don't care if you kill him or what, just stop him getting off-world!"
"What about me?!?" Leyton bristled, "You're just going to leave me here to be eaten by this warp storm?!"
"If you dispose of that scum quickly enough, you may be able to ride aboard my own transport. It's eight k's north-east of your current position. Bring me his head and the guards won't shoot you for attempting to board. Understood?"
"Yeah yeah," Leyton said with resignation. "Leyton out."

In the courtyard ahead, hundreds of Imperial Guardsmen milled about. As Mendrel drew closer, he heard gibbering cries and guttral cussing.
"Graaah!" a gurgling voiced yelled from behind him. Mendrel whirled about, lashing out with a gauntleted fist. The guardsman flew backwards, crumpling into a heap as he hit the ground. A few seconds later he rose to his feet, half his head caved in. Words tried to fight their way out through the blood spilling from his mouth. All Mendrel heard was more gurgling.
The other Guardsman in the vicinity were similarily unconcerned with the blood freely flowing from every orifice in their bodies. Mendrel noted with disgust the fresh bloodstain all the way down the inside of the leg on a Guardsman's fatigues. These men were possessed, and their bodies were wearing out quickly. Primal daemons, he guessed, too caught up in the sensations of a physical body to notice what is going on around them. Mendrel casually reached over with his combat knife and slit the throat of an officer shuffling past him. The man stumbled on another five or so steps before collapsing, his peaked cap falling from his balding head onto the bloodstained ground below.

The crack of a lasrifle rang out across the courtyard, and a shot tore across the side of Mendrel's head, ripping his ear off and damaging the right eyepiece in his helmet. Mendrel reached up and felt the sharp, protruding edges of shattered bone, and roared in rage. The possessed guardsmen in the courtyard all let out a weak moan as one.

Leyton gaped in disbelief for a second, watching as the armoured monster reached up and gingerly felt the gaping hole in its head. He'd only been slighly off-center, and by all rights it should be dead. It's enraged bellow stung Leyton out of his shock, and he scrambled for cover before it spotted him and brought it's massive rifle to bear. Less than a second later a bullet ripped through the ferrocrete he was hiding behind, missing him by inches.

Mendrel let loose with a stream of obscenities as he fired shot after shot into anything that looked like a man could hide behind.
"AMATEURS!" He roared. "THE EYES OF CHAOS WILL FIND YOU SOON ENOUGH!"
"Mendrel? Mendrel! Come in!"
As his rage settled he became aware of the vox-unit chiming in his remaining ear.
"What?!?"
"I, uh..." said the person at the other end, startled by Mendrel's outburst. "We've lost contact with your transport craft. Triangulation of your signal indicates you're at the dustoff point. Have you made visual contact with the transport?"
"Aye, I made visual contact alright, as it screamed out of the sky ablaze and hit the ground at about 200kph. The warp storm is closing in fast."
"Recent orbital imagery indicates a royal housing about... two klicks West of you. At that time there was a transport prepping for launch and about a platoon and a half of personal militia stationed in the area. If they haven't left you may be able to comandeer their vessel."
"Thank you. Mendrel out."

To be concluded...

Impressive! When I read this, my mind produced a picture of an Iron Warrior wielding the 40K version of an M107 .50 Caliber LRSR running through an french city set in WW2.

Oh cranky! My 100th post!

Excellent, that was exactly the tone I was trying to create with this. There's a conclusion in the works, and this ties in to my previous story arc involving my invasion of Tallarn. Khargoth has a big scheme up his sleeve, expect another three or four pieces about this length before it's over.

Also, congratulations on your 100th post, Champion.

Leyton wrenched the door open, kicking aside a chunk of rubble, and leaped inside. It was pitch black inside the building, and Leyton nearly tumbled down a small set of stairs, catching himself at the last moment and splashing loudly into the flooded corridor. The water was about knee-high, and Leyton retched at the stink of stagnanation. There was a riper, more nausiating smell over the top of that; one Leyton recognised as rotting corpses.
Several loud crashes and an inhuman roar behind him prompted a yelp of fear, and Leyton waded onwards, scrying the pitch black and praying constantly that he didn't trip over a floating body.
"Emperor feth me dead, how did I end up here?" Leyton mumbled fearfully. The silver-armoured monster had spotted him soon after he attempted to take it out with a sniper rifle; Leyton had watched in horror as the monster examined the gaping hole in it's head like it was a mere flesh wound.

Leyton grabbed a small flashlight from his belt, and nearly sobbed as it flickered uselessly and died. The entire thing was bent quite badly, obviously crushed under his weight at some point.
"Feth feth feth feth feth, why didn't they put flashlights on our lasrifles?" he cursed, and remembered he'd spotted several waterproof flares in one of the snipers' kits he'd looted, a much smarter decision than his own attempts at illumination, and cursed again. Leyton's slip in concentration caused him to trip on something, and he cried out as he fell forward. He crashed painfully into a wall no more than six inches away from his face, smashing his nose and badly grazing his hand on something sharp jutting out of the darkness. He caught himself and gingerly felt his nose. It ached dully at his touch, and there was some blood, but it wasn't the sharp stabbing pain of a broken nose, that he could be thankful for.
Leyton turned left, felt nothing ahead, and fled blindly into the darkness.

The view switched once more to Mendrel, who moments later barges through a grey brick wall in an explosion of dust and rubble. He growls loudly, and charges towards a dark doorway that looked recently opened. His rifle was now slung, combat knife drawn, and each with each heavy breath Mendrel growled with murderous rage.
A vicious backhand broke the thin metal door from it's hinges, and sent it crashing loudly into the darkness. Mendrel landed in the corridor with a splash, and paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. He breathes in deeply, recognising the mouldy stink of water-logged corpses, stagnant and undoubtedly toxic water, and...
Mendrel stops, mid breath, savouring the sent and concentrating.
Yes... fresh blood.
Several minutes later and Mendrel was at the other end of the building. All the corridors leading off from this one were either collapsed or the doorways were jammed shut. The rubble was piled so dense that no light whatsoever entered. Judging by the reflective markings and burst water main running along the ceiling, this had been a fire escape, which explained the lack of damage and abundance of water. Mendrel faced a large pair of double-doors, which he assumed lead outside. A gentle press against them revealed they weren't jammed. Mendrel felt a sudden pang of paranoia; he could smell a trap here. Feeling around in the water below, he found a length of chain and a broken lock. Freshly-exposed metal glinted in Mendrel's green-lit view. The display for his right eye was cracked, and occasionally the low-light enhancer failed with a flicker, prompting an irritated growl from Mendrel.

Dropping the chain, he paced backwards, and paused for a moment, breathing deeply. The water at his feet exploded upwards as he charged, Mendrel pushing his body as hard as it would go. He adjusted his visor for bright light, and vaulted blindly through the double doors.

Leyton was stunned for only a moment as the doors below blew out in a shower of wood, dust and one silver whirlwind. The monster roared, the noise deafening Leyton as he fired. The shot created a small burst of blood as it punched through it's chestplate, and the roar only seemed to intensify. His second shot bored a light gouge across it's cheek, and Leyton realised he needed a bigger gun. Twisting from a crouch, he started to stand up and prepare himself to start running very, very quickly.

Mendrel's vision went a violent red as he felt something tear into his chest, sharp jolts of pain ripping through his body. A quick flick of the wrist and his knife was at the ready, and he threw the foot-long blade with all his might. The knife tore a massive wound across the guardsman's buttock, and the intense scream of pain was music to his remaining ear. He pulled a High Explosive grenade from his belt, the dull green cylinder easily three times the size of a frag grenade. The grenade was designed to explode with as much force as possible over as large a radius as possible. It turned Space Marines into mush inside their armour, could stop the hearts of tank crews, and blow apart bunkers like firecrackers. Mendrel pulled the pin and hurled it overarm at where the sniper had been kneeling. The blast shook loose every ounce of dust in the building, kicking up clouds from the ground itself, and Mendrel savoured the blast wave, strong enough to stop the breath in his chest for a moment. Several chunks of gore spattered him, and he laughed aloud. The laugh turned into an outright roar of amusement as large sections of concrete tumbled from the levels above, smashing through the floors and picking up more debris as it plummeted. Mendrel threw his arms in the air with a triumphant whoop as over six tonnes of rubble crashed into the bottom floor.

Even Khargoth's scarred lips drew back in a grin at the mayhem Mendrel had just caused. Every member of his Grand Company suffered a demolition fetish in varying degrees, which made their lives as Iron Warriors all the sweeter.

As the dust settled, Mendrel froze. He was suddenly acutely aware of the silence weighing down on the air around him. Occasionally an eerie moan would pass, as if an invisible wounded man drifted by. Mendrel realised that he couldn't actually tell which way the moans were coming or going. And the air felt like it was... throbbing. Mendrel had never encountered anything like this in his life, and it was making him extremely nervous. For the first time he cared to remember, Mendrel was afraid. His vision was blurring, no matter how hard he focused or how many times he blinked. The throbbing changed into a steadily increasing pressure, getting worse in time with his now-useless vision.

The pressure held that way for a moment, and just as Mendrel swore he was about to black out, an immense bolt of energy ripped its way through the sky, striking several kilometers to the west. Mendrel didn't even get to hear the thunderclap, his ears instantly began ringing louder and harder than the biggest bomb in the galaxy could hope to cause. He fell to his knees, clutching at his ears, his gauntleted hands clawing at the sides of his helmet in pain. He howled, as loud and hard as he could, until his throat burned, and didn't hear a thing. After a minute it subsided to tolerable levels, and Mendrel opened his eyes. His vision was tinted red. Blinking, he cleared the blood from his eyes. The medical systems in his armour informed him that nearly 60% of the blood vessels in his entire body had burst. His eyes and brain were worst, over 75% damage in his eyes, and what would probably become a fatal stroke if he didn't recieve surgery soon.

Elsewhere, Leyton sat upright and groaned.
"Fascinating!" Barbarus cooed over Khargoth's shoulder, "That blast seemed to be primarily psychic, this Guardsman was hardly effected because he was unconcious!"
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, look at Mendrel. If it hit him that hard, that Guardsman would have died from about six different major organ failures. Heart attack, stroke, metabolic shutdown, not to mention the fluids in his spine would have nearly literally explo-"
"I get the point."

Leyton's ears were ringing from the grenade blast, and his ass was radiating waves of pain. The bastard had nearly severed his femoral artery with that knife! Undoubtedly the tendons on the back of that leg had been severed, including his hamstring. Leyton began digging medical supplies out of his pouch. First was a general purpose spray, highly concentrated antiseptic, anaesthetic and muscle relaxant. His muscles weren't going to fuse back together with a simple stitch-job, but having them move around would only make things worse. Leyton ripped open a sealed packet, pulling out a sterile needle and thread. Stitching the wound was suprisingly easy, he had enough feeling in his butt that he could stitch the wound without straining to looking at it, and there wasn't even the slightest bit of pain. Rolling over to sit upright, Leyton popped a couple of painkillers, and then swallowed another four for good measure. His leg was almost completely limp now, he'd need a brace if he wanted to even hobble. Two pieces of copper pipe did the job nicely, along with a few rags from the sniper's wadding bag. Grabbing another pipe as a walking stick, Leyton found he could walk. The pipe dug uncomfortably into his crotch, but it was better than nothing.

Mendrel wasn't faring any better. He staggered over to a section of concrete, retching loudly. Scarlet-stained sludge dripped from the snarling grille of his helmet. He grunted angrily, retched again then grabbed ahold of his knife embedded in the slab he was leaning on. A quick yank and the weapon was his again.
"Mendrel! Mendrel! Come in!"
"Huzwhaa?"
"Gods, is that you? Sounds like you caught that blowout pretty bad."
"Ahhhz fah," he retched again, "I-I'm feeling... I'm starting to feel, better." He knew he wasn't. He hadn't been staggering, vomiting blood and rambling incoherently immediately after the blast.
"Listen, you may have some time, we're estimating that energy discharge may have bought you another three hours. But the warp storm has already entering the atmosphere, things are going to get really bad down there for aircraft. I don't know how long the conditions will remain stable, so get your ass out ASAP!"
Mendrel reached down and felt the fist-sized data unit on his belt. The importance of the information he was transporting suddenly became clear to him. The documents stored in the device were to be delivered to Lord Khargoth in person, Mendrel had taken one look at the level of encryption on the data and knew Khargoth would cut out his eyes and tongue for even trying to decode it. Before he hadn't had a second thought about them, but now, in this weakened state and presented with the very real possiblity of him dying an agonising death on this rock, he couldn't help but ponder what he was risking his neck for.
The benefit of the Iron Warriors, he answered himself instinctively. Lord Khargoth was definately seeking further power, but in the past it had always benefited the Grand Company under his command. Mendrel took a few deep breaths and straightened up, his mind again focussed on his mission.

Khargoth smiled slightly. The loyalty of his men made him proud, and the though of betraying the trust of good, dependable Marines under his command pained him deeply. Traitors and those who sought to upset the balance he'd created, well, that was a whole different story.

Elsewhere aboard The Rock, traitorous deeds were indeed afoot. The Daemon Prince and his blue-armoured bodyguards strode confidently down one of the main causeways over the barracks for C-company. Below two hundred Iron Warriors enjoyed their daily recreation period. Several sat in their bunks discussing among themselves quietly, however a large group had gathered around two marines inside a boxing ring, located in the open gym at one end of the barracks. Neither combatant were wearing any protective gear, opting to fight naked. Heavy-gauge mesh had been set up in replacement of the traditional ropes, and the occasional crackle indicated this was an electrified cage match. These Iron Warriors sure don't play soft one of the marines above thought to himself. At that point one warrior attempted to tackle the other into the cage, and was swiftly thrown into the cage himself. The crowd around the cage cheered loudly, and several members began placing bets for the next round, luxury good such as chocolate and silk blankets being passed forwards to join the sizeable pile next to the ring. Several fully-armoured Iron Warriors stood guard, and a scribe servitor frantically scribbled ammendments to the betting register.

"We're not always this barbaric and decadent, you know." A marine said, stepping through a doorway in the nearby rock wall, and joining the others on the walkway. "Why, three days ago Oriles down there sang a rousing Norse ballad after our evening meal, much to our enjoyment."
"Norse?" The lead bodyguard asked.
"It's a truly ancient language, used by the mythical vikings in the first millenia of humanity. Apparantly a great deal of Space Marine genetic material was taken from their descendants."
"And you are?"
"I am Lieutenant Karos, commanding officer of this company, and I am here to destroy you." Karos drew a power weapon and activated it with a touch. Several more Iron Warriors were approaching from the other end of the walkway, bolters at ready. The lead bodyguard's taloned hand flexed angrily, and he growled, the lips on his helmet pulling back to reveal snow white fangs. Two bodyguards behind him charged the rearward Iron Warriors, their wings useless in the confined space of the walkway. Massive clawed hands sank into one of the silver-clad warriors, and in a second he was nearly torn asunder.
The Lieutenant scowled at them, raising a plasma pistol. His eyes suddenly widened and four metal talons ripped out of his chest with a squeal of metal on metal. Another Iron Warrior stood behind him.
Kal Zakath let the body slide from his lightning claw, and raised a palm in a cease motion as he watched the slaughter of the remaining warriors at the other end of the walkeway.
"What is the meaning of this?!?" The Daemon Prince roared, pointing his sword at Zakath, who was surveying the barracks below. The cries of the crowd had drowned out most of the noise, however he could see several marines looking up at the walkway to see any sign of the commotion they'd heard.
"Quickly, come with me, I will explain on the way." Zakath said, turning on the spot and heading off without another word. Once they'd stepped through the doorway at the barracks' end into fully-enclosed corridors, he began speaking quickly and without pause.
"The marine who introduced himself to you as a Lieutenant was lying. There are those among us who never accepted Lord Khargoth as our leader. Mostly those who were loyal to other commanding officers who perished during the Great Heresy. Many willingly joined us; no doubt you've heard of Lord Khargoth's orbital escapades, many took that and his desire to avenge the wrongs against the Iron Warriors as a whole as a sign. No-one dares challenge him on his capabilities as a leader, so the unloyal ones seek other ways to sow dissent and overthrow his position. The filthy anarchists hate the deluded lackeys of the Emperor as much as we, but any peace time sees them immediately attempting to disrupt Lord Khargoth's command. Currently all but C-company are stationed elsewhere, so I would find it disturbing should there be any more of the anarchists aboard."
A Possessed Marine rounded the corner ahead, a robed form draped over one shoulder, and the mutilated torso of another Iron Warrior gripped in his massive barbed claw.
"Lieutenant Kal Zakath!" He called, saluting with his remaining anthromorphic hand. Zakath quickly returned the gesture.
"Sargeant, the unloyal filth attempted to assassinate our guests here. Who do you have there? More traitors?"
The Possessed dropped the robed body and torso with a pair of loud thumps and a squelch.
"This was Staff Sargeant Echestratos, and introducing Farseer I-can't-pronounce-his-fracking-name. Only took me two minutes of torturing to get it out of him, along with why was he here. Neither answer was even worth the time, really."
"Well, what of it?"
"Echestratos here was trying to bargain a deal with the Eldar. His freedom in return for opening a Webway portal on board the ship. The Eldar were going to amass a strike force inside his quarters. In the meantime the traitors who'd attached themselves to him were going to kill off our esteemed guests in order to stir up trouble between us and our Night Lord allies, and place Khargoth's position as commander in jeopardy. That big distraction would have caused plenty of chaos, enough for the strike force to sabotage the main reactor and blow this entire ship into warp-knows-what." The Seargent paused, cocking his head at the blue-armoured monsters in front of him.
"Oh, fellow Possessed! I wasn't expecting that from purist Night Lords, although word's already gotten out about His Majesty. Pleasure to meet you." The Seargent extended a hand in greeting. The Daemon Prince met it, shaking his hand firmly.
"You may call me Be'Lakor" it answered in an inhuman growl.
Even Kal Zakath turned and gaped at that.
"THE Be'Lakor?" He asked quietly.
"Not quite. I was the leader of a purist force, upholding the original teachings of the Night Haunter whilst the rest of our legion slid into decadence; seeking only to cause fear and not using it to exact just revenge. Two millenia of endless raids on the Imperial fools caught the Chaos Gods' attention enough for them to gift me with Daemonhood. It seems the Night Haunter had caught Be'Lakor's eye. In it's exact words, it finds the concept of terror warfare delicious. It offered me to be honoured with its visage, name and a measure of its power. In return I would spread fear and terror throughout the galaxy in it's name, in order to gain it's power within the Warp. Be'Lakor will not return proper until the next Lord of the End Times is chosen, but it wishes to be ready."
"You are truly honoured." Zakath said, awe creeping into his voice.
"I am Lieutenant Kal Zakath, second in command to Lord Khargoth. I have travelled here from Tallarn to greet you personally at my Lord's behest. The thirty-second Grand Company welcomes you aboard Khargoth's flagship. It isn't a genuine vessel as per-se, more of a highly-mobile space fortress; either way we all just call it The Rock."
"Are you the one in command of these-"
"Not directly, if that's what you're asking, Staff Sargeant Echestratos back there was in command of this company; considering the revelation of his true motives, I'm not suprised so many traitors were among their midst. Speaking of which, Sargeant?"
"Yes?"
"You just got promoted."

"THE Be'lakor?" made me laugh, actually. When Grendel hunted Leyton, I had a mental picture of "The Shining" in my head, as in "Here's Grendel!" hehe. Keep up the good work, Khargoth!

Classic.

Nice story but did you had to decimate the 6th grand company?

Considering we even have our own many members laying claim to a a few Grand Companies, in terms of fluff it's a splinter-group containing members of the original 6th Grand Company. After the Heresy I'd say our organization as a Legion was disrupted greatly; many high-ranking officers of a certain company assumed command, unaware that elsewhere other officers of their same company were doing likewise among their own separated group. Khargoth likes to think his wrath was great enough to wipe out the entire 6th Grand Company, when in reality all he destroyed was a sixth grand company, and not a very big one at that.

That's ome way to look at it, still you probaly finished off one of my warsmith's arch-rivals.

Mendrel shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he staggered West. He'd finally gotten the vomiting under control, although his brain felt like it was immersed in fog. He'd managed to gain a measure of focus, but that was merely his Space Marine psycho-conditioning working around and adapting to the haziness. He felt immensely weak, and with his mind slowed even a mere human may find him an equal opponent. The streets here were mostly intact, naturally the road was littered with bricks, rubble and broken glass, but apart from the occasional hole blown in a wall, it seemed very little of the war had been fought here. Structrually intact buildings were the dens of snipers, and Mendrel unholstered his rifle from his shoulder.

Leyton sat on a rooftop, watching the monster. It didn't seem to be faring any better than him, something had happened while he'd been unconscious; because now the monster was weaving drunkenly as it walked. Maybe that gunshot wound to the head was starting to take effect? It didn't seem so scary now; with all the rage and martial precision stripped away, it just seemed like another man in an intimidating suit of armour. Leyton might have even began thinking of it as a him, had he not suddenly remembered the roars of rage as it had chased him; smashing through walls in it's frenzy. What I'm looking at is a monster that may have been a man once. Leyton thought. Yeah, I can deal with that.

The hairs on Mendrel's neck were prickling, he was acutely aware of being watched. His powerful metabolism was starting to adapt to the damage wrought by that insane blast of energy, his mind felt clearer, but his body was still sluggish. To his left was a mass transit terminal of some kind, small barriers and Imperial Mandate notices informing him that this railway station had been closed for use exclusively by His Majesty the Immortal Emperor's Imperial Guard. It had been an impressive thing once, full-length glass windows stacked from floor to roof, some three stories above. The windows were long broken, leaving empty frames to stare out like dozens of empty eye sockets in an immense concrete and steel skull. Mendrel stepped through one of the windows, and nearly paused as he heard something clatter along a rooftop behind him. Instead, he continued inside, now certain he was being followed. Maybe that little runt of a Guardsmen wasn't dead just yet. Inside, a Leman Russ battle tank sat twisted and blackened by fire, and Mendrel's eyes caught something that made his heart skip a beat. One of the proud anti-tank guns of his own company was barely visible outside among a partially-ruined street corner. His eyes gleamed as a plan began to formulate in his mind.

Leyton had just about shat himself when he'd knocked a roof tile loose while craning to watch the monster. He was sure it hadn't heard it, fortunately. No doubt Leyton would be feeling the wrath of that massive rifle by now if it had. It had moved inside a rail station, still heading west. It seemed it had regained enough sense to seek cover. Leyton had his rifle at the ready, although he felt nervous about using it again. His previous attempts at taking this monster down had failed spectacularly, however he was certain it wouldn't survive another clean headshot. It didn't matter how bloody tough it was, it wouldn't have enough head left to realise it'd been shot!
Through the rifle's scope, he watched the monster pick it's way through the ruined railway terminal. Leyton spotted dozens of khaki-coloured boxes partially buried in the rubble inside the terminal. The monster wrenched one free, sat it atop a pile of rubble and pried it open. Leyton could just make out a gleaming, brand-new heavy stubber and several drums of ammunition. The monster left it open and continued searching. More crates were opened, revealing countless riches of military hardware, weapon after weapon capable of taking the thing down. It seemed disinterested in the weapons, casting crate after crate aside. Leyton decided to try another shot, lining up the monster's head in his sights. He heard a hollow shoof noise, and a cloud of acrid smoke billowed from the lasrifle's muzzle. He lifted his eye from the scope and changed position to examine the rifle. The motion caused parts of the barrel to cave in like dust. The entire barrel was blackened, and the remaining sections looked as brittle as charcoal. Leyton unlatched the weapon's magazine, and cursed at the sight of bright yellow tape wrapped around the top of the energy cell; hotshot.

Mendrel finally found something of use; a long belt of autocannon rounds, and a whole crate filled with frag grenades. He slung the belt of ammo over his shoulder and buckled it in place around his torso. He then attached as many grenades as possible to the magnetic latches on his chest and thigh. First off he had to deal with this impetuous Guardsman; Mendrel found it hard to believe he'd survived the grenade blast, no doubt another had picked up his trail. Like flies, Mendrel though to himself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the same little bastard that had taken a pot-shot at him in the courtyard. His musings were cut short by very faint radio chatter in his helmet.
"Erebus, this is Iron Wind; all active allies have retreated from the Mission, and our charges are set and ready."
"Roger Iron Wind, Erebus confirms." There was a faint crackle as the transmission spread to all known frequencies used by the Iron Warriors and allied Chaos Space Marines.
"All units, Deus est Mortis; confirmed, ferrous ferrous ferrous."
There was an explosion totally unlike anything Mendrel had ever heard in his life, and he sprinted back into the street. Snipers be damned, he wanted to see this. The ground was shaking, there was a tremendous crashing and ripping sound like a long, sustained thunderclap, and an entire landmass crested above the horizon of rooftops; borne on pillars of fire so beautiful in their terrible wrath that Mendrel had to remove his helmet and see them with his own eyes. Over half of Johanne's Island was now airborne; his fellow Iron Warriors had laid enough charges in underground promethium deposits to literally wipe it from the face of the planet. His eyes streamed with tears and his exposed skin blazed with pain; the heat, even from here, was excruciating. Then the blast wave hit, and Mendrel was blown off his feet. Nothing could prepare him for it, the sound he'd heard and thought was the blast had been the sound of the ground itself being torn apart. The noise of the explosion traversed sound; it was an earthquake so violent that the air itself twisted and shattered with it's passing. Mendrel blacked out, coming to seconds later. When he awoke his spirit was filled with such fire that he leapt to his feet, his loins stirring sharply despite his genetic impotence. His ears were still long-gone to the blast, but he cast his arms and face skywards and roared with such passion that he heard it with the very core of his body, muted by the concussion but still there. He stopped, his face lit up with wonder and the fire, and gave another great woop. Snatching up his helmet and slamming it atop his head, he opened a vox-channel across all possible frequencies, a small antenna popping from his backpack to accomodate.
"How do you like that, you deluded fools! Even your mighty God-Emperor is naught but dust in the wind to the wrath of Perturabo's sons! For the Iron Warriors! For Chaos! For sweet venegance, hear our name and quake with fear, our wrath comes for you all! Iron Within-"
"IRON WITHOUT!" Over a dozen other Iron Warriors chorused the last line of their battle-cry with the same fervour and volume, startling Mendrel. He looked up again, and saw the back of a terrified Guardsman's head peeking above the rooftops, staring at the now-descending landmass. He unslung his great draconic rifle, loaded a fresh round from his ammo belt, and fired. A hollow click greeted him. Wrenching open the bolt with a grunt of anger, Mendrel was unsuprised to find the cheap mass-produced round had jammed, badly. The inferior metal of the bullet hadn't deformed smoothly to follow the rifling of the barrel, instead mushrooming and completely clogging the breech. He'd expended his own ammo already; beatiful custom-tooled rounds, copper-plated for less barrel friction. He cussed as he jogged to the foot of the building the Guardsman sat atop. The round would take several minutes to clear with the right tools, and Mendrel felt indignified by the lousy bullet jamming in his rifle. Either way he looked at it, his perfect shot had been lost, and he cussed again.

Leyton couldn't believe his eyes. Johanne's Island had just been blown literally sky-high. The death-toll would be appauling, but the sheer scale of the destruction left him morally brutalised. He shook himself out of the horrified state, and twisted back to see what the monster was up to. His scope saw no sign of it. Leyton needed another weapon, and risky as it was, those weapons down there were the ideal choice. Hopefully the moster was too busy travelling to whatever objective it was seeking.
A slow and painful descent through the building later, Leyton was back at street level. He hobbled across the road and inside the terminal, and almost literally leapt upon the stockpiled weapons.
Now we're talking! Leyton thought, looking inside the nearest crate and seeing a missile launcher. He latched two spare missiles onto the loops of his belt, then screwed together the two halves of the barrel, and fitted the power pack for the scope and targetting unit. Very, very gently he slid a missle into the rear of the weapon and locked it in place. Just as he finished, his vox-caster crackled with static
"Leyton, Leyton come in!" It was Ares again.
"Leyton, things are getting too dangerous here to delay launch any longer. I'm sorry, but you're on your own. Your valiant sacrifice will not go unrecognised." Leyton desperately snatched up the mouth-piece.
"No no no, wait, wait a second! I've just located a heavy weapon, I won't be long now!" He whispered frantically. "Please, ten minutes, just give me ten minutes! I don't want to die here!"
There was a pregnant pause; "... Alright. Consider yourself extremely lucky, soldier."
Before leyton could answer, there was a deafening blast across the street from him, and something passed not two inches above his body; obliterating the vox-caster from his back and detonating somewhere behind him. He curled into a ball as shrapnel tore through the air. Miraculously, he hadn't been hit. Leyton was furious; this fething monster just isn't going to let up, is he?!?. He pulled himself upright, missile launcher in hand. He spotted smoke streaming from the barrel of a cannon across the street, and fired. He was up and reloading before the first frag missile even hit. The first shot dissapeared deep into the belly of the building before exploding, but the second found it's mark, hitting the roof just above the anti-tank gun. Leyton heard a howl of pain as the area directly behind the gun was consumed in the blast.

A red haze descended on Mendrel's mind. He had never been in so much pain, and it made him madder than ever. He threw himself through the brick wall to his left, and through the rage and rubble dust spotted the little bastard guardsman. Mendrel threw himself at him with a roar, tackling him and sending his next shot with the missle launcher wide. Mendrel suddenly stopped, coughing harshly and feeling his body going into shock. He looked down and finally noticed the guardsman's shirt was quickly becoming soaked in blood, dripping from Mendrel's countless wounds. He swayed drunkenly, reaching behind him and unsheathing his massive knife, which he then held uncertainly against the guardsman's neck.
"Before I slice that pitiful jugular of yours wide open, tell me, why were you so persistant in trying to stop me? You've sealed your own fate, you fool." Mendrel wheezed into Leyton's face.
"I... I just want to go home," Leyton choked out. "they won't let me on the ship out of here without your head."
Mendrel threw back his head and laughed.
"My head? Hah! You are one brave little mongrel to try and take it!"
Leyton's nerves had settled, and he steeled himself for what was to certainly come.
"Go ahead then, kill me. You still won't make it off this world alive."
Mendrel looked back down at the guardsman sharply.
"You do not fear death?"
"You're doing me a favour mate, a slit throat is a whole lot better than getting eaten by some filth-forsaken warp storm!" Mendrel paused at that.
"I have underestimated your kind, human. I thought you were petty cowards, with no honour or martial pride. Perhaps I am wrong." Mendrel reached up and took ahold of his helmet. Leyton screwed up his eyes, he couldn't bear to see what lay beneath that hideous snarling helm.
"You will look at me face-to-face, worm!" Mendrel roared suddenly, and Leyton's eyes snapped open in shock.

The face beneath was indeed horrible; scarred and twisted with age and warfare. But the recent injuries where what horrified Leyton the most. The hole he'd shot in the side of its head was even more terrible than he'd imagined; the ear on that side was completely gone, and the gouge tore through its skull was easily three inches wide. It's eyes were a pair of obsidian pupils floating in a sea of blood, and more blood flowed freely from it's nose and the corner of it's mouth. Leyton had only seen that kind of concussion damage on dead bodies. Every inch of its face was scratched, torn, and stained with blood.

"See this face and remember, human. See the terrible damage you have inflicted upon me, and remember that I spared you. You have fought more valiantly than you should have today, warrior, and for that I grant you your life. The next time you fight my kind, and you have my assurance you will, I strongly advise you fight with the same mettle. Because if you don't, all the damage you inflict upon us will still not save you. We will drag you into the blackness and your existance will become nothing but madness and agony. But we do not spare twice; fight bravely and you will earn a quick and honourable death." Mendrel lifted himself off Leyton and handed him his great horned helmet.
"This should be more than enough to convince your superiors of your victory. Now, remove yourself from my sight before I change my mind!"

Leyton snatched the hideous helmet from the monster's grip and began running as fast as he could. Injured leg be damned, he needed to get out of here now. As he ran, he began stripping kit off himself. Water bottles, spare power packs, food rations, anything that would weigh him down was discarded. He lost track of time, focussing only on willing his legs to move; trying to ignore the spreading wave of pain radiating from the wound in his leg. He rounded a corner and saw a small landing pad next to a ruined Arbites headquarters. The dropship already had it's engines up and running, and the stormtroopers standing guard looked about to board for takeoff.
"Wait! Wait for me!" Leyton yelled as loudly as he could, waving his hands and his trophy above his head. The stormtroopers spotted him and raised their hellguns.
"Wait." The female voice cut sharply through the air, and the stormtroopers lowered their weapons. Lieutenant Ares stepped from the dropship. Leyton, who was scrabbling up the access ramp to the pad, caught sight of her and tripped painfully. The helmet clattered to a stop at her feet, and he looked up at her meekly. She was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. A shock of long, bright blonde hair was pulled back neatly beneath the traditional peaked cap. Her face was slender and soft-featured, except her eyes, which were blue, hard-edged and cold as ice. A scar blemished her features, leading from the corner of her mouth and running up her cheek; pulling her lips into a faint smirk on that side. The whole appearance gave her an air of terrifying beauty. Leyton found himself staring and looked away, blushing and afraid of reprisal.
"I'm quite certain I asked for his head, trooper." Ares said, nudging the helmet with a sharp-toed leather boot. Leyton noticed she was wearing the traditional male officer's uniform, tailored to emphasise her feminine figure.
"That uh... that was the largest remains I could find," he said, floundering, "I shot him with a krak missle." He decided to exadurate, slightly.
Ares pulled a small holo-plate from her belt, and to Leyton's suprise it lit up to display a slightly blurred hologram of the monster.
"It appears to be his," she said, "it will do; quickly, everyone aboard!"

Leyton scrambled aboard the transport along with the stormtroopers, but Lieutenant Ares took him by the arm and led him to a separate chamber; her own command quarters no doubt. She sat down behind a small metal desk covered in minimal paperwork and what looked to be a combined vox-caster and coginator unit. She looked up at Leyton and smiled. The smile turned his insides to liquid, and he had to concentrate on not blushing again. He sat down on the edge of a bunk bed against the wall, and tried not to smear blood all over her sheets. "Mission accomplished. I'm impressed, Leyton. May I call you Joseph?" Leyton blanched at that.
"How did? You..."
"I pulled up your records based on the information you gave me. You're quite a tough little soldier; wounded in combat in all three missions you've been in, and you're still alive!" Leyton did blush at that.
"Should I call you m'am, or..." He trailed off, hoping he was taking the hint properly.
"Jennifer." She replied. Away from the other soldiers, she seemed much friendlier.
"You're lucky I like you, Joseph," she said, "else we wouldn't be sitting here talking. I'd be long gone and you'd be being torn to pieces by a warp storm right now." Leyton shifted uncomfortably at that. He realised he was cradling the snarling helmet in his lap; he never remembered retrieving it while boarding. Jennifer stood up and headed for the door, looking over her shoulder at him.
"Get some rest, soldier. I'll have a medic in here shortly to see to that leg and your other injuries. We'll have a full debriefing once you've recovered somewhat." She gave him another of those heart-melting smiles, and then was gone.

Meanwhile, Mendrel was laughing manically amidst a slaughter. Las-rounds whizzed about him, and he let loose again with the flamethrower. The elaborate gardens leading to the royal household were already ablaze, and screams of agony echoed over the roar of flames. He unlatched two grenades and hurled them ahead of him, the twin blasts silencing many shrieks of pain, created some fresh ones, and caused a brief shower of gore. He jogged up to a large marble balcony leading to the front door, and headed off around one side of the mansion. Ahead, a small shuttle sat in a hanger, only seconds away from taking off. An elaborately-dressed and grossly obese man was gesturing madly towards Mendrel, and he spotted several more guardsmen in burgundy uniforms running towards him. With a chuckle he hurled another pair of grenades at them. Little more than splatters of bloody mass remained afterwards. Suddenly, the world went mad. The ground shook violently, and an unseen force threw him against the wall of the mansion. He heard a terrible roar, and realised it was the blast wave from Johanne's Island's destruction making another trip around the planet. Dazed, he staggered towards the shuttle. The noise was more sustained this time; more guards were still rolling around on the ground gripping their ears when he reached the hangar. The obese man lurched towards him, brandishing a jewel-encrusted dagger. Mendrel killed him with a single punch, his bloated body crumpling in a heap next to the shuttle. Seconds later Mendrel was airborne.

Throttling the engines up to dangerously high levels, Mendrel angled the sleek shuttle to a near-vertical climb. He could hear daemonic howls coming from the vox-caster in the control panel, and a terrible whining noise was assaulting his ears. The shuttle began shaking even more violently, and just as he began clearing the atmosphere, he could see the stars still rippling like boiling water, and the windows of the cockpit began to tint a violent purple. Suddenly, the shuttle began accellerating, dangerously fast, creating g-forces too much for even his superhuman body. He could hear the shuttle tearing apart around him, the shrieks of shredding metal mixing with the daemonic howls and gibbering around him. He closed his eyes, and let cry with one great roar before blacking out.

Khargoth sighed slightly, straightening from the holo-unit.
"That's all of it" Barbarus said.
"What of the data packet?"
"Still intact. I decided it was best not to access it." Barbarus said, handing Khargoth the fist-sized unit.
"That was a very wise decision indeed." Khargoth answered.
"What of Mendrel?" Barbarus asked.
"He is to be brought back to operational capacity. Allow him a week's rest afterwards, then inform him he has been promoted to Lieutenant and is to report to me for orders."
"That will take a great deal of luck and bionic enhancement." Barbarus said, looking uncomfortable.
"I know," Khargoth said simply, looking at the mutilated body for a long moment before turning for the door.
"Oh!" He said suddenly, turning on his heel to face Barbarus again.
"Leave his daemonic companion awake during surgery, and place implants that will allow the two to communicate. Also, inform the daemon that it saved this soldier's life." Khargoth left the confused Barbarus standing in the glow of the reviver tubes, along with Mendrel's body.

By Perturabo, that worm Leyton was harder then I had expected. I thought Mendrel would surely kill this guardsman, but I was struck with awe when Mendrel actually "respected" him as a great warrior. Nice twist to the story, Khargoth. Kinda gives a bit "Predator feeling" about it. (I'm referring to the Predator 2 movie where Danny Glover got an antique handgun from a Elder Predator as a sign of respect.)

Now be a good Warsmith and continue writing, I'm eager to devour more!

Masterful Iron Warriors writing. I'm looking forward to more.

Very impressed Khargoth. Your attention to detail is brilliant.

Awesome writhing, mendrel kind of scared they way he rampaged through the building.

what a briiliant piece of work this is!
i was quite surprised that Mendrel let Gaurdsmen Leyton live, and more surprised at the accolades and, shall we say, his "boarding pass". the follow-up was a nice touch too.

keep up the awesome job!