Post by McCommander on Dec 5, 2005 18:38:54 GMT -5
"Emperor take me swiftly. I have been your loyal servant for many years in Valpone IG 127th. I have bled for you. I have killed for you and I have sacrificed a lifetime for the spread of your rule. All I ask is take me swiftly. Don't let me fall prey to the ways and wills of the chaos filth I have spent my life to destroy. Anything but that!"
The landscape was shattered as if a great hammer had fallen from the sky to smash it to so many shards. Cracks in the baked earth spread for miles in every direction and the heat was unbearable. Triplet suns, three red giants, hovered at a zenith that would last for several imperial standard days where ruddy red, the color of dried blood, dominated everything. Great ordnance craters pocked the wasted earth like some ancient lunar surface.
There, hunkered down at the rim of crater Pvt. Grotham whispered his prayer to the emperor. His left leg was broken in two places, one of, which had periced his skin leaving the grizzly white bone exposed to scab over. Two days earlier his convoy had left fort Braxton to reinforce the north ridge. The area known as Sol's Keep had seen a good deal of action over the last two weeks. No real engagements, but from what Grotham had heard back in the mess the ordinance were endless.
A full platoon of the Valpone's 127th finest, including Gratham, had left Braxton headed to Sol's Keep. With about 20 kilometers of rippled bacon like landscape to go before they hit base camp his Platoon, the Leather backs, had been attacked. Some sort of strange energy weapon that blew his truck clear off the road had hit Grotham’s truck. The severe Jolt had thrown him and his sergeant from the back of the truck into a crater at the side of the road, about 20 feet. Both of them crumpled as they landed poorly. Gratham broke his leg, but his sergeant had broken his neck killing him instantly. The energy weapon had blasted the truck in the front knocking him out the back to his actual luck. The fury of the weapon had stripped away the armored plating atomizing the truck and all it's occupants in a matter of seconds. Whatever this new weapon that the chaos cultist possessed it was a serious threat. Gratham lay in that crater unconscious for a undetermined number of hours, but when he came to there were no signs of any attackers and his entire convoy had been reduced to faintly green glowing smoldering slag heaps.
At present Gratham watched the heat wavering horizon knowing from the small dust cloud, slowly growing that somebody was coming. Who every they were, they were chaos, he could feel the taint from here.
Gratham, sweating heavily, turned back and looked at his sergeant’s dead body, crumpled and twisted unnaturally. "Well Sarge. We're the only ones left. What do you think? You take half and I'll take the other half?..... OK, you just lie still. I'll take them all." He turned back to look over the lip of the crater at the 2 chaos encrusted APC that were maneuvering down the road toward him. He sighed looking down at his leg. It was ruined. He couldn't walk now and without severe medical attention we would never walk right again. It was funny. As ghastly as the wound was. It really didn't hurt. "Well Sarge, since neither of us is going anywhere this looks like as good a spot as any to set up a defense huh? ... Hey what have you got there?" Looking over at his sergeants body, poking out of a utility pack, was a heavy silver etched pistol gleaming like molten blood in the sunlight. Reaching over Gratham grabbed the weapon form his sergeants pack and began to inspect it. The heavy bolt pistol was of masterwork craftsmanship cased in silver and etched with runes and skulls over is smooth lines. The weapon was marvelous. Gratham never remembered his sergeant every having or using such a remarkable weapon, but as he watched the APCs getting closer, he was glad he had it now.
Loading a fresh energy clip into his own las rifle, he began to inspect it for damage. It looked OK. These old rifles could take a hell of a beating. The pistol catching his eye again, he smiled and placed it into his own utility pack. Looking back over the lip he saw the APC come to skidding halt about 75 yards from him as about twenty guys disembarked. Dressed in mustard colored environmental suits they secured the area around the front of the convey and began to inspect the wreckage.
A moment later a monster of a man exited one of the APCs a full head taller than the rest dressed in cammo pants a heavy flack jacket and covered in blasphemous tattoos. The sight of the man shook Gratham to the core.
The man stood well over seven feet tall and rippled with unnatural muscle configurations giving him an imposing silhouette against the desert suns. Gratham watched as the man, obviously the leader of this outfit, began hissing orders to his followers. Even over the distance and the sounds of the ever shifting wind his demonic hiss of a voice slithered back over the craters and into gratham's brain. His heart and head began to pound in unison as small droplets of blood trickled from his nose. The taint on this man was strong, but Gratham was a veteran of many campaigns and was familiar with these symptoms. Mustering his courage and the sum of his training Gratham leveled his las rifle against the lip of the crater picking out the closest of the infidels. "It's all right sarge. I'm ready for them. You trained me well. "I won't let them get you.” Gratham mouthed to the corpse of his sergeant more for his benefit that his sergeants, "Come on you bastards. Just a lil closer!"
Gratham was no sniper, but he was a solid marksman. As the cultists began moving down the smoldering convoy line closer, inspecting the wreckage, two of them got to watch first hand as a hail of las fire vaporized their various body parts. The cultist scattered, breaking fast for whatever cover they could find among the wreckage and craters. Las fire followed the next closest two blasting one in the chest and making liquefied flesh out of the others ankle as they dived behind cover.
Graham howled with glee at catching them by surprise. Checking his energy clip, it was only half-empty. Looking for new targets over the edge of the crater, "Corpse God this you mother f@ckers!" Gratham yelled, switching to full auto. Laying down a cover fire, keeping the enemies heads down, he fumbled with a fresh energy clip to reload. Just like his training had taught him. His sarge smiled.
Grotham's energy clip bled dry as he let loose all the fury his las rifle could muster. It was a good run. As best he could tell he had killed or disabled at least 6 of them. Ducking back into the crater to eject the clip and load a fresh one, Gratham mentally ran the numbers. He'd taken down 6 with his first clip and they had only gained about 25 yards on him. He had only two more clips; that would make about 20 total and then they'd be on him, but he didn't have the element of surprise anymore. Basically he was screwed.
Grotham whipped back over the edge with his rifle prepared to unleash a second round of death upon the cultist. As quickly as he poked his head out he was forced to take cover again. The lip of the crater was ravaged and blown to pieces as return las fire erupted everywhere. Gratham winced in pain as rock fragment exploded like shrapnel leaving him exposed as his cover slowly vaporized. Hunkering down as best he could and returning a blind shot or two Grotham forced himself to take a look at his enemies. Those in the back that he had scattered had taken up firing positions and were now pinning the hell out of him while he could also see mustard colored suits weaving in the cover toward him.
"Sarge! They’re advancing on us!" Gratham yelled over the devastation above him. "What should I do?" Blood was streaming down his face and out of his ears as he could feel the presence of that man getting closer. Grotham shuddered at the images filling his head. Looking at his sergeant’s corpse, "They’re going to get us! I'm not afraid to die Sarge, but that man. I can hear him in my head Sarge! The things he's going to do to us!"
"Steel yourself against that d**n filth Pvt. Grotham! You’re an Imperial Guardsman. "Show a little backbone.” his sergeant, yelled back. "Sorry Sarge, I know but we're in allot of shi!t!"
"I don't wanna hear any of that Pvt. We've been in worse. Now use your head."
"I can't Sarge. He's in my head!" Grotham's temples were pounding and his delusions were getting worse.
"Think private. While we sittin' here having this conversations those bast@rds are still wormin' up on us!"
"Grenades Sarge? We could use frags to slow them down?"
"Good idea Pvt. Now give them hell in the name of the Emperor so they'll remember The Leather Backs!"
Invoking the name of the Emperor and filling his head with the memory of the Leather Backs Grotham began to push back the chaos inflicted madness that threatened to over take his mind. Once again in his mind his sergeant became just a corpse. The Idea however had been sound. Ripping open his utility pack Grotham pulled out the three frags he had been issued. Waiting for the slightest break in the inbound las fire he pulled all three pins simultaneously and lunched them in a scatter pattern over what was left of the crater's lip.
They were a lot closer than Grotham had realized. The three frags flew over the lip and hit two the cultist in the chest, which then fell to their feet and exploded. The third frag actually hit one of them in the head, bounced off and rolled back into the crater with Grotham to his total dismay. In the split second that he had Grotham rolled painfully behind the only cover he had from the anti-personal charge; his sergeants dead body.
The air was filled with a fountain of carnage. Crimson blood and fleshy chunks sprayed all around as the bodies of the four cultists caught in the blast erupted. Red-hot shrapnel cut everything to shreds at point blank range. Grotham and his bloody cover were thrown in the shockwave clear to the other side of the crater. Grotham's sergeant’s body was pulverized to goo by the detonation and still hadn't fully protected him. What had been left of Grotham's legs had been torn off leave nothing but a frayed stump just below his thighs.
The pain was unbearable and left Gratham near unconsciousness. Blood covered his body from head to toe and he could hear nothing but this incredible ringing noise that nearly made him want to rip his own ears off. Lying on his back, dazed, Gratham wretched blood all over him as an enormous figure emerged over the edge of the crater. Smoke and ash seem to stand aside as the man came to stand before the mess that was Grotham.
He was dying. He knew that. The Emperor had granted his request. These chaos scums would not have him. He would be granted a place at the side of the God Emperor for the deeds he had done this day. These thoughts comforted Grotham as the monster before him with the heretical tattoos raised a huge two headed axe in one hand over his head for a killing stroke. Gratham smiled as he felt his soul begin to slip away.
"If only I could take this monster with me”, Grotham thought to himself. "Think of the place the Emperor would grant me then!" All at once the pain of reality filtered back into Grotham's body as he began to cling to his remaining life with whatever vigor he had left. The chaos leader brought forth the mighty battle-axe in a downward strike just as Grotham attempted to defend with the broad side of his las rifle. Metal screeched as the axe tore through the old rifle bending it to crush into Gratham's chest. The pressure of the blow from the leaders double bisceps knocked the choking air out of Grotham as he lay helplessly pinned. "How could I possible defeat this monster?” Grotham thought to himself as the leader raised the blade for a second strike.
All at once Grotham thought of the silver etched bolt pistol he had found on his sergeants dead body. The second swing came down and in a valiant move Grotham used his arms to flip his body out of the way and draw the gleaming bolt pistol from his utility pack. Giving a curse so foul it can't be written here Grotham leveled the pistol at the leaders chest taking aim through bloody eyes.
*snap*
The Imperial Guardsmen's head exploded as Lazorith lowered his smoking las pistol. "What a nuisance you have been little man. Killing my men. I would have enjoyed a much longer and crueler death for you, but that's a dangerous looking weapon you have there.” the chaos leader hissed. Looking down at Grotham's destroyed body Lazorith noticed the IG's face still smoldering in the heat of the over charged las blast that had finally killed him. Tossing his own pistol aside Lazorith pride the marvelous weapon from the corpse's hand, finger still on the trigger. He took in its pure beauty for a moment before holstering the weapon. Hefting his axe over one shoulder replacing it in it's own sheath Lazorith made his voice be heard.
"We've wasted enough time here. Get back in the trucks all of you!" Looking at the green glowing smoldering slagheaps once more Lazorith thought to himself, "I have a report to make."
Lazorith grumbled about the jostling ride of the ancient APC as he went over his data slate making notes on the location of the obliterated IG convoy. His superiors would want to know about it. If they hadn't destroyed the guard then that meant some other hostile presence was here on the planet. From the command seat of the vehicle he looked over his men. There were too few of them left from such a pathetic encounter. Six empty seats in his APC and another three in the other all from one wounded guardsmen. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain his mens carelessness to his boss. Amused, He smiled to himself, " I suppose it didn't help that I killed all the wounded for their stupidity."
"Sergeant, we're still three hours from the nearest front where you can make a report.” shouted Lazorith's driver over the wail of the engines.
"Why haven't you fixed the caster yet?” Lazorith hissed, letting his Whisper out just enough to terrify the driver.
Visions of the price of failure began to flood into the drivers mind. "Sir! it's not me or the APC's caster that's malfunctioning. Some sort of interference that's following us is jamming the signal!"
Lazorith backed the Whisper off a bit, speaking normally so that the driver could give him an intelligent answer, "What do you mean following us?"
"I... I don't know sir. I thought that farther away from the ambush site we got that the jamming would lessen, but it hasn't. It's been... well, following us."
"You fool!” Lazorith growled causing everyone in the APC to cringe away from him. Spinning around in the command seat Lazorith quickly activated the proximity scanner. Letting his rage subside, he watched, as data came back to him that there was nothing out there. Just wasted landscape. Turning back to his driver, "Didn't you ever think that whatever destroyed those trucks could still be out there and perhaps even now be following us. No, of course you didn't. You don't think!" His Whisper promising a swift punishment.
Three warning lights flashed for an instant on the proximity scanner but were gone again as quickly as they and showed up. With Lazorith mentally tormenting his driver and the rest of the crew. No one noticed the three fast moving blips disappearing and then reappearing.
Screaming and the sounds of weapons fire filled Lazorith's commlink from the men in the trailing APC. Seconds later his own vehicle was pitched hard to the right as the driver yelled out. Lazorith grabbed one of the support chains to steady steady himself as he leaned forward in the command seat. Peering into the drivers compartment, "d**n it report! What the hell is going on?" Just as his anger began to mount once again promising a swift death to the driver, shock drained his rage away. As the driver turn his head to answer, a chromed metal claw twice the size of a man's head phased through the side of the vehicle leaving the armored hull unscathed, but slicing through the drivers skull leaving sizorred ribbons of flesh in it's wake.
The scything claw shredded two more of the APC occupants before finally phasing out through the rear hatch. Lazorith dived for the vehicles control stick but it was too late the drivers limp and bloodied body slumped over it causing the APC to veer wildly off the road. The crumpling of metal sounded all through the hull of the ancient vehicle as it slipped off the road pitching over the ridge of crater rolling a full cycle to come once again topside up. Lazorith growled while stretching a wounded shoulder, "The four of you ...get out! Your little more then meat in a can in here." Groans of pain and shock was all that was his reply from the four traitor guardsmen left alive. Lazorith's Whisper came to bear, "GET OUT! .... And give me a perimeter around the APC. I want to know what were dealing with!" Terrified men began to respond and the hatch door opened!
"APC one, What's you status?"
Terrified men disembarked on Lazorith's command back into the unforgiving heat of the late day. As each one left the hatch he could hear them gasp and instantly bring there weapons to bear on some unseen foe. The snap of las rifles were heavy in the air as Lazorith commanded a response from the once trailing APC.
Lazorith was the last man to exit the crumbled hull of the APC, standing in front of the hatch, what he witnessed was the first thing that had ever filled him with true fear. Ringed by a circle of his panicked men stood a four meter tall emissary of death. Chromed metal made blood red by the dying light glistened as a blur of movement. The enormous hunched torso of a skeletal man whirled with unearthly speed upon an equally fleshless tail. The creature hovered more than moved by any coils as it ripped men with scissored claws. What shook Lazorith's nerves more than anything was the two pinpricks of red light that made do for the creatures eyes. Set deep in their sockets of a metal skull, the eyes burned with a cold fire. Lazorith had read the reports and knew of the possibilities on this planet, a necron wraith. Lazorith watched as his shaken men circled the wraith slowly forcing it back as it continuously phased in and out to dodge the stream of las shots that poured through it. Forming a firing line and keeping it on the defensive it appeared that they had a chance. They didn't. The wraith was faster. Without warning the wraith vanished into the dusty earth only to reappear seconds later in the mix of the chaos traitors with two claws, each impaling a guardsmen fully through the chest. Holding them aloft and stretching to its full stature the wraith towered over the frightened men. Blood rained down on the guardsmen from the two bodies before they came to their senses and opened fired once more. Dropping the bodies as it partially phased once more, a melee began of thrusting bayonets and flaying claws.
The landscape was shattered as if a great hammer had fallen from the sky to smash it to so many shards. Cracks in the baked earth spread for miles in every direction and the heat was unbearable. Triplet suns, three red giants, hovered at a zenith that would last for several imperial standard days where ruddy red, the color of dried blood, dominated everything. Great ordnance craters pocked the wasted earth like some ancient lunar surface.
There, hunkered down at the rim of crater Pvt. Grotham whispered his prayer to the emperor. His left leg was broken in two places, one of, which had periced his skin leaving the grizzly white bone exposed to scab over. Two days earlier his convoy had left fort Braxton to reinforce the north ridge. The area known as Sol's Keep had seen a good deal of action over the last two weeks. No real engagements, but from what Grotham had heard back in the mess the ordinance were endless.
A full platoon of the Valpone's 127th finest, including Gratham, had left Braxton headed to Sol's Keep. With about 20 kilometers of rippled bacon like landscape to go before they hit base camp his Platoon, the Leather backs, had been attacked. Some sort of strange energy weapon that blew his truck clear off the road had hit Grotham’s truck. The severe Jolt had thrown him and his sergeant from the back of the truck into a crater at the side of the road, about 20 feet. Both of them crumpled as they landed poorly. Gratham broke his leg, but his sergeant had broken his neck killing him instantly. The energy weapon had blasted the truck in the front knocking him out the back to his actual luck. The fury of the weapon had stripped away the armored plating atomizing the truck and all it's occupants in a matter of seconds. Whatever this new weapon that the chaos cultist possessed it was a serious threat. Gratham lay in that crater unconscious for a undetermined number of hours, but when he came to there were no signs of any attackers and his entire convoy had been reduced to faintly green glowing smoldering slag heaps.
At present Gratham watched the heat wavering horizon knowing from the small dust cloud, slowly growing that somebody was coming. Who every they were, they were chaos, he could feel the taint from here.
Gratham, sweating heavily, turned back and looked at his sergeant’s dead body, crumpled and twisted unnaturally. "Well Sarge. We're the only ones left. What do you think? You take half and I'll take the other half?..... OK, you just lie still. I'll take them all." He turned back to look over the lip of the crater at the 2 chaos encrusted APC that were maneuvering down the road toward him. He sighed looking down at his leg. It was ruined. He couldn't walk now and without severe medical attention we would never walk right again. It was funny. As ghastly as the wound was. It really didn't hurt. "Well Sarge, since neither of us is going anywhere this looks like as good a spot as any to set up a defense huh? ... Hey what have you got there?" Looking over at his sergeants body, poking out of a utility pack, was a heavy silver etched pistol gleaming like molten blood in the sunlight. Reaching over Gratham grabbed the weapon form his sergeants pack and began to inspect it. The heavy bolt pistol was of masterwork craftsmanship cased in silver and etched with runes and skulls over is smooth lines. The weapon was marvelous. Gratham never remembered his sergeant every having or using such a remarkable weapon, but as he watched the APCs getting closer, he was glad he had it now.
Loading a fresh energy clip into his own las rifle, he began to inspect it for damage. It looked OK. These old rifles could take a hell of a beating. The pistol catching his eye again, he smiled and placed it into his own utility pack. Looking back over the lip he saw the APC come to skidding halt about 75 yards from him as about twenty guys disembarked. Dressed in mustard colored environmental suits they secured the area around the front of the convey and began to inspect the wreckage.
A moment later a monster of a man exited one of the APCs a full head taller than the rest dressed in cammo pants a heavy flack jacket and covered in blasphemous tattoos. The sight of the man shook Gratham to the core.
The man stood well over seven feet tall and rippled with unnatural muscle configurations giving him an imposing silhouette against the desert suns. Gratham watched as the man, obviously the leader of this outfit, began hissing orders to his followers. Even over the distance and the sounds of the ever shifting wind his demonic hiss of a voice slithered back over the craters and into gratham's brain. His heart and head began to pound in unison as small droplets of blood trickled from his nose. The taint on this man was strong, but Gratham was a veteran of many campaigns and was familiar with these symptoms. Mustering his courage and the sum of his training Gratham leveled his las rifle against the lip of the crater picking out the closest of the infidels. "It's all right sarge. I'm ready for them. You trained me well. "I won't let them get you.” Gratham mouthed to the corpse of his sergeant more for his benefit that his sergeants, "Come on you bastards. Just a lil closer!"
Gratham was no sniper, but he was a solid marksman. As the cultists began moving down the smoldering convoy line closer, inspecting the wreckage, two of them got to watch first hand as a hail of las fire vaporized their various body parts. The cultist scattered, breaking fast for whatever cover they could find among the wreckage and craters. Las fire followed the next closest two blasting one in the chest and making liquefied flesh out of the others ankle as they dived behind cover.
Graham howled with glee at catching them by surprise. Checking his energy clip, it was only half-empty. Looking for new targets over the edge of the crater, "Corpse God this you mother f@ckers!" Gratham yelled, switching to full auto. Laying down a cover fire, keeping the enemies heads down, he fumbled with a fresh energy clip to reload. Just like his training had taught him. His sarge smiled.
Grotham's energy clip bled dry as he let loose all the fury his las rifle could muster. It was a good run. As best he could tell he had killed or disabled at least 6 of them. Ducking back into the crater to eject the clip and load a fresh one, Gratham mentally ran the numbers. He'd taken down 6 with his first clip and they had only gained about 25 yards on him. He had only two more clips; that would make about 20 total and then they'd be on him, but he didn't have the element of surprise anymore. Basically he was screwed.
Grotham whipped back over the edge with his rifle prepared to unleash a second round of death upon the cultist. As quickly as he poked his head out he was forced to take cover again. The lip of the crater was ravaged and blown to pieces as return las fire erupted everywhere. Gratham winced in pain as rock fragment exploded like shrapnel leaving him exposed as his cover slowly vaporized. Hunkering down as best he could and returning a blind shot or two Grotham forced himself to take a look at his enemies. Those in the back that he had scattered had taken up firing positions and were now pinning the hell out of him while he could also see mustard colored suits weaving in the cover toward him.
"Sarge! They’re advancing on us!" Gratham yelled over the devastation above him. "What should I do?" Blood was streaming down his face and out of his ears as he could feel the presence of that man getting closer. Grotham shuddered at the images filling his head. Looking at his sergeant’s corpse, "They’re going to get us! I'm not afraid to die Sarge, but that man. I can hear him in my head Sarge! The things he's going to do to us!"
"Steel yourself against that d**n filth Pvt. Grotham! You’re an Imperial Guardsman. "Show a little backbone.” his sergeant, yelled back. "Sorry Sarge, I know but we're in allot of shi!t!"
"I don't wanna hear any of that Pvt. We've been in worse. Now use your head."
"I can't Sarge. He's in my head!" Grotham's temples were pounding and his delusions were getting worse.
"Think private. While we sittin' here having this conversations those bast@rds are still wormin' up on us!"
"Grenades Sarge? We could use frags to slow them down?"
"Good idea Pvt. Now give them hell in the name of the Emperor so they'll remember The Leather Backs!"
Invoking the name of the Emperor and filling his head with the memory of the Leather Backs Grotham began to push back the chaos inflicted madness that threatened to over take his mind. Once again in his mind his sergeant became just a corpse. The Idea however had been sound. Ripping open his utility pack Grotham pulled out the three frags he had been issued. Waiting for the slightest break in the inbound las fire he pulled all three pins simultaneously and lunched them in a scatter pattern over what was left of the crater's lip.
They were a lot closer than Grotham had realized. The three frags flew over the lip and hit two the cultist in the chest, which then fell to their feet and exploded. The third frag actually hit one of them in the head, bounced off and rolled back into the crater with Grotham to his total dismay. In the split second that he had Grotham rolled painfully behind the only cover he had from the anti-personal charge; his sergeants dead body.
The air was filled with a fountain of carnage. Crimson blood and fleshy chunks sprayed all around as the bodies of the four cultists caught in the blast erupted. Red-hot shrapnel cut everything to shreds at point blank range. Grotham and his bloody cover were thrown in the shockwave clear to the other side of the crater. Grotham's sergeant’s body was pulverized to goo by the detonation and still hadn't fully protected him. What had been left of Grotham's legs had been torn off leave nothing but a frayed stump just below his thighs.
The pain was unbearable and left Gratham near unconsciousness. Blood covered his body from head to toe and he could hear nothing but this incredible ringing noise that nearly made him want to rip his own ears off. Lying on his back, dazed, Gratham wretched blood all over him as an enormous figure emerged over the edge of the crater. Smoke and ash seem to stand aside as the man came to stand before the mess that was Grotham.
He was dying. He knew that. The Emperor had granted his request. These chaos scums would not have him. He would be granted a place at the side of the God Emperor for the deeds he had done this day. These thoughts comforted Grotham as the monster before him with the heretical tattoos raised a huge two headed axe in one hand over his head for a killing stroke. Gratham smiled as he felt his soul begin to slip away.
"If only I could take this monster with me”, Grotham thought to himself. "Think of the place the Emperor would grant me then!" All at once the pain of reality filtered back into Grotham's body as he began to cling to his remaining life with whatever vigor he had left. The chaos leader brought forth the mighty battle-axe in a downward strike just as Grotham attempted to defend with the broad side of his las rifle. Metal screeched as the axe tore through the old rifle bending it to crush into Gratham's chest. The pressure of the blow from the leaders double bisceps knocked the choking air out of Grotham as he lay helplessly pinned. "How could I possible defeat this monster?” Grotham thought to himself as the leader raised the blade for a second strike.
All at once Grotham thought of the silver etched bolt pistol he had found on his sergeants dead body. The second swing came down and in a valiant move Grotham used his arms to flip his body out of the way and draw the gleaming bolt pistol from his utility pack. Giving a curse so foul it can't be written here Grotham leveled the pistol at the leaders chest taking aim through bloody eyes.
*snap*
The Imperial Guardsmen's head exploded as Lazorith lowered his smoking las pistol. "What a nuisance you have been little man. Killing my men. I would have enjoyed a much longer and crueler death for you, but that's a dangerous looking weapon you have there.” the chaos leader hissed. Looking down at Grotham's destroyed body Lazorith noticed the IG's face still smoldering in the heat of the over charged las blast that had finally killed him. Tossing his own pistol aside Lazorith pride the marvelous weapon from the corpse's hand, finger still on the trigger. He took in its pure beauty for a moment before holstering the weapon. Hefting his axe over one shoulder replacing it in it's own sheath Lazorith made his voice be heard.
"We've wasted enough time here. Get back in the trucks all of you!" Looking at the green glowing smoldering slagheaps once more Lazorith thought to himself, "I have a report to make."
Lazorith grumbled about the jostling ride of the ancient APC as he went over his data slate making notes on the location of the obliterated IG convoy. His superiors would want to know about it. If they hadn't destroyed the guard then that meant some other hostile presence was here on the planet. From the command seat of the vehicle he looked over his men. There were too few of them left from such a pathetic encounter. Six empty seats in his APC and another three in the other all from one wounded guardsmen. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain his mens carelessness to his boss. Amused, He smiled to himself, " I suppose it didn't help that I killed all the wounded for their stupidity."
"Sergeant, we're still three hours from the nearest front where you can make a report.” shouted Lazorith's driver over the wail of the engines.
"Why haven't you fixed the caster yet?” Lazorith hissed, letting his Whisper out just enough to terrify the driver.
Visions of the price of failure began to flood into the drivers mind. "Sir! it's not me or the APC's caster that's malfunctioning. Some sort of interference that's following us is jamming the signal!"
Lazorith backed the Whisper off a bit, speaking normally so that the driver could give him an intelligent answer, "What do you mean following us?"
"I... I don't know sir. I thought that farther away from the ambush site we got that the jamming would lessen, but it hasn't. It's been... well, following us."
"You fool!” Lazorith growled causing everyone in the APC to cringe away from him. Spinning around in the command seat Lazorith quickly activated the proximity scanner. Letting his rage subside, he watched, as data came back to him that there was nothing out there. Just wasted landscape. Turning back to his driver, "Didn't you ever think that whatever destroyed those trucks could still be out there and perhaps even now be following us. No, of course you didn't. You don't think!" His Whisper promising a swift punishment.
Three warning lights flashed for an instant on the proximity scanner but were gone again as quickly as they and showed up. With Lazorith mentally tormenting his driver and the rest of the crew. No one noticed the three fast moving blips disappearing and then reappearing.
Screaming and the sounds of weapons fire filled Lazorith's commlink from the men in the trailing APC. Seconds later his own vehicle was pitched hard to the right as the driver yelled out. Lazorith grabbed one of the support chains to steady steady himself as he leaned forward in the command seat. Peering into the drivers compartment, "d**n it report! What the hell is going on?" Just as his anger began to mount once again promising a swift death to the driver, shock drained his rage away. As the driver turn his head to answer, a chromed metal claw twice the size of a man's head phased through the side of the vehicle leaving the armored hull unscathed, but slicing through the drivers skull leaving sizorred ribbons of flesh in it's wake.
The scything claw shredded two more of the APC occupants before finally phasing out through the rear hatch. Lazorith dived for the vehicles control stick but it was too late the drivers limp and bloodied body slumped over it causing the APC to veer wildly off the road. The crumpling of metal sounded all through the hull of the ancient vehicle as it slipped off the road pitching over the ridge of crater rolling a full cycle to come once again topside up. Lazorith growled while stretching a wounded shoulder, "The four of you ...get out! Your little more then meat in a can in here." Groans of pain and shock was all that was his reply from the four traitor guardsmen left alive. Lazorith's Whisper came to bear, "GET OUT! .... And give me a perimeter around the APC. I want to know what were dealing with!" Terrified men began to respond and the hatch door opened!
"APC one, What's you status?"
Terrified men disembarked on Lazorith's command back into the unforgiving heat of the late day. As each one left the hatch he could hear them gasp and instantly bring there weapons to bear on some unseen foe. The snap of las rifles were heavy in the air as Lazorith commanded a response from the once trailing APC.
Lazorith was the last man to exit the crumbled hull of the APC, standing in front of the hatch, what he witnessed was the first thing that had ever filled him with true fear. Ringed by a circle of his panicked men stood a four meter tall emissary of death. Chromed metal made blood red by the dying light glistened as a blur of movement. The enormous hunched torso of a skeletal man whirled with unearthly speed upon an equally fleshless tail. The creature hovered more than moved by any coils as it ripped men with scissored claws. What shook Lazorith's nerves more than anything was the two pinpricks of red light that made do for the creatures eyes. Set deep in their sockets of a metal skull, the eyes burned with a cold fire. Lazorith had read the reports and knew of the possibilities on this planet, a necron wraith. Lazorith watched as his shaken men circled the wraith slowly forcing it back as it continuously phased in and out to dodge the stream of las shots that poured through it. Forming a firing line and keeping it on the defensive it appeared that they had a chance. They didn't. The wraith was faster. Without warning the wraith vanished into the dusty earth only to reappear seconds later in the mix of the chaos traitors with two claws, each impaling a guardsmen fully through the chest. Holding them aloft and stretching to its full stature the wraith towered over the frightened men. Blood rained down on the guardsmen from the two bodies before they came to their senses and opened fired once more. Dropping the bodies as it partially phased once more, a melee began of thrusting bayonets and flaying claws.
