C. Goto - Dawn of War

The sergeant looked down at the bloodied form of Tavett and saw the last flickers of ecstasy dying in his eyes. There was still blood in him, still some life left to be bled before his soul would be sucked from him and cast into the unspeakable realms of the immaterium, where it would be enveloped in the ichorous embrace of the daemons of Khorne. Katrn shook his head in disgust and drew his pistol, firing directly into Tavett’s temple. This wretch was not a fit sacrifice for the Blood God, and he was certainly not deserving of such a glorious end.

As the shot passed straight through Tavett’s head and ricocheted off the stone beneath, something else stabbed into Katrn’s shoulder. He spun on his heels just in time to see the rest of the Guardsmen rack their weapons, some of them already diving for cover behind the altar and others wailing into shredded deaths as hails of shuriken rained down from the rim of the crater. A lance of pleasure fired through his shoulder as a trickle of blood started to soak into his tunic. Instinctively, he pressed a finger into the tiny wound and drew out more blood, letting it drip to the ground in great globules.

Thrilled, Katrn levelled his pistol as he ducked behind the stone of the altar and fired off a couple of rounds, but the figures around the pit were constantly moving and he could not target them. They flicked and fluttered with incredible speed, almost dancing around the crater, but constantly loosing hails of fire into the pit. Despite himself, Katrn found himself marvelling at the grace of his assailants. Compared to the orks and even to the Blood Ravens, these were enchantingly elegant warriors.

“Bancs! Let’s have some grenades up there,” called Katrn, as the trooper came flying over the altar into the pocket of cover behind.

“Yes, sergeant,” replied Bancs, instantly rummaging into his pack for frag-grenade ammunition for his shoulder launcher. “What are they, sergeant?”

“I’m not sure, Bancs. I’ve never seen anything like them. Could be eldar,” answered Katrn, still gazing in wonder at the attackers as they ducked and bobbed their way around volleys of las-fire from Katrn’s Armoured Fist squad.

“I’m sure that they’ll bleed just like the rest of us,” answered Bancs enthusiastically, ramming the ammunition stock into his weapon and bracing it against the edge of the altar.

“Yes,” said Katrn. “I’m sure they will. All the same, I think that it’s time to leave this place. We will be missed. We have to get back to camp.”

The clunk and hiss of the grenade launcher was followed by a series of explosions around the rim of the crater, which sent mud and rubble sliding down into the pit in miniature avalanches. The eldar seemed to vanish, and it was impossible to tell whether any had been hit by the blasts. After a few seconds, another rain of grenades shot over the lip of the crater, detonating over the open ground beyond. There was still no sign or sound of the eldar.

“Let’s move out,” said Katrn, waving his bloody arm like a banner for the rest of the squad.

The Armoured Fists squad and the ramshackle assortment of other troopers that Katrn had recruited from the regiment during the battle for Magna Bonum scrambled up the walls of the crater on their hands and knees. Peering over the rim, Katrn could see the pockmarks left in the ground by the grenades, but there were no bodies and no blood had been spilt. Scanning his eyes quickly through the tree-line, he waved a signal to his men, and they all pulled themselves clear of the pit, readying their weapons as they ascended onto the level ground. But no shots came.

“I don’t like this,” said Bancs, his head twitching nervously from side to side. “Maybe they don’t bleed like us… I think I preferred fighting the orks.”

“Shut it, Bancs,” hissed Katrn, silencing the anxious trooper with a powerful authority that even surprised himself.

“S… sergeant-” started Bancs, unable to control himself.

“I said shut it, Bancs. What are you…” Katrn followed the trooper’s horrified gaze and saw his own blood seeping out of his wounded shoulder and wrapping itself around his right arm. The blood was congealing and solidifying, as though sculpting muscles out of blood on the outside of his body. A rush of power flooded into his mind as he watched the awful mutation of his arm. A mark of Khorne, thrilled Katrn, turning to gaze back down on the altar, still bedecked with the tattered remains of Tavett.

“Bancs, give me your cloak. Now, let’s get back to the camp.”

The grenades exploded around the rim of the crater, but Flaetriu’s rangers had already withdrawn into the trees. The farseer had told them to prevent any bloodshed in the pit, not to slaughter the humans, and Flaetriu was as good as his word. How was he supposed to know that the weak-willed mon-keigh would butcher themselves, even without the help of the Biel-Tan?

From the shadows of the forest, Flaetriu watched the second rain of grenades and scoffed quietly. A blind ordnance barrage was no way to fight eldar rangers, and he laughed inwardly as the scrambling, crawling mon-keigh flopped over the lip of the crater, confident that they had dealt a deadly blow to their foes. The fools.

“Flaetriu,” said Kreusaur, appearing at his shoulder and pointing a long slender arm. “What is happening to that one?” The eldar’s keen eyes could make out the grotesquery that was squirming around the mon-keigh’s shoulder and enveloping his arm. “Should we kill him?”

“No, Kreusaur. The farseer was very explicit-there is to be no bloodshed here. We must let them leave,” answered Flaetriu, fighting against his nature. “We should fetch her now, before this commotion attracts the attention of the orks.”

The two rangers took one last look at the group of humans, who were making ready to leave. Then they flashed a quick signal to the rest of their party, turned, and vanished back into the forest.

“You must leave, and that is final,” said Mordecai without raising his voice. His manner was infuriatingly calm, as though he was asking Gabriel to do the most natural thing in the world.

The men had retired into the Thunderhawk in order to conduct their conversation in privacy. Gabriel and Mordecai were on opposing sides of the uncomfortable drop-bay, sitting into harness fixings usually used by Marines in rough descents. The Thunderhawk was not designed with conferences in mind, and neither man was happy with the inappropriate surroundings for their important discussion. Standing in the hatchway that led into the cockpit was Carus Brom, who had insisted that he should be included in any decisions that might effect the defence of Tartarus.

“You will need to give me a better reason than that, inquisitor,” replied Gabriel, teetering on the edge of composure.

“I need give you nothing of the sort, captain,” countered Mordecai, leaning back in mock relaxation, hiding his face in the shadows, and letting the light reflect off the insignia on his breast plate.

“I am well aware of the powers and function of the Emperor’s Inquisition, inquisitor. You may well have the authority to evacuate every last civilian and Guardsman off this planet,” said Gabriel with a casual nod towards Brom. “But you are very much mistaken if you think that I will cede command of the Blood Ravens to you. The Adeptus Astartes are not common soldiers, inquisitor, and I will thank you to show us the appropriate respect.”

The inquisitor leaned forward again, bringing his face back into the light, and gazing levelly into Gabriel’s keen green eyes. He nodded slowly and then leant back into the shadows. “Very well, captain, I realise that you have had experience of the Inquisition before.” He watched Gabriel smart slightly, and then continued. “If you must have a reason, then I shall give you one: a giant warp storm is sweeping through this sector of the galaxy, wreaking turmoil and havoc on each world that it touches. It is pregnant with the forces of Chaos and it is unclear what fate might befall any life-forms touched by its wrath. It will arrive imminently, and it could trap us here on Tartarus for more than a century, raining the terrors of warp energy into our souls each moment. We must evacuate the planet, and we must do it now. Would you like me to explain that again, so that we can waste some more time, captain?”