Avellaneda Prime. Dark, heavy clouds descended over the green-lit surface, pressing down rapidly.
Within the grey fortress, rat-faced, humanoid creatures stood upright, their claws working levers, aiming anti-aircraft guns at the sky.
Their long tails, emerging from their flanks, coiled through the triggers, scratching at their prominent teeth.
Suddenly, laser beams emerged from beneath the black clouds. They only revealed their dark hulls as they attacked.
In the cockpit of a Shadow-pattern Stormbird, a finger pressed the firing button.
"Die, xenos scum."
In the cockpit, Semeneo smiled.
Through the narrow viewport, he looked down.
Twin-linked lascannons fired streams of beams, merging with those from other Tenth Chapter Stormbirds into a dense sea of light.
The crackle of ionized air echoed across the sky, piercing the dusty eyes of the rat-faces.
The beams pierced the anti-aircraft guns, detonating the bloated xenos, tearing them in two.
'Our Stormbird technology far surpasses that of other Imperial Legions.'
'Only the Raven Guard seem to have similar craft. Theirs are smaller, carrying fewer warriors. That we can achieve the same effect on a larger craft is truly a source of pride.'
Though Semeneo knew the Raven Guard's choice of smaller craft was driven more by tactics than technical limitations, his Legion's comprehensive and specialized mastery of Stormbird technology still filled him with pride.
The Stormbird's nose dipped, beginning its dive.
Semeneo saw the rat-faces clearly now, their sharp incisors protruding.
Mucus dripped from them. Their tails tightened. They frantically pulled the triggers of their guns.
Sporadic fire rose, quickly drowned by the brilliant beams.
The beams rained down on the anti-aircraft emplacements.
They shrieked, striking the rat-faces. The blinding light, centered on the impact, expanded rapidly, hurling the xenos and their human-built guns skyward.
"Prepare for landing. Brace for impact." The pilot's voice echoed in the cabin.
"Countdown: three. two. one."
The landing gear slammed down. Semeneo leaped out, his Etacarn pattern plasma gun raised.
The moment he landed, his visor locked onto the first target.
He raised his gun, firing a sun-bright bolt at the red rune.
It struck an anti-aircraft gun still firing at the transports.
Boom!
Rat-face and metal evaporated in a cloud of superheated gas.
Semeneo ducked slightly, scanning the cooling vents and exhaust pipes for plumes of steam, confirming his perceptions.
Even though he had familiarized himself with the new weapon on the training grounds, the memory of his infiltration of the Alpha Legion was still burned into his mind.
Each time he pulled the trigger, the heat from the cooling pipes and exhaust vents would wash over his armor, making him feel the heat.
With each shot, the searing sensation would grow stronger, enough to evaporate the moisture from a mortal using an Astartes-pattern weapon.
Rapid fire would cook a mortal alive.
But now, he felt only a faint warmth, like drinking a bowl of nutrient paste.
His hands felt no rise in temperature from the barrel.
Semeneo pushed aside thirty-eight years of ingrained memory and followed his battle-brothers, firing at a rate he had never achieved before.
Plasma bolts streamed towards the rat-faces' positions.
Each beam vaporized several, or even a dozen, of the clustered xenos.
His finger suddenly stopped. His arm trembled, as instinctive memory fought the new requirements.
In his time with the Alpha Legion, after fourteen shots, he would have had to change the hydrogen bottle.
But more dangerous than overheating was the fact that reloading required a prayer to properly align the bottle. They were too unstable, prone to leakage or contamination of the plasma intake.
He had seen an Alpha fire a round with an improperly connected bottle, causing an explosion on the first shot.
The explosion, which killed the mortals around him, had only cost the Alpha an arm and a heart. He had been lucky, continuing to fight with bionics.
Even removing the bottle was dangerous. Residual plasma could leak from a ruptured seal or a poorly closed valve.
He had seen another neophyte lose two fingers during training.
Thus, in the Alpha Legion, the loading and unloading of hydrogen bottles were handled by Techmarines. Other Legions relied more on attached Tech-Priests.
They had to perform lengthy binary prayers to complete the unloading and loading. But upon rejoining the Shadow of Order, he had been told to do it himself.
Semeneo dropped into a trench, crouching low. Taking a deep breath, his fingers, stiff with habit, moved towards the hydrogen bottle.
As his gauntleted hand touched it, he felt a warmth like that of a freshly served bowl of nutrient paste.
His tense muscles relaxed slightly. Slowly, but steadily, he unscrewed the bottle.
Pfft!
A jet of hot gas warmed his gauntlet.
Semeneo breathed a sigh of relief, placing the bottle in his belt's recovery pouch.
Then, from his ammunition pouch, he drew a fresh hydrogen bottle, reciting the Techmarine's taught Vostoyan hymn.
"Bottle of hydrogen, born of the Shadow of Order's forges."
"I am blessed by my father, the Monarch of Vostroya. His favor is with me."
"Your flame shall burn the enemy, and not harm me."
Having recited the unusually short prayer, his fingers remained still.
"and not harm me." A low voice echoed from beside him. He saw another neophyte, from Arzha, quickly screwing his bottle in, already peeking over the edge, ready to fire.
'You've done this before. On the training ground.' Semeneo moved the bottle to his plasma gun, twisting it into place.
'It really works. My father watches over me.' Semeneo, replacing his own hydrogen bottle for the first time, vaulted from the trench, pulling the trigger.
Plasma bolts shot out, detonating among the rat-faces.
The mist of vaporization filled his vision.
He raised his Etacarn pattern plasma gun, striding forward.
He had found, in this otherwise volatile weapon, the feel of a boltgun.
A shell screamed towards him, striking the neophyte ahead.
Boom!
The black armor shattered. Ceramite fragments and a burning arm landed before Semeneo.
He thumbed the power selector, switching from standard to high-power mode, and pulled the trigger.
A hundred times more brilliant than before, a bolt like a falling star screamed towards the grey vehicle.
In the towering fire, the steel hull melted. Four rat-faces were reduced to ash.
Semeneo felt the heat from the exhaust vents, cooler than the standard-pattern Fury plasma gun's standard mode he had used before.
'Our plasma guns are so much safer than the Alpha Legion's. The rate of fire is ten times faster.'
'Reloading, thirty times faster. And we can do it ourselves.'
Semeneo gathered his thoughts, switched back to standard mode, and raised his warm Etacarn plasma gun, charging forward.
His eyes narrowed, fixing on a shadow in the distance.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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