[Not long after, your tactical squad encounters another Dark Eldar raiding party.]
[These xenos, who survive by torturing living beings and drinking stolen souls, are conducting a systematic purge of a human settlement. No mercy. No survivors. Just cruelty for cruelty's sake.]
[Your squad prepares for battle beneath Asmodai's manic laughter. The Interrogator Chaplain's cackling echoes across the vox, setting your teeth on edge.]
[The heavy bolter in the attack bike's sidecar opens fire first. The roar is deafening, satisfying. A Raider skiff caught mid-turn vanishes in a ball of flame and twisted metal, crashing to the ground in a shower of burning debris.]
[The Land Speeder Vengeance's plasma storm cannon adds its voice to the carnage, streams of superheated matter cutting through the leaping, dodging Dark Eldar like a scythe through wheat.]
[You gun the attack bike's engine and charge straight into the settlement. Rubble and broken buildings blur past. Your power sword is already in your hand, the decomposition field humming blue. The first Dark Eldar warrior doesn't even see you coming. Your blade splits his black armor and the too-tall, too-thin body inside from shoulder to hip.]
[A Dark Eldar Wych launches herself at you, moving like a acrobat, like a dancer, like death itself. She holds a crystalline splinter pistol in one hand and a crackling agonizer whip in the other. Her armor is minimal, designed for speed and agility over protection.]
[You slam the brakes. The bike's tires scream, rubber burning, filling the air with acrid smoke. Your hand goes to your waist, draws your bolter, aims for that narrow helmet...]
[Something explodes behind you. Not fire. Not shrapnel. Silk. A haywire grenade detonates against your power pack, and suddenly the world is covered in expanding white threads. They wrap around the bike's rear wheel, around your arms, across your chest, sticky and impossibly strong.]
[The threads don't hurt you, but they don't need to. Your bike's engine chokes and dies. Your power armor seizes up, servos locked, systems flashing error codes across your visor.]
[You slam your ceramite palm against the side of your power pack. Hard. Once.]
[The armor reboots instantly, servos whining back to life.]
[You and the veteran in the sidecar dismount in perfect synchronization, each of you knowing without speaking what the other will do. He turns to face the approaching Dark Eldar warriors, his bolter barking. You face the Wych.]
[She comes at you fast, that agonizer whip crackling through the air. Your power sword rises to meet it. The decomposition field and the pain weapon clash with a sound like breaking glass, like screaming metal.]
[Your blade catches the whip's length, but the tip, the cursed tip, lashes around your guard. It strikes your shoulder armor, the same shoulder already pockmarked with damage from earlier battles. The ceramite shatters like pottery. The whip's barbed tip punches through the underlayer and touches your flesh.]
[Pain explodes through your nervous system. Not the clean pain of a bolter wound or a blade cut. This is something else. Something that reaches into your spine, into your brain, and sets every nerve ending on fire simultaneously. Your enhanced physiology barely dulls it.]
[You roar. Can't help it. Can't stop it.]
[But you're still a Space Marine. Through the white-hot agony, your other hand moves. Your bolter comes up, presses against the Wych's chest armor, and fires.]
[Boom. Boom. Boom.]
[Her black armor explodes. Her chest cavity explodes. Her spine shatters into fragments. She's dead before her body understands it.]
[Your power sword follows through, taking her head. Making sure.]
[You turn toward the settlement's interior, ready to push deeper, to save whoever's left. The veteran is already moving that direction...]
["All Dark Angels, rally to me!" The veteran sergeant's voice cuts across the vox. "This is the highest priority order!"]
[Your advance stops. Has to stop. Orders are orders.]
[Your breathing comes hard. You stare through your eyepiece at the settlement beyond, where you can still hear screaming, where you can see Dark Eldar dragging civilians toward their skiffs. Your grip on the power sword tightens until the hilt creaks.]
[The pain in your shoulder pulses like a living thing, each beat sending fresh fire down your arm. You force yourself to breathe through it, to think through it.]
[You bend down and retrieve the Wych's weapons. The splinter pistol, beautiful and deadly. The agonizer whip, still crackling faintly with malevolent energy. You mag-lock them to your waist.]
[Fighting retreat. You and the veteran fall back together, covering each other, bolters barking at any Dark Eldar foolish enough to pursue. You reach the Land Speeder.]
[A middle-aged man in rough-spun clothes sits on the ground nearby, clearly in shock. The settlement's headman, probably. The other Dark Angels have already pulled back, clustered around the sergeant, exchanging urgent vox traffic.]
["Sergeant!" Your voice is hard, angry. "Why did you order a retreat? If we don't kill these pointed ears now, how many more innocents will suffer?"]
[The veteran sergeant turns his helmet toward you. "Recruit, watch your tone. We've received intelligence indicating Fallen Angels in this sector. That is the only duty that matters for Dark Angels. This is a necessary choice, however difficult."]
["You're going to abandon these civilians? Abandon your duty to the Imperium?" Your power sword rises slightly, unconsciously. "Our duty as Astartes is to fight and die for humanity and the Emperor!"]
["But we are Dark Angels!" The sergeant's voice hardens. "Recruit, if you refuse this duty, the Chapter will mark you as a deserter. Or worse. The punishment for that is... beyond bearing."]
[The veteran who fought beside you steps forward quickly. His ceramite hand settles on your damaged shoulder, trying to calm you.]
[It has the opposite effect. The pressure sends fresh agony lancing through the wound. Combined with the fury burning in your chest, the rage at these so-called loyal Space Marines abandoning innocents to torture and death... your control snaps.]
["Deserter?" Your voice rises to a shout. "A loyal Astartes would be branded a deserter for protecting the Emperor's subjects?"]
["What ridiculous Dark Angels! What a contemptible Lion El'Jonson!"]
["If the First Legion, the oldest and most honored, is filled with such filth, then I want no part of this Chapter!"]
["Someday I'll grab the Lion by his golden hair and demand to know why his sons have fallen so low!"]
[Silence. Complete, absolute silence.]
[Every Dark Angel has gone utterly still. Even Asmodai has stopped his manic chuckling. They stare at you through their helmet lenses, and in that moment, you realize what you've just done.]
["Heresy!" Asmodai's shriek shatters the silence. "You dare insult the Primarch of the First Legion! You must be a traitor! Tell me, are you connected to the Fallen Angels? Perhaps you ARE a Fallen Angel, infiltrating the Chapter!"]
[Power swords hiss from their sheaths all around you. Every blade still wet with xenos blood. Every blade now pointed at you.]
[Your breathing grows heavier, faster. Your hearts pound against your fused ribs.]
["Repent!" Asmodai screams, his voice cracking with ecstasy. "Repent, Fallen Angel! Tomorrow you die!"]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~