Kill Team Omega

[SKULLDRAgOn74]

(OOC http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...am-Omega/page4

"You have all been picked from different areas of the Astartes, from the legions of the Imperial Armada, you have all been taken from all sides of the Imperium in order to create this team, you are all EXCEPTIONAL combatants, you will become the second Legio Venerus, believe me, it is an honour, you will serve the mighty Emperor by taking down the worst this galaxy has to offer, go to your stations, you are on board of the 'Hope to Dawn' Strike Cruiser, I wish I could get better acquainted with my new team however, the Inquisition Demands my presence."

The message constantly recurred, slightly damaged in the midst of explosive echoes railing the hull of the 'Hope to Dawn'.

"Fire the damned Voidsunder!" The shaken Commissar barked orders in absence of any visible authority other than him, as everyone higher up was either missing or laid into the metal floor.
As the hull shook and creaked with lance weaponry tearing up its port-side.
"Take those damned heretics down! they have sent Stormravens!" a mix of shouts could be heard from the Imperial crew, pointing out different problems that never seemed to stop.

The 1 on 1 skirmish was taking place on the rim of Imperial space, above Stygia, the ship had not long undocked and was already under fire from the seemingly endless runs of the Chaos fleet.

[Lord Belkin]

Marcharius Baeil rocked slowly on his cot, head held tightly in his hands.

He hated space travel...
He hated naval combat more...
He hated the feeling of uselessness, the inability to fight back.

Useless... that's what he was... useless.

The illumination strip mounted onto the ceiling of his cabin flickered on and off, seemingly in rhythm with each blow the ship took. The noise of klaxons howled through the closed doorway, adding to the potency of the migraine beginning to burst behind his eyes, and with it came the nausea... building...building...

The ship lurched suddenly and violently, throwing baeil to the deck, unable hold the nausea back any longer he began to vomit violently... again... again...

Gasping for breath baeil dragged himself across the burnished steel deck plates and propped himself against the hard, cold olive green walls of the cabin. Bile swilled around his legs and feet, this was accompanied with his other effects that had been thrown from the side table. Baeil began to weep, the migraine splitting his head in two, slowly, head in hands he began to rock, reciting the litany of protection.

The Klaxons continued to howl as the ship lurched again, and again.

[SKULLDRAgOn74]

A man wearing robes of red, laced with lashes of white ran down a hallway, his breath fast and short, he turned and noticed the soldier who sat in his cabin, surrounded by bile.
"Baeil, we have not been acquainted yet, my name is Larren, I have been sent to get you to the bridge, the rest of your group is waiting to rendezvous" He held a Bolt Pistol and turned to lean out of the doorway, letting off a few shots.

"And if you don't get out of your own juices the rest of your bodily fluid will be added to them!" Larren hissed, his respirator made coughing noises each time his pistol fired.

[Aegis1650]

Numbers woke up, explosions, a slight rattling accomponing each, just another artilery barrage, another day in the trenches..... Then his eyes opened, he remembered, this wasn't his dugout, this was a Naval cruiser, it was under attack. He tunned his radio set to the ships internal frequencies. "FIRE!!" tuned it again, "we took a hit!!! Get away from the-" a slightly larger rumble through the ship. He sat up, eerily calm and donned his kit without a thought as he did day after day for the past 24 years. He grabbed his lasgun, slapped in the mag, and toggeled the safty, fixed his bayonet and walked out the door and down the hallway. They would try to board the ship from the reportd he was hearing, he would meet them, and he would stop them. His calm demenor was unnerving to those he passed, but they could not know what it was to be a Kreig guardsman, to be literally made, bred and raised for war, the Emperor's war. Flipping through the channels again he tried to pinpoint the location of the first breach, readying to get there as quickly as possible.

[SKULLDRAgOn74]

Suddenly in front of the Kriegsman a large piece of metal shattered the wall, it was stained with blood, which looked like it had been substituted for paint, the Dreadclaw Pod ripped a star open and lodged itself, the room had decompressed for but a second.
"Burn the heretic!" The door opened up sidewards, it had mis-struck, and suddenly four cultists rolled out of it, amongst a scatter of blades and pistols.
"Master will not be pleased at your idiocy Kurn..." they saw the Krieg Soldier and struggled to get up.
"Get him!" they charged forward with their swords, albeit in a very clumsy fashion.


And then Comm-link one lit up like wildfire.
"Attention, Stormtrooper squads One, Two, Three and Four, head to the Dreadclaw breach, their will be more there soon."

[Shimmerene]

[[INLOADING ORDO HERETICUS ENGRAMS]]
[[OPERATIONAL STATUS: GREEN]]
[[WARNING!!! HOSTILITIES NOTED IN AREA]]
[[HOLY BE THY NAME, BLESSED OMNISSIAH OF MANKIND. IN YOUR NAME IS JUSTICE DONE]]

The cargo bay shook with another impact, a boarding pod had struck amidship and was likely disgorging heretics among the hapless stormtroopers. Ava lay recumbent upon the crate, its body slowly reforming and adapting to the form Ava felt most fitting for the engagement. Sythflesh flowed and reformed over readjusting augmetic muscles to adapt to a more perfect simulation of a human, until what was left was the form of a petite woman without a face. The woman stood from the crate and perused it's contents for a moment, never mind the fact that battle raged both inside and outside the ship she stood upon, and that the woman was stark naked. Finally the woman drew a grey bodyglove from the crate, slipping it on without trouble, and then began to pull a Inquisitorial blastcoat from the crate. The blastcoat was a standard issue garment, given to all Inquisitors upon ascension to the rank and title, and though it had seen many years of use, it was still in pristine condition. The breast of the coat was emblazoned with the leering skull and cog of the Adeptus-Mechanicus over top the Inquisitorial stylized "I", the two logos intertwined into one to symbolize the forgotten union between the two orders. The woman pulled the blastcoat on and laced up a pair of stormboots, then glanced about the cargo-bay. She held her hand up to her not-face and scrutinized the color of the skin that her body had adopted. "Too pale" the woman hissed, the sound low and disconcerting for it's artificiality. A shudder went through her body as the color of her skin darkened slightly to adopt a more normal skintone, and satisfied all was complete, she strapped up her weapons and picked out a face to socket into the empty hole that currently served for a face. A face was pulled from the crate, the face of a younger woman, otherwise plain looking but for the hive-ganger tattoo of a fanged skull adorning the left side of her face. The face clicked home and with a slight grin the woman set off into the corridors.

She was actually fairly close to the boarding pod, and as she observed, multiple cultists fell out of the pod and attempted to set upon a guardsman nearby. She drew her plasma-pistol, Rigel, and started to walk towards the group, her rosette blazing as she bellowed the oaths of the Inqusition, "Traitors! By the Holy-Emperor of all Mankind, you are declared Hereticus in the eyes of his most holy Inquisition! Surrender and die!" As she finished she fired a single discharge of liquid-plasma into the mob, it's superheated payload searing across the corridor to slam into the Dreadclaw with a dull smack, molten plasma flaring from the impact into the group of cultists but missing the Guardsman.

[SKULLDRAgOn74]

Two of the cultists dropped, melting plasma burned them into little more than torso's with legs, dropping to the floor, the other two looked at eachother, stopped mid-charge and began backing away.
"I...its one of those....People!" one of them shrieked, the two leapt back into the Dreadclaw and drew Autoguns that were in its hold, levelling them at the Krieg and the Inquisitor.
"Fire!" before a riddle of shots were let loose the whole Dreadclaw was shunted further into the ship, with a second appearing right behind it, the two looked like rats attempting to squeeze through a tiny crack in a door, leaving the two cultists from before hanging out limply.

"For Chaos!" the second pod opened and another five cultists clambered out, each brandishing autoguns with bayonets.
"Open fire!" the five stood in a line and squeezed the triggers in unison, their bad aim causing most of the hallway to light up with sparks, the other two slowly pulled themselves up, having been tank shocked.

The whole ship rumbled gently, and the comms lit up again.
"Shields are back up for the time being! No more pods should make it through although we are heavily infest-AAAH!" then the comms fell silent.

[Lord Belkin]

The booming retort of the bolt pistol snapped Baeil out of his mantra, the familiar sounds of gunfire echoed down the corridor, adrenalin began surging through baeil's system as combat disciplines re-asserted themselves, almost blocking out the raging migraine.

Baeil scrambled to his feet, almost slipping over in the process and staggered across the chamber to reach the webbing which had been slung over the solitary plastic chair. He leaned against the chair, his head swimming from the speed he had risen, it took a few seconds before his balance began to level out, then with trained practice baeil swung his webbing off the chair and around his shoulders, moving towards the door to join the man at the hatchway, what had he said his name was again? ...Laron?...laurron?... something like that.

Baeil pulled out his compact auto pistol upon reaching the hatchway, checking the slide and magazine, "what is the current situation??!" baeil yelled over the whoop of the klaxons, his companion turned to answer when a storm of solid slugs rained around the hatchway forcing him into the cover of the chamber, a pair of cultists rushed down the corridor from the other direction, autoguns blazing on full auto at 80 meters range.

The three cultists that had been forced into cover by the hi explosive bolt rounds now surged once again down the corridor letting out whoops and cheers, they were 5 meters from the hatch when the leader of the group tripped and fell heavily to the steel deck, the others slowed their advance to jeer at their comrades clumsiness, only then did they notice the rapidly expanding pool of blood.

The silenced autopistol, nestled in a double handed brace spat twice in rapid succession, each shot blowing a hole in the cultists head and ejecting their brains back down the corridor.
The ringing of heavy boots could be heard clearly now, baeil estimated them to be no more than 10 meters from the hatchway, and drawing his 200mm blade ushered his companion into the cover of the wall hung table whilst nestling himself against the wall next to the opening .

The first cultist rounded the doorway, firing on full auto into the chamber. Grabbing the autogun poking in through the hatchway, baeil pulled the cultist into the chamber whilst bringing his 200mm steel round in a vicious reverse arc that almost severed the cultists head from his shoulders.
The second cultist, whooping in victory, ran in through the doorway in support of what he must have presumed was his comrade triumphantly storming the small chamber.
His whooping lasted another half second before his head was exploded by a bolt round from larren's pistol.

Baeil slowly moved back towards the hatchway picking up a piece of mirror that had survived the firsts cultists enthusiastic shots, he could feel the migraine beginning to rumble back to the front.
Carefully baeil poked the sliver of mirror round the hatchway to observe the opposite end of the corridor. Larren joined him at the hatch way, limping slightly from a leg wound caused by a stray ricochet. "Halls clear, we need to regroup with the others!" baeil called over the continual noise of the klaxons, larren nodded his ascent, breathing deeply into his respirator mask.

Baeil and larren moved off down the corridor weapons held at the ready, their feet splashed through the widening pool of blood exiting from the three dead cultists.

[Halvtand]

Gallus had peacefully minded his own business. A standard undocking, soon they would be floating freely in the vacuum of space and then move onward to their goal. He wasn't sure about where they were going, or what to do when they got there. Early in his career he had decided that it was the officer's headache. He was a soldier, a damn good one, good enough to become an Adeptus Astartes. Good enough to survive all the trials so far. He had been just about everywhere, anywhere traitors could be found, so did you find the black templars, ready to curb-stomp them into submission (Hint, submission means death). There would be no mercy for the traitors, those who had chosen to turn away from the light of the god-emperor had also freely chosen to be the enemies of the Astartes.
Pleased with this insight Gallus approached something that on ancient Terra had been called Zen, a state of mind where you were totally and completely in harmony. His terminator armor and his regular power armor had been looked at and repaired. He had dismantled and cleaned every part of every weapon in his arsenal and spent several minutes putting them together despite that fact that he could do it in mere seconds. He had enjoyed the sound of well-greased metal on metal, and the knowledge that they would be working perfectly whenever he would use them next.
So he sat, eyes closed, nose filled with the smell of weapon-oil. Relaxed.

Then, suddenly, a loud noise, and the whole ship shook like a leaf in the wind. Instantly he recognised the sound of the blast, a soldier with 600 years of experience would not miss that. They were being fired upon. Less than a second later he was standing straight, reaching for his power armor. Then a message came through the vox.
"We are under attack!" Understatement of the year, thank you captain obvious... "Several Chaos ships has appeared, they're readying boarding pods!"
He dropped the chestplate on the floor and instead reached for his terminator armor. Chaos, traitors all, heretics! Mutants! had they been alien as well they would symbolise everything that the Imperium of man had fought for so long not to become, yet they had chosen it willingly. He would make then regret that decision. he donned his armor quickly, as he had a thousand times before. He didn't even feel the weight of it any more, it was a second skin to him. A hard outer shell against which the endless hordes of traitors, heretics, mutants and xenos would be broken. Inside his thickest armor he could be truly fearless, nothing could reach him in there, nothing would penetrate the armor that had served him so well all these years. He felt like he could take on the whole damned Chaos-fleet by himself. He reached out and grabbed his thunder hammer. An old weapon design, but still as lethal as ever. Even the proud and fearless Space Marines were cautious when close to the awesome weapon. They had seen so many times what the hammers were able to do to an advancing enemy, and knew deep in their hearts that to the hammer they were noting more than flesh and bone just like any other. He walked out of his quarters, the ship was thrown back and forth with every hit but he remained steady as a rock. Now, where were the traitors? Where were the heretics that would taste the wrath of the Astartes? A heavy impact rocked the ship, it could not have hit too far away and lacking any other indication Gallus simply chose the direction that would bring him close to whatever ha impacted on the ship. His loud fotsteps echoed through the corridors. Anyone waiting in the other end would surely have a long time to think about what approached, what menacing dangers the Heavy thuds and bangs were hiding. Then they would see his silhouette, huge and strong, seemingly filling the entire gap that was the corridor. And they would know fear in the name of the Emperor!

[SKULLDRAgOn74]

Upon Gallus' entry to the corridor he was coming up to a T junction in the ship, a corridor leading to this T was full of corpses, and in the next room, a heretic encroachment.
A cable-held catwalk covered the overhead with panels of sheet metal, across this catwalk ten Cultists hid behind the panels, which were barely blocking the las rounds fom the guardsmen below, as well as these same guardsmen being under attack from the opposite side of the room, where there stood at least fifteen more, the large spacious room was alight with battle.

"Retreat! we cannot hold!" five of the guardsmen retreated down the hall, turning every now and again and letting off a flurry of shots, suddenly they were face to face with a Terminator.
"Sir! we got hostiles in the next room!" as they turned round the cultists had taken the T junction, and auto gun rounds peppered the corridor, instantly shredding three of the guard, the other two took cover behind opposite wall supports.
"The Emperor protects...the Emperor protects...." one of them repeated whilst breathing rapidly, shaken to the core.


To confront Baeil was the same T junction, the cultists that were firing upon the hulking Terminator and two guard were to the left if Baeil and Larren entered the junction, except Larren could see another problem, they had a squad to deal with as well, except these were all charging with crude blades.
"For Chaos! Rip their flesh!" five of them ran forward, and in response Larren lifted his other arm, which had previously been covered by cloth, Baeil would now be able to see he held a decorative, Noble blade.

"For Inquisitor Krad!" he leapt forward like a tiger, splitting one of them in two vertically.