The Invasion of Ursh
The Second Battle of Kursken
“Too damn quiet these days.” The voice scratched at Venik’s senses, a rasping noise pushed out of throat coarse with the dust of war, as all of them were these days.
“I believe you spent the first month complaining about the guns.” Captain Venik Lorn of the Inferallti Hussars briefly turned his eyes from the press of the observation port to regard his Seneschal, Trent Mavon, with a glare that would have been withering had he the energy for it.
In truth, Trent wasn’t wrong. The first month of the campaign had been an awful quagmire, the Urshite Barbarians had been well dug in across a defensive line which stretched from their old border with their Nordyc allies to the salt blasted wastes of Arabah. The bombardment of the heavy guns, both their own and the enemy, had become a constant twisted melody that had left twice as many soldiers deaf as it had slain. The weight of the war had been on the Imperium’s side however, and as they pushed on against the enemy they’d broken their supply lines. Cut off from their own internal supply lines as well as any trade they’d have with their equally twisted allies to the South East, the Ursh Army had run out of ammunition and the heavy guns to fire them.
Against a less desperate, less savage, foe that might have been the end of it, a general collapse followed by a gruelling but rapid route. But Ursh did not fight with steel and powder (as the older hands in the regiment called it) alone. They fought with tooth, claw and worst of all, sorcery. All along the line, enemy redoubts which had been silenced were suddenly full of the groans of dead men, rag clad shambling horrors pulled to life by whatever wicked sorcery the enemy had at their disposal. Venik’s grandfather had told him of something similar once, a horror story from the Battle of Memphos. He’d dismissed it as the ramblings of an old soldier but now he knew them to be true.
The carefully maintained battle line of the Imperium had splintered, a cohesive front becoming islands of order amid a broiling sea of the living dead, and much worse besides. As the dead had risen, Ursh had disgorged its horrors. Mutants, not all of human origin and other such beasts left to roam wild in the wake of the retreating Barbarians. Some of the lesser experienced Regiments had broken completely in those initial days. At least on this front, the Imperial Army had been stripped back to the men who had started it all, the loyal and disciplined legions that the Emperor had first relied on. Venik would have thought it poetic if he wasn’t one of the poor fools stuck in the middle of it. His eyes returned to the viewport, scanning over the wasteland beyond.
“What are we down to, Mav?” The Inferallti were an old regiment, predating the Imperium by centuries, discipline and respect for their code and rank were more important than survival to many, but with just the two of them present and the desperation creeping in, a little indeference had crept into their mannerisms. Venik wasn’t even supposed to be in charge of so many men, a mere Captain, he was simply the highest ranked officer left within any functional range.
“Last count? We won’t be running out of packs anytime soon if we keep siphoning the transports.” It hadn’t been an easy decision, but their fusils needed the recharge and there’d been no order to retreat despite the rout of most of the line, so they’d made do. So far Venik had avoided giving the order to drain them dry, leaving some hope for a last ditch breakout attempt should they need it. “Solid slugs is another matter, already cutting the allowance on each of the heavy guns to a third, they’ll only last a few more weeks at that. Plasma we’ve got a good day left.” They were some sobering figures, if any hint of alcohol wasn’t already on even tighter rations.
“Keep the guns from firing then unless ordered, let's keep them for the big one.” Venik sighed, stepping away from his viewing port. They’d been fortunate enough to have captured the fortified border town the remainder of their regiment was now housed within just before the disaster had started, Venik had turned the central mayoral manor, or whatever the people had called it, into his command post. The viewing port consisted of a slightly more fortified window. “Same with the plasma guns, store them here, we can hand them out if we need them.”
“Is that a big push or a big ‘get the hell out’ Sir?”
“Hells if I know.” He didn’t clarify that in truth he’d just meant whatever foul day would eventually come rolling round to sweep them away. He regarded his compatriot, who had been a broad man once, not fat, but certainly built more like a square than anything else. Now, much like the rest of the regiment, he’d been hollowed out with hunger and desperation. When Venik caught his own reflection he barely recognised the ghost of a man he saw, draped in a white and red uniform he’d taken great pride in. Most of the regiment still did, but there was only so much polishing of buttons you could put your mind to when every shadow seemed to hide a mutant monster intent on eating your guts.
“Captain! Transmission from the Chemhounds!” Sergeant Iona Dane practically surged into the room with a certain energy that even the surrounding nightmare hadn’t dimmed. He worked his limited comms operation. Sometimes he forgot how young she was, and it was harder to tell these days, youthful cheeks haven sunken against the sharp bones of her face, but she still managed something close to her bubbly personality of their first deployment, and that was mostly why he’d found her a place in his command operation, a reminder they were all still human.
“Go on Sergeant.” The Chemhounds were the only regiment they still had contact with that were positioned further into seized territory than they had been, having been tasked with knocking out an enemy supply depo just as the nightmare had begun. It wouldn’t be news of the relief force finally being deployed to aid them, but it still could be key.
“Not good news, Sir, Major Grenham is sending his final transmission, he wishes you good hunting.” Almost perfectly timed with the explanation, a shockwave of noise and force rippled out from the far distance, a huge column of smoke and debris immediately visible from beyond the horizon. Even the infatigable Dane took a moment to continue, “He…Uh….They…their defences were overrun, reports a greater horde than before.” It sounded like the last grasp of a man consigned to fate, and it was, but Grenham hadn’t been a man of fancy, and so Venik knew the greater meaning behind it.
“Frak, Sergeant get back out on the comm, all hands to arms.” While the explosion in the distance had stunned her, the young woman, hair the same colour of rust as that which now lingered on her uniform gilding, nodded with determination and rushed from the room. “Trent, get those guns rolling, plasmas are weapons free.
“But Sir, you sa-”
“This is it, Trent, this is the big one.” He said with more authority and determination than he felt, pulling his own fusil from the wall and placing his helm over his own emaciated features. The HUD display failed to crackle to life, so with a manual hiss he pulled the visor to half open. “It’s been good serving with you.” He paused at the doorway to speak those words, to a man who before all this he’d barely tolerated.
“You did a good job, Sir. We bled the bastards.”
“That we did.”
Another crack from his fusil shook his form as he fired, the familiar ache in his shoulder now a persistent howl as he continued to fight on.
“Hussars!” Venik yelled as the weapon whirred in his hands, respooling the charge before it could disgorge into another spine mouthed mutant rushing from the now shattered gate of the town.
“By Blood!” The yell of the men around him came back strained, but with no lack of pride for themselves and venom for their foes.
“Inferallti!” The Captain yelled again, dispensing of his weapon as it jammed on the final click of its power pack, instead drawing his powered sabre from its sheathe. He didn’t have time to resolve the issue before they’d be on him.
“By Fire!” The cry came back even as Venik drew the sabre down, His muscles screamed at him almost as much as the gibbering horror before, but at least that one shut up once he put the blade through its face. All along the line, holding the set of built up defences they’d erected behind the gates and walls of the town his men were making the same decision, to keep firing or to draw arms until they could pull back to the next line. A haphazard volley of fusil fire let him know many were still able to maintain their prized weapons and despite himself he found some pride in that.
“Hold Hussars! This is the Emperor's dirt, give not an inch of it back we haven’t bled on!” He roared again, through lungs that would much rather be anywhere else but in this quagmire of a blasted wasteland.
A garbled voice sounded upon Venik’s vox, a harsh voice barking at the Captain of the Hussars in a cold and terrifying tone, “This is Lieutenant Jonuas of the Steel Sentinels, to whom am I connected to?” The roar of engines could be heard in the background, almost loud enough to drown out the voice that tried to speak to Venik.
The voice came as a surprise to the Captain at a time when he very much didn't need one, almost throwing his latest parry of a gibbering monsters lashing blade-tongue off, but he rallied and with another slash of his weapon ensured his survival for the next moment. Despite the almost garbled nature of the communication he couldn't quite keep the desperate hope out of his voice as he replied. “This is Captain Venik of the Inferallti Hussars, we currently hold the town of Tzbeck, under heavy assault.” Venik had to pause to throw himself behind cover as a deluge of acidic spit erupted from a particularly foul looking mutant, throwing himself behind a set of sandbags which fizzled and popped with disconcerting bubbling in the aftermath. “The Chemdogs were ahead of us at Alpha Depo, we're the point of the spear now Lieutenant.” Some of the men had taken to giving these new Astartes warriors more prestigious honorifics, but in the heat of the moment the Captain reverted to the only detail he knew. “We'll hold, that's what Inferallti do.”
Shortly after the first garbled voice sounded, another quickly joined in. “This Lieutenant Amutiel of the eighth legion. We are closing in on your position! Hold fi-” The word was cut off as a loud thud of meat meeting metal and an unearth screech echoed through the vox, before the voice continued “- Damn that was a big bastard! Hold firm, reinforcements are on route!”
There was no response to Venik after the eighth had promised aid, minutes passed. Precious minutes of more desperate holding, fighting and dying. There was little else the Inferallti Hussars could do but held they did, rallying and fighting with the strength and tenacity of the damned. Yet, the screeching of engines could distantly be heard even amongst the roar and pitch of battle, growing quickly as a singular transport surged towards the town - bearing the symbol of nothing more than a shield housing a human skull in it. It became apparent that this was the sigil the Steel Sentinels had taken up - Protectors of Humanity. The transport raced to where the fighting was worst, kicking up dust all around as eleven superhumans poured out. The bark of volkite sounded, vaporizing mutants as the Sentinels of Steel rushed into combat. Three of them ran forwards with crackling power swords cleaving through what they could, reinforcing the mortal men that they swore to protect.
One of the Sentinels strode towards Captain Venik, standing next to the sandbags that he had taken cover behind, casually deflecting shots with his shield, speaking with the voice of Lieutenant Jonuas, “Report, captain.”
The arrival of the second transport was not as professional as the first. In part this was due to the makeshift plow that had been wielded to the front with the intention of charging through obstructions with the the minimum of slow down; In fairness to the somewhat unorthodox addition, judging by the various splatters that painted it, it had achieved its purpose with gusto.
Instead of a legion sigil, a metallic VIII had been wielded in a mark of ownership. Underneath the symbol was a message spray painted in bright, chemical blue that read ‘Nihil nos prohibere potest.’
The fact that there appeared to be some kind of unrecognizable, mutated abomination that had somehow gotten lodged in the treads and was still screaming as its mass was being ground up had put the painted motto to the test, having caused them to be a bit slower in arriving but arriving all the same.
Three marines left the transport… alongside a squad of what could only be auxiliaries. At a glance they were human, wearing proper uniforms and armor… but a closer look revealed the variety of grown but unnatural horns… the cybernetic replacements for limbs… moth wings on at least one woman. And the marine leading the group seemed to have a crocodile tail sticking out the back of his armor.
A burst of volkite finally shut the mutant in the treads up, as well as cleared the jam at the same time as the voice of Lieutenant Amutiel came from the leading marine with animal tail. “Sorry we took so long. What’s the situation?”
There were twelve Astartes with him, and almost thirty warriors of his own blood, Theadon Red stared at the middle of a ring of bikes, at several of his own trucks, and the vox unit inside of it. He only heard broken static. There were so many times they had tried to fix this and for the months that his men had been deep within side of Ursh’s central plains, he had only been fighting, he had left the Imperial Palace and went straight to his men. He hated leaving so soon after awakening his friends eyes to some of the problems, and he knew his time was soon, that is why he kept bringing more of the young bloods with him. They were smart, and stable, they were almost perfect, only time would let them grow.
Then the static went away to clarity, “Send a message to Aeternus… Codes Zeta Delta Niner Epsilon Twelve Thirty-Seven Urshis, I hope to see you again brother before this war ends, but for now… I will be riding off to those who need help in the south.”
With that, one of the human soldiers was sending the messages, and he grouped his hands together as he blew into them, letting them crack as dust came from his hands, and he looked across the wastelands of Ursh. Their methods felt useless here, there are many in this part of this world, he has destroyed, he has felt as if it is a never-ending horde that comes from nowhere. He feels it wearing on him, he feels as if he will be the first to go if none have gone yet, he has grown tired, and he feels the changed genetics changing within him. He knows some of his men feel it as well, those that are tempered like him, they knew they have felt different, and they have become the remaining officers of his legion, as well as the new bloods. He knows his time is short, but he will live it, and he smiled, the transmission is sent. It was at that moment, that he heard static, and there was a voice. It was close, and imperial.
After a moment, he stared at the radio with his men, it was some Captain Venik, he dismounted his steel coated bike, and walked up to the vox set, reaching down as he gripped it with his bare hands, he clicked it as he raised it to his head.
“This is Theadon Red of the Nightbringers, if you are near Tzbeck, we are almost twenty minutes away… hold against these heathens, we will bring them the night.”
Action was the only response from the Space Marines attached to the Nightbringers’ Primarch, the ceramite clad warriors mounting in silence as they made ready for the ride to war. Far across the battlefield, their gene-siblings betrayed no sign of their watchful purpose as they kept an eye upon Aeternus. All knew their duty.
The arrival of not one but two of the Emperor’s new legions was enough to raise the spirits of even the embattled Hussars, although it was a bitter, ash choked cry at that. Venik was, in truth, stunned for the moment. A moment that almost cost him his life as a stray shot from a surviving mutant rebounded off the barricade before he could duck back into cover, addressing the approaching marines of differing regalia. “My Lords, the Hussars thank you for your fortunate timing, we’ve managed to hold here, but the last regiment forward of us just went dark, they’ve got us completely surrounded and I reckon we’re only facing the vanguard.” He didn’t have much time to think, but that was probably a good thing, before his mind caught up to point out how ‘wrong’ the fluid motion of such hulking forms in armour were that strode before him. As yet another voice crackled over the comms, Venik repeated the report, and began to feel a stirring of that most dangerous of emotions, hope.
The current attack had lulled with the arrival of the first wave of Astartes, shattering the surge of the initial mutant assault, even if there was no doubt still large numbers of them loose in the general compound. For a time that remained so, until a figure in shapeless robes appeared in the blasted remains of what had once been a gate. Few noticed at first, focused as they were on the matter of their imminent survival. That began to change, however, as the dustbound wind began to sound like a chorus of whispers, all resounding from that one source.
“Damn it, all fire on the gate!” Venik turned from his conversation, rising up to fire a short burst of rounds at the anonymous figure, the ozone tang in the air a sign that had become all too familiar to the Hussars of late. “Wyrd!” he yelled out a further time, as more and more of the men responded to the call and acted in kind.
Then, reality was unmade.
The human figure was not impervious to the fire, shots and las bolts struck home, searing robe and flesh with a crack of fire, but each injury only seemed to reveal the fire within, and with that, something burst into reality. Elongated limbs, ending in claws, seemed to pull themselves out of and through the chanting figure, a spattering of feathers eventually materialising into great beating wings. A beak the size of a man tore through what had been an obscured face, and with a burst of fire and viscera, the much larger creature emerged into reality through the now immolated remains. The Bird-Thing towered above the gate, and with its first cry, a wave of eldritch fire bathed over the ruins of the town. Men caught out of cover, and many within, were set alight, stone itself running in rivers, sand and dust blazed into glass in instant.
Venik was thrown back, cast aside as if a feather despite the great distance between him and the epicentre. Beaten, but alive, he continued to fire from the ground, even as the monster strode towards the barricade, a gibbering tide of Urshite mutants in its wake.
Unmoved by the abomination’s revelation, the captain of the Steel Sentinels squad raised his shield and pointed his sword to the sky. He bellowed an order loud enough for all his brothers to hear, “Sentinels! Let these mutants and wyrds die upon our feet! Protect the Hussars with your very lives and whoever should bring me the head of the abomination’s head shall die side by side with the Emperor!”
“In death, we protect!,” came the warcry of his brethren as the Astartes pushed to meet the oncoming border of mutants. Many of them abandoned their Volkite weaponry in favor of the power swords and whatever pistol they had available. They crashed into the wave as an unmoving line, severing limb from body and ripping apart the inhuman with all the ferocity that they could muster. All them were veterans from Nordyc and the sight of such a beast did little to sway them - wyrds would all die the same death regardless.
Had the situation not been so dire and the battle ongoing, Lieutenant Konrad Amutiel would have informed the besieged defenders of additional information that would have almost certainly improved morale… alas, that news would have to wait.
Much like their counterparts in the Sentinals, this was not the first time that Konrad or his squad had faced down a supernatural horror; While its nature was clearly different then that of the entity they encountered in the depths of Hive Houston, the unnatural aura of terror and feeling of fundamental wrongness that it produced suggested a similar origin of some kind. The seemingly shared resistance to ranged fire was considered further proof in Konrad’s mind.
This information and a plan of action was processed at inhumanly fast speeds, as the Sentinels made their charge Konrad barked orders of his own; In part to his squad, but mostly for the benefit of the humans actively still alive and fighting. “The bird is resistant to ranged attacks! Don’t waste ammo on it, focus on its supporting soldiers while the Astartes bring it down! Brothers with me! Wandering, on my back!”
As the squads abhuman auxiliaries began to open fire on the Urshite mutated monsters, the woman with the moth wings ran up and leapt upon Konrad’s back, using his tail as a stepping stone in order to leap up and wrap her arms around his neck for dear life as she closed her eyes and started a meditative focus.
Konrad let out a sharp whistle as he heft a power axe in his hands, beginning the charge towards the overgrown witch bird as his two brothers joined him. Wandering’s own magical abilities would need some time to manifest, but he felt like their chances were a lot greater with her presence then without all the same: Also gave him a good reason not to turn his back on the enemy.
The mutant tide crashed against the Astartes with the force of a tidal crash, twisted flesh and claw breaking against armour and discipline with a force that would break lesser men. Many of the Hussars continued to go down, their lives sold bravely in the name of an Imperium they would never see, all to shield their Astartes compatriots from just a little of the weight of the attack.
As the monstrous creature advanced, it brought chaos in its wake. Each swing of its talons or beat of its massive wings sent shockwaves of force that knocked men from their feet and tore chunks of the barricades apart. Its eldritch fire lashed out again and again, incinerating anything caught in its path. A single roar from its gaping beak reverberated through the battlefield, shattering morale and forcing many of the beleaguered Hussars to falter.
But Venik refused to let his men fall to despair. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he grabbed the nearest Hussar by the arm and pulled him up. "Hold the line! Hold, damn you! The Emperor’s finest fight with us!"
Despite the combined might of the Imperial forces, the witch-thing would not die easily. It lashed out with unholy fury, its claws tearing through power armor and its fire scorching even the genetically enhanced flesh of the Astartes. But the warriors of the Emperor fought on, undeterred by their mounting wounds.
Its avian head twisted unnaturally, black eyes glittering with intelligence that mocked all mortal comprehension. The creature spread its great wings, each feather shimmering and shifting like liquid stained glass, and unleashed a second deafening cry. The air itself seemed to shimmer with unnatural heat, warping light and sound.
The advancing Astartes held their line, unflinching, their swords and shields raised in defiance. Yet the daemon raised one claw-like hand, talons twitching in arcane gestures, and an aura of malevolent energy coalesced around it. The whispers that had permeated the air earlier grew louder, clawing into the minds of all who heard them. The warp-thing spoke a word in a language older than the stars, a word that bent the fabric of the world like a hammer striking molten steel.
The frontmost Steel Sentinels staggered mid-charge. One of them dropped his power sword and clawed at his helm as if his skull were on fire. His brothers turned briefly to assist him, but too late: his body convulsed violently, his armor cracking and buckling as the sorcery took hold. The marine's armor burst open, revealing skin that had begun to bubble and twist like wax in a flame. His enhanced musculature bulged grotesquely, the fibers pulling apart only to reform into pulsing, shapeless lumps. Fingers fused together into gnarled, useless stumps. The marine let out a howl—not of pain, but of sheer terror—before his face collapsed inward, becoming an eyeless, toothless mass of flesh.
All around him, other Astartes began to falter. The same unholy power coursed through the battlefield like an invisible wave. Another marine dropped to his knees, vomiting black bile as his helmet split apart, revealing a head that had begun to sprout dozens of eyestalks, each rolling madly in different directions. One by one, the afflicted warriors were overtaken, their gene-forged forms reduced to writhing heaps of flesh, bone, and twitching nerves. Their power armor, designed to withstand the horrors of war, was nothing before the warping energies of the enemy. The air shimmered with kaleidoscopic colors, and tendrils of sorcerous energy lashed out, striking the ground and erupting into horrific mutations wherever they touched. A nearby sandbag emplacement dissolved into writhing flesh, mouths and eyes opening across its surface to scream and stare at the beleaguered Hussars.
Yet, even amidst the chaos, Captain Venik screamed over the vox, rallying his men. “Hold the line! By blood and fire, hold!” His voice cracked with raw desperation, but it was enough to steel the hearts of the remaining Hussars. Despite the creeping terror, their fusils barked out defiantly, each shot aimed at the daemon and its gibbering horde.
“Brother?!” came the horrified words of one of the Sentinels, watching his brothers become reduced to little more than meat and metal. Stoic and unrelenting men had become nothing more than dribbling monsters turned against the Astartes or horrid masses that screamed in guttural agony, still aware of their surroundings. Two of them had become little more than the mutated monsters they found against, barreling towards their former brothers in a mindless frenzy. The untouched steeled themselves, remembering the horrors of Nordyc, and raised their swords once more.
Lieutenant Jounas barked orders into the vox, brandishing his blade as he slammed one of the mutated forms of his former brother away, “Leave them! Cousins, Venik, thin the horde! Brothers, bring the witch-monster down!”
Unrelenting, Jounas surged forwards with whatever remained of his brothers, cutting through maddened men who threw themselves to the creature's aid once more. The Steel Sentinels had known the horrors of those who used this horrid sorcery, this would not deter them from claiming victory in His name. Blue fire clung to their forms, only servicing to make them appear as daemons given an unholy visage as they barrelled towards their foe. Shield in hand, the Astartes leapt at the beast using his own bodyweight and momentum as a weapon. The contact was violent as claws defensively cut through armour and and the cracking of a skull reverberated.
Jounas caught himself on the landing, having staggered the creature enough for his brothers to charge at it with swords flashing. If they were to die, they would sell themselves to bring the monstrosity down.
As the trio of the 8th and their passenger charged through the chaos of the battlefield, the sensor array that allowed Konrad to see the current heart rate of his squad (and thus if they were still alive or not) started to make… horrible noises. Tragios’ readings… stopped being human. That was honestly the best way that he could word the absolute mess of data he was receiving from his squad mate of fourteen different hive liberations and numerous minor skirmishes in between. He didn’t know what was happening to him and it was only the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to save him if he stopped to try was what kept him going without looking back.
The power axe swung with measured force, more intent on knocking things out of the way rather than commit to a full swing and risk throwing Wandering off his back. Follow up blows from Zygane or the hail of deadly fire from the abhumans keeping their distance who were overwatching the legionaries tended to prevent anything bowled over from righting itself right away.
Dodging the poor wretches who were once Sentinels, Wandering’s light finally fully manifested, creating a bubble around the remaining duo and Wandering herself as they charged towards the heart of the magical madness. Of the foes that entered the bubble, the ordinary were unchanged… but those enhanced or ‘blessed’ by the vilest of witchcraft found themselves… faltering. Their enhancements suddenly being contested in a fight they weren’t expecting. That moment of contest was normally ended via gunfire or a power weapon smashing into them.
The abominations themselves outright hissed and seemed to try and back away, as if being in that light caused them pain that they wanted to avoid. It was enough to take advantage of the opening that the Sentinels had created, rushing through the gap with weapons drawn back to slam into the body of the stunned avian. Konrad slowed for just a moment to allow his brother to charge past, allowing Wandering to let go and land on the ground in relative safety so that he was free to throw his full strength and body weight into his blows as he leapt and tried for the bird’s head!
He missed the neck. Despite the stun that Jounas had managed to cause with the crack to its head, a flare of magic caught the axe blade in mid air and brought the blow to a sudden stop. Rather then try and yank the axe free, Konrad let it go, pulling his knife from its sheath with one hand while the other lunged to grab it by the beak, squeezing it as tightly as possible to cause pain and yank it forward as he started to shank his secondary blade into its inhumanly noodly neck in a violent frenzy.
From the outside it must have looked sloppy, but the reality was that whatever the damn witch bird was made of was stupidly tough and the only way to actually do damage was to jack hammer the knife blade into the same spot again and again until it broke through what he could only think of as flesh and muscle and got into the throat proper… and which point he could start sawing.
It wasn’t just letting this happen. It’s head struggled against his grip hard, while it tried to make use of its limbs to try and dislodge him… only for Zygane and the surviving Sentinels to step in, striking, hacking and doing everything in their power to prevent the damn thing from being able to defend itself with either its vile magics or physical body.
With a final roar from Konrad, the blade parted enough monstrous flesh to allow him the ability to physically rip the bird’s vile head off with a horrible tearing of its remaining flesh and muscle. The body began to burn away with an iridescent light, almost as if watching paper fall away in flame.
The Astartes of the nineteenth legion took a moment to breathe, despite their transhuman strength and endurance the beast had been a worthy foe for them. Jounas looked back to where he had seen his brothers transform, seeing the Hussars and Captain Venik capable enough to deal with the horror from beyond. His attention returned to Konrad, a roiling anger coming from within as he sheathed his sword and wiped iridescent blood from his visor. The lieutenant stomped towards his cousin, momentarily casting a horrid gaze upon the witch-pet of the eighth.
“I told you to deal with the abominations,” came a growl from the officer of the Sentinels. The anger was restrained, unwilling for the mortals they swore to protect to hear disunity, “We had the witch-thing handled, and you chased glory while abandoning good men to potential death.”
Jounas looked at Wandering once more, a snarl curled before he became accusatory towards his cousins, “You brought that cretin with you, had you not, the abomination may have not manifested and taken five of my brothers. Kill it now before it summons yet more horrors.”
Konrad for his part was panting, happy to hold his new trophy even as he turned to look at Jounas… and blinked in confusion. “No you didn’t.” He answered earnestly. “I never heard any order from you to focus on the horde. In fairness, we still did assign most of our people to aid the defenders, so only us four came to fight the bir-” The corpse began to disintegrate? Alongside the head of the creature in his hands “...bird thing.”
At the venom thrown Wandering’s way, Konrad’s eyes narrowed and his tone grew sharp. “It seems your memory has been bewitched, Cousin. Because I remember quite clearly that it was an enemy combatant that summoned these entities. If your memory has been compromised, then I suggest you take the time to confirm what is reality and what isn’t before someone gets hurt. ” Konrad eased up as he added “I’m sure between the rest of your brothers, my remaining brother and everyone left, clean up should be over before the rest of our legions task force arrives.”
Jounas leaned closer to his cousin, hand on the hilt of his blade as Konrad spoke, “Your
pet is an abhuman witch. Nordyc showed us the taint in their hearts and if you will not do it then
WE will. I suggest you reevaluate your priorities,
Eighth”
His brothers stepped forwards, one butting a hand to the lieutenant’s breast plate to separate the two before the situation grew dire. However, it did not stop one from speaking, “The Lieutenant is right, cousin, witches cannot be trusted and your psyker did little but feed the sorcery with her presence.”
Konrad briefly glanced over his shoulder, taking some comfort in the fact that Zygane had stepped up, quietly picking up Wandering and transporting her back towards safer company as the situation grew tense. Removing the moth from the fire would hopefully help things calm down… but Konrad was never the sort to let those he cared for be insulted or degraded out of hand.
His scaly tail slammed into the ground, kicking up dust as he felt the anger raising. “Her name is Wandering Mind… and she is the reason myself and a number of my brothers survived our campaigns in Mercia. Because supernatural shit doesn’t just come from Nordyc. In fact, what I’m sure you’ve failed to notice but we didn’t was the fact that her aura weakened and harmed those calling upon dark powers of their own. Maybe not much, but enough to give an opening for a quick and easy kill.”
“I fully credit her for the fact that I only lost one of my brothers this day instead of so much more… and I know for a fact that had you and yours brought someone like her to help you this day, a lot of your brothers might still be alive,
cousin.”
“That is out of line,” the one who had his hand against Jounas stated, ensuring that his lieutenant would not attack such a comment. The Sentinel spoke once more, “They died valiantly. Now go, before you cause further issues.”
Jounas pulled away from his brother with those closing remarks, stalking away from the Astartes before moving back towards Captain Venik.
For his part, Konrad… actually looked awkward for a moment. “Yeah that… that was too far. I’m sorry.” If the apology was accepted or not would be another thing, but it was given in the earnesty of someone who knows they said something stupid in a moment of anger.
Regardless, there was still work that needed to be done. And the good captain needed to be informed that more reinforcements and a proper supply convoy were on route.
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