This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
Varlas sat in his quarters. He hadn't long been back. In the lower decks Varlas, Ox and his men from security had been training together: hand to hand, blade and firearms. This happened every three days. Varlas was a little tired but after so much practice his endurance was much higher. He was, however, out of practice with his psychic abilities.
The deck rumbled with the thrum of the real-space drive in the Enginarium. Varlas stood beside a fold-out table polishing his weapons and laying them out in order of size. In front of his were several snub-nosed pistols, a Hecuter 4 compact, a laser pistol and lasrifle.
A warning klaxon sounded and a coarse synthetic voice came over the vox casters all over the ship. "30 seconds to warp translation. Please secure all loose objects before translation." Varlas recognised it as one of the helm servitors.
He took a seat on his bed and used a psy-nudge to hold his weapons on the table. He could feel the thrum of the real-space engines fade away only to be replaced by a rapid vibration being generated by the warp engines. All across the ship, crew members secured loose objects and bulkheads and void shields flickered to life around the ship along with armour plates descending over weapon ports and view ports.
"5…4…3…2…1…now making translation." The ship lurched as the warp engines allowed the ship to pierce the fabric of reality and flow into the warp. Varlas hated being so close to all of that raw power, separated only by an energy field and sheets of Adamantium.
The voices seeped in through the walls. On the other side of the bulkhead Varlas could hear inhuman howls, promises of power and…no, it couldn't be…claws scraping the hull somewhere on the lower decks. Not one to take chances where daemons could be involved, Varlas picked up his psychic blade and his compact Hecuter 4. He attached both to mag-holsters on either hip. Varlas donned his knee boots and short black leather jacket and rushed out of the door not bothering to lock it behind him.
On the bridge the noises were mostly ignored by the bridge crew. Nika Rasa, however, felt a strange sensation at the back of her neck, a sort of dull ache followed by an uncomfortable shiver. Captain Tideman noticed his second-in-command was uncomfortable and tried to think of a distraction for her - some time off of the bridge would do her some good, whether she agreed or not. Of course she would obey as she had always done; she was a career woman, her dark skin and steel eyes exotic even to an aged spacer such as him. He would miss her when she was in command of her own ship, he would deeply miss her. She had always been by his side. Well, not always, but it had felt that way.
"Miss Rasa, I require you to fulfil a duty for me, my dear," he rasped, his throat dry.
"Yes, sir? What can I do for you?" she asked, standing smartly as she addressed the captain.
"Go and check on Master Caledan would you? As a Psyker I'm sure he may be under some stress during the transition, as receptive as he is," Tideman replied. Nika looked as though she were about to decline but as her usual dutiful self she nodded and crisply saluted before leaving the bridge.
"Master Caledan what is your current location?" Nika asked over her personal vox.
"Ah, Mistress Rasa, I'm heading down to the amidships section. How can I be of assistance?" Varlas replied. His voice was strange, he must have been running Nika summarised.
"Captain Tideman sent me to see if you were all right," said Nika. "Might I ask why you are heading to the amidships?" she added as an afterthought.
"I have a feeling; I thought I heard scratching from the lower decks, like claws," replied Varlas. Nika's breath caught in her throat. Should she advise the captain? No, after all Varlas could turn out to be wrong - he was only human.
"I"ll be converging on your location in two minutes," she voxed as she hurried her pace.
In the amidships section the usual quiet had settled upon the ship, but somewhere in the background there was a ripping noise. Crewman Marten walked the deck; no-one else was on this deck. And yet there was a noise, a tearing gnashing sound mixed with a scream/gurgle. Marten crept along; he held a wrench in his hand. He had been working on a valve segment link to the Enginarium coolant system. The feel of the wrench felt as reassuring as a lump of jelly. The recyc-units quivered with cool air.
Lights began to shiver and flicker. Crewman Marten halted in his tracks as he felt something watching him from behind. He turned slowly. The flickering deck lights picked out a pinkish foetid hole in the bulkhead. Small tentacles explored the edges of the hole. It looked like a fresh open wound with knat-worms crawling within.
As though Marten's gaze irritated the hole in the wall it began to convulse with inhuman movements. From the warp-spawned-wound came a myriad of small, wet, foul smelling creatures that screamed with the pain of being born into the material world. Claws. Teeth. Horns. Claws and putrid smelling fluids all flowed across the deck as they merged to create daemonic visages, from the centre of which grew forth a large daemon, green and sickly with huge red eyes. The slit-like pupils seemed to pierce Martens soul.
The daemon lunged forward with near impossible speed for its size. Slavering at the mouth with an asymmetrical smile. Crewman Marten cried out in sheer horror before the daemon's bio-viruses ate through him to the bones, which the daemon crunched to pieces as though they were made from chalk. The daemon licked up the liquefied Marten soup with savage glee. Sloreth had come a very long way and this would be his first meal of the many to follow. With a slow slinking movement Sloreth - who dominated the width of the corridor - moved down the deck with ravaging hunger. The smaller daemons followed gradually as they fought over the dripping remains Sloreth had left in his wake.
Nika stopped in her tracks as she heard a shrill scream followed by a resounding crunch. Hissing and the sound of snapping maws ricocheting down the corridor. Nika felt a very real, very icy shiver of fear run down her spine. Her eyes flew wide as she saw a hulking mass move its way down the darkened corridor before her. Small eyes around the mass caught the light and made her skin crawl.
"Identify yourself. In the name of the Captain, identify yourself!" she called. Her voice was shrill and devoid of authority. This in itself was more alien than the mysterious mass that shuffled towards her. A scream caught in her throat as she caught sight of the daemon Sloreth. Deformed cavities seemed to heave laboriously.
"You smell delicious," Sloreth gurgled hungrily. "I can smell the bastard on you. He smells weak, hardly any sport, but better than nothing," he continued. Nika couldn't tell if the daemon was talking to her or himself, though she had already turned to run.
Nika was pulled back with bone-jarring force and found herself in the slimy grip of one of the daemon's emaciated claws. The claws were strangely out of proportion with its body. Sloreth drooled madly, savouring Nika's scent before closing his eyes and biting down.
Sloreth screamed out in pain as his serrated fangs bit into his own claw, and then he realised a pain in his claw-like fingers. As Sloreth opened his blood red eyes and saw his yellowed pungent blood flowing from the stumps that had once been his claws, he looked up the corridor to see the woman being protected by an enginseer, the saw blade on his servo harness dripping with ichor. Sloreth roared out in sheer anger at being cheated of his prize.
Nika hadn't even seen Enginseer Aestaban intervene. She opened her eyes expecting to see teeth; instead she found the Enginseer stood in front of her with a plasma pistol aimed squarely at the daemon. Even at a glance Nika could see the pistol would not be anywhere near enough fire power.
The flesh around Sloreth's claw stumps began to bubble and reform the lost claws. His red eyes equalled that of the enginseer's augmetic eye. Sloreth staggered forward, near blind with fury beyond the understanding of a human mind. Aestaban brought his machendrites and servo arms around in a defensive stance. One servo arm was a powered claw with an inbuilt flamer unit, another was the saw that had cut the daemon's claws off, and it still dripped with ichor. The other servo arm was a drill and plasma welder. Sloreth growled as he closed with the two morsels he was about to pulp and devour. So angry was he that he trod on the smaller creatures below his feet with blatant disregard.
Slinging its head back and then whipping it forward, the daemon launched a disgusting gout of burning vomit at the two. Aestaban turned it to vapour with his flamer unit. The pillar of flame continued on towards the daemon, turning its skin black and blanketing its skin with broiling flame clinging to its bubbling flesh.
Whilst the beast was blinded Aestaban dragged Nika down the corridor, firing a burning purple plasma shot at the creature's stomach. His augmetic eye ensured the shot would hit. A miss would buckle a bulkhead as the weapon was charged to full instead of the usual one quarter standard. That standard would do little damage.
The pistol's plasma coil overheated and Aestaban was forced to drop it on the deck. Nika was pushed further down the corridor by the enginseer. Her legs wanted to give way. She wanted to pray to The Emperor for protection but her survival instinct was pushing her onwards. Aestaban turned around to see the smaller daemons turn the corner of the adjoining corridor they had just escaped from. His internal cogitation bank estimated they would catch up in little more than seven seconds. Aestaban ran into Nika's still body and quickly turned to see why. In front of Nika stood Varlas, his Hecuter drawn and pointed down the swarmed corridor.
Varlas pushed Nika and the Enginseer past him and fired off four expert shots that struck the smaller daemons with enough force to send their bulbously disgusting bodies across the polished floor. They screeched and a slopped as they impacted on the far bulkhead. Sloreth's claw came around the corridor, dragging his bulk into view. His eyes flickered with glee as he saw Varlas standing defiant. Varlas quickly reinforced his mental barriers; he remembered how his momentary lapse had doomed House Caledan. A violent chill filled him.
"I told you I would find and devour you," Sloreth grinned. Varlas returned the grin, and a puzzled look adorned Sloreth's blackened features.
"Devour this," Varlas smiled as he fired a single round from his Hecuter at the glowing plasma pistol that sat at Sloreth's feet. The blast knocked Varlas, Aestaban and Nika onto their backs. Sloreth itself was little more than a pile of guts and effluents. Green goo, blackened vile flesh and brownish innards were strewn across the deck.
As Varlas picked himself up he could hear screams coming from other decks, above and below. His two companions looked at him with worry as they quickly rose to their feet.
Captain Tideman sat in his throne. Wearily he sifted through ship data via his mental cogitation link. As he crept through stacks of data - ship manifests, crew rosters, stellar cartography, ship status - he was interrupted by a servitor. Before it could speak in its scratchy synthetic voice the breach alarms rang out madly.
"Report," Tideman barked.
"Void shields have dropped on decks seven through twelve. Warp signatures are entering the ship, master," the servitor told him flatly. Tideman had to think fast. He didn't want his venerable vessel to be destroyed. The welfare of the crew plagued him, and then he thought of Nika. She hadn't reported back for over 30 minutes. Strange, he thought, she should have checked in by now. Instantly he imagined the worst. Seeing her dead, or voided in vacuum. He snapped his attention to the current situation. He was a ship master; all of his crew meant a lot to him.
"All hands, this is the captain," Tideman said over the ship-wide vox. "Prepare to repel boarders. The void shields around amidships have failed. We will therefore be making an emergency exit from Warp space. Emperor be with us all." He flicked the vox off and began bellowing orders at adjutants and servitors who quickly and professionally went about their allotted tasks.
The enginarium gangs began shutting down the warp engines as the gang leaders directed them. They then diverted power to the real-space engines in preparation for standard conveyance. Ox and his men were busy holding back a mob of vile daemons that were strewn across the decking. Ox and his men were struggling. Behind them crewmen scurried and screamed as they evacuated the amidships area. All other bulkheads in the affected area had been closed to keep out the warp tide.
The Warp Diver suddenly reappeared in real space. Behind it trailed plumes of plasma from ruptured conduits and the sub-enginarium decks. The void shields stuttered and faltered before overloading.
The Bridge of the Warp Diver was a maelstrom of activity. Fire burned where several servitors had been seated. Their bodies burned leaving nothing but bones and mechanisms, as it some alien scavenger had picked their bones clean. Cogitators on the lowered helm deck spat sparks as the machine spirits within rebelled against the warp taint that attempted to infect their systems. The hololithic table was damaged and flickering, barely active.
Crewman Hicks, who manned the hololithic chart table, called out to the Captain. "Captain, I have another ship closing on our position. Dead-ahead, forty thousand miles and closing. No ident being broadcast and not responding to hails," Hicks shouted.
"They are charging weapons, captain. Sensorium sweeps indicate smaller craft are on a collision course with us, sir. Orders?" added Crewman Harath from the helm.
Tideman's cogitator units in his throne quickly decided the best course of action. "Bring us about to broadside and tell the crew to brace for impact." His face was grim as he realised that as damaged as his ship was they were done for.
"Sir, the ships on collision appear to be Caestus assault rams. Adeptus Astartes pattern confirmed," Harath reported as he pulled the ship into broadside position.
Captain Tideman's blood ran cold as he realised the implications. The Emperor's own Angels of Death were assaulting his beloved ship. No hails. No reason. No remorse. The Caestus transports were nimble if non aerodynamic craft. Their rear wings were heavily armoured and dipped low. The front of the vessel extended into two pronged sections that, when the transport collided with its target, would disgorge its cargo into the enemy ship. The ships dodged incoming fire from the Warp Diver's close-in defence turrets.
The Caestus transports fired off breaching charges at sections of the ship that housed power cores for the close in defences. The servitors continued to target and fire regardless of the lack of power until the weapons choked and halted.
"Captain, the enemy has fired and the boarding craft are closing," reported Harath as he struggled to manoeuvre the ship away. Captain Tideman disconnected the servo harness and data plugs that secured him to the seat. His hydraulic-assisted legs carried him down the steps of his dais to the command deck, adamant that he would spend his last moments of existence on his feet as the warrior that he was. The crewman gasped as they saw their captain descend the steps. He had, as far as they knew, always been connected to the command throne. Harath seemed to recover quickly and confirmed what Tideman already knew.
"Captain, the missile salvo is heading for the bridge," he said aloud. Frightened cries went up as crewman began scrambling to the elevator.
"Return to your posts," Tideman blared. Crewman froze in their tracks, feeling the Captain's eye burning into their skulls; all felt honour bound to him and also guilty at their current display. One by one they returned to their stations.
"Thank you. All of you. I know your fear for I feel it also. But we are still servants of The Emperor and will not shy away from our tasks. The Emperor has ordained our work is done. It may not be honourable but it is his will. His Angels of Death have shown it to be so. So stand fast and goodbye," Tideman said, a tear rolling down his cheek.
The missiles impacted the bridge. Armaglass and sheets of adamantium were broken and shattered inward and then sucked out into the void, followed by bodies of the crew, flames, sparks, and Tideman's remains. He had been stood by the observation window when the missiles had hit. His body had been flayed and decimated; he had died before the biting cold of the void could claim him.
The Warp Diver seemed to groan and wail in mourning as the bridge section completely came apart. All that remained was the command throne, which was completely inbuilt to the armoured deck. Lights on its cogitators began to flicker and die as Tideman's command signal was lost. Its golden carvings and hardwood arm rests crusted with ash, blood, and ice, and became like a headstone.
Amongst all of this death and carnage the boarding craft were beginning to collide with and pierce the ship's hull. Varlas dragged Aestaban and Nika along the corridor as a massive vibration ran through the deck. A Caestus impacted through the passage they had just emerged from. The boarding craft then air sealed the area around it to stop it from decompressing. The bulkhead in front of the trio exploded in a mess of adamantium and circuitry. A nearby servitor that had powered down was crushed beneath the weight of the boarding craft. The two hatches on the craft behind them banged open and Varlas's breath caught in his throat at the sight he was now presented with.
The terminators stood in formation in the corridor. They seemed to dance and shimmer; Varlas couldn't focus on them. All of them were psykers of phenomenal power. Their terminator armour was bright silver with a slight blue edging; gold texts were inlaid in armour plates across their suits. On the shoulders of each Space Marine was a symbol of a book impaled by a sword. Varlas didn't recognise them from the chapters he had studied. They all bore halberds that crackled with energy and had storm bolters on their wrists.
The other boarding craft hatches banged open. One disgorged more of the mysterious Space Marines, who then charged down an adjacent corridor. The other hatch revealed a troupe of people, five by Varlas's count. Varlas felt a quiver of activity from behind him; the Space Marines had fired their bolters in short burst at Varlas and his companions. Varlas dashed out and quickly sliced his blade in desperation, cutting the bolt shells to pieces before they could reach Nika and Aestaban. The Space Marine at the head of the group seemed to nod in respect. Varlas walked back towards Nika and Aestaban, keeping his guard up the whole time. The presence of so many psykers nearby was starting to wear Varlas out; he was beginning to perspire and wiped beads of sweat from his head.
Varlas looked at the group on the other side of them. The first was a large malformed man - which Varlas recognised as an Ogryn - wearing camo-fatigues and a vest. he carried a snub cannon like it was a rifle. The second was a slender man with black hair tied back and a matching black goatee. He wore a green felt suit with a brown storm coat that was inlaid with gold stitching around the cuffs and collar. The third was a woman with blonde hair pulled back tight; she had piercing green eyes. She wore a purple bodyglove with knives attached to a leather bodice. The fourth was also a bodygloved woman who wore a black leather storm coat. She was taller and not as slender but still well built. Her hair was raven black; she wore black eye make-up and lipstick. Her Bodyglove was black also; even her demeanour was dark. Despite the situation Varlas found her very attractive. The fifth member of the group was a man in his late fifties, though it was obvious he had been subjected to Juvenat treatments. His eyes were hooded and sharp. He wore a set of armour that was black and gold and Varlas was taken aback when he saw what was on the breastplate of the armour. A large "I" symbol that had a skull inlaid. The symbol of the Emperor's holy Inquisition.
The Inquisitor seemed to smile as he saw Varlas studying his symbol of office. A faint glint flickered past his eyes - another psyker.
"In the name of the Holy Inquisition of Terra, I am here to cleanse this vessel and its occupants," the inquisitor said. His voice was like honey.
At an invisible signal given by the Inquisitor, his psyker - the woman in black - and the Space Marines fired at the group again. The Psyker fired with pure white bolts of lightning and the Space Marines fired with their bolters. Nika screamed out, and the very sound of it struck a chord within Varlas. His very desperation caused him to absorb the loose psy-energy around him, which was being exuded by the many Psykers, and formed a dome of psychic energy around them. The lightning hit the dome and caused ripples across its surface but did not break through. The bolt shells - forty in all - stopped in mid-air and Varlas rapidly de-constructed them to their base components. Varlas's eyes were shining with bright white light. He seemed to wince as the glow globes around them shattered.
The inquisitor's psyker was about to launch another psychic assault when her master grabbed her wrist and shook his head. "This young man is far too powerful. If you persist, Anna, he will absorb your power and quite possibly destroy this ship or become possessed," he said slowly, as if foreseeing the event.
Anna Harlin lowered her outstretched hand and reined in her power. Varlas was beginning to bleed from his eyes, mouth and nostrils. He was swaying under the pressure of maintaining the barrier and looked fit to collapse.
"Marlo, the 'Blunt' round, if you would," the inquisitor said, indicating the man in the felt suit. Marlo Thanius nodded and un-holstered a custom pistol from his waist and racked the slide.
He raised the large barrelled weapon and held it in a firm two handed grip. The weapon bucked wildly like a bull as it fired, causing Marlo to stagger back slightly. The 'Blunt' round was a large calibre round that had a syringe inside, the contents of which was a psyionic blocker fluid that would render a psyker inert for several hours, stripping them of their powers. The round struggled to penetrate the barrier but managed as the Inquisitor focused a driving psy-force behind the spinning round. It screeched as though piercing a tank hide and separated, allowing a dart to hit Varlas square in the chest.
Varlas fell but before he could hit the floor the woman in the purple bodyglove caught him. As Varlas passed out from fatigue he could hear Nika cry out, "Leave him alone!" Her voice was shrill and echoed out inside his mind like it was a cave devoid of shape.
Hive World Terra