# Vengeance At Atripus - The return of the Knights Adamant.



## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

_*Note:* This is my first work in the 40k universe. I will do my best to keep things correct fluffwise. As such, any constructive criticism will be appreciated in regards to fluff. I won't take offense to any mistakes being pointed out that I make. The intro at first is vague by design, made to seem like a well told legend in the Imperium, but all details will be revealed as the story moves on. This will end up being a very long story, but it should be updated regularly.

I do not apologize if the beginning seems a bit bland. Understand this is necessary for establishing events down the road. There will be plenty of carnage. That I will promise you. I'm trying to leave it in 'bite size' segments that are easy for the casual reader to digest, yet still contain some gravity. More importantly, this is a way for me to experiment with my writing to assist me in my professional endeavors. It explains the fluff of my chapter while simultaneous delivering a stand alone story that you will hopefully enjoy._

*M001: Introduction: Legend of The Lost Knights Adamant.*​
Long ago, a ferocious battle had been fought on a since forgotten world. A mighty chapter of the God Emperors Adeptus Astartes had just begun breathing the air of victory over a campaign against encroaching Eldar. Where the righteous fire of bolters echoed through now barren canyons, where silent marches of wraithguard once tracked through now serene forests and the anguish of the wounded cried to the unresponsive heavens.

It was a time of modest celebration for this chapter of marines. It was a time to honor the fallen. Hundreds of names were to be added to their fortress monasteries deepened crypts. Added amongst the thousands more that had previously made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of the chapter throughout its history.

But with this triumph over the foul xeno invader, a more subtle threat had arisen. One more sickening in its endeavor then a rival species simply attempting to destroy humanity. For even the Eldar, as any potent enemy should, had achieved respect within this chapter of honor. It was the threat of betrayal.

For this chapter had an ally. Committed to this campaign stood a second chapter of marines. One more younger and dangerously ambitious. It had been revealed late in the war that the Eldar had not simply intended to expand their territory, but that an ancient fortress had been hidden deep below the very world they fought upon. One of unimaginable power. A wealth of vaulted technology the Adeptus Mechanacus could digest for untold years for ways to better mankind.

Yet this young chapter had other goals in mind. Goals beyond the rightful deliverance of the bastion to the Imperium. This chapter had goals of selfish power. They intended to use it not only as a weapon against the enemies of mankind, but as a tool to assert dominance over their fellow man. War was inevitable.

The two chapters clashed where they stood. Massive warships orbiting above spat fire across the stars. Thunderhawks swarmed the smoke ridden skies. Marines engaged in terrible combat against their brothers on the ravaged surface below amongst the freshly lain dead of the Eldar. In just a single night, the battle that which had raged with legendary ferocity had culminated to the greatest single loss of Astartes life in the entire campaign. Both chapters were shattered, leaving only a handful of survivors under each banner by the time the two masters finally engaged each other. A duel to end the conflict once and for all.

This was the final fight of the Knights Adamant, virtuous chapter of Humanity, lead by Master Valfar of Olmgarde, against the traitorous Obsidian Rangers lead by a Master Mikael Rieger. The exact outcome of the battle is unknown, but when the Imperium lost contact with the two an Inquisitor was immediately sent since they had been notified of the alien technology hidden away. There, they found only a world marked by craters and glass. Other than the skeletal remains of starships and the occasional tank husk, the only sign of any human presence on the newly christened dead world was a single Knights Adamant chapter banner discovered erect within the largest of bombardment craters.

To this day it remains. Torn and ridden with bolter holes while the winds gently lap against its rugged fabric. Many chapters who had fought alongside the Knights Adamant in centuries past have come to to see the site as a holy relic in itself. A testament to the virtues of loyalty in the name of mankind that many journey to in order to pay respects to their fallen brethren. A small outpost orbits the planet to fend off those who would seek to disturb it, consisting of a modest marine honor guard on rotation from allies of old.

Many wonder what had happened to both chapters, but what was understood by transmission intercepts was that the Obsidian Rangers had indeed betrayed them. Some are so bold as to assert that the Knights of Adamant had fled Imperial space with their plundered technology, but these claims are readily dismissed. It is generally accepted that they ordered the world bombarded to prevent the technology from falling in to the wrong hands at all costs, even if it meant their destruction. Many still search for their hidden fortress monastery with little result, yet even with such vigor on the topic the passages of time have all but assured that these warriors will fade in to legend.

*M002: Desolles of Atripus.*​
"...and so, Sire, we've completed the revisions to the lower hive quarter as per your specifications with 113% efficiency." The scribe shuffled closer to his master with a scroll case presented in his grip. Its polished ivory surface and golden trim gleamed under the evening sun bathing the terrace. "Here is a detailed report that requires your attention."

For a moment, the scribe remained still for the governor to relinquish the document from his hands. Yet the older man hardly seemed to even acknowledge his presence. Standing a bit taller, his master leaned on his ornamental staff of office while surveying the vast city surrounding the planetary palace. The light breezes brushed along his simple gray long coat which flowed dimly in stark contrast from the heavily jeweled staff in his grip.

"Sire?" He reminded his liege.

The governors chest slowly expanded before contracting inward to release a somewhat blissful exhalation before he finally turned to accept the item. "Very good, Aldo. I shall see to it as soon as I finish my evening walk. It is good to see such improvement on our world of Atripus, is it not?"

"Yes, Governor Desolles." A smile cracked over the scribes face while Desolles slid the scroll in to a satchel. "With the annexing of Idermire for use by the Adeptus Mechanicus last month it seems our system will soon be ranked as one of the finest in the Imperium."

"Indeed." The governor gestured a hand along the thin expanse of the terrace which circled the midsection of the governmental palace. "Come, let us walk. I think you could use the fresh air for a change instead of being cooped up in the administrative levels in the foundation. Enjoy the sunlight."

"Very gracious of you, Sire." Aldo leaped closer as Desolles started walking forward.

Unlike many worlds the scribe had heard of within the Imperium, Atripus was quite beautiful. Though on the verge of entering hive world status, the governors had done their best to make the world as appealing as possible to its citizens. Even if the effect was in truth only skin deep. Aldo had never ventured outside of the palace in his entire life aside from rare occasions to accompany the governor to ceremonies or whatnot. Sure, his life was easy enough. But every now and then he couldn't help but wonder what the outside world was really all about beyond the knot of budget forecasts, construction orders and district reports that made up his daily life.

Hundreds of spires rose upward from the planets surface well below the fortified palace. Many housed shrines, living quarters or factories that made life on Atripus possible. Dark rivers zig-zagged between them and twinkled under the sunny sky where shadows or bridges didn't block out the light as microscopic commuters flowed through the city streets like blood cells in a massive creature.

Yet no structure rose as high as the palace. It reigned as a cylindrical pyramid of a fortress over the region. From this level it was possible to see for a hundred kilometers in to the distance where the treacherous Harperius mountain ranges began to the North and the vast Eleventh Sea of the Emperor began to the East. Even the angelical statues gracing the facade held upon high by tremendous stone pillars built upon the palace walls amongst the thick stone pillars rose in awe of the symbol of the Emperors wisdom. Beyond this lavish artwork was a cleverly hidden fortress of unparalleled might in the entire Atripus system.

The terrace of elegent marbles and patches of green shrubs eventually wrapped around to a series of anti-aircraft batteries manned by members of the Atripus Imperial Guard. Each gilded cluster of cannons and missile ports stood ready to strike down a threat within a moments notice. Their crews surrounded by soldiers just as prepared to defend them from would be infiltrators.

"Sire!" One of the guardsmen instantly stood to attention to present a textbook salute to the governor.

"At ease, Lieutenant Calvin." Governor Desolles rested his cane over his shoulder in a lax gesture. Many of his political rivals on the world often attacked him for being too laid back and unprofessional in his attitude. Perhaps they were right to claim such things, but Desolles was nevertheless popular with his people. He got the job done and that was that. "How have you been? I understand your wife is expecting."

Lieutenant Calvin, as Aldo understood, was in charge of the North-Western defense batteries of this level. He was forbidden to speak with anyone but those the governor himself had authorized by law, so for the duration of this discussion he simple lowered his head under robe out of obligated anonymity.

The Lieutenants armor was rather elaborate. Much like the scroll case before his armor had been draped in a spotless ivory with gold trimming edging his armor plating and officers cap to differentiate him from the regular forces of the guard. Only the best of the best earn a position at the governors palace. Many members had never seen combat in their lives aside from a few transferred veterans. Though their service record in the name of the Emperor was flawless.

Lieutenant Calvin flashed his teeth to the governor for taking such an interest in his comparatively mundane life. They glinted as keenly as his armor did in the waning sunlight. "Yes, my lord. We're rather excited. Though I must admit that we've been having a few battles over which name to give him."

Letting his free hand stroke the whitening beard under his chin, the governor chuckled. His eyes gradually settled over the large quad cannon situated behind the Lieutenant and the guardsmen flanking an ammunition chute. "That's why I never married. Running Altripus is time consuming as it is. I'd imagine by the time I had a chance to name a child he'd be as old as I stand now with children of his own."

The conversation continued for several more minutes. All the while, Aldo kept silent beneath his white robes with his senses devoted elsewhere. It would have been an irritating situation for some to find themselves in, but the scribe truly did appreciate the time spent outside. He hadn't felt the warmth of sunlight in many weeks or heard the singing of birds which perched themselves upon the elaborate sculptures lining the palace walls. For once he could forget about the hundreds of documents he had to manage every day deep within the earth.

But new sounds approached. A mob of footprints drew louder and louder with each step. In the blink of an eye, Aldo procured a laspistol from beneath his robe to present to those who dared sprint towards the governor. As the scribe sighted in on his guests, he came to the realization that it was merely a retinue of palace guards wishing to report to the governor. Aldo still wouldn't lower the weapon until they explained themselves. It was his duty. For his service extended above simple clerical work.

"Whoa!" The officer leading the squad of guardsmen raised his hands in a defensive posture to show he had meant no harm. It quickly shifted to a salute while he attempted to catch his breath. "My lord! Urgent news!"

"Yes, Captain?" A nod from the governor signaled Aldo to put the pistol away. "What's this about?" His cane still hung nonchalantly over his shoulder but it didn't belay the serious expression evident on Desolles' rugged face. His beady brown eyes squinted intently at the officer.

"We've lost contact with Zemir."

"Zemir?" The governor repeated to be sure he had heard right. Zemir was a dwarf planet at the edge of the system that functioned as an early warning outpost for hostile threats and as a way-station for naval fleets in the sector. Between it and Atripus stood Idermire. For it to have lost all communications with the planet was dangerous. "What details have you? Tell me everything."

"Um...yes, Lord." The Captain squeezed the back of his neck to channel his anxiety. "Well, Sire, we don't know. Sometimes solar flares disrupt our network for an hour or two. But Zemir hasn't fed any reports for twelve hours. We're conducting an investigation as we speak." Fear radiated from the Captain whose brow slouched down apologetically. Perhaps worried of any retaliatory measures the governor might inflict upon him.

Aldo shook his head ever so slightly. It was not his place to express his opinion on military matters, but the scribe thought an officer like him would have approached the situation with a more controlled attitude.

With a twirl of his cane, the governor firmly planted the tip of the metal shaft against the marbled terrace floor. "Twelve hours? Why was this not relayed to me sooner?" Thunder filled the elderly mans voice at the revelation. "What if a band of vile Orks is about to raid our fair world? What if a warband wants to deny the Adeptus Mechanicus the wealth of Idermire?"

Each of the four soldiers beside the Captain took tiny paces away as to differentiate themselves from his presence while the governor boomed. He hung his head low out of shame. "We have our protocols, Sire. It wasn't-"

"No." Governor Desolles interrupted to dismiss the arguement and peered down to the large ruby globe topping the handle of his cane. "Return to your post immediately and get to work, Captain. We shan't afford any more wasted time with protocol or pointless bickering. Alert all commands and get moving!"

"Yes, my Lord!" The Captain and his men backed away before sprinting off to whatever pit of the government palace they had come from. Already sirens began wailing in the distant city to warn the people of possible danger. Lieutenant Calvin had since vanished to see to the palaces defenses.

"Aldo."

"Sire?" Aldo lifted his head out from beneath his hood so that the governor may speak directly to him. Two amber eyes blinked with unyielding loyalty in preparation to whatever orders he would be charged to relay.

"Summon the Lord Marshal and the inner council to the assembly hall at once. We must do everything within our power to bring an end to this. Whatever the case may be."

The scribe lowered his head and turned to pace back in to the palace. "Yes, Governor Desolles."

It had felt like something had ripped in to the governors abdomen to squeeze his guts. It was the fear that war might just be looming on the horizon to terrorize Atripus. He could only hope that this was all simply a glitch in the system and that contact with Zemir would be reestablished any moment. Yet he knew it would be foolish to think it was anything less than the prelude to an invasion.


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## Legio Custode (May 20, 2009)

I have to say the writing is very good!! I love the descriptions you used, and the story flowed well. 

Keep it up and looking forward to hearing more!


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## Fumble Tumble (Oct 3, 2008)

god im loving it mate the story had a great beginning and the theme is correct, your way of describing people is amazing and the descriptions of the actions.... wonderful

+rep


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

*M003: Joyride.*​
-- _Four hours ago_... --
Lights pulsed past either side of the vehicle as they sped through the tunnel. The sound of eighteen barreling wheels screeching against the road intermittently pierced the roar of engines pushing them forward. It was dark, as it always was in the service tunnels, but the headlights of the three scout buggies easily guided them to their exit.

A crack of white light split the horizon ahead. With a steady groan, the massive blast doors slowly yawned opened to expose the surface of Zemir. The three vehicles charged with greater velocity before finally zooming through the threshold.

In a blink, the darkened corridors of the tunnel network below Zemir's landscape transformed to the dull gray expanse of the cratered rock. They flew dozens of meters through the air before the worlds weak gravity finally brought them back down to the sandy plains below. Impact was relatively gentle. Although large clouds of disturbed sediment lofted through the minuscule atmosphere when the buggies wheels attempted to gain some form of traction.

From there they sped over a traverse of whitened dunes towards a jungle of shattered plateaus where their objective awaited them. Ordinarily, First Private Olen Flinn would be smiling with having been ordered out on another joyride on the planets surface. He loved nothing more than tearing through the canyons with his crew-mate, Second Corporal Reginald Tompkins at the wheel.

Yet this day Flinn kept his hands tight on the multi-laser turrets control yoke from the back of the buggy. His eyes dissecting the starfield for the slightest hint of enemy activity. For his station at outpost gamma had lost all contact with the communications relay ten kilometers away just hours before. It could be nothing. Or it could be something, and Flinn would find himself trading some of the first shots of a massive war. It wasn't a good position for a single guardsmen to find himself.

The buggy cracked against a boulder, momentarily vaulting them once again up towards the empty starfield before returning. It rocked Flinn against his restraints and shook off his idle worries. "Hey, easy on the suspension, Tompkins." Sure, he was afraid. But it wasn't the best idea to dwell upon if the soldier had a potentially serious job to do. Concentrating elsewhere might just save his life.

"Relax, Flinn." The driver advised with a huff over their squadron comm channel. He was seated near the fore of the buggy under a protective anti-roll cage just behind the front tires. Shaped akin to a wedge, the modified Venator was a design borrowed from the famed Elysian drop troopers. With the addition of a heightened suspension it was the perfect vehicle for patrols on the low gravity world of Zemir. "What's the matter? Don't tell me this has gotten you spooked."

Flinn shook his head and rotated the turret to face their rear where the other two Venators had accelerated to catch up with the lead vehicle. The bunker they had exited since faded along the landscape while towering slate gray columns of rock grew around him. "No." He denied the claim. "I'm just saying we should at least attempt to keep a low profile on this one for a change. I don't want another punctured air tank fiasco like last month."

The statement brought a laugh over the comm channel. Being on a near atmosphere-less world required all personnel to wear environmental suits during operations topside. In consequence, most of the facilities on Zemir were located below ground with only scattered tunnel entrances or large outposts protruding from the surface. Indeed they could of taken a more time saving route underground to the communications relay, but protocol demanded they lock down all adjacent tunnels to a facility if contact was lost.

Perhaps a decision that would doom those in the relay from escaping to safety if anything had happened, which Flinn desperately hoped was not the case, but it would prevent any attackers from gaining access to the underground network.

"By the Emperor, you must admit that was funny." Tompkins recalled the event in which Flinn's air tank had broken loose after he had attempted too daring of a jump over the canyons. After a tense few moments and fighting through his partners flailing arms had they reattached the tank to his backpack. "Alright, then. I make no promises, Private. But we had better make this quick before that bloody commissar loses his patience."

"I'd keep your mouth shut, Tompkins." Another voice crackled in to the comm channel under the mechanical hiss of air flowing through a sealed helmet. It was Sergeant Giddler. "There's no telling if he's bugged our channel and I'd be the one to answer for it if he overhears your displeasantries. Can it."

"Yes, Sergeant." Tompkins answered apologetically. _He always did have a problem watching his tongue_, Flinn thought.

"We're almost there anyway." The Sergeant advised to the formation of vehicles. "Keep your eyes sharp for anything unusual."

Private Flinn put more pressure on the control yoke as he swung the twin barreled multi-laser turret forward. Anxiety was swirling through his stomach at the prospect of what may lay beyond the canyons. He jostled around while the vehicle navigated over the lopsided floors between the craggy cliff sides. The waves of nervousness spiked every time they reached an intersection of the canyons with fears that an enemy sniper or mob of chaos bound lunatics would pounce out to shred him apart.

But he chose to take comfort in their mission. They simply had to inspect the exterior of the relay tower to gauge the situation and then call in a few transports to offload troops in to the building. In reality it would pose little threat to them, since the guardsmen tasked with boarding the facility would be the ones having to deal with any long term trouble.

At long last they squeezed through the final ravine before the next sea of dunes. The star of the Atripus system beamed brightly over the area. Immediately the communications relay came in to view. It rose hundreds of meters above the ancient impact crater where an astropath served the Imperium with his psychic duties to relay information to and from the system. As such it was of great tactical importance.

Though not a terribly wide facility for how tall it was, the foundation of the relay was well fortified. A barbed perimeter of anti vehicle barriers, mine fields and tank traps littered the dusty ground to hinder any ground attack. Yet most of its defenses had been catered to anti-aircraft duties since Zemir was in itself a hive of military installations that could swarm any threat upon the surface within minutes.

"Strange. They still aren't responded to our hails. No sign of movement." Sergeant Giddler noted as the formation of scout buggies began a wide orbit around the relays exterior. "The fortifications are too thick to detect anyone either. Lets move around once more before calling in the troops."

A shiver ran through Flinn's spine while he pointed the turret at the facility. The fields of silent defenses surrounding the cold black obelisk seemed so frozen in time. Something about the scene just...commanded that he be afraid. That he had to run away and never return. It seeped deeply in to his brain matter to batter the very core of his logic.

Flinn shook his head. Perhaps a prayer for the Emperor would void his fear. He quietly recited bits of what he remembered the priest back at base had taught his unit. "May the glorious god-Emperor grant me the strength...to...the strength to..." The Private searched his mind for the rest of the prayer. "Blast! Just give me strength."

"What was that, Flinn?" Tompkins voice popped back over the channel. 

Apparently he had spoken just a bit louder than he had intended to, causing murmurs of his speech to activate the com channel. "Huh? Oh, nothing Tompkins."

Sergeant Giddler barked through the channel. "Wait a second! I've got some-" That was the last thing he would ever say.

Just as the gunner had turned his head towards the Sergeants Venator trailing just behind them, it vanished under a flash of fire and expanding smoke as black as the starfield above them. Flinn instinctively ducked just below the lip of the turret well in order to avoid being sprayed by chunks of shrapnel. Even a fast moving pebble could puncture his suit if he wasn't cautious. Fatally exposing his body to the freezing wasteland.

"What was that?" Tompkins blurted through the channel while Flinn hopelessly watched the charred remnants of the vehicle somersault through the air before crashing in to a stack of metal tank traps. Only a crumpled heap of metal remained within a swirling cloud of dust and combusting materials.

"Damn!" Flinn returned to his position over the multi-lasers targeting computer. "Where is he? Give me an angle!" He barked to the driver in desperation to exact revenge for the death of Sergeant Giddler and his crew-mate. Adrenaline roared through his veins as the guardsman threw all regard for hesitation away.

He couldn’t believe that Sergeant Giddler was really dead. The enemy would pay. It was hard to detect objects on the bright surface of Zemir. The reflective nature of its soil couldn't even allow an easy view of the stars despite clear skies above the sunken crater. Flinn strained to see what had obliterated the scout vehicle in just one shot but soon the culprit came in to focus.

"Aircraft! Three o'clock, high!" The gunner of the second scout vehicle signaled before a silver streak of energy erupted from his lascannon to the sky. "Our communications are jammed! We're on our own."

Using the las shot as a guide, he twisted the turret around while Tompkins picked up speed. The craters steep slopes became but a blur. And there it was. A metallic glint far above them dove in closer. Unfortunately the gun mounted on the back of the Venator couldn't lift to meet the threat closing in from such a high angle.

"Argh! Blasted turret! I can't get at him, Tompkins!" There was nothing he could do about it but it didn't keep Flinn from grinding the multi-laser against the gun well so that he could at least get a few shots off if the target slipped under his crosshairs. "Give her some gas, damn it!"

"Quiet! You're not helping!"

The formation of scout buggies split apart far enough so that they could cover each other with overlapping fields of fire, but the hostile fighter charging down from the stars was still out of reach. It was mounting a second attack run. Flinn’s teeth ground tightly together. The prayer for the Emperors guidance he had attempted to recall came flooding back in his mind. Praying that the immortal powers of mankinds leader would channel through him. Yet in all reality he was helpless. His eyes widened while the fighter drew closer and began belching ammunition down upon the surface of Zemir once again.

[_Note_: As always, feedback is appreciated. I‘ll edit this later most likely to ‘clean it up‘ since I kinda rushed, but there you go. More to come in a day or so.]


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## waltzmelancholy_07 (Sep 30, 2008)

Nice writing mate... But I had a problem with the prologue... Though yeah, you meant for it to be vague but it was too unclear for my sake... Well, that's just me... REP MATE!....


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Thanks for the input, *waltzmelancholy_07*. I'll see what I can do to make it more flowing to new readers soon.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

I _love_ it Holmstrom! I really look forward to this more and more as I read each part. Plus rep dude, keep us updatted!


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

--_M003: Joyride - Continued_--
The ground rumbled, and with it came a volcano of fire erupting across the craterside. Flinn ducked once more as the hostile fighter swooped in low over the two scout buggies. Its engine wash grew to a monstrous roar even through Zemirs low atmosphere. He could hear hundreds of objects slamming against the modified Venators hull before static shot through the comm channel. The Private held his arms around his head until the noise finally went away.

With a few hard evasive turns, the buggy at last straightened out. "Get your ass back in the gun, Flinn!" Tompkins voice pleaded with excitement. "It's behind us!"

Flinn ground his teeth together and popped back up to the controls. His shaking hands clasped the two firing yokes before he noticed that they were alone. A second stretch of dark soot rose from a rocky outcropping well behind them. "Where is Badger Two?" The Private spun the turret around before he finally caught the shrinking fighter over the crater wall.

"What do you think? Just shoot!" Tompkins blasted. "I'm getting us out of here!"

It wasn't time to obsess over the fact that they were now alone. That his squadron mates had all been killed in the blink of an eye. This was suicide, but Flinn wasn't about to let some smug pilot take him down without a fight. Though he wished Tompkins would get the buggy moving faster or they wouldn't live long enough to tell about the attack. The multi-laser wouldn't amount to much unless it managed to at least chase it off. He squeezed the firing studs.

Twin streams of white-red energy blinked from each barrel of the turret. The destructive beams instantly closed the distance between the Venator and the fighter juking hard for another attack run. It was tough to judge at this distance, but Flinn was sure he had struck the hull before the fighter dipped behind the craters edge where trailing shots spawned puffs of gray soil to the air.

The buggy hopped a few meters over a small mound of rubble before taking a sharp turn around a vacant bunker overlooking the exit canyons. He spared a peek inside the firing ports of the reinforced metal construct and found it strange that the autocannon sticking out hung low in the starlight. Motionless. It was as if the entire facility had been abandoned without a fight.

This was not good. Flinn bit his lip under the wave of possibilities storming through his brain. It couldn't have been some simple uprising or freak accident. Installations carrying an astropath didn‘t just ‘turn off‘. Terrible forces were at play here, whatever the case was. Thoughts of what terrors waiting to be unleashed upon the system were hard to fight off. He had to focus.

"Where'd he go?" Tompkins voice, accompanied by anxious panting, popped through the channel. "Any sign of him? Anything?"

"No." Flinn answered just as the buggy rambled back in to the series of ravines through which they had arrived from. The lack of any visual on the fighter along with the safety of the canyons had at least offered him a degree of comfort. With the rock walls stretching several stories above them their foe would have a tough time finding a clear shot. "I think he bugged out. That was close, Tompkins."

"Right, mate." His companion sighed relief and arched the vehicle over a cluster of jagged boulders squeezed between the ancient chasm. It bounced through the obstacle before the six bulbous wheels pulled them onward. “What the hell is going on? The Sergeant, Keem, Eller and Dan…they never stood a chance!”

The gunner instinctively ran a gloved hand over his encapsulating helmet as he would to rub away frustration from ones mind. Just letting his backpack rattle against the turret well for a quick moment. “I don’t know. The sooner we get back home, the better. We just got lucky, but we have to warn them about this.”

It seemed to be taking centuries to pass through the canyons. Legions of acicular crags and mottled arches had washed by while the multi-laser slowly patrolled the surroundings. Just stale gray repeats of the same terrain as before. Neither of them spoke a word. They needed all of their senses pooled to detecting threats. There was no room for distraction. The slightest slip in observation could have them transformed in to a pile of slag just like their comrades.

“Great.” Tompkins spoke and pointed towards a breach in the rock walls. “We’re almost there.” The Venator tumbled down a steep slope of loose soil that eventually bled out from the cracked highlands in to the cold desert beyond.

Out of preparation, Flinn aimed the multi-laser to the front of the buggy. A crevice divided the canyon just a few hundred meters off from their position and grew closer. He could see the vast ocean of dunes that surrounded their tunnel home. The Private couldn’t help but smile. They had made it, and in just a few minutes of clearing the open terrain they could begin plotting to make the bastards responsible for his brethrens death pay dearly.

Or so he thought.

A brief surge of dust stampeded down from above the ravine along with bits of rock that knocked against the vehicle. Flinn twisted the turret around when their enemy dropped down out of hiding in front of them. It was a sleek design, but definitely a human vessel. A bulbous canopy dominated the front with two sweeping wings loaded with weapon mounts. Each one pointed directly towards them. But still, it was nothing he could immediately recognize.

They never had time to curse before the ground began to explode. Flinn fell against his restraints when the buggy sped off to the right in a futile attempt to dodge the incoming fire. It was all over so fast that Flinn hadn’t even the chance to get a single shot off. The Venator swerved wildly overtop of its heightened sets of wheels before smashing head on against the cliff wall at full speed. His head catapulted back and forth under the whiplash which caused fine cracks to form in his helmets view plate as it struck the targeting computer.

Stars pulsed before his eyes. Sprites of bright fuzzy lights along with twirling dabs of blackness danced through his vision and heavy concussions punched in to his chest cavity. The gunner wasn’t sure at first, but he was well enough alive. Stuck in a state of shock. No! Flinn ordered himself. Get yourself together!

The vehicle had come to a dead stop. No doubt Tompkins had reacted quick enough that they suffered only a minor hit from whatever that ship had fired at them. But he knew that whoever this pilot was, he wouldn’t allow them to survive to mock him after having missed a kill shot. “Tom! Get us moving! Tom?”

No response.

Flinn growled and fought to remove the straps keeping him secure to the vehicle while the manmade dust storm gave him the cover he needed. His bulky gloves toggled the push release before a quick jab of his fist finally detached them. With mere seconds to spare, the Private yanked free a spare air tank from the compartment by his feet before vaulting clear of the gun well. The low gravity propelled him a great distance upwards where he bounced against the canyon wall and glanced off towards the ground. A soft bank of sand cushioned the drop but he still tumbled along the ravine floor before anchoring himself with a rock.

Flashes of light and muffled booms resonated through the canyon. Airborne rocks and smoldering metals followed soon after. Flinn pressed himself flat against the icy dirt while debris rained in around him. Some landed heavily against his body, but he resisted the urge to squirm in pain or fright. Danger had not left the area. He only hoped his suit would survive the punishment.

Flinn breathed heavily with his arms wrapped protectively around his head. Each exhalation of air echoed on to eternity while he blankly stared to the sand crunched up against his view plate. His heart thudded loudly while adrenaline injected blood pumped through his veins that prepped his body for actions he wouldn‘t have to take. There was only silence.

He lifted his head above his arms ever so slowly to see how badly the scene had changed. Still sucking down air, Flinn let his jaw fall open. Under the fading dust rested what was left of his Venator. The rear half of the chassis drooped where plasma had heated it to molten temperatures and flash froze. This split the smoking armor plating in to blackened razors splaying in every direction. Even the rock face had been scored from the attack.

Where the multi-laser turret had gone, he did not know. It probably had taken a direct hit and disintegrated. But the fighter was gone. Nowhere to be seen. The gunner glanced in every direction around him for any hint of hostiles hidden in the freezing wasteland. Nothing. Only the barren stretches of silent rock stood in high watch over the wreck.

“Tompkins!” He called out despite being severed from the vehicles hardwired communications line. The vox installed in to his suit still wasn‘t functioning, either. No thanks to the jamming signal. Flinn effortlessly pushed himself to his feet and began long jumping his way back over to the buggy. 

His boots dug deep in to the loose soil with every bound before finally grabbing hold of a warped anti-roll bar hanging from the wreck to stabilize himself. The ground crunched below his feet where he handed landed. But the shards of glassed sand coating the ground wasn’t an interest to Flinn. The half-charred remains of Tompkins was.

The bolt of plasma had expanded to consume most of the Venator and blew out the fuel cells. Such terrible heat had easily chewed through the drivers suit to boil off any exposed skin. A deep, blackened crater carved out most of the mans torso from the inside. Leaving his companions remains to slump against the steering wheel. The sight of his dead friend made him want to vomit. He was the only one left.

Flinn struggled to control his stomach before turning away. A sense of helplessness dominated his mind while he attempted to think of what to do. The Private was stranded. His friends were all dead. But he still had a job to do. Flinn lifted a gauge that hung from his chest armor to check is air levels. Only about five minutes were left, and the reserve tank he had pulled before escaping had a half hour. Maybe forty minutes if he paced his breathing correctly.

Was it enough to get back to the tunnels? That, he did not know. There where five kilometers between his position and his next source of air. The chances of suffocating halfway were very high if he delayed much longer. Flinn took one last look at Tompkins before retrieving the spare air tank left on the ground. He may of had less than a year of service for the Emperor under his belt and he may be scared out of his mind, but he had to pass on what he had seen. He had to survive.

Flinn took his first in what would be hundreds of leaps over Zemirs cratered surface towards the bunker ahead. That prayer still fresh in his mind.


[_Note_: As always, comments and feedback are vastly appreciated. Don’t forget to rate. I was half-awake when I wrote most of this, but I think it's alright with a little tweaks.]


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Awesome part dude, if I was too rate it? Ten out of ten! One thing didn't quite read right for me though and that was- 

_He may have (Personally, I would add a "had" here, it reads easier, and it does not seem too change the tense, like what I got when I read it?) less than a year of service for the Emperor under his belt and he may be scared out of his mind, but he had to pass on what he had seen. He had to survive._

Nothing else but that, a brilliant continuation to a equally as brilliant story  Sadly though, I cannot rep you but as soon as I can I shall.


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Thanks again, *DA*. I appreciate you pointing that bit out, too. I'll go ahead and fix it now.

EDIT: Fixed.


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## waltzmelancholy_07 (Sep 30, 2008)

I agree with DA.... Ten out of Ten!.... And also with the "had" thingy...


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Just letting people know due to how busy things are this week, the next subchapter will be posted around Friday/Saturday.

Edit: (To clarify, yes, that meant to not expect an update until the 19th. I have not abandoned this, my attention is merely required elsewhere for the time being.)


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## Templar Marshal (Feb 7, 2010)

Keep it up this is an awsome story.:grin:


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Gotta apologize, for I feel like a piece of shit for not living up to my word, but this project that has been dumped on my lap is taking a lot of time. Should have update sometime this week.


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Well, after being occupied for a time with more prudent things, I now have some time to spare for continuing this story. I apologize for the delay to those who found this tale interesting thus far a few months back, but duty called.

We now continue at the Planetary Governors palace as the systems leadership dissects the situation as disturbing complications come to light. It's a not as extensive compared to the others after it's half-lucid creation, yes, but it sets the stage for the next module.


M004: The Shattering.

Hastened steps brought the Governor towards a massive metal doorway flanked by hand carved stone columns at the center of the palace. Beyond which existed the advisory council chambers where all matters of administrative duties were thoroughly debated. Though ‘bickered’ would be a more fitting term in most cases. 

Desolles did have a supreme power of sorts politically on Atripus. However every major decision regarding the star system, for the Imperium’s sake, had to be filtered through the advisory council before any orders could be implemented. As such, controversial issues could end up in a state of purgatory. He knew that this drawback would only degenerate any attempts of progress in regards to the current security situation to an unnecessarily tedious process.

“Sire!” One of the two heavily armored soldiers stationed on either side of the brought in a decorative poleax tight to his side and presented a firm salute to the Governor. “The council has assembled and Grand Marshall Uhrbank is waiting inside.”

“Very good. Open the doors.” He looked to either of them with dwindling patience. The faster this headache began, the faster it would pass.

“At once.” The soldier nodded to the other and the armored doors slowly creaked open after a code was entered in to a keypad hidden in the wall.

Aldo, who stood besides the Governor, readjusted the heavy stacks of documents in his arms before shuffling in to the room after him before the thick doors closed shut behind them. They were unrelated to the potential crisis, but nevertheless had to be delivered to the councilmen that night.

Commotion had already enraptured the cavernous amphitheatre littered with advisors discussing the blackout on Zemir while Desolles approached a lone podium at the center of the hall unnoticed. Vibrant orange sunlight spilt across the maroon marble floor tiles from an intricate paneling of stained glass windows rising many stories on the far wall. Causing the Governors shadow to stretch all the way across the room until it melded with the podiums expansive silhouette.

For a moment after Aldo dropped the papers to a small desk, he waited. Watching the bureaucrats peck at each other even before the session could begin. Then Desolles twisted to glance at the windows

Angels frozen in time along the perimeter of the transparent glass surrounded a surreal depiction of the Emperor himself encased within unspeakably beautiful armor. Specks of reflective dust danced with ethereal grace in his radiance as if drawn to his greatness. His glowing face portrayed the stern, and sure look of an unbreakable will. The will to do what was necessary in the protection of his people.

“The galaxy could use more men like that.” Desolles murmured to himself.

“Governor.” A deep voice spoke from the shadows beneath the grandstands, and a blood-red uniformed veteran of many conflicts approached. Perhaps he had been shielding himself from the nonsense echoing on from the stands above.

Desolles nodded respectfully to the Grand Marshal, an experienced man of few words, and spoke. His amplified voice easily bounced along the gothic walls at a level that all would hear. “Shall we get started?”

It didn’t take long for the crimson robed advisors to conclude all conversation and shuffle down to their seats. Only one remained standing, the councils head speaker, who slowly lurched over to a podium of his own in the center of the stands. A tall headdress crested with a silver Aquila differentiated him from his lesser administratum peers.

“Yes, yes…Governor.” He weakly hunched over his stand with vexation saturating his words with feint light highlighting the wrinkles crisping the Speakers boney form. Some had joked that he was as old as the Imperium itself. “We are ready to discuss this ‘emergency’. Whether it‘s worth interrupting a census deliberation is yet to be known.”

“You may return to your other duties soon enough, Speaker, but for now let us ensure that we will still have a population to review in one months passing.” Desolles staff clinked against the ground to punctuate his authority.

His counter raised the Speakers eyebrows. This was how he got things done. “Certainly. It is just…unusual that you would demand this meeting over such an admittedly trivial occurrence. Hasn’t Zemir been severed from communication many times before? Contact has always been reestablished.”

“But never for this long.” Grand Marshall Uhrbank stepped closer to the Speaker with arms folded over the cluster of decorations along his chest. “It would be wise to heed the Governors command in the matter. Better safe than sorry, as they say.”

“So suspecting of war? Well, who am I to deny our lords command?” He waved a hand to the two men standing below. “I won‘t, Governor.”

The Speaker often would react polar to the whims of the Governor. Although easily interpreted as outright incompetence on the old mans part, it was his job to bring heat in to important discussions. His duty as the head speaker was to make sure that the Governor knew the full consequences of any actions undertaken. Forcing him to argue was an effective way of assuring this.

“I want to raise a system wide alert.” Desolles stood straight and directed his words to the entire audience of advisors. “Yes, we are not sure what exactly is going on, but we must prepare for the worst. I want a lockdown on all unnecessary traffic between worlds, I want curfews in full effect and the Guard ready to strike at a moments notice.”

“Full curfews?” The Speaker nodded amongst light chatter emanating through the stands. “So we should gun down those we catch in the streets due to the remote chance there is a negative reason for this minor inconvenience?” He shook his head. “I would have thought you to be less ruthless then that, Governor.”

“You should be aware more than anyone else that the safety for the Imperiums citizens under my guidance is a top concern. I do not know how they do things in other star systems, but that behavior is not to be tolerated at Atripus.” Desolles aimed a finger up to the man as sunlight finally faded enough to force the palaces artificial lighting to kick in. A dark metal chandelier hanging at the domed rooms apex flamed to life. Pleasant ambience transformed to harsh sterility from the one hundred artificial candles housed within its webbing maze of iron. “Furthermore, I will not have such childish remarks exit anyone’s lips in this chamber.

“My men know better, Speaker.” Uhrbank artlessly moved on to more important aspects of their problem. “I’ve already taken the liberty of putting the Guard on alert. In fact a response team we’ve put together should be arriving at Zemir to reestablish contact any minute now. Although there is regular solar flaring this time of year, our worries lie in the fact that there presently isn’t enough activity to cut us off. Our concerns are valid.”

“Oh, yes. I suppose we’ll get to the bottom of this one way or another after the Marshall’s investigation is complete. I was expecting you to push directly for Adeptus Astartes intervention, quite honestly.” The Speaker snorted. “Not that it would be possible.”

“What do you mean?” Desolles asked, but the Grand Marshall answered for him.

“The Star Swords are currently juggling several campaigns. There has been a surge of Ork-xeno activity over the past several months not terribly far from this system.” Urhbank shrugged at the prospect of not having Astartes on call, but he knew that the local Guard could handle a threat. “I doubt we’d ever receive more than a handful of them if pressed for assistance.”

“Even a lone Astartes can turn a tide.” His self-assuring words of the Space Marines resolve didn’t seem to have much effect. Worry still haunted his psyche. “That is if we can even contact them. Though, were they not supposed to have a full company posted to oversee Idermire until the Adeptus Mechanicus moves in?”

“Yes, but in their zeal…” Grand Marshall Uhrbank sharply exhaled before abandoning the sentence. “There are many xeno’s that need to be purged.”

“Sire.” A nearly forgotten voice intruded the officials speech. Their attention focused to Aldo who uncomfortably held a hand to the machine grafted at the back of his skull. “I’ve just received a relayed message from the Guard team. They…” The young man winced as the imperfect device sent paint down his spine while a transmission sifted in, nearly dropping him to the floor. “They’ve made contact.”

The Speaker heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, splendid. So I trust all is well after all?”

“That’s not what he means.” Uhrbank growled to the advisor as Desolles assisted his scribe to his feet. “They’re under fire.”

*Next:*_ We learn what secrets lie within the outpost on Zemir._


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Brilliant work Holmstrom, simply brilliant. I look forward to the next part. Think that it deserves some rep from me as well  Keep up the excellent work!


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Very much appreciated, Lord Ramo. I know Module 4 was a bit short, but the next part I'm working on should be at least twice as long, if not more. Might not pop up until this weekend.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

'Bout time you continued this, damned whore that you are :grin: awesome work as always Holmstrom, I cannot wait until the next part  plus rep if I can mate!


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Hah. Business before pleasure, as they say. I'm just happy to have time again for this story. Still busy, but nothing that can keep me from working on this.


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

This took a few days longer than I intended, but it's about 40% longer than I had anticipated. Here is module 5. Some parts require a bit of editing since I was literally half-awake when I wrote this, but the story is there. Just very busy.



M005: The darkness between dreams and nightmares. (Pt.1)

“Uncomfortable, First Private Flinn?” The Commissar braced both fists against his hip under the shuttles opaque yellow cabin lighting. A claustrophobic compartment even without the officers ego filling it to capacity.

Cocky bastard. He thought to himself over a grumble. “No, Commissar Ankem. Ready for action.” Of course, he really wasn’t ready. How could he be? First Private Flinn was a vehicle gunner, not a footslogger like the others.

Commissar Ankem examined the ranks of infantryman sitting along seats mounted against each bulkhead. They silently awaited for the shuttle to arrive at their destination with lasguns in hand. “You had better be, Private. For if you are not, I don‘t think you‘ll be ‘skipping away’ from this one. ”

After barely managing to survive the return trip to base with only twenty seconds left of air, the Commissar had decided that Flinn’s failure to eliminate the enemy and complete his mission in a more timely fashion was simply unacceptable. Logic decreed that three fully armed surface vehicles should easily have brought a single enemy fighter down. Officially, he was needed in the team for ‘intelligence purposes‘, but the Private knew better if Ankem was involved.

He was cannon fodder for the professionals. Nothing more.

A team dispatched from orbit over Atripus quickly coordinated an effort to reclaim the astropath relay facility in force once close-range communication was established. Imperial Navy units first secured the airspace around the tower without resistance while the entire 5th Atripus Mechanized Infantry Regiment erected barricades in the underground checkpoints below. It was unknown who attacked Flinn’s Venator squadron, but there was no sign of the fighter. It had vanished.

“Right then.” One of the soldiers, Captain Hamilton, stood from his seat and gripped a handrail on the ceiling. “We’re almost there, so let’s go over our objectives. With the facility in lockdown, we’ll first be sending in two teams. The first group has already entered the lower levels of the tower to secure the power core while we board from the top. It’ll allow us to cover more ground and work any hostiles from two directions if need be. Reinforcements will be waiting for our signal, too.”

A trooper expressed his skepticism from the ranks. “You really think we’re going to find anything?”

“You will address the Captain as ‘Sir’, soldier.” Commissar Ankem coldly reminded with a predatory smile for his apparent disrespect to officers.

“Yes, Commissar!”

“There’s no telling what might be in that tower, Chovski.” The Captain ignored his associates demand. “But that’s why we’re here. If we find any heretics, or worse, we’ll take them out. Just cover every angle, watch each others backs and we’ll have this settled before you know it. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” They acknowledged when the shuttle abruptly lurched as it connected with the astropath tower.

“Good. Triple check your gear, load your weapons, seal your helmets and stand by for insertion. May the Emperor protect.” He placed his hands over his breast plate to form an aquila to his men before walking towards the docking ring at the fore of the room.

Predictably, the Commissar took the liberty of having the final word. “And I need not remind you of the importance of this installation. The Imperium has no patience for the blasphemous ideologies of cowardice. Any who show a hint of doubt in our mission can be certain of my bolt pistols retribution.”

He slid the bulky weapon from his thigh holster to brandish its deadly décor. Sparks of light hinted of a heavily detailed casing, but it was much too dark to discern. Whether or not the Commissar was truly serious with the threat wasn’t something worth risking a test. But given the amount of headshakes being exchanged behind his back, Flinn wasn’t the only one with the desire to frag him.

Yet such thoughts were treasonous. Or at least through the eyes of the Imperium. Flinn clearly understood the purpose of the Commissar on the field. They kept things in line and ensured the Imperiums will be done through any means necessary. To that end, all was well. But it was dangerous for such individuals to be left idle for long.

“Flinn! Celben! On me.” Captain Hamilton leaned against the bulkhead and powered up his lasgun with the flick of his thumb.

The gunner forced down a heavy gulp in a futile effort to kill the uneasiness in his gut while complying with the order. Clutching his M37 ‘Excursion’ lasgun with a death grip that felt as though it should shatter the short barreled weapon in to two, Flinn brought the power cell to life and took position next to the doorway. Celben took the opposite side in front of the Captain.

“Locking cycle complete. Equalizing pressure, now.” Hamilton noted his observations of a display panel glowing on the wall feeding information about the airlock beyond the hatch. Hisses signaled an exchange of air between the ship and the building. “Stand by. I’m opening her up.”

Ankem nudged the First Private in the back with the side arm. “The rookie has volunteered to take point, Captain.”

Flinns circulatory system began pulsing more heavily, and sweat slithered down his forehead. He knew that something on the other side of the door was going to slaughter him. What would it be? Torn completely to shreds? Riddled apart by stubber fire? Immolation? None more appetizing than a Commissars bolt to the skull. The gunner decided to take his chances.

“Yeah, I assumed as much.” The Captain nodded to Flinn with and pounded a fist against a button on the display panel causing the door to slip open.

Both of the troopers carefully peeked around the hatchway with lasguns ready for a look down the docking arm. His light amplification revealed little of interest in the corridor beyond an odd wispy haze hugging the deck. Perhaps a symptom of the environmental systems running on back-up power. But the fact that Flinn hadn’t been butchered by a hidden foe was enough of a relief to encourage him to continue.

“Power is still down. Looks like the other team hasn’t gotten to the core yet.” He said to Captain Hamilton after stepping off of the shuttle. That feeling of trespass experienced during the fighter attack returned along with a creeping chill as the First Private inched in to the tower. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Relax, Flinn.” Hamilton spoke to ease the young mans understandable tension. “Push forward with Celben to the bunker at the end of the hall and see if anyone‘s home. We’ll cover your rear.”

Celben stepped through the hatchway to join his companion and swept the barrel of his weapon around the ceiling before pressing his body against the left wall. “Yes, Sir. Let’s go, Flinn.”

They walked at a snails pace down the blackened metal corridor. Their boots lightly clanking over the floor grating where various pipes and cables snaked along beneath the fog. So far there hadn’t appeared to be any niches in the wall where anyone could hide, as having smooth metal walls meant that the bunker would make short work of would-be boarders. That allowed them to focus their carbines down to the Y intersection at the end.

Reaching the bunker, they checked the branching halls for hostiles, but both were empty. Flinn looked to Celben with a shrug before stepping towards the bunker. Its firing ports were sealed with a deployable blast shutter.

“What in Chaos happened here?” Celben sighed and slowly lowered his lasgun. “Coast is clear, Captain. Not a soul in sight. I’d bet that the other arms are the same.”

“Alright. We’ll do a fast sweep and get the bunker open so we can move down the central shaft.” Their leader said as the rest of the men began regrouped. “The astropath should be just five levels down in the main chamber, but keep your fingers on the trigger.”

After exploring the two remaining docking arms, the soldiers met at the sole entrance to the defensive fortification that protected an elevator shaft. The doors were locked tight and had to be cut through with a torch. A trooper pulled the tool from his pack and Flinn covered his visor while the white-hot jet of plasma created an ovular trail of glowing orange slag until the shape was complete. It coated the buildings foggy atmosphere with a an almost peaceful light.

Commissar Ankem coughed within his helmet. “After you, First Private.”

Flinn shook his head and entered the cluster of fellow guardsmen. “Yes, Commissar.”

Wishing that he could vent his disdain with a lasgun beam to Ankems faceplate, Flinn instead squeezed through the circle of troopers and forcibly planted his boot in to the doors weakened midsection. The slab of metal snapped free to the ground with a heavy crash that shook the entire corridor. Disturbed atmosphere rippled through the fog before all returned to silence.

“Quickly, Private.”

In what could be a final act of defiance, Flinn didn’t bother to respond to his master and entered the breach.

“By the Saints!” He shouted with fright at that the sight that awaited the Guardsman.

The interior of the trapezoidal bunker was littered with the torn bodies of the soldiers posted on the docking level. Telltale lasgun scoring pockmarked every surface amongst what seemed to be impossible spatterings of blood and flesh. Men lay slumped over the firing port stubbers and against every wall with eviscerated bodies. Others appeared flayed to the bone within undamaged armor. Some even looked as though they were downed by unrelenting friendly fire. All of them dead by more troubling means than the next. Dozens of them.

Flinn was overridden with shock and couldn’t manage an intelligible word. He thought he had heard the Captain ask for his status, but the gunner was too busy attempting to keep his lasgun crosshairs over every corner of the room at once for who…or what…did this. It was here that his foot became lodged within the armrest of an overturned office chair that caused him to topple over to the floor. An instinctive burst of las shots lit up the room with his fall and Flinn found that a corpse would eventually break his fall.

The world around him slowed. Whether out of the effects of adrenalin, the Emperor rubbing in the fault of his clumsiness or something more elusive was at play, the Private focused in on the fallen soldiers look of frozen horror even after death had come to pass. Flinn snapped shut his eyes as impact neared even with the faceplate separating him from the gruesome sight.

He dropped upon the mans chest with force. But instead of coming to rest on the fallen Guardsmans form, Flinn felt himself shatter through the body as if it were made of glass. Chunks of the body disintegrated under his weight to reflective powder and razor thick shards. The incomprehensibility of the situation caused Flinn to scream as he flailed to push himself away from the remains.

“Damn it, Flinn! Get on your feet!” A voice commanded, and the First Private felt himself being uplifted by an unseen mass of arms. “Snap out of it, Private!” 

“Get away from me! Get away!” The frightened gunner shouted. He tried to fish for his lasgun, but was instead pinned to the wall. “Get off of me!”

“What in the warp are you on about? Take a deep breath.”

Flinn eventually paced his respirations after realizing that it was Captain Hamilton who was gripping him. Not the awakened dead seeking to punish his intrusion. But that didn’t mean they were out of danger.

The Captain padded the Private on the shoulder, letting him know everything was fine. “You’re alright, Flinn. I think you just spooked yourself.”

“Bah, there’s nothing here.” Commissar Ankem disappointingly grumped from out of view. “It‘s as idle in here as it is upon Zemir‘s surface.”

“There’s Nothing here? Look!” Flinn slid off of the wall and pointed around the room to the surely obvious carnage. He however found the room was indeed empty. Every corpse, every droplet of blood and every las mark had disappeared without a trace. “What? This…this doesn’t make any sense.” Wholeheartedly confused, he slowly allowed gravity to return his arm to his side.

“Here, Flinn.” A trooper lifted his lasgun off the floor to return it to the First Private. “If you were aiming at that shadow in the corner, you fired quite well.”

He snagged the carbine from the troopers arms with a scowl after some of the men began to snicker. They wouldn’t believe him if he told them what he had seen. Was it possible that it was all imagined? That fear had gotten the better of him? Flinn pondered of the possibility, but it was all so real. He felt that body shower apart when he hit the deck. The Private made a note to keep his index finger over the trigger just in case it was all somehow real.

“Alright.” The Captain cleared his throat. “Obviously there’s nothing on this level. I’m going to have the Navy drop in another squad to camp out the bunker while we descend incase a secure escape route is needed. Corporal Mercer, head to the shuttle and square that away.”

“Yes, Sir.” The Corporal threw a salute and ran back to the docking arms.

Commissar Ankem knocked a knuckle against the elevator doors at the rear of the bunker. “Without power, it appears we will have to make use of the stairs.”

“We should take the stairs anyway.” Captain Hamilton walked towards the stairwell entrance situated between the two elevator doorways but halted before opening it. “Celben, why don’t you take point this time? Flinn is a little too jumpy to take that job.”

“It was agreed that the First Private will be the point man on this operation, Captain.” Ankem reminded Hamilton with a quick gesture to Flinn with his bolt pistol.

“I know. But I wasn’t even handed a psychological profile on him. I need men trained specifically for this kind of operation, especially if they are going to be on point. You may want him up front, but I need someone with a less itchy trigger finger. I refuse to put the lives of these soldier in the hands of someone who may inadvertently reveal our position.”

It was clear that Ankem got the picture. With a sarcastic wave of approval, the Commissar turned his back to the Captain without another word. Flinn smiled that the political officers arrogance had been bruised more than the fact that he wouldn’t be up first anymore. The First Private knew that the job was important, and in a way he was disappointed at not being able to fulfill that expectation, but the Captain was right. He wasn’t trained for this sort of thing.

“Sir! You hear that?” Celben ran to place his helmet against the elevator doors. The others listened, and a muffled voice spoke from within. Though too much so to distinguish any words. “There’s someone in here! Probably trapped when the power went down.”

“I hear him! Maybe he knows what happened? Let’s get it open.” Captain Hamilton snapped a gloved finger to one of his troopers. “Get that torch ready.”

As before, the Guardsman crowded around the door as it was sliced open. Only with much more zeal with the chance to find someone with answers. Flinn was the least sure of what was going on, but wasn’t going to take any chances. He backed away from the group once they had finished.

Not wanting to crush whoever was inside, the soldiers used the butts of their lasgun to pull away the loosened disk of metal. It slammed down to the bunker floor with a wave of smoke.

“Wait a minute…there’s no one here!” Celben pulled his head out from the hole and shrugged. “I could have sworn that I heard someone. You heard it too, Sir.”

“Hah! It seems the Private isn’t the only one being fooled by the darkness.” Ankem began laughing at his subordinates. “Let’s get moving, shall we? We’ve allowed ourselves to be delayed by mental trickery long enough.”

A frustrated grunt cracked through Captain Hamiltons helmet. Flinn knew that they all had heard someone speaking. He knew that Ankem as well had to of heard it, but chose to disregard the anomaly to prevent his image being tarnished by succumbing to deception.

“Prick.” Flinn whispered.

“Fair enough, Commissar.” Hamilton juked his carbine towards the stairwell entrance. “We have your six’, Celben. Just as soon as Mercer-”

A scream echoed through the building, followed by heavy boot steps charging towards the bunker. Each of the Guardsmen took defensive positions around the room while they assessed the situation. Flinn dove behind a row of terminals in the middle of the bunker and aimed his lasgun through the open doorway. His pulse jumped more lively as wild flashes of every color splashed along the walls outside with intermingled bouts of mad laughter.

“Corporal Mercer, what’s going on out there?” Captain Hamilton shouted as the outbursts of nebulous light grew more vivid. “What’s your status?”

Eventually the foot steps stopped, but not the disturbing cackles. The fog hovering over the floor began to excite with a steady glow. It twisted and twirled with unknown energy to create a veil not correct for this dimension. Warm outbursts of reds, blues, greens and yellows mingled through the air in to thousands of awe inspiringly complex shapes. The avatars of entire galaxies spun through the room amongst clouds of icy blues and whites. Others snaked between crystalline webs of amorphous reds. It was an undeniably beautiful sight, but was the stuff of horrors unseen.

“Prepare yourselves, men!” The Commissar nervously blasted with his bolt gun at the ready. “This is the foul play of Daemons!”

Unsure of what good his lasgun would do against such a nightmarish entity such as a Daemon, Flinn did what he could to fend off the unholy aspirations of his fears. He prayed for the Emperor to at least offer him a quick death while watching the dark energies manifest his end. His mind flashed to the past. To the joys of his liberty trips to Atripus. To the beautiful statues, and the woman…the only woman…in his life.

“I’m sorry, Mironika.” He softly spoke just before the shooting started.

The glowing clouds of energy siphoned upwards to two distinct globules high in to the air before arranging in to solid objects. All that had been hidden by the dark sorcery was revealed. Everything that Flinn had solely witnessed regenerated inside the bunker. Though his comrades would find them a dangerous distraction, Flinn wasn’t going to go out with a whimper.

What spawned from the unknown were two masses of shapeless flesh that racked ear piercing shrills of joy as they spawned. When beams of energy began crisscrossing the room, the beasts zipped around the walls with unbelievable precision. They laughed and howled like everything was just an innocent game for them.

Flinn roared and discharged a full power cell at them with a rapid stream of fire. Though missing for the most part, he had struck one of them repeatedly with his last several shots. It mournfully warbled and began hurling fiery bolts towards the Guardsman. Immediately to Flinns left, he watched helplessly as one of the troopers was struck in the upper arm.

He screamed out in pain as the bolt of daemonic power chewed through his armor and flesh. The trooper writhed along the floor before while his body ultimately fell away as an unrecognizable heap of glowing orange dust. A second was blasted apart as a bolt of fire struck a grenade latched to his torso, sending bits of flesh raining around the room with buzzing bits of metal.

“Fight harder, men! Fight, damn it!” Commissar Ankem stuttered from behind an overturned desk. Flinn had only witnessed him discharge a few blind shots while concentrating on staying alive.

Coward. Invigorated at the loss of a brother in arms, the First Private finished slapping a fresh power cell in to his lasgun and opened up. His fire arced across the room and landed a series of direct hits on one of the beasts even when return fire splashed along the computer bank. He was no ordinary foot soldier. But Flinn knew how to shoot. The beast screamed with pain and dropped to the floor mid-leap, as did the second a few seconds later.

Victory was short lived. The two beasts cried out and divided. Of course, the guardsman fired back, but the situation grew much worse. More creatures appeared through the open bunker doorway, and others stampeded from the stairwell.

“We need to move! We can’t take much more of this!” Flinn shouted after firing a burst of las shots.

Ankem launched a few unaimed bolts in to the room. “There’s nowhere to go! We will not retreat!”

“You’re out of your mind!”

Not taking time out from surviving to continue arguing, the Guardsmen fought on. But a stroke of luck hit them. With a flicker, the lights of the facility came to life as the second team reached their objective. Meaning that the elevators were now functional.

“C’mon!” The Captain shouted over the violence and downed another of the daemons. “Get in the lift, it’s our only way out of this death trap! On the double!”

Without complaint, those who still lived filed in to the open lift one by one between exchanges of fire. Flinn was one of the last to sprint towards the elevator, and noticed the Commissar still cowering behind a desk. He would love to leave the vermin to the slaughter, but they needed as many bodies as they could keep to simply survive.

“Let’s go, Sir!” Flinn didn’t wait for the officer to move on his own.

He inaccurately fired one handed las shots to the approaching horde of shapeless beasts and began tugging the Commissar out of his hiding spot by the collar. Soldiers threw covering fire from the opposite side of the elevator door until they finally reached safety. Once everyone alive had been accounted for, the Captain started the lifts decent. Disappointed cries split from the daemons just before they started their downward journey.

“Is everyone alright? He asked to his men between his fight for breath. “Who’d we lose.”

“Three, Sir.” Private Celben popped a depleted energy cell from his weapon with a hopeless tone. “No, four. Mercer, Danjuks, Handel and West. They‘re dead…”

“What were those damned things?” Flinn asserted the questioned and paced along the elevator as it “I’ve never heard of anything like them! We need help.”

“Daemons? Here? But why? Why Atripus? This…this doesn’t make sense.” Celben scrunched himself down in to a corner and pulled free his helmet to wipe away some sweat.

The Captain shook his head. “There’s no telling why they’re here, Celben. It could be anything…or for no reason at all. What matters is that we try to warn our forces before things get out of hand.”

“So we regroup with the second team.” Commissar Ankem pulled himself off of the floor and brushed at a patch of blood on his uniform. “They may have caught us by surprise, but they know not the strength of Humanities will. Since this lift takes us right down to the engineering levels, we should see little more of those…things.”

“I hope you’re right, Sir.” Flinn was happy to see that at least some form of sense had been knocked in to the Commissar. “We should be down there in just a moment.”

Captain Hamilton slung his carbine over his shoulder. “Right. You know the drill. Take a breather, guys, but check your ammo and ready up. We’re not out of this yet.”

As if on queue, the lift came to a grinding halt and the lights cut off. The Guardsmen were nearly knocked off of their feet from the sudden stop.

“Come on, you blasted…” Celben vented his frustration with a kick to the wall. The elevator lurched with a high pitched grind and thuds rattled along from the roof. “Damn! They’re in the shaft!”

That was the last distinguishable speech to be heard from any of the Guardsmen as the elevator began to plummet. Finn could hardly understand what was happening other than the certainty of his demise. Yet he immediately accepted the fact that there was nothing he could do to live through this. It was entirely beyond his control. An eerie sense of understanding washed away the fear, and as many citizens of the Imperium would have done, the young man prayed.

[Please rate, and comment if you have feedback. There are a few errors still to be hammered out, but I'll take care of them.]


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

What can I say? It was pure epicness rolled up into a ball :grin: I loved the initial description of the Daemons, one of the best I have ever come across! I can't rep you currently I am afraid, but keep up the good work mate


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Thanks, dark angel. Mighty kind of you. Don't worry about the rep. Hearing back from readers means much more than seeing that little green bar go up. This module was longer than I thought it would be, and I actually wanted to elaborate a bit more towards the end, but time is unfortunately limited at the moment.

The next module might be out in around a week, time permitting. It'll be quite the trip.


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## Boc (Mar 19, 2010)

A thoroughly enjoyable read, Holmstrom. This is the first thing I've read to you and I must say, it is very good. :victory:

Looking forward to more


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## Holmstrom (Dec 3, 2008)

Thank you, Boc. I appreciate it. Here's the next section. It's brief in comparison to the last module and might not be as explosive, but it serves its purpose.

Just keep in mind I wrote this in one sitting in 100+ degree weather.


M006: The darkness between dream and nightmare. (Pt.2)

A steady breeze lashed against Flinn’s face. It siphoned away the weariness, the pain and above all else, the fear. The First Private took in a deep breath of fresh air and smiled with the ecstasy it gifted. Scents of sweet ocean water brought him to a time and place of comfort. Rest at last.

Sounds entered his ears. Gulls chanted from an unseen sky. Sea waves lightly clashed not far away. Then a peck jabbed at his exposed cheek. Flinn tightened his fingers and felt warm sand sift between them while groggily ignoring the inconvenience. Another peck, more forceful, struck his temple.

He cracked one eye open. A small white bird stood with a canted head in curiosity towards the Guardsman before fluttering away to clouds high above. The creature disappeared beyond the suns blinding influence. That was the moment he noticed that this wasn’t correct.

Pushing his torso off from the beach, Flinn shook his half-awakened head to muster lucidity back in to his mind. It felt as though he had a full nights rest. But how could this be? Just a moment ago, he had been staring at the face of death. Praying fervently for the God-Emperor to deliver him from a terrible end at the hands of those Daemons. Maybe that is what had just happened. Maybe he was dead, and that this was the afterlife. An odd one at that, but Flinn felt no urge to panic.

There were too many questions for that.

He immediately recognized his surroundings. This was the length of shoreline along the Eleventh Sea of The Emperor that he frequented during his leaves to Atripus from his post on Zemir. Being cloistered up in the winding underground of that dead rock weighed down heavily on the young mans shoulders. Flinn would count each and every day with anticipation of his next allowed trip back to civilization where the vast openness of the ocean would allow him to stretch his mental wings, so to speak.

But why was he here? Was this all real? This was no dream, that was for sure. It was apparent even now that this was another trick. Another Daemons arrogant attempt to pluck away at Flinn’s mind until nothing remained. He would have no part in that.

Looking around, he found only himself for as far as could be seen. There was not a time he could recall where the beach was not littered with people enjoying the sun. Even the spires rising in the distant capital city were not abuzz with the usual air traffic. It was just him with the world. Alone.

Flinn pushed himself on to his feet. He was still clad in combat gear, minus his helmet and weapon. Where they had wound up was not particularly worth wondering about at this point.

“Hello!” The gunner shouted with both hands at his mouth. “Is there anyone here? Hello!” As unfortunately expected, no one responded. Only the cawing of birds gliding lazily in the winds crowed back. Oblivious to his apparent imprisonment. Anger burst through his crumbling flood gate of mental restraint, and Flinn forcibly kicked a foot in to a stray branch of driftwood. “Damn you! Damn you all back to the warp!”

Unable to discharge his rage further, he plopped back to the sand and clamped both palms to his eyes.

“Will you relax, already?” A woman spoke nonchalantly.

Her voice sent a chill through his entire spinal column. A voice well recognized from a past he’d tried to bury deep. How dare the Daemons make use of such memories against him. Flinn slowly lowered his hands to reveal a hate seethed scowl and noticed a beach chair had spawned with its back turned to him roughly twenty paces away. In it sat a young women with flowing lengths of bronze hair that quivered in the breeze over her bare skin. It awakened pleasant feelings in the gunners stomach, but he wouldn’t allow himself to fall in to some greater trap. Flinn stood to cautiously approach her.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Guardsman demanded with strength after reaching her flank. His eyes fell to a large tome opened over her thighs. Glyphs of an otherworldly nature scrawled over every centimeter of the exposed pages. They swirled and morphed every passing second. “I know you aren’t who you appear to be.”

She laughed, still not bringing her blue eyes off from her book. “You were always so serious, Olen. So determined.”

“I don’t have time for this game, Daemon.” He hesitantly clenched one hand in to a fist.

“Time?” The form of Monika clamped the tome shut and pondered the word. “Time, Olen, is something you have plenty of.” She twisted her head to face him with a mischievous smirk. He fought hard not to let his thoughts become absorbed in her beauty, but emotional imprints were hard to ignore. “Still. I am impressed. A lesser man would have caved in by now. Would you believe that you’ve made it further than most of the others? I suppose that warrants some of my interest.”

“What are you talking about?” Flinn squinted at her last remark. “Where’s the rest of my squad? What are you doing to them?”

‘Monika’ released a sigh. “I’m merely exposing them to…truths. Truths that they have been blinded from for far too long. I’m offering them the chance to awaken from this cursed dream world they have been living in. Of course, such a change is hardly without sacrifice and loss.” She caught his eyes. “Those two things are no strangers for you, are they, Olen?”

“Heresy.” He growled and averted his vision to the endless sea.

His fingers ground against each other as uncertainty plagued his mind and anxiety his nerves. It was obvious now that the dark powers were attempting to seduce him. Not in the narrowed sense of temptations of the flesh, but of the abandonment of loyalty to the Imperium and all that it stood for.

“Out of all those prayers you’ve muttered, how many of them have ever been answered?” She asked to the Guardsman. “The Emperor has never once intervened to work in your favor, Olen, and that rotting corpse you so desperately worship never will. Not one of those prayers have ever managed to bring me back, have they?”

“Enough of this blasphemy!” Flinn barked with mounting frustration. He fought hard to withhold the sorrow craving a release, yet a bit of moisture managed to escape from his eyes. “You are walking a very fine line, Daemon. You taunt me with the image of the one I lost. I will not let you mock her death any longer and my allegiance to Humanity will not be tested.”

“What exactly do you plan to do about it, soldier?” The woman again laughed, further aggravating him.

Flinn turned his back to her without word as he tried to make sense of the situation. Just seeing the woman he once loved was deeply unsettling. That he was at the mercy of such horrors of Chaos compounded his despair.

“After all of that talk, you can’t even bring yourself to attack me. I’m obviously unarmed. Defenseless. Surely you could take the life from this form and escape back to that dreadful tower.” Finding no response, she decided to take a different approach. “Or, perhaps, would you rather allow yourself to relive the better days? We are alone, you know. I can deaden the pain you‘ve allowed yourself to endure for so long…”

“I won’t submit.” He shot back to her. “I will walk these shores for eternity if I must, but I won’t humor you. This is pointless.” Finally Flinn turned in order to speak more directly. “What purpose is it to torment me? Are things that dull in the warp that you must bother a lowly Guardsman?”

“The warp…” Monika shook her head disappointingly. “You are right to say that I’m not who I appear to be. But I see that this isn’t going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. You need more convincing. More time.”

“More time?” He shrugged with failure to understand. “What do you mean? Speak directly.”

“I have foreseen great things in you, First Private Olen Flinn. Maybe I’ve acted too soon, but we’ll see in the end how it will all turn out.” The woman huffed and pushed her lithe body up from the chair. He took a few steps back with disgust while the unclothed abomination stepped towards him. “There are still many variables. So, in the interest of the possibility that I’ve wasted my ‘time‘, I will offer you a choice.”

“Go on.”

“It’s simple, really.”

Taking satisfaction that he had begun contemplating playing along, the doppelganger unleashed a broad smile as she circled him before gently placing a hand upon his shoulder. Flinn kept his vision firmly locked ahead and away from her while she drew herself in. Her warm flesh pressed up against his damaged combat suit. But he slid shut his eyes to allow himself to consider the Daemons intentions. To bring himself back to a better time.

‘Monika’ ran her lips along the base of his neck before gently biting at his skin. Indescribable energy coursed through his nerves. He could begin to feel the power and pleasures that the Daemon could offer him. But he knew such things were too good to be true. In the end, once his purpose had been served, he would be discarded. It was a fate he refused to embrace no matter how addictive the temporary rewards for ignorance may be.

“Don’t.” He pushed the woman away.

A look of disappointed intrigue filled ‘Monika’s face, but was soon quickly replaced with another smile. “Very, well.” The world around him then transformed to a much more dire sight.

The skies gave way to a fiery red and every cloud shifted to billowing expanses of thick black smoke. To his side, the seas boiled off to reveal a vast seabed paved with glass. The forests surrounding the capitol burned away and the city in the distance crumbled to a charred ruin. Battered hulks of Imperial war machines and fallen soldiers littered the entire landscape while winds gushed specks of ash around him. Paradise had given way to hell defined.

Dread commandeered Flinn’s spirit while he struggled to take in the scene. Yet it didn’t shock him as much as the sight of Monika’s image rotting away until only a heavily burned skeleton remained. It limply fell to the beach in a crumpled pile.

“It is too late to stop this.” Her voice spoke from beyond. “But it isn’t too late to save yourself, Olen. We’ll be watching your progress. Escape is within your reach.”

With rapid breaths brought on by the conjured devastation of his homeworld, Flinn looked down to a krak grenade that appeared in his hand. Understanding the Daemons morbid message, he ripped free the arming pins and closed his eyes. A split second concussion painlessly ended it all without a thought spared for the Emperor.

[Next: Spehss!]

[Note: Won't continue this until I complete my entry for the 2010 fiction contest.]


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