The Song of the Warp

Griffons were the natural enemies of ponies. They were everything ponies were not: warlike, brutal, hateful, vicious, militant, expansionist, mighty warriors all. Griffonic society was built completely around their military. To be a soldier was considered the greatest honor one could have. Militarily the most advanced species on Epona, the Griffons would have been the dominant species of Epona, were it not for the ponies. Griffons hated the ponies, seeing them as conniving, manipulative weaklings. The ponies saw the Griffons as barbarians.

What did Space Marines think of them then? They were both prey. However, one prey was easier to corrupt. The Word Bearers and World Eaters would help the ponies only because of their warp connection. There were always grand uses for them. Griffons had a strange lack of psykers, and were almost incorruptible by the warp. Although their violence could be attributed to Khorne, they were in no way Chaotic. They worshiped order. Griffons were disciplinarians, and hated Chaos in any form, especially the pantheon. They had to be exterminated with extreme prejudice.

The Griffons had made several incursions into Equestria throughout the years. Each time, Celestia had not the will to kill them. Celestia was a diplomat, not a warrior. Luna was the warrior, the fighter of the siblings. She was more than willing to kill off the Griffons. There had been no incursions while she had sat upon the throne with her sister. However, the previous incursions were made when she had been exiled to the moon. Now, the Griffons attacked because they knew she was not trusted by the Guard, and they refused to follow her. Equestria was at its weakest.

With the recent development of gunpowder weaponry by the Griffons, victory seemed assured to them. Seem was the operative word. Nothing is ever what it seems. If it was, where would the fun in all of it be?

In support of their so called allies, the Legions sent one squad each. Twenty Space Marines to subdue a nation, to kill a people. It hardly seemed fair. “Fair for whom?” one must ask. That is always the key question.

***

The first incursion was into the Northern Equestrian city of Stalliongrad. It was bitterly cold there year round. At least, the ponies considered it cold. The Griffons were constantly being subjected to worse temperatures. To them, it was like the warmest summer day, and it was twenty Celsius below zero. Cold lands make for hard warriors.
Bladetongue was a warrior of Gryphus. He marched through the streets with his comrades on his hind claws. In his front claws he clutched a tubular device. Blood drenched the snow covered streets and screams permeated the air as ponies were viciously massacred in their homes. His squad leader led them to the next objective, a grey tenant building.

“Hold!” cried the officer, “mount blades!”

As one, the Griffons removed blades from their belts, affixing them to the fronts of their rifles. Next they brought the rifles across their chests, and stomped their rear claws in a loud clicking sound, the ready position of Gryphus.

“Bladetongue, it’s your turn to lead! Get in there, now!” the section commander roared.

Bladetongue calmly strode to the white painted door, kicking it down with his hind claw. It toppled with a loud crash. A pony jumped out at him, a knife clutched in its magical aura. The muzzle suggested that it was a stallion. As the knife sped towards his eye, Bladetongue side stepped the knife. He brough the stock of his gun into the pony’s skull with a thunderous crack. The pony fell to the ground, clutching his face. The bone had been completely shattered, the eye destroyed by fragments. Bladetongue calmly rolled the screaming pony onto his back, before spearing the creature in the stomach with his bayonet. The pony screamed as the blade entered his organs, and blood began to run in great droves from his nose. Bladetongue struck again, this time in the healthy eye. He speared it out of the socket, trailing the optical nerve, blood spraying wildly from the cavity. To Bladetongue’s disgust, some of the blood smeared his armor. Dammit! He had just polished it!

His comrades rushed past him into the building, searching room by room for their accursed foe. A series of shots sounded, followed by the sound of falling bodies. His comrades emerged, armor smeared with crimson vitae. The building was set on fire and left to burn. They continued to the next building. There were still twenty three to go through. They did it for what was natural. Artificial control may be orderly, but what was orderly was nothing when it was Warp influenced.
***

Two Stormbirds screamed over the city. Plumes of smoke expanded overhead, and fires spat from windows. The city was a mess of flame. That ruled out thermal imagery. The city was a mess of hit signatures, it was impossible to make anything out. The smoke would wreck havoc with visibility as well, however. For an ordinary human, it would be impossible to see or breathe. For a Space Marine, it was merely an irritant to be ignored.

The scenes in each Stormbird were completely different. The Word Bearers remained silent, meditating on the Words of Lorgar, praying to the Pantheon for glory in war. They hoped to raise enough of a slaughter to make Khorne himself proud. They stood organized and disciplined. They were contradictions, aberrations. They were chaotic and orderly at the same time, an oxymoron to mortals, but making perfect sense to the chosen.

The World Eaters were different in almost every way. They were loud and boisterous, cracking crude jokes, betting on the number of kills they would have. They twitched from the Butcher’s Nails, snarling for blood. The last thing they thought of was the Pantheon. They were truly Chaotic, and they cared nothing for it.

Both Stormbirds crashed down into the main square of the despoiled city. It was the only location large enough for them. The square swarmed with Griffons, foul abominations to the gods of chaos. Turrets located on top of the Stormbirds unloaded thousands of rounds into the orderly ranks. The Griffons assumed that a shield wall would save them from the weapons. They were wrong. Each bolt shell spat from the turrets immediately ignited miniature solid fuel boosters, enabling them to remain traveling faster than sound. Each round punched through the shields and armor like they were paper. With each impact, there was a two second delay before the bolt shells detonated, peppering the wielders with shrapnel, or blowing them apart from the inside. Heads exploded in fountains of crimson gore. Griffons were torn in half by the heavy fire, intestines trailing after their bisected forms. Limbs were amputated, throwing their screaming owners to the ground to bleed out and die.

The ramps slammed down. Again, the differences between the two legions were apparent. The Word Bearers advanced in neat rows, firing their bolters as they moved. They chanted unholy writes from the Book of Lorgar, chilling their foes with their sheer abominableness. They reached the surviving Griffons and drew their swords, decapitating the Griffons with each blow. Survivors were dragged away and quickly crucified to buildings, nails placed through both claws and wings. Their agony would serve the warp well. It was a symphony of screaming and clashing metal, gunshots and explosions.
The World Eaters charged in disarray, despite Kharn’s best efforts to quell them. They hacked apart the Griffons with ruthless abandon, crimson ropes of blood spraying from the whirring teeth of their chain weapons. When chain weapons broke, they reverted to fists, crushing skulls in their hands with wet crunches, punching clean through the Griffons and pulling organs out, and a variety of other brutal methods. It was enough to please Khorne, and the World Eaters couldn’t care less.

Argel Tal was a whirlwind of death and destruction. He cleaved a Griffon in half, sending his soul screaming to the Warp. He speared another through the gut with his guardian spear. The Griffon attempted to block, but the force of the blow shattered his iron weapon. The spear rammed clean through, blood staining its perfect golden surface. Argel Tal back handed one with one of his Ceramite wings before tearing a leg clean off. He finished the Girffon with a quick swipe of his blade. All the while, Argel Tal displayed no emotion whatsoever. He did it for the Primarch and the Pantheon. He did what was expected, no less. He killed another Griffon with a quick pierce to the skull. The bird-lion hybrid died with an undignified squawk.

“Captain Argel Tal,” A voice buzzed through his Vox, “We will pull out and orbit the city. We have fuel to last two hours at least.”

“Acknowledged, pilot,” Argel Tal returned, both voices garbled by the communicator, “We will only need half.”
The square was already piled with Griffon dead. Blood seeped through tiles like tenticles. The body count had reached roughly five hundred. Two minutes had passed since the insertion began. Of the twenty Space Marines, none had so much as taken a scratch.