Of Xenos and War

by Snake Staff

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, Twilight Sparkle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Original Character, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 36450

Sequel to The Dark Ones. Twilight Sparkle now serves the Imperium of Man in its war against those who destroyed her home. But when her buried past looms large, what will become of this last little pony?

Many years after the destruction of Equestria, Twilight Sparkle serves the Imperial Inquisition in its war against those responsible. Having thought her past safely buried, what will become of her when it returns with a vengeance?

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Published 2014-07-08 08:00:06 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-01 07:43:27 UTC

Prologue: Recruitment

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury++
++3.794.873.M39++

An old man stared out at the stars. Those tiny pinpricks of light in the cold darkness of space, faintly visible now through a scratched, dirty panel of transparisteel. Many of those lights, the old man knew, were systems full to bursting with the loyal subjects of the God Emperor of Mankind. Others held only so much stellar dust and barren rock. Some, he knew, had been destroyed eons ago, the light of their final moments simply having yet to reach the space he occupied. Still others contained only horror and suffering for the children of mankind. It was those final systems that kept the old man so busy.

Inquisitor Tas Rovini of Ordo Xenos turned his gaze away from the bottomless, strangely hypnotic depths of space with a slight grimace. He’d allowed himself a moment’s rest, but no more. Still, the moment felt entirely too long. His ocean-blue eyes returned their focus to the text on his desk. An ancient Munitorum report displayed itself on a dataslate, long since sealed from the common record, but preserved for the Inquisition by the efforts of Ordo Scriptorum. The language was typical Administratum fare, but the incident described was far from ordinary. According to the report, dated 719.M36, several Imperial planets on the edge of Segmentum Obscuras had issued cries for help, prior to total silence.

Inquisitor Rovini examined the brief report for the fifth time before pulling another file onto the screen. This one, an Inquisitorial investigation carried out approximately six years after the planets had last been contacted, noted the unusual fate of the Imperial worlds. All traces of life had been utterly eradicated in a manner not consistent with any known form of Exterminatus. No evidence could be found of Warp taint, and no known xenos in the sector employed such a method. The Orks were anything but subtle in their crude war-making efforts, and the Eldar raiders known to occasionally molest that region of space had never shown a propensity to annihilate all living things on over a dozen Imperial worlds. The investigation had ended inconclusively when the Inquisition suddenly found its resources strained by the Despoiler’s 5th Black Crusade and the subsequent surge of Chaos-inspired uprisings across the galaxy. The fate of a few minor planets at the edge of the Imperium had quickly become unimportant.

Now, more than three thousand years later, Inquisitor Rovini was dedicating much of his time to sorting through ancient records, trying to gain some sense of this adversary that he had been warned of. With his reports from the curious little xeno survivor to use as comparison, he was making some degree of headway. The maze of Imperial bureaucracy was incomprehensibly vast, but certain things could be found by those who knew how to look. Now, perhaps if he just-

The Inquisitor’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of buzzing on his desk. “Ah, yes, of course. Kylara is here.”

With a small curse at time for slipping away so damned fast, Inquisitor Rovini pulled up Kylara’s reports of the last several months and sat back in his chair. With a full head of neatly-combed white hair, matching thick mustache, and a face most would describe as friendly, the Inquisitor had little difficulty dealing with subordinates face to face. He pressed a control to unseal the locked door, and bade his Acolyte to enter.

The door slid open momentarily. Interrogator Kylara was first through. An olive-skinned, green-eyed woman of average height, her hard face, perpetual scowl, and prominent cheekbones, in conjunction with her station, leant her an air of menace to all who knew what she was. Behind her were a pair of grey-armored Inquisitoral Stormtroopers, hellguns in hand. Between the two, barely reaching up to their waists, was the reason for her long absence.

A small, purple xenos stepped into the room in dutiful sync with the men around her. Though her equine ancestry was obvious from her form, her horn, wings, enlarged eyes, and shortened muzzle made her xenos nature equally as apparent. For a creature that had so often vexed the Inquisitor with her insane panic and painfully slow interrogation, she seemed relatively calm at being escorted into his presence. Though, he noted, she still flinched away from the shadows, holding closely to the brightest areas she walked through.

Kylara led the small procession straight to her Inquisitor without hesitation. She strode directly up to his desk and halted, arms folding behind her back, head bowed in a gesture of respect. She waited patiently for the troopers and xeno to arrive behind her, then simply stood still and awaited direction.

“At ease, Interrogator.”

Kylara lifted her head. “Yes, my Lord. I came with the xeno, as ordered. What would you have of me?”

“For the moment? I wish you to wait. I will want to hear everything in person, but first I would speak to this one.” He gestured slightly to the xeno. “Alone.”

Kylara blinked in surprise. “My Lord, is that… wise?”

Inquisitor Rovini raised an eyebrow. Kylara was not normally the sort to question orders. Precisely why she was so useful. “I can assure you, Interrogator, that I shall emerge from this meeting intact and ready to hear your full report. Now please, I do not appreciate my time being taken without my consent. You have escorted our prisoner here as I asked, now kindly wait for the few minutes until I have need of you again.”

“But, sir… Your safety may be compromised.”

“Interrogator.” he said in a tone just a fraction lower.

Kylara lowered her gaze, almost meekly. “Yes, my Lord.” She turned and walked briskly back the way she came, armored boots clanking across the metal floor, a dark expression on her face. The stromtroopers were not far behind, though they glared hostilely at the small equine on their way out. The door slid shut behind them with another touch of the controls, and the Inquisitor and xeno were left alone.

The little equine xeno called Twilight Sparkle gazed up at the old man in behind the desk, her face curiously void of emotion. When she spoke a few moments later, it was in a surprisingly dull monotone.

“You’re monsters,” she said. Her tone was that of someone stating a fact, not making accusations.

Inquisitor Rovini raised a curious eyebrow at that. Few talked to his kind like that and expected to live.

“You sustain your empire through cruelty, lies, and violence. You kill anypony – anyone” the xeno corrected herself, “Who tries to disagree with you, or to leave. You hate everything else in the galaxy. You’ve wiped out entire species just for existing. If you had found us first, you would have destroyed my kind just because we were there and not human.”

“Bold, to come here and say that to my face.”

“I’ve told you all I know. But I’m still alive. And your flunky there,” she gestured back at the entrance where Kylara had gone, “Has been letting me see real things since I woke up. She hasn’t been asking me for more. If all you wanted was my story, you would have killed me when I was comatose and helpless. But you didn’t. You want something more from me.”

“Straight to the point then?”

“I see little reason to walk on clouds about it.”

“And if I wished to?”

“You don’t strike me as the type.”

“An accurate assessment,” Inquisitor Rovini folded his hands together and leaned forward. “I find myself in the position of a man who needs as many resources as possible, as soon as possible. While some of my more fiery colleagues might… disagree with my methods, I feel that certain liberties of creed can be taken in defense of the God Emperor’s realm.”

“A lowly xeno is a resource now?”

“A xeno psyker of your power level could prove valuable.”

“You want my service.”

“Again, correct.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“That depends. Do you consider death a choice?”

“So quick to threats?”

“No. A mere statement of fact. You will leave this ship in my service, or you will never leave it at all.”

“Hmmm. You’re very confident for somepony - someone alone in a room with a powerful psyker.”

Rovini met the xeno’s gaze with an utterly unconcerned look. She couldn’t know about the concealed force field on his person, nor his teleportarium beacon, nor his specially consecrated armored robes, nor any of the other multi-layered defenses sequestered about his person.

A look of curiosity appeared on Twilight’s face. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Go where you’re told, and use your mind and powers in service to the Imperium of Man.”

“What’s my motivation?”

“Other than life? Revenge.”

“You’re going to fight those monsters.”

“Yes.”

“The ones that destroyed everypony on my homeworld.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think I’ll believe you? What makes you think I won’t just run the moment I get the chance?”

“Tell me, where do you think you can run to?”

“Perhaps I can reproduce asexually. Perhaps I’ll start laying eggs all over some distant planet and repopulate.”

“You would already have done that, if you could.”

The little xeno gave what looked to be a shrug. “Fair enough.”

“And are you truly prepared to allow the same xenos that killed your planet to escape any retribution from your kind? Now that you are the last?”

“Princess Celestia wouldn’t want me to join you. She’d say that you were horrible villains and murderers, and that to join you would be to lower myself to the same level the dark ones are at.”

Twilight lowered her gaze to the ground. Inquisitor Rovini simply stared at her. For a moment, all was silence.

“But Princess Celestia isn’t around anymore, is she?”

The old man shook his head.

“Everything I knew is gone. Everypony I loved is dead – or worse. What else do I have, really?”

“You have the same choice everything else in this universe has: you can fight, or you can die. You may have a moment to consider. But do not try my patience; I have much more work to do.”

“I’ll do it,” said Twilight, without a moment’s hesitation.

“You pledge your allegiance so quickly?”

“Like you said, Inquisitor, I really can only fight or die. And I’m not going down without dragging everypony behind Equestria’s doom with me.” Then Twilight did something the Inquisitor truly did not expect – she smiled. “You’re monsters, but I need monsters to destroy them.”

“You may start by referring to me by my proper title. To you, I am “Lord Rovini”, or simply “My Lord”. Is that clear?”

“Yes… My Lord.”

“Good. Now, Interrogator Kylara’s reports speak very highly of your psychic potential. Still, I require proof of your abilities as a psyker – and your willingness to obey.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“A tribe of feral Orks has been a persistent nuisance to Imperial mining efforts on Carsius II. You will accompany a number of men there. And you will destroy the xenos scum.”

“Sir…” Twilight’s expression looked uneasy at the prospect of such a mission.

Inquisitor Rovini’s face hardened. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to coddle you,” he said sharply. “If you cannot handle such a simple task, there is no place for you in the Imperium of Man. So I’ll ask this only once: will you do as I ordered?”

Twilight’s face froze. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Seconds ticked by in utter silence. Them, just as quickly, it was over.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good. We shall speak again when the task is done. Dismissed.”

Massacre

++Hive Tersius, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

Death. The universal constant. It is the fate of all that live to someday perish, whether they believe themselves immortal or not. Eventually, even the stars go out. It comes in many forms – blade and bullet, disease and age, toxin and asphyxiation. For billions on the Imperil Hive World of Denton III, death came in the form of the Necrontyr.

The first most knew of it was when the ghostly fleet had appeared from nowhere near the system’s primary star. For hours, a quartet of Necron starships lead twice that number of Imperial warships on a merry dance around the system, disgorging dozens of smaller craft as they did so. Finally, the xenos fleet powered up engines and vanished as suddenly as it appeared, but the fighting had only just begun. The swarm of crescent-shaped, fighter-sized craft penetrated the remaining orbital defenses with ease, and then the killing had begun. Hive Quaries had been the first target, swarmed by the deadly craft. They scoured sections of the exterior of life before swooping low to complete their primary. More Necrons appeared from them in rapidly-increasing ranks. First soldiers, then vehicles, then floating pyramids and more disgorged themselves into the hive. The entire PDF force stationed there and over ten million civilians perished in the first hour. Almost a billion, the hive’s entire population, were to die before the day was over.

Since that first strike, the forces of the Necrons and Imperium had waged a vicious, bloody war over the six hives that remained. The xenos were impossibly outnumbered, facing not only the world’s PDF, bloated beyond belief by a hasty conscription by the panicked nobility, but regiments from the Imperial Guard, and even the Emperor’s Angels of Death, Adaptus Astartes from the Thunder Serpents chapter. But where a lesser foe would have withered and perished, blockaded from space and subjected to punishing bombardments at every turn, the Necrontyr endured. Thousands of lives were extinguished with each attack by the mechanical terrors, and their overlords had not yet deigned to end the world’s suffering. So the battle continued.

Serisa Quintus Jedia Mae, or simply Serisa, stood vigil over a nondescript doorway. It was not much to look at, simply another ordinary rusted scrap of metal in the lower parts of the ancient superstructure that made up the hive. The lighting down this low was astonishingly unreliable, and sunlight nonexistent. A handful of old glow strips flickered feebly at intermittent variables, where they had not been scavenged or looted by the hive gangs or lone stragglers. The bulky goggles covering her eyes provided the vision she needed, even if they turned the world red in the process.

Serisa was dressed in patchwork clothing typical of this level. Thick hive leathers molded into a vest protected her upper body, while patched breeches and rubbery boots covered her legs and feet. At her belt was a prominently displayed autopistol, large enough to deter most of the scum who saw it. Standing on the other side of the door was Garvel, her partner. Together, they looked like little more than the typical underhive gang scum. They had been, once. But that was before the Prophet came along.

The Prophet had revealed the truth of this conflict to them. The rotten forces of the False Emperor, those that had despoiled this world and mercilessly tyrannized its people, would be swept away by the forces of the Masters. Those alien beings, so feared by those in power, had to cleanse this planet of the filth infesting it and start again. Only those that were loyal, now, would join them in coming age of immortality. Those that resisted or bowed and scraped to the False Emperor would perish with all his minions. He had shown Serisa all these things and more with his Sacred Orb, a green and silver gift from the Masters. Now she stood vigil over entrance to the Believers’ Temple, where the rest of the faithful gathered to plan their next actions.

Serisa looked out around the streets again. They were deserted, as one might expect at this time of night, on this miserable rust pile. Her goggled eyes swept over old rockrete and the flickering glow strips. She paused and whipped her head around when movement showed in the corner of her vision. Her hand went to her autopistol. She drew the gun and held it in front of herself.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” asked Garvel, his hands gripping his own weapon, a massive stub-automatic. “What you see?”

“I thought I saw…” Serisa’s voice trailed off. A few dozen meters down the way was an old, rusted, half-smashed crate. It had been there the whole time, and was long since empty of anything but filth. But when she looked at it now…

Garvel was the first to voice the feeling. “I want it.”

Serisa nodded dumbly, lowering her pistol. “I need it.”

Serisa started walking. Slowly, at first, but then faster. The burning desire, the absolute need for that old crate was exploding inside her, eclipsing everything else. She wondered, as she burst into a sprint, how she had ever lived her life without it.

Then a lasbolt speared through her brain, and she never wondered about anything again.

“Nice shot,” said Twilight Sparkle, as she watched a streak of red pierce the woman’s skull, followed by two through the man’s chest. The two crumpled without a sound. “Very nice. But did you need to use two on the big guy?”

“Didn’t have a clear shot at his head from up here,” came the reply through her comm-bead.

“We’re going for the door. Cover us.”

“Roger that, TS.”

“Don’t let any get out from there, no matter what happens.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Good. TS out.”

“Mallia out.”

The purple xenos raised a grey-armored hoof and pointed. “Orl, Titus, Jakes, go.”

The three armored men dashed out of the cover they’d been in and across the now-deserted alleyway. They passed the softly-smoking corpses and reached the rusted door they’d been guarding. One of them knelt to examine it.

“Primitive lock. Bolt-style. I can get it in fifteen, thirty if you want it quiet.” Orl voxed back over.

“Quiet please. We don’t want them alerted.”

“Roger.” He whipped out a tool from his belt and began dissembling the door’s lock from the outside. Twilight waited patiently with the remainder of the Inquisitorial team, keeping an eye out for any passers-by. Fortunately, there were none.

At last, the pieces of the rusted thing littered the ground, and Orl pulled on the door experimentally. It slid softly, without the squeaking one would expect of such apparently ill-maintained equipment.

“We’re in.” he voxed.

“Acknowledged. Coming to join you.” Twilight voxed back. She gestured to the man and woman with her, Lupus and Narcia, respectively, and then made her own dash across the alley. The soft padding on the hooves of her armor muffled her steps as she approached the three men by the door. She nodded approvingly as the group formed up to go in. “Remember, we want this Prophet and his Orb. I’ll deal with him. Eliminate the others.”

The men around her nodded their acknowledgment.

“Go.”

The door slid open. The squad rushed in.

The hall they entered was nothing like the worn exterior. The floors were scrupulously cleaned and polished free of rust. The lighting was a bright, consistent white. Symbols of the Necrons, meticulously rendered in green paint that seemed to have a slight glow of its own, decorated the walls. The place had sterile, almost pure feel to it.

A man with a lasgun leaned against one of the walls, looking bored. He barely had a chance to jump before a hellgun shot burned through his chest, and he collapsed limply to the floor. A look of shock was permanently frozen onto his face.

The Imperial team didn’t even slow their charge down the hallway. They could hear their target, not far now, expositing on the supposed glories of the age to come under the Masters’ benevolent gaze. They rounded a corner and burst into the chapel.

Once, it had been warehouse. Used to store manufactured products from the hive, then abandoned by the authorities and taken over by one of the many hive gangs on Denton III, and most recently converted to the service of the heretical cult now listening to its leader preach. Crude pews, mostly benches stolen from broken machine workshops and some assorted junk, filled the wide area in a mockery of one of the God Emperor’s sacred chapels. Some three or four dozen men and women from the underhive had gathered to hear their Prophet speak.

A few turned in shock at noise behind them. The most perceptive had already started to rise. It didn’t help.

Five small ovoid objects flew out of the intruding group and into the midst of the crowded rows. The most intelligent of the cultists kicked or batted at them as they landed, trying to put distance between themselves and the weaponry. Two seconds later, the five frag grenades exploded throughout the chapel, flinging dozens of pieces of lethal shrapnel throughout the crowd. The luckiest cultists were killed instantly. The less fortunate were left to bleed out on the floor. A handful had been shielded from the blasts by their fellows, or had simply been lightly wounded. They went for what weapons they had or fled as the Imperials followed up with hellgun blasts to anyone moving.

Twilight Sparkle was not paying attention to that. She had vanished in a purple flash before the grenades went off, reappearing behind the makeshift podium where the Prophet stood. He wasn’t much to look at – a skeletal old man with a small amount of grey hair and what looked to be a bad skin condition. In his left hand was clutched an untitled, tattered black book, one of a billion such things in this sector. In his right was the other target of the night: a glowing green orb encased by what looked like a pair of twin silvery spiders. He barely had time to flinch away from the grenades before Twilight was on him.

The alicorn’s horn glowed as her telekinetic aura seized the man’s legs. He toppled over onto his face with a yelp of surprise. An armored hoof knocked the orb from his hand before he could recover, purple telekinesis grabbing hold of it as well. As he rolled onto his back, clutching an obviously broken nose, a floating bolt pistol leveled itself at his head.

“Surrender,” Twilight said calmly. “You’re done.”

The Prophet shook his head, a look of fury taking hold. “No… No… The Masters will prevail. You will die here! Throw down your arms and you may be allowed to live!”

“You’re delusional. Your “Masters” care nothing for you. And your little cult is just about through.” Twilight gestured to the scene around them. One of the cultists had managed to injure Jakes with a stubber shot through a weak spot in his carapace armor, but that was their only causality. Every single cultist, by contrast, was bleeding out on the floor or dead, and the Imperials were walking among them and turning the former into the latter with practiced efficiency.

The Prophet looked out onto the carnage with a shocked expression, which rapidly morphed into fury. “You’ll pay for this!”

“I think not. Surrender.”

“Never! I- AAARRRGGGHHH!!!” The Prophet’s features contorted with a sudden agony. He clutched his face with both hands and screamed.

Twilight backed off a step or two as the man flailed, unsure of what was going on and unwilling to shoot her prize just yet. She failed to notice the brightening glow of the orb.

The Prophet sat bolt upright with a sudden twitch. And then his face exploded.

Human blood, bone, and brain matter splattered Twilight and the floor around her as something burst out of the old man’s face in a spray of gore. Her bolt pistol barked, more by instinct than conscious thought. The silvery thing was blown backwards and to pieces by the powerful ammunition of the Imperial weapon. One of the pieces bounced off Twilight’s armor and clattered to the floor in front of her. It looked like half of some kind of metallic insect leg…

“Mindshackle scarab!” Twilight’s well-honed mind reacted instantly. She glanced up at the orb, now glowing far brighter than mere moments before. It took less than a second to piece it together. “Ambush!” she cried over the vox. Too late.

The orb in her telekinetic grip flashed once. Suddenly, the room previously occupied by Imperials and corpses played host to a dozen Necron Warriors. The alicorn lost her grip on her pistol and the orb as her mind reeled.

“Retreat!” Twilight screamed, even as she vanished and reappeared across the chapel in a flash of magic.

Jakes was injured and slow to react. Two gauss beams caught him in the chest and arm, disintegrating both instantly.

“Emperor’s holy balls!” Narcia, who had been supporting him, screamed, immediately before taking a shot to the head.

Across the chapel, the orb, now free of Twilight’s grip, had clattered to the ground. It flashed again, and the number of Necrons in the room doubled.

“Run! Run for your damn lives!” Twilight yelled again as she rushed back into the hallway they had come through. The remaining three humans had little problem with doing exactly that, bolting into the hall behind the alicorn as fast as their legs could take them. Orl had the profound misfortune of being the last in, and he took a gauss shot to his left leg. He screamed as it disintegrated, writhing on the floor for the half second it took for three more shots to finish him off.

Twilight grabbed her second bolt pistol with her magic, pointed it at the Necron nearest the door, and fired. Once. Twice. Three times. The mechanical abomination’s head and chest exploded under the impact and it fell. Lupus and Titus, the two humans left, rushed past her as she did. Twilight vanished from the spot just in time to avoid the retaliatory fire focused on her. She reappeared just behind her fellows, and they ran.

The first Necron to stride unhurriedly into the hallway took a pair of hellgun shots and a bolt from Twilight’s pistol, its large profile and the short distance compensating for the difficulties of shooting whist running. Virtually sawed in half, it too hit the floor.

Twilight’s horn glowed as she concentrated hard on her spell. She, Lupus, and Titus vanished in a flash of magic, and then appeared two levels up, where Mallia was stationed.

Or, rather, where Mallia had been stationed. Instead of their sniper and her trusty long-las, an enormous insectile machine with a wormlike tail waited to greet the Inquisition’s representatives. Twilight’s head was wracked by a splitting pain from the effort of the spell even as the Canpotek Wraith pounced. Its clawed legs jammed themselves into Lupus’ torso, spilling his blood everywhere.

Titus backed away and screamed, firing blindly on full auto. Several of his shots simply passed through the creature without harm, burning large holes into the wall and ceiling of the balcony they were on. But one struck at just the right moment, melting the connecting joint of one of the mechanical horror’s legs. It fizzled and sparked uselessly. Another pierced its chest, exposing the alien interior of the wraith.

Twilight telekinetically pulled the trigger of her bolt pistol and didn’t let go until there was no more ammunition in the magazine. Bolts flew through the monstrosity's head and torso, tearing open more holes. The wraith let out some kind of mechanical shriek as it collapsed onto the floor. Titus leveled his hellgun at the thing’s head and fired three more times, melting it to so much slag.

Human and alicorn slumped back against the walls for a moment, breathing heavily.

“Thank the Emperor,” Titus panted. “Oh, thank the Emperor.”

“They knew we were coming. Not the human pawns, the Necrons,” Twilight managed between wheezes as she clutched her head. “We need to get out of here. We need to warn command. Where’s our long-range vox?”

“Jakes had it, remember?”

Twilight rubbed her head again. “Then we need to get moving. Now.”

Assault

++Unknown Location, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

Nemesra Ehtekhra rose in a painful, stilted manner and took long, slow steps down the dais where her throne was perched. She began to pace deliberately around the circular command center she occupied. Her undying metal form was capable of much greater speed, naturally, but clinging fervently to old identity and habits helped stave off the madness that had already claimed so many of her contemporaries. She had been a female in the Time of Flesh, and so she insisted on keeping the appropriate feminine titles, such as Nemesra in place of Nemesor, in spite of being a metallic skeleton indistinguishable from any male of the same rank. She had been an old woman when the Transference was initiated by the Silent King and the C’tan, so she kept an old woman’s gait and her old pacing habits. Trivial details in the eyes of many, and perhaps they were correct, but they helped her remember who she had been.

“Attack formation Sigma 17,” she spoke out in her raspy, synthetic voice. The silent Necron Immortals seated at command consoles situated around the chamber dutifully obeyed, sending her instructions to the waiting legions. Ehtekhra didn’t need to talk to communicate with them, of course, but it was another habit she had kept up since the awakening. While all the pleasures of the flesh might be denied her, she would not give away the sound of her own voice, even if there was no one else there capable of carrying out a meaningful conversation.

“An interesting choice,” came a response in what would pass for a polite manner in the deathly mechanical monotone that was left to the Necrontyr.

Ehtekhra’s skull-like head turned to face the source of the sound. If she had been capable of frowning any longer, she would have. Her guest, and the sole other occupant of the chamber that could be considered meaningfully sapient, was a hooded Necron in a blue scaled cape, and carrying a staff in his left hand. Thantekh the Deathless he had called himself, when he had come uninvited to her battlefront.

It was an obvious alias, merely a name taken from a fabled hero in the Time of Flesh. Still, the forces he commanded were sufficient such that the only way to have stopped him from coming would have been to openly engage in battle and to do so would be to risk failing in her assigned task altogether. And that was something Nemesra Ehtekhra was not willing to do. So, reluctantly, she had accepted him as a subordinate in the campaign against the weak alien creatures of this world, and joined his forces to hers. It had been at her insistence that he stay in her command center during the fighting, the better to keep an eye on him.

“What makes you say that?” she replied after a moment’s glance.

“I merely felt that it was an unusual choice in initial engagement formation, my dear lady. I meant no offense. I am sure you have your reasons,” he offered, hands held out deferentially.

“That I do. Now, watch me and learn.”

“As you say, honored Nemesra.”

Ehtekhra turned her attention back to the Immortals and the consoles they operated as she resumed her pacing. “Status,” she demanded with just a bare hint of pique.

“Jamming fields raised,” came one reply.

“Night Scythes in position,” came another.

“Warriors ready.”

“Monoliths prepared.”

There was a brief pause, and then a final Immortal turned its head to face her. “All forces are in position.”

“Commence attack.”

++Hive Tersius, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

“Then we need to get moving. Now.” Twilight said while rubbing her head again to clear the last of the brief but intense pain from it. Magic, or psychic power as the humans called it, carried a price for her that it hadn’t in Equestria. When the Aether, or Warp, was disturbed by the intense emotions, particularly death screams, of large numbers of sapient life-forms, magic required a good deal more effort. When all-consuming, genocidal planetary wars hadn’t been a big feature in her life, this hadn’t come up.

Titus nodded his agreement. “Right. Command needs to know ‘bout what happened down there.”

Twilight peered down over the balcony. “And there’s them,” she whispered, and pointed. Necron warriors were beginning to exit the building where the raid and ambush had just taken place, their pace no more hurried than usual. Green flashes could be seen through the open doorway as the machines began to spread out.

Titus peaked briefly before hurriedly withdrawing his head. “Let’s go. Before we’re next.”

The human and alicorn backed silently into the run-down hab unit that they’d taken over for a sniper post not ten minutes before. Inside, Titus had to stifle a gasp. Mallia’s body, torn messily in two, was still oozing a dull trickle of blood onto the corroded floor at their feet. Twilight’s frown deepened as her Stormtrooper companion muttered a brief prayer to his Emperor to watch her soul.

“Come on!” she whispered urgently. “I know she was your lover, but we have a little more urgent business right now. Mourn when we’re not about to join her!” She took off, telekinetically throwing open the door and heading urgently to the lift shaft they’d used to get down these last few dozen floors. Her remaining bolt pistol fitted itself with a new magazine and returned to its holster while she ran, an art she’d mastered a long time ago.

“Right!” he muttered, shaking his head to clear focus back on the mission. He ran after her before his brain caught up with what she’d said. “Wait, you knew?! And you didn’t say anything?! You know that’s against regs.”

Twilight snorted as they reached their shaft. As hoped, the lines the group had used to rappel down were intact. But that no longer mattered. “Please. The two of you weren’t half as subtle as you liked think. And turn you in? I’m already a xeno and a witch, you think I want “rat” added to my reputation for something like that?”

The lavender alicorn jumped into the shaft, wings flapping to hold her steady, even in her grey carapace armor. Titus began affixing his climbing gear to one of the lines, but Twilight interrupted by just yanking him into the shaft and holding him with magic.

“Whoa!” he reflexively spun his arms to try and balance on a ground he no longer touched. “You bloody well know I hate it when you do that!”

Twilight flew straight up, dragging her human companion along for the ride. “And I hate seeing good people getting vaped because they were too slow.”

“Point taken.”

Alicorn wings carried the two up dozens of stories of underhive in the space of seconds, far faster than even the best climbing gear could match. They reached its peak in good time, and Twilight unceremoniously tossed Titus back onto his feet. His training let him balance himself again rather quickly, with only a short stumble.

“Bah! Warn me next time, ya bloody witch,” he muttered irritably.

“Sure, if there is a next time.” Twilight had already started moving. The squad had a Valkyrie doing standby flights further up. It was supposed to have extracted them and their prisoner after the cult raid, but with only micro-beads left for communication, they couldn’t call on it until they had climbed a bit more.

Titus moved to follow her, but paused by a shattered window. His keen vision had evidently seen something. Frowning, he retrieved a pair of magnoculars from his belt and took another look outside. “Shit. Fugging Warp shit.”

“What?” Twilight paused and turned back to him. “What do you see?”

“The bloody ‘crons are on us!”

“Let me see!” Twilight reappeared by the window.

Titus handed her the magnoculars and pointed to the side of the hive. “There. They’re on the other side of the hive. You can just make out those creepy weapon flashes from here.”

“Damn and blast,” Twilight cursed as she saw what he was talking about. There were indeed the telltale green flashes of gauss weaponry emanating from the other side. “And they’re coming from below and over here as well. Command needs to know, now.” Pictures of another dead hive city flashed in her head. She tossed the magnoculars back to Titus, who nimbly caught them. “I need to get in range of our ride. Can you wait while I fly?”

The human nodded sourly. Waiting around for someone else to save the day wasn’t in his nature. “Fine. But be quick.”

“Of course.” Twilight spread her wings again and leapt out the window, gaining altitude rapidly.

Imperial Guard Lieutenant Gaius Magnus of the 138th Jorian Dragons regiment ducked back below the window he’d been shooting out of. And just in time too. Several green energy bolts passed overhead, vaping bits of the building wherever they hit. He spared a glance the lads. One hadn’t been quick enough, his headless body now slumped below the windowsill, being eaten away by whatever alien witchery went into these xenos weapons.

“Damn it all,” he swore under his breath. His platoon had been caught in the relative open when the xenos aircraft had started their attack runs and been reduced to squad-level strength in the first few minutes. Over two squads of men, good men he’d known for years now, vaped in a cowardly night attack by an enemy they could only hear. And now he was being ordered by his superiors to hold position against a surging tide of these seemingly endless xenos scum. “Alright lads, back on your feet! For the Emperor! FIRE!”

Let it not be said that Lieutenant Magnus wasn’t going to uphold the honor of his homeworld and regiment to the last.

A coordinated volley of las-bursts flew from the half-ruined building. Most pattered off the necrodermis shells of the aliens without effect, but one or two succumbed to accumulated damage or were simply hit in the wrong spot. Lieutenant Magnus himself tossed a frag grenade, his last, at a rapidly closing pack of those hideous clawed monstrosities covered in human skin. It exploded in their midst with a rather gratifying amount of sound. A pair of them dropped, but the rest pressed forward without pausing.

“Down!” he yelled. More bursts of green energy flew over Lieutenant Magnus’ head. He could see the wall next to him starting to melt away under the xenos weaponry. But at least all the lads had been quick enough this time, thank the Emperor. “On your feet! Fi-ARGH!”

A mechanical horror leapt through the window, bowling the man over with its weight and momentum. Its stench filled his nostrils, its metal feet twisted his left arm at an unnatural angle, snapping the bone like a brittle twig. Lieutenant Magnus barely had time to scream before a blade plunged through his back and out his chest, puncturing his left lung.

More Flayed Ones leapt into the ruined building, eager to slay and feast on the flesh of weak mortals. Lasguns unleashed scores of bolts on full auto against the creatures, burning holes into their necrodermis armor or scouring away some of the rotting flesh they wore. Sharpened fingers plunged into human flesh, tearing through it like so much wet paper. Blood was everywhere. And then, it was over.

Lieutenant Magnus lay flat on his stomach, coughing out blood. It was funny, really. His system was in so much shock he could barely feel his body shutting down, unable to endure that level of damage. His right arm scrabbled at a body lying next to him. He had one last plan.

Magnus felt his fingers grip what he sought. Simultaneously, a pair of bloody metal feet occupied his vision. He managed to look up. A metal skull face covering in blackened meat and reeking of rot looked back down at him. It raised its bladed hand. The Lieutenant smiled.

“For the Emperor, you son of a bitch.”

The blades descended, slicing through spine, meat, heart, sternum, and floor. Half a second later, the frag grenade exploded, and the 138th Jorian Dragons died.

Angels of Death

++Hive Tersius, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

Twilight flapped her wings in short, powerful bursts, gaining altitude quickly. As she rose, her head swung back and forth, checking the sky around her. She couldn’t see any Necron aircraft in the immediate vicinity, but after her previous encounters with them, she knew that the crescent-shaped terrors were extremely fast when they wanted to be.

“They must be concentrated on the other side,” she concluded when no such flyers appeared to menace her. “They never attack without air cover.” Twilight rose over one hundred stories above where she had left Titus, moving into the more inhabited parts of the vast hive city. There, no one would notice a single military aircraft doing long circles, not with the war going like it was. “Next time, I bring a long range vox,” she vowed to herself as she closed to within estimated range of her micro-bread. “This is Acolyte TS to Warbird. Come in, Warbird.”

Static crackled in her ear. “… again… repeat…”

The alicorn continued her rise. “I should be in range by now. Are they jamming us?” she worried. Aloud, she repeated herself over and over again into her bead. “This is Acolyte TS to Warbird. Come in, Warbird. This is Acolyte TS to Warbird. Come in, Warbird.”

Finally, a response came through. “About damn… not getting any signal… debating whether to bugger off or…”

“I can’t see you. Can you get a fix on my location?”

“What?”

“A fix. On my. Location.”

“What?”

“FIX! MY! LOCATION!” Twilight screamed into the micro-bead.

“Oh, fix? Just a damn minute, you little xeno piece of…”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Fly to me!”

“Huh?”

“FLY HERE!”

“Alright, I hear ya. I’m coming…”

Twilight ceased her movement and simply hovered in place, waiting for the aircraft to show. She could have tried flying herself, but that would mean leaving her last man to die, or at least find his own way back to base. And the Valkyrie was faster. It had a proper communications rig. The reduced likelihood of getting “accidentally” shot down by Imperial forces certainly didn’t hurt, either.

It took a little bit more time than was probably necessary, but at last Twilight spotted the uncreatively named Warbird in the distance. Unlike the squad, it was Imperial Navy and thus simply borrowed for the mission, which meant that…

The Valkyrie opened its side drop door to admit her. “Hurry up and get your purple ass in here, before I come to my senses.”

Yeah. That.

With a slight sigh, Twilight flew into proffered compartment. The door sealed itself shut behind her, and she stumbled as the pilot jerked hard on the controls, pulling the Valkyrie into a hard turn.

“So, you and the rest of the xenos filth got everyone killed, eh?” came a scornful voice, simultaneously from the cockpit and from her micro-bead.

Twilight frowned and bit her tongue for a moment before replying. “There’s an additional survivor in need of extraction.”

“Abandoned them, did you? No surprises there.”

Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Pilot, most of my squad was just killed in front of me. I am not in the mood for this. Just fly to these coordinates.” She recited the exact location she’d last seen Titus, her memory as sharp as it ever was.

“Yeah, and I’m not in the mood for ferrying xeno filth in my baby, but we all gotta make sacrifices, eh?”

“Do I need to remind you who exactly I work for? And what they’ll do to you if they find out you let one of their men die through tardiness?”

“If I was you, I’d be thinking about what’s gonna happen to me when I bring back one man out of six, and no prisoner.” replied the man with a distinctly triumphalist tone. Still, the Valkyrie angled down and began a rapid descent towards the underhive.

Twilight simply sat back and rested her wings, a sour expression on her face. Telekinesis grabbed the Warbird’s standard emergency kit and brought it to her face. She tore through it without a care, until her eyes found what she sought. A large, boxy piece of equipment – an Imperial Navy standard emergency vox, meant to let any downed survivors call for evacuation and medical aid. Supposedly, it was good for up to low orbital range. She began to fiddle with it, switching frequencies as they descended.

“Imperial Command, this is Inquisition Acolyte TS, do you copy? Imperial Command, this is Inquisition Acolyte TS, do you copy? Imperial Command…”

Denton III PDF Sergeant Alex Aisen was not having a particularly pleasant night. He’d had a bit of well-earned (in his opinion) time off, to spend his meager salary how he saw fit. He’d been enjoying a few rounds of what passed for booze in the lower parts of the hive and had just been getting around to picking out a joygirl for the evening when the alert sirens had started going off. Which, in addition to the half the bar he’d been relaxing in getting vaped by a passing Necron flyer, had effectively put a damper on his plans for the night.

Now, he and a rather impromptu squad of whoever the hell had been relatively near him when the shitstorm started had the unenviable task of keeping the scary xenos away from an inconvenient building full of panicked civilians. At least, they did according to the slightly scarier man with a black trenchcoat and a bolt pistol standing behind them. Aisen took a long swig of his private stock of liquid courage (aka. whiskey) from a small metal flask as Mr. Scary Commissar started yelling.

“Move those worthless hides, you lazy dogs! On the double! You gonna let these xenos scum run roughshod over your homes?!”

In truth, Sergeant Aisen would have been perfectly happy to let them do exactly that if it meant he could run away, but repeating that sentiment out loud would merely be an excellent way to join Jeston’s “I got a bolt through my brain” club. So he sucked up his fear and let the adrenalin and alcohol do the talking.

“Forward you maggots! For the Emperor! Charge!” Figuring he might as well practice what he preached for once, Aisen leapt up from the rubble he’d been taking cover behind and made a dash for some rubble slightly closer to the enemy. He fired his lasgun wildly, on full auto, towards the important-looking black and glowy green pyramid floating on the other side of the square. The lasbolts merely pinged across the surface without doing much of anything visible. “But, hey, it’s something,” he thought.

Aisen ducked down below the new rubble pile in time to avoid some retaliatory fire from the xenos advancing into the large square from the direction of the freaky pyramid. A woman running behind him wasn’t so lucky, taking so many green shots that she went from alive to dust in maybe a microsecond.

“Shame. She was cute, too,” he commented to no one in particular. He took another drink from his flask, then shrugged. “Oh well.”

“What was that, sarg?” one of the men who’d managed to reach the new piece of cover asked from his firing position, snapping off a few las shots at the machines before ducking back down. “What’d you say?”

“I said that you all are a disgrace to the Emperor and our proud Planetary Defense Force! Look at you sorry lot, cowering behind some scrap piles like a bunch of frightened juvies!” Aisen said with a slight slur, before taking another slight swing out of his rapidly-diminishing flask. “Your mommies and daddies would be ashamed of you! You should be brave, like me!” He rose, and climbed to the top of the rubble pile, balancing unsteadily on a piece of what had been a building wall. Probably. “Hey, xenos! Suck it!” he yelled, firing his lasgun on full auto into the advancing Necrons. One shot pierced the eye of a particularly luckless machine, dropping it.

The pyramid thing fired some kind of giant green lightning bolt out of its top, directly at the place where Aisen and his boys were standing. The shot vaporized half the pile and three of the PDF men ducking behind it. His precarious position atop the rubble disrupted, Aisen promptly fell backwards off the pile and onto his ass.

“Sarge!” one of the men from further back yelled, rushing forward to his superior’s aid. “You alright, sir?” He paused. Aisen was shaking. No, scratch that. Sergeant Aisen was laughing.

“Ha! This is great fun! We should do this more often!”

++Strike Cruiser Venom, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

“Targets acquired,” Techmarine Istus of the Thunder Serpents Fifth Company declared, looking up from his console. “Coordinates locked. Awaiting confirmation.”

Captain Thalis gave a curt nod. “Acknowledged. Launch drop pods.”

++Hive Tersius, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

The drop pod’s impact could be felt a dozen hive levels away. Knocked slightly off course by a glancing collision with a singularly unfortunate Doom Scythe, the machine and its precious cargo impacted directly on top of several Necrons advancing towards the Denton III PDF. Thankfully, the rugged nature of Adeptus Mechanicus construction meant that the square’s floor was only seriously dented, rather than being punched through atogether.

The unexpected location of their landing did not stop the five Astartes within the pod from doing their duty for a nanosecond. After all, they were Thunder Serpents, proud descendants of the Ultramarines Legion and loyal sons of the Emperor and Primarch. As soon as the hatches fell, the Space Marines rushed out of the drop pod and towards the enemy, firing as they went. Even with the casualties from the pod’s landing, it was at least several dozen Necron Warriors and Monolith backup against five Astartes.

One could almost feel sorry for the xenos.

The Space Marines were, to the unaided human eye, blurs, seeming to be in multiple places at once. Bolters unleashed spitting death for the handful of moments it took to close, before being clamped back to mag-lock belts. Chainswords came out in a roaring fury, dancing in tune with their masters to sunder metal heads, limbs, and torsos from their Necrontyr owners. The Necron Warriors, hindered now by their own numbers and reliance on ranged weaponry, barely had time to calculate the appropriate response and raise their gauss blasters before getting cut down. The drop pod’s own machine spirit took aim with its inbuilt bolters and offered covering fire to its battle brethren, gunning down those aliens that sought to flank humanity’s champions. The PDF men that were left offered their rescuers a resounding cheer.

Save one.

“Oy! No kill stealing!” screamed Sergeant Aisen as he drained the last of his flask, tossing it aside in his anger. “That’s MY freaky alien pyramid thing! Go find your own!”

When the Astartes rudely declined to answer the man’s polite and completely understandable request to bugger off, Aisen made up his mind to do something about it. Jamming a fresh battery pack into his lasgun and firing wildly into the massed Necron forces, Sergeant Aisen charged across the hive square, to the utter shock of the men and Commissar who knew him.

The Necron Monolith chose that particular instant to unleash its Particle Whip yet again, a giant flash of green lighting appearing to vaporize the Thunder Serpents’ drop pod with an earsplitting crack. The Astartes and Necrons were immune to such considerations, of course, but the men and women of the PDF were not. They shrieked and writhed, cluching painful and even bleeding ears close. Even noble Sergeant Aisen lost footing and hit the deck.

Aisen rose unsteadily with an embarrassed look. “Right, let’s try that again.” He cleared his throat. “For the Emperor!”

A particular Necron Warrior, more fortunate or more insightful than the others, had hung back during the Astartes’ wild charge through the crowd of its fellows. Now it had taken the opportunity to follow the path the Space Marines had cut in the xenos ranks as they charged to avenge their fallen drop pod. A marine cut down the one fellow that had been blocking that particular Necron’s aim, and it raised its gauss blaster to shoot the Astartes in his armored backside.

Only to be surprised by a bayonet punching out of its chest.

The Necron endured a further unpleasant surprise in the form of a boot to its rear that knocked it forward. Followed immediately by several wild shots across its back, neck, and skull. Its self-repair systems failing, the programming it followed directed it to phase out, retreating in a flash of green to the nearest Necron facility to undergo needed repairs.

Aisen roared his triumph to the heavens before resuming his wild charge.

The Astartes had cut down dozens of Necrons in considerably fewer seconds. Some even badly enough to prevent their repair programs from getting them back on their feet. They had lost an honored comrade – their drop pod’s machine-spirit had served the Chapter for over three thousand years across countless worlds and just as many foes. Honor demanded it be avenged, preferably in the most rapid and bloody manner possible.

“Brother Stratos, your left, twenty degrees,” voxed Brother Naiyard over the squad channel as he brought his boot down on a mechanical xenos skull, raking his chain-blade across the chest of another.

The battle brother in question brought his sword around in a blind spin, trusting in his brother and his instincts to guide it rightly. The whirling teeth cut halfway through the skull of another of the metal xenos before the force of the Astartes’ arm tore it off altogether.

Brother Naiyard ducked just in time to avoid another xenos before he kicked out with his right leg, smashing the metal warrior backwards against its pyramid. That pyramid was the primary threat here. The basic xenos warriors seemed intellectually deficient and were relatively slow, if insanely tough, but that vehicle – Naiyard presumed it was a vehicle – packed enough punch to vaporize a drop pod in a single shot. The only reason it hadn’t done so to the Space Marines as of yet was that they were knee-deep in its fellow xenos. Both honor and reason dictated that it be destroyed as soon as possible.

“For the Primarch! For the Emperor!” roared Sergeant Xian as he hacked in twain the last xeno standing between him and this thing the Chapter command had dubbed a “Monolith”. He plunged his power sword directly into the black metal side of the vehicle. It penetrated, and the Sergeant twisted and pulled, trying to cut a larger hole in the armor. Unfortunately, in doing so, he had ceased to benefit from the cover the lesser xenos soldiers provided.

The twin rods on the pyramid’s two corners nearest Xian rotated with speed and flexibility no Imperial turret could match. Before Naiyard had a chance to shout a warning, they fired twin beams of green lightning at Brother Sergeant Xian, and in an instant his chest and legs disintegrated.

“No!” Brother Naiyard shouted, but too late. His Sergeant, whom he’d served under for over eighty years, was dead. His remains, and power sword, clattered to the ground.

Naiyard screamed in fury and rage, caving in the nearest xeno’s chest with one blow of his armored fist. With one eye on the tactical situation, he noticed that the squad was rapidly running out of lesser warriors to use for cover. Of perhaps five or six dozen that had been there when the Astartes had started, only twenty or so remained on their feet and fighting. Besides the late Sergeant’s power sword, no other weapon the small Tactical Squad possessed could hope to breach thick vehicle armor. So they would have to make a tactical retreat, leaving the PDF to die and their comrades unavenged, and-

Fate, or the Emperor, had something else in store for Brother Naiyard. His keen, genetically-enhanced vision caught sight of a small, oval-shaped object hurling through the air towards the Monolith. By some strange quirk of fortune, it managed to go directly into the rapidly-closing hole made by Sergeant Xian.

There was a second’s pause, then a muffled crack from inside the xenos vehicle. Then several cracks, sounding like primitive firecrackers going off inside. Then the machine blew its top – literally. The deadly green crystal exploded in a blinding burst, sending tiny fragments flying all over the square. Brother Naiyard’s power armor dimmed his vision momentarily to preserve his sight. When his auto-senses returned to full a split second later, he saw that the explosion had all but torn the xeno contraption in two.

Surprised, but heartened, by this stroke of luck, Brother Naiyard turned his attention back to the few xenos still standing before him. With four Astartes fighting in close quarters, it did not take long to cut them down like the wretched slime they were.

“Injuries?” Brother Naiyard demanded over the squad’s vox as the last of the enemy warriors fell. With their commanding officer dead, the role fell to him as senior-most of the remaining Astartes, until a new officer could be assigned in the post-battle.

“Negligible, brother,” came the reply from brother Axyis, “I have a slight hole in my side armor. Clipped by a xeno shot. Other than that, nothing.”

“Good. We go to link up with our battle brothers and drive these xenos filth from Imperial soil. Brother Stratos, you’re on point. Brother Axyis, with me. Brother Hendral, cover our rear. Let’s move!” The others fell rapidly into position, but Brother Stratos appeared to be looking back at the square they’d just defended. Almost as if he was staring. Naiyard voxed again. “Brother Stratos. Is something wrong with your equipment?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes! Sir! I mean – No! Sir!” came a hasty and obviously embarrassed reply from Brother Stratos.

Naiyard took a few steps towards his battle brother, and looked in the direction that Stratos was looking. “What is it, brother? What do you see?”

Stratos pointed. There, not more than a dozen meters away, was an obviously intoxicated man in the uniform of the Denton III PDF. He was… dancing?

“HA! HA BLOODY HA! I told you it was MY kill! HA HA!” Suddenly, bizarrely, he seemed to take notice of the Astartes looking at him. Rather than wilting, like most mortals, he faced them dead on and said, in a very bold and direct tone of voice, “You know what? I need a drink.”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

“That,” Brother Naiyard remarked as the reduced squad began moving out to link with their fellow Thunder Serpents, “was a very strange little man.”

++Unknown Location, Denton III++
++3.631.879.M39++

Nemesra Ehtekhra stared down at the incoming tactical data on her console. Hundreds of thousands of reports were being filed each minute by the automated programs running most her army. A commander of lesser skill would have been overwhelmed by the sheer variety of data on display, but Ehtekhra had long since learned how to filter out the worthless and redundant data down to its bare essentials.

The essentials in this case were that the assault was stalling. The Imperium had mobilized faster than she’d hoped for, particularly on the eastern portion of the hive, where she’d hope to gain more from the element of surprise. Human forces outnumbered her own eight to one in the field, and that difference was growing by the minute. The enemy’s fiercest warriors, the Space Marines, were deployed ahead of her more optimistic calculations. The fearless, durable nature of her troops had prevented the situation from devolving into a retreat, but the advance had stalled. Nemesra Ehtekhra’s mind processed all this data in the span of seconds, and came to the only logical conclusion.

“We have accomplished enough for this night. It is time to withdraw,” she directed.

“Sir, there are thousands of Llandu’gor’s cursed running about the battlefield. What shall we do with them?” an Immortal seated at one of the center’s data consoles asked.

“Leave them. The cursed spawn of the C’tan can be dealt with by the Imperials,” she said, flicking her wrist scornfully.

“As you wish, my lord,” came the dull reply, as her Immortals set about sending her instructions to the army.

As the tactical icons representing her forces began to fade, teleporting home to rest and repair, Ehtekhra noticed out of the corner of her eye that “Thantekh” was bending over another console, examining feed from the retreating Necontyr forces and commenting to himself.

“No. No. No. Dreadful pose. No. I like that effect. But perhaps too gauche. No. No. Definitely not. No. No. No.” he paused, then magnified a particular image. “Well well well, what have we here?”

Slightly curious in spite of herself, Ehtekhra brought up the footage he had on his screen. It was a picture from a little surprise she’d left for an incoming Inquisition kill-team. There were several humans, and a small purple equine. What did that mean?

Nemesra Ehtekhra dismissed the image from her console and returned her focus to the incoming data. She had a war to fight, after all.

Author's Note

Hey all. Just a small request from author to readers: if you favorite this story, please be sure to give it a thumbs up as well. It's appreciated.

Thanks.

Aftermath

++Aquila-class Shuttle Emperor’s Grace, Denton III++
++3.632.879.M39++

Twilight sighed wearily as she felt the screaming in the Aether slowly fade away from her immediate consciousness. It was not gone, of course, merely leaving the planetary atmosphere would not suffice to escape a wound in the fabric of magic caused by billions of deaths, but it helped ease the pressure. A portion of her strength began to return. As if belatedly catching up to the psychic reality, the shuttle’s atmospheric jerking and kinking finally ceased as the Imperial craft entered the cold void of space.

With barely a conscious thought, Twilight’s horn glowed and her safety harness released itself. She dropped off the uncomfortably human-sized chair, landing easily on all four hooves. Leaving Titus to his brief nap – how he was able to sleep through such turbulence was something Twilight would never understand – the lavender alicorn trotted a few meters to a ladder built into the wall. It was time to indulge in one of the few pleasures that were left to her these days.

Flapping her wings in a well-practiced maneuver, Twilight ascended the small distance to the Aquila’s observation dome. Almost pressing her face to the transparent material protecting her from the vacuum, Twilight stared out into space.

Space was, as always, beautiful to Twilight. Free of the interference from planetary atmosphere, the stars twinkled brightly, like a million million sparkling diamonds spread throughout the night sky. “Oooh, there’s the Soaring Pegasus!” Twilight grinned like an excited little filly as she worked to identify the constellations from her studies back home. “The Crystal Heart! Could that one be…” she pondered for a moment. “The Eyes of Starswirl? Or would it be Celestia’s Gaze that's visible from here? Hmmm…”

Twilight’s stargazing was interrupted when the Emperor’s Grace made a course adjustment, swinging her around to look back at the planet below. Denton III had a murky, reddish-brown tint to its upper atmosphere, a testament to uncounted centuries of hive pollutants destroying whatever natural beauty had once been present. Great machines of the Adeptus Machanicus worked day and night, Twilight knew, keeping the air breathable, but only just. Grey-black clouds covered much of the regions surrounding the hives themselves, blocking even the meager view a person could get through the foggy atmosphere. In the areas somewhat free of such obstructions, one could see the bare bedrock of the planet, interspersed with the green and black remnants of the planet’s oceans. It looked almost as if the apocalypse had already come to the world.

Turning her head to peer around the planet towards the stars again, Twilight caught sight of a tiny speck. Squinting, and casting a cantrip to magnify her vision, she took another look. “It’s a ship. One of ours. It’s… firing?” Twilight took a second look. Sure enough, the starboard broadside cannons unleashed another volley even as she watched. The deadly projectiles angled downwards and disappeared into Denton III’s atmosphere. “Orbital bombardment. They must have located a concentration of Necrons. Or they think they did, at any rate.”

Twilight pulled her gaze from the starship and dismissed her spell. She shook her head. Even after all these years, she had difficulty grasping just how willing the humans were to devastate their already ruined planet solely for the sake of making the invaders suffer. It made little sense to her. “On the other hoof…” Twilight mentally pictured thousands of Necrons on the ground, suddenly being pounded by a force beyond their power to see or fight, smashed and blasted into a molten goo, their pitiful remnants scattering like rats in all directions, terror reaching into their metal minds for the first time in an eternity. She couldn’t help but grin at the thought.

“Maybe I do understand.”

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.632.879.M39++

“You wished to see me, my Lord?” said Twilight as she walked slowly into an improvised command room, filled with holos and charts and reports.

“Ah, Acolyte,” said Lord Inquisitor Tas Rovini, without turning away from the enormous Warp chart hung from the wall that he was studying. He’d gained the new title – or at least he’d insisted on being known by it – under circumstances he refused to describe two years prior, only a short while before the initial Necron attacks. “I’ve read your initial report. Have you anything to add in person? Any further explanations as to why you’ve come back minus the majority of my men and the target of your mission?”

“Sir,” Twilight began, suppressing the urge to let her emotions show in her voice, “as I stated in my thirty page summary of our mission, the entire situation was clearly meant to be an ambush from the beginning. The “Prophet” was not acting under his own will, and his masters disposed of him rather than allow us to capture him. As I’ve also stated, and trooper Titus can confirm, the xenotech device brought in sufficient Necron soldiers to overwhelm my team in moments. I did everything I could do under the circumstances to withdraw safely, but-”

“I will be the judge of that. Refrain from inserting your opinions into your speech when reporting to me. Is that sufficiently clear?” the Lord Inquisitor interrupted. He still had yet to turn his eyes away from the chart on the wall.

Twilight nodded, repressing a twinge of frustration. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You may continue.”

“Thank you.” Twilight cleared her throat. “As I was saying, we withdrew with due haste. Bringing the orb with us was no longer feasible once it had been revealed for an enemy teleport homer-”

“You are inserting your opinions again, Acolyte.”

Twilight’s eyes widened briefly before she reasserted her control of them. “Sir, you can’t seriously be suggesting that I should have taken the orb with us while it was spewing Necron solders?!”

“Can’t I?” he said, a slight hint of danger to his voice. “Please do refrain from such outbursts in the future or I may be forced to discipline you.”

Twilight’s ears folded down meekly. Inquisitorial “discipline” was hardly known for its gentle nature. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Do continue,” the old man said, now examining something on a dataslate and looking back and forth between it and the chart.

“We withdrew from the building. By this point, only two of the team that had gone in with me remained. I used magic to teleport us all up to where our sniper was perched. It was my hope to meet up with her for a retreat. However, when we arrived, she was dead and a Necron awaited us. It killed one more man before Titus and I were able to put it down. Then we retreated up for several stories. Our communications were poor, but I was able to contact our Valkyrie and pick up Titus. It took some time, but eventually I got through to Imperial command and alerted them to the Necrons emerging from the building where we had been. That effectively concluded the operation.”

“I see,” came the response. Lord Inquisitor Rovini still had yet to face Twilight, now staring down at a holo-map of the planet and checking his dataslate every few seconds. “Now I shall ask for your opinion, and you have permission to give it. What do you make of what just happened?”

Twilight frowned, choosing her words carefully before answering. “My Lord, this mission strikes me as being highly… strange. Some things don’t make sense.”

“Really?” the Lord Inquisitor said with an air of thoughtfulness. “How so?”

“If they had a teleportation device and they knew we were coming, why spring it there? Why not let us have it, wait for us to take it to somewhere sensitive for study, and then activate it? I don’t mean to denigrate myself or my men, but frankly we were hardly the most strategically valuable targets that trap could have been sprung on. It could have been used on an Adeptus Mechanicus facility, an Inquisition base, or even one of our ships. Bypassing the defense to teleport their soldiers directly into the middle of such soft targets would do far more damage to the war effort than eliminating one single kill team. In light of that, I don’t understand why the ambush happened when it did.”

“You believe we are missing something?”

Twilight nodded, though the old man still hadn’t deigned to look her in the face and presumably couldn’t see the gesture. “Yes. The soldiers may not be very bright, but their commanders seem to have good strategic minds. Why waste this opportunity and risk putting us on alert for the next trap just to destroy my team? There must be a reason, something I’m not seeing.”

“I see. Do you have anything else to add?”

“Yes sir. They knew we were coming, so it is only logical to conclude that our communications systems have been compromised, at the bare minimum. Under a worst case scenario…”

“We have a spy in our ranks,” Lord Inquisitor Rovini finished, finally turning to face his Acolyte. He had a tired, pained look to his face that hadn’t been there all those years ago. “And in my experience, one should always assume the worst until proven otherwise.”

Twilight nodded again. “As you say, my Lord.”

The Lord Inquisitor put his dataslate down on a table and looked Twilight in the eye. “And what do you think is going to happen now?”

Twilight wilted under his stern gaze. Her ears folded back again, and she looked at her own hooves. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit to inflict, my Lord. If I may make a request, please don’t punish Titus. He’s lost enough already.”

“Punish you? I don’t think so. You have done… well, Acolyte.”

Twilight looked up, eyes wide. “But sir, I failed to bring in either the device or the prisoner! I lost almost all my team!”

Lord Inquisitor Rovini waved his hand dismissively. “You lost a handful of lives. In return, you gave me valuable information about enemy strategic priorities and alerted me to a possible compromise of our ranks.”

Twilight’s jaw dropped. “But… but…”

“Most lives are of negligible importance compared to information.” Rovini’s face hardened as he looked at Twilight’s shocked expression. “This is war, Acolyte. That there will be casualties is an inevitable fact. Billions have died already. In this case, a mere handful perished in the line of duty. Is that really so surprising to you?”

Twilight forced her face to resume its neutral pose before responding. “As you say, sir.”

“Yes. Now, I’ll have a new mission for you soon. But you’ll need to replace your lost men before you can complete it. Unfortunately, there are currently no available squads of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers to assign to you. So you will need to conscript some replacements from the ranks of the men on the planet. I shall have a list of noteworthy candidates sent to your quarters. Be swift in choosing. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Report back to me with your replacements in five standard Terran days. You are dismissed.” Lord Inquisitor Rovini turned his back to Twilight once again, retrieving his dataslate from where he’d left it and continuing the task he’d left off. Twilight started towards the door. She hadn’t gotten but a few steps before the Lord Inquisitor spoke once more. “Oh, and Acolyte?”

Twilight turned back around again. “My Lord?”

“Send in my next visitor.”

“As you wish.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Twilight exited the same thick, sliding portal she’d entered her superior’s office from. The blank-faced Stormtrooper guards watched her passing closely, but said nothing. The lavender alicorn trotted easily over to the next subordinate “invited” to the Lord Inquisitor’s chambers, bile rising to her throat as she did.

“Our Lord Inquisitor wishes to see you now, Interrogator.” Twilight told the woman in carefully controlled tone, staring into her eyes with a hostile look.

The hostility was more than returned. “As you say, Acolyte,” said Interrogator Kylara. She swept toward the chamber immediately, not looking back.

Twilight watched her vanish within, then began to trot towards her quarters. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Rearming and Recruiting

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.632.879.M39++

Twilight’s padded hooves trotted along the cruiser’s metal floors, making as little noise as reasonably possible. A short time after leaving the Lord Inquisitor’s office, she paused, tapping her chin as if in thought, and then changed directions. She knew exactly where she was going – she’d taken the opportunity to commit the ship’s entire layout to memory years ago – but she would need a replacement for the bolt pistol she had lost in the Necron ambush. And there was only one place to get that.

“I hate this place,” Twilight thought to herself as she sourly stared up at the twin combat servitor guards barring her way. The enormous skull – what was it with these humans and decorating everything with their own remains – and cogwheel symbol stamped on the thick double doors guarding the portal made it obvious who this section of the ship belonged to. The Adeptus Mechanicus were the antithesis of everything she had valued back on Equestria, but…

“No!” Twilight screwed her eyes shut and smothered that train of thought. “Those days have come and gone. Nothing good is going to come from sulking about this. Just get in there, get a new pistol, and get out.” She opened them again to regard the servitors, which had finally turned their creepy, half-dead cyborg heads to look her over carefully.

“Halt,” said one in its hollow, robotic monotone.

“I am halted, you idiot,” Twilight snarked in her head.

“Present identification.”

“Because there are so many other lavender alicorns on this ship, right?” Nonetheless, she pulled a small badge of office from her belt with telekinesis and held it up to the servitor’s face.

“Scanning… Scanning…” repeated the servitor as it swept over the proffered token again and again. Twilight tapped her hooves impatiently, her wings fidgeting at her side. “Scanning completed. Identity confirmed. Access approved,” said the thing at last. The twin machines stepped aside in unison to admit the alicorn.

Twilight returned her token to her belt and took a few steps forward. The twin doors split down the middle to grant her access to the Mechanicus domain. She trotted through them with just the slightest twitch, her mind unable to entirely erase the image of diving headfirst into the jaws of some gigantic predator.

The interior was lit sufficiently for unaided organic eyes, but only just. Its mistress considered such things a great concession to the un-augmented on her part. Row after row after meticulously ordered row of technical equip was visible in the sterile gloom. Twilight could make out cogitators, equipment stores, assorted workbenches, and racks full of labeled chemicals, machine parts, and the preserved fragments of dissected bodies that had caught the Magos’ interest. All that and more could be found here, she knew from prior experience. Monotask servo-skulls hovered up and down the various rows, playing endless loops of chanting in binary, the incense burners hung below them letting the perpetual scent of cinnamon and embalming fluid waft over everyone’s nose.

Twilight suppressed her grimace. Once, she had been excited to come into a place like this. Now… “Not so much,” she winced as a servo-skull passed directly in front of her face, its chanting grating at the ears. “It’s alright. No need to panic. We’re all friends here.” She swallowed once, and then trotted further in.

“Hello?” she called, echoes bouncing off the distant chamber walls. “Magos Katravich? Are you here?” Twilight paused and waited some moments, but there was no immediate reply. “Hello? Magos?” she spoke out again, louder this time. “Are you here? It’s Acolyte TS, I need to speak with you.”

Heavy footfalls resounded throughout the enclosed space as something finally started moving. “Assertion: I am a mere 15.89 meters from your location. Your inability to locate my presence visually is another demonstration of the inherent inferiority of organic sight. If you would allow me to-”

Twilight interrupted before the Magos could finish. “Magos, we’ve been over this! You may not replace my eyes with cybernetics simply to see how my species reacts!”

More footfalls. She was close now. “Declaration: Irrational desire to keep inferior original body parts is a sign of psychological weakness.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Can we please drop it already?”

Magos Katravich finally stepped into her view. Supposedly, this creature before her was a female. Besides the slight alto tone to her synthetic voice, Twilight had never been able to tell the difference. Her long, hooded red robe covered most of her form, metallic boot soles sticking out from the very bottom. A long skull and cogwheel amulet dangled from where her neck might once have been. Five different mechandrites protruded from her back, ranging from a heavy-looking claw to a metallic tentacle ending in a thin, delicate-looking instrument Twilight had never seen used. And her face…

Or, what had presumably been her face. Now it was an immobile, almost flat mechanical mask. Unmarked gunmetal grey in color, with a triangle of three glowing blue circles Twilight knew to be her eyes in the center and a circular hole where her mouth should have been, it was the stuff of nightmares. Four insectile mandibles sprouted from four points around her circular mouth, curving to meet near its center. They made a habit of clicking in an unnerving manner at irregular intervals, for no purpose Twilight could discern.

The abomination in front of her spoke again. “Gratitude: My thanks for returning alive, Acolyte. It would be most difficult to dissect your corpse if you were disintegrated by the xenos.”

“Okaaay…” Twilight muttered, a little nervously. “I came here to talk to you about my equipment.”

“Observation: You lack one of the holy bolt pistols I have given you. Speculation: You have lost the Omnissiah’s bounty in some manner and you come to me seeking a replacement.” Magos Katravich’s mandibles clicked audibly.

“You conclusions are correct, Magos. The honored machine fell in battle with the unholy abominations we face, and I am here to humbly petition the Mechanicus for a new partner,” said Twilight in the ritual manner she had learned to use, ignoring the bile rising to her throat. Her head bowed slightly.

Magos Katravich’s mandibles clicked again. Those three blue stared down unblinkingly at the alicorn and the mechandrites on her back moved and spun and twitched with no discernable pattern. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking as the seconds turn to minutes, and Twilight’s neck began to ache from holding its position. Suddenly, the Magos spoke up again, her head bowing in the same manner as Twilight’s. “Declaration: The Mechanicus agrees to provide the Holy Inquisition with more of the Omnissiah’s bounty to replace that which fell in honorable battle.”

Twilight suppressed her urge to sigh at these theatrics. “The Inquisition thanks the Mechanicus for its cooperation.”

“Invitation: Come.” Katravich turned and set off at a heavy, but surprisingly fast pace, forcing Twilight to trot to keep up. She led the alicorn down one of the rows, past all manner of strange equipment, before coming to a halt before what looked to be a reinforced metal cabinet of some kind. One of her mechandrites plugged itself into a slot on the side, and a moment later the doors swung open to reveal a rack full of all manner of weaponry, from Imperial staples such as las and plasma and bolt weapons, to more exotic devices like digital and even one or two samples of Eldar weapons. The Magos’ claw mechandrite grasped a well-polished pistol from the wrack and held it out as the cabinet shut itself again.

Twilight’s horn shown and her magic grasped the proffered arm. After a quick inspection, she bowed her head again. “My thanks, honored Magos.”

“Demand: Honor the machine-spirit of this weapon. Do not allow it to fall while you draw breath,” the Magos said as she also gave a slight bow.

“I shall do my best.”

“Declaration: You may repay me by donating a limb to my research. Perhaps one of those legs? You have several to spare and mechanical replacements can be fashioned.” Her mandibles clicked yet again. Twilight didn’t know if it was her imagination, but they sounded almost excited at the prospect.

“No, Magos,” Twilight declared firmly.

“Dismissal: Then cease to intrude upon my work, Acolyte. The Omnissiah demands much from those who would walk His sacred path.”

“Gladly, you freak,” Twilight thought as she turned to exit the chamber.

Sometime later, Twilight arrived in her own quarters, mentally and physically worn from the stresses of the mission and loss of so many men. Her room, as would be expected by all who knew her, was meticulously ordered and spotless down to the last detail. With bare metal for walls and several glow strips along the ceiling, the room featured a bed that was far too long for her, a shortened desk and a chair meant for Ratlings, a shelf with mixed paper tomes and dataslates, a small closet, and a chest for personal effects.

Twilight sighed with relief when her door finally sealed itself shut behind her. She was safe. Safe and alone again.

“About damn time,” she thought as she worked her magic on the armored shell that had protected her body for some three days straight now. It came off easily under her telekinetic touch, unraveling from her body to let it breath again. The air, even stale and recycled as it was, felt excellent and refreshing against her coat. Twilight simply stood still with her wings spread wide for a moment, savoring the feeling of freedom she got from being able to walk around without her gear.

“Just like I used to be able to back-” Twilight cut herself off with a firm shake of her head. “No. No more nostalgia. There is the here and now, and moping about what you lost won’t do anypony any good.”

Taking a second look at her desk, Twilight saw that her Lord Inquisitor had done as he’d said. A new dataslate sat beside her standard meal tray on the flat, silvery surface. Her body and mind craved sleep, but she was well used to repressing such urges. It was best, she decided, not to delay in getting a new squad together.

Hopping onto her cushioned chair, Twilight’s grumbling stomach directed her to the tray first. She cast a small spell over it, checking to see whether it was toxic or not. The magic told her it was safe, and she gratefully chewed at the offered greens and sipped the nutrient gruel. That spell had been one of her first inventions after joining the Imperium, after a quick bite of what had looked like a tasty domestic flower had landed her in the medicae for three solid days. Turns out it had been almost lethally poisonous to her biology, despite being harmless to humans.

“And wouldn’t that have been a tale to tell,” she thought idly as she gulped down more of the Imperium’s tasteless, but filling, nutrient gruel. “Twilight Sparkle. Alicorn princess. Element of Harmony. Personal student to Princess Celestia. Survived the apocalypse. Killed by a flower.” She couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the rather morbid thought.

Twilight finished off the gruel and chewed slowly at the long, boiled green plants she had been given. She didn’t know what kind of plants these were, and honestly probably didn’t want to know where they’d found them. But they tasted nice, and they weren’t toxic to her. A pleasant thing to munch on while reviewing candidates for her new squad.

“Might as well get to it,” she told herself, and flicked on the dataslate. A few minute’s look told Twilight that Lord Inquisitor Rovini had been as good as his word. Hundreds of men and women of the Imperial Guard and PDF were listed, along with commendations and honors they’d received or been nominated for. A slight touch brought up a more in depth profile for each of them, recounting their training, combat experience, and what actions had brought them to the Inquisition’s attentions.

If there was ever a thing Twilight Sparkle was good at, it was reading. She read through dozens of profiles in the space of a few minutes, evaluating the potential risks and benefits to each candidate. Various ideas of squad compositions came together in her head and were dismissed or modified as she saw fit.

Twilight scrolled down the list a bit further. One entry caused her to raise an eyebrow. “A PDF man? Recommended for bravery by a Commissar and a Space Marine Sergeant? That’s hardly normal.” She opened his file and began to read more.

Sergeant Alex Aisen was not having a particularly pleasant day either, if anyone was wondering. He’d woken up around mid-afternoon in a medicae with a splitting headache and a really bad hangover. His personal flask, where kept the very best stuff, was missing for some reason. And on top of all of that, he was handcuffed to the bed!

“Look, whatever it is you think I did,” he said to the Sister Hospitaller who was fiddling with some medical equipment plugged into his arm. “I didn’t do it! Honest! I’m a law-abiding, Emperor-fearing citizen just like you! Ok, maybe not just like you, you Sisters have always been more holy than me, but I’m a good man! I pay my tithes and taxes, and I attend worship every week! Ok, maybe not last week…” Aisen paused to think for a moment. “Or the week before that… Or the week before that… Or that other week… Was out drinkin’ with the lads that week… Hmmm…”

“Silence,” said the Sister, sternly.

“Yes ma’am, shutting up now.” Aisen clamped his mouth closed.

“You are a drunken, lecherous, lazy, irreligious man barely even worthy to serve in the Emperor’s honored Planetary Defense Force,” she said bluntly, looking down at a dataslate in her left hand.

“Oh, come on, I’m not that lecherous. You’re cute, but do I look like I’m making a pass at you right now? No.”

“Your hands are chained to the bed,” she wryly observed. “In any case, it seems the God Emperor saw fit to do his work through you last night.”

“Great. Does that mean you’re letting me go with a warning and such?”

A mask covered up half the Sister’s face, but Sergeant Aisen could swear he saw a smirk underneath it. “Hardly. Your actions during the xenos attack have attracted attentions much higher than mine.”

“What? The Council want to give me a medal or something? I don’t really remember much of what happened, but they want to make me hero, fine by me.”

“Not quite.” Now Aisen was sure he saw that bitch smirking. “The Holy Inquisition.”

Aisen’s eyes went wide, his skin went pale, and he started to sweat. “The Inquisition?!” he gulped, incredulously. He tugged a little at his handcuffs. No good. “Please tell me that you’re playing some sick joke on me! I’m begging ya!”

“I’m deadly serious.”

Aisen gulped again, his mouth suddenly dry. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“It seems the Emperor has other plans for your service. The Inquisition will be making use of your… peculiar style of combat.”

“F-For… For h-how long?” Aisen managed, afraid he already knew the answer.

“I would think that would be quite obvious, Sergeant. Remember, only in death does duty end,” she said serenely.

Aisen licked his lips and swallowed.

“You are to be serving in a new squad being assembled. Your shuttle leaves in half an hour. These gentlemen will escort you there,” the Sister said, gesturing towards a pair of men in Imperial Guard uniforms seated near the medicae exit.

“D-d-do I have a-any c-choice?” Aisen was now openly shivering.

“Of course,” the Sister said warmly, showing her right wrist to the Sergeant. A pair of large injectors with odd blue liquid rested there. “These are for granting the Emperor’s Peace. If you’d prefer that instead…”

“NO!” yelled Aisen, much louder and more quickly than he’d intended.

“Good. Then make ready as best you can and say your prayers, Sergeant. For soon you will be in the hands of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition.” The Sister Hospitaller looked to be smiling again as she walked away.

First Impressions

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.633.879.M39++

An irritating buzz filled Twilight’s ears, jerking her from comfortable reverie.

“No… stop it…” she pleaded softly, folding her equine ears down over her head and burying her face in her pillow. “Five more minutes…”

The buzz ignored the alicorn’s requests for mercy, pounding its helpless opponent until she submitted.

“Alright… alright…” Twilight cracked open her eyes with a yawn. “I’m up. I’m…” she stretched her stiff legs and yawned. “Up.”

Twilight reached a hoof over the source of the buzz and swatted ineffectually for a handful of seconds before her brain finally caught up with the rest of her. Her horn flared briefly, and the noise finally ceased. With another yawn, the alicorn forced herself from her place of rest and stretched her sore wings. The bed was too large for her, and somewhat stiff besides, but it was the sole place where she’d gotten real sleep for the past five days. Alicorn biology was potent, true, but even it had its limitations.

“Surely they can’t be here already…” the sleepy mare mumbled, more in the vague hope that fervently wishing it might make it true more than a belief that it was. She doubled checked. No such luck. She had set the timepiece herself, after all. Her conscripts would be arriving soon, and she had a handful of days to turn them into a passing semblance of an effective team. Hopefully their impeccable records meant that it shouldn’t take too long.

As her armor began fitting itself back over her body, Twilight simply hoped nothing would go wrong.

++Aquila-class Shuttle Emperor’s Grace, Denton III++
++3.632.879.M39++

Sergeant – he presumed he was still technically a sergeant, at least for now – Alex Aisen sat mutely in place like a good little soldier, and tried not to draw too much attention to himself. With the Inquisition already on his back, he really didn’t need to give them any additional reason to dig around into his background. He, like all the grunts, had heard rumors of what the Inquisition did. It was said they had marvels of techno-sorcery that could rip a man’s deepest, darkest secrets from the pits of his mind, or tortures that could keep you alive for weeks after they’d cut off all your limbs with a rusty spoon. He didn’t know what he believed about his new bosses, but at the moment Aisen found himself ardently wishing he hadn’t skipped the Emperor’s services so many times.

The shuttle’s transport bay was beginning to get a bit crowded. At first it had just been him and the pair of goons, but they’d made several more stops since then, each time adding a man. There were three others: a muscled giant that looked like he could have been half Ogryn, a plain-looking fellow with a creepy red augmentic right eye who hadn’t made a sound, and another average-sized man who alternated between whispered prayers and shaking. In better circumstances, Aisen would have started a betting pool on how long it would take him to wet himself.

Sadly, the Inquisition might take such a thing the wrong way.

So Aisen had repressed his natural instincts and sat quietly during the ride, in case they were being monitored somehow. The goons had gone, presumably to collect another unlucky soul for this little project of-

“HEY! No need to shove, I’m going! I’m going!” came a faint but audible voice from the direction of the opened landing ramp.

Aisen sat up a little straighter. That voice sounded… female. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

In a few moments, a woman was “escorted” into the shuttle’s transport bay by the same two lovely gentlemen who’d taken Aisen and the other three. She, alone of the new men, looked pissed about the experience and seemed stupid enough to show it. One of the men gave her another shove towards an empty seat.

“Watch it you ugly son of a squig!” the newcomer sniped irritably at the man. Still, she took her seat as one of the guardsmen moved in the direction of the cockpit.

Aisen evaluated the woman as she strapped in from the legs up with a critical eye. “Not a bad figure… Not too tall or short… Too well-muscled though… And Emperor, those scars…” he gave a slight grimace. The woman’s face looked like something had torn it to ribbons and stitched it back together again. Poorly. “Ugly fragger…” If this was going to be the limit of regular female companionship for however long the Inquisition kept them for, the trip was going to be even worse than he’d feared.

Sergeant Aisen noticed the other guardsman returning from his cockpit trip and strapping himself in. Shortly thereafter, he felt and heard the Aquila shuttle rising again. “I hate flying,” he thought as the familiar feeling of nausea began to well up in him. So distracted was he that he even missed hearing the first bit of the guardsmen muttering to each other.

“… last of ‘em,” said one in a low tone.

“Mean we can finally dump ‘em on her and get back to Tersius?” replied the other, sounding irritated.

“That’s about it, yeah.”

The wheels in Aisen’s head turned over these new bits of information. So their handler was a woman as well, eh? One thought came to mind as the shuttle rose high above the hive city and its toxic clouds.

“I wonder if she’s cute.”

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.633.879.M39++

Twilight sighed and ran the brush through her mane one final time. Delicately setting it down, she checked herself again in her small portable mirror. She’d washed the sweat, dirt, and accumulated grime from her coat. Her short-cut mane was finely combed, free of all knots and tangles. She had carefully plucked and preened her feathers to a straight and proud shape. Her armor was polished to a shine and fit snugly around her form. Twin bolt pistols were cleaned, shined, and loaded for action. The Inquisition’s symbol sat prominently on her grey armor for all to see.

With all this fussy grooming, she almost felt like… “No.” Twilight closed her eyes and yanked the brakes on that particular train of thought. “Rarity is gone, like the others. It’s just you now, and you need to make a commanding first impression.”

Turning her attention back to her mirror, she flattened the last frizzled spots of her coat and set her coat brush aside. Over her years in the Imperium, she’d learned that one essential element to get humans to ignore her species and work with her was to appear commanding. Prominent and repeated invocations of her Inquisition links were also valuable. Often, the only thing capable of overcoming hatred for xenos was fear of the Inquisition.

“What would Princess Celestia say, if she saw you now?” said a small, repressed voice in the back of her mind.

“She’d say nothing, because she’s a rotten carcass if not vapor by now. She and her harmony died years ago,” Twilight’s rational mind fired back at the traitorous part of her. She opened her room’s door with a flick and trotted out into the corridor. Titus was waiting for her in full Stormtrooper getup.

“Hey,” he said, dully. “You ready to go meet the new grunts?”

Twilight nodded, and they set off together.

They walked the ship’s corridors in silence for some time before Titus spoke up again. “A part of me still can’t… still can’t believe everybody’s dead. That we’re… replacin’ ‘em.”

Twilight nodded sympathetically. “I can relate. Believe me.”

Then Titus did something she’d never seen the Inquisitorial Stormtrooper do, ever, in all their long years together. He shed a few tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, weakly. “I’m sorry, but… Emperor help me, I just miss her so much, you know?”

“Trust me when I say I do. But you need to be strong. Take that sadness, take that pain, and store away in a little box. Take it out when we meet them again.” Twilight’s expression slowly contorted into one of utter ice. “And kill them,” she half-whispered. “Cut them down like the animals they are. No pity, no mercy, no regret. Let your sadness and loss…” she took a deep breath and gave a thin smile. “Fuel the fires of your hatred.”

Titus nodded, slowly. “Thanks,” he said.

They two walked the ship’s corridors for some time before arriving, but spoke no more.

Sergeant Aisen sat mutely at a long table where he and the other four grunts had been, for lack of a better word, dumped by the twin Imperial Guardsmen who had taken them to this ship. The others had really just continued to exemplify their behavior from the shuttle.

The muscled hulk, who Aisen in a truly epic feat of originality had mentally dubbed “Tiny”, continued to stare mutely into his hands and not say or do very much. In fact, he hadn’t done much of anything but grunt vaguely and follow orders the whole time Aisen had seen him.

Red Eye – hey, what were you expecting, lyrical poetry? – spent his time staring at the others and the room around him, evaluating but not making much sound.

Whiner, as he’d nicknamed the other man, continued to mouth prayers to the Emperor every thirty seconds or so, but had surprised Aisen by having managed to avoid pissing himself as of yet.

As for the group’s sole female member, whom he’d simply dubbed “Ugly”, she had continued to be the loudest of the bunch.

“What the hell is taking them so long?” she muttered irritably. “I came when they bloody well called for me, the least they could do is show their asses before we all die and rot in here.”

“The Emperor’s Inquisition is a tremendously busy organization, to be sure,” said Red Eye in a level tone. “That they do not consider our comfort a high priority is to be expected.”

“The bastards could at least bother to tell us what in the damn hells is going to happen to us.” Ugly continued, shaking her head.

“Swears like a drunken Navy man,” Aisen thought. “Reminds me of dear ol’ Mom, Emperor rest her soul.”

Aisen chose to continue sitting silently, determined not to make a target of himself like that woman seemed determined to do. Some commissars felt it was perfectly acceptable to shoot a man for backtalk like that, what would the Inquisition do to them? He had a full life of postwar booze and girls ahead of him (he hoped), and he didn’t intend to lose that dream now.

Without warning or preamble, the door to their little room opened itself. Craning his neck to peer around Tiny, Sergeant Aisen saw a tall, rugged-looking man in full Stormtrooper armor step through.

“But I thought the commander was a woman?” he thought, puzzled.

The man took a few steps in and then paused, hands behind his back and back to the wall. He looked out sternly on the lady and gentlemen seated before him with a neutral expression on his face, before nodding in a satisfied manner. He turned his head back towards the door and spoke.

“They’re all here. And alone.”

“Alone? What does that matter?” Aisen asked himself, even as he craned his neck again to see who might be coming through next.

When he got his answer, his heart skipped a beat.

Aisen blinked. “No, that isn’t possible!” He rubbed his eyes, wondering what bizarre, alcohol-induced hallucination he was seeing. But when he took another look, there it was.

A small, lavender, horned, winged equine walked into their small room in full grey armor, twin bolt pistols hanging from its belt. It wore the symbol of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition prominently on one shoulder pad.

It looked like an animal. A fantastic beast of burden. But one look in the thing’s eyes told him it was intelligent.

“Xeno,” he breathed.

Aisen reached for his laspistol. It wasn’t there, of course. It had been confiscated hours ago. But the instinct, the ingrained Imperial command to destroy the alien, moved his fingers though he consciously knew it was hopeless.

Finding nothing on his belt, Aisen simply opted to sit there, eyes wide and jaw agape, too stunned to even vocalize any more thoughts.

Not everyone was so silent.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Ugly banged her hand to the table and got to her feet, shouting at the Stormtrooper, who seemed oddly at ease with this whole thing.

Whiner had also shot to his feet, hands groping his belt for weapons he had to know weren’t there.

Tiny and Red Eye remained seated, though the former looked as shocked as Aisen. Only Red Eye looked perfectly at ease with the whole thing.

“That,” replied the Stormtrooper in a tone that brooked little argument. “Is your new commanding officer.”

“Inquisitorial Acolyte Twilight Sparkle,” came a female voice.

Aisen looked again. Had the xeno just spoken?

The lavender equine’s wings spread wide, and it left the ground with easy flaps. Its armored…

“Hooves, presumably?”

Its armored whatever the hell it had instead of good, human feet came to rest on the table top.

“I will be your new commander,” this “Twilight” said in a calm but authoritative tone. “Now, I know that this may be hard for-”

“You’re damn well right about that, ain’t ya?! I’m a good soldier, a faithful servant to the Emperor!” Ugly, still on her feet with Whiner, pointed to the equine creature. “I do my duty! But I am not serving under some Emperor-damned piece of xeno filth! Not now, not in the next life, not ever!”

“Xenos are unholy abominations in the eyes of the God Emperor,” declared Whiner. Paradoxically, the presence of an alien seemed to have emboldened him, even though he was as unarmed as the rest. “No servant of the true Ruler of mankind would have men serve one. You must have…” his eyes went back and forth between the creature and the Stormtrooper. “Bewitched that man. Or laid eggs in his brain. Or… something!” Whiner snapped.

The trooper in question actually laughed out loud at that. The xeno glared daggers at him, and his face quickly shifted back to its neutral expression.

“So,” the equine said after a few moments’ pause. “What you two are saying is that you refuse to serve under me.”

“You’re damn right!” snapped Ugly.

“Never,” added Whiner.

“Despite my authority as a duly appointed Acolyte of the God Emperor’s Holy Inquisition?” One of its hooves gestured to the symbol on its armor.

“Xenos are an abomination. You may kill me, but I’ll never help you, foul alien!” Whiner snapped, his eyes darting between the xeno, trooper, and door as if calculating if he could make a break for it.

“I wouldn’t serve no xeno if the bloody High Lords of Terra all got in my face and told me to!” Ugly growled.

The creature put a hoof to its face and closed its oversized eyes. “I do not need this,” it muttered sourly. It opened them again and glared at the two malcontents, who glared right back, not daring to make a move with the armed Stormtrooper still looking on. “I do not have time for this.”

“Well who gives a shit?” came Ugly’s reply.

The xeno stared for a moment, as if making up its mind.

“Very well,” it said, with a slight sigh.

“Very well what?” demanded Whiner.

“Very well, you won’t be a part of this. I accept that.”

The two blinked and looked at each other. That was the last thing they had expected the alien to say.

With more speed than even the fastest human draw Aisen had ever seen, the twin bolt pistols flew out of their holsters, enclosed by a purple light. They leveled themselves at Ugly and Whiner.

“In accordance with Imperial Guard General Regulations, Section Three, Subsection Five, Paragraph Four, I hereby sentence you both to death for insubordination.”

Motivational Speaking

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.633.879.M39++

Sergeant Aisen sat frozen in his seat, reluctant to move or even breathe, least he too draw the little xeno’s wrath (and more importantly, guns) down on his head. Tiny stared at this “Twilight Sparkle” with a shocked expression, but did not move to intervene. The stormtrooper, still backed up against the wall, grimaced. Only Red Eye appeared to be unfazed by the whole situation, nodding his head slowly.

“Technically she’s right, you know,” he observed in a calm tone.

All attention in the room suddenly went to the man who had had the stones to speak up at that particular moment.

Ugly and Whiner in particular shared an incredulous expression.

Twilight turned her head to regard Red Eye with a raised eyebrow. The bolt pistols remained locked onto their targets.

Ugly, as Aisen had come to expect, was the first to break the silence. “And what the hell do ya mean by that, you bloody xenos-loving git?!”

“Imperial Guard regulations, as our Acolyte cites, permit a wide array of discretionary powers to punish failure to cooperate with members of the Inquisition. She is, by Imperial Law, perfectly within her rights to execute you both on the spot,” he said, appearing unruffled by the insult.

“By the Emperor’s Holy Law, all xenos must die! That was His sacred mission entrusted to the Imperium! To tolerate their existence is heresy! To let them lead men? Blasphemy!” Whiner shook his head fervently, his earlier terrified demeanor completely subsumed by the courage born of fanaticism and hopelessness.

“The fact that she walks openly on an Inquisitorial ship, bearing the mark of the Inquisition, accompanied by a Stormtrooper, and was apparently the one to call us here indicates that higher powers than us have determined it does not violate the Emperor’s will for her to serve. If they have deemed her service fitting, who are mere Guardsmen to argue?”

The lavender xeno nodded her head, and Aisen could have sworn he saw a twitch of a smile on her face before it disappeared again. “Knowledgeable and logical, Lieutenant? You may consider me favorably impressed.”

“Bloody xenos-loving scum…” Ugly muttered, appearing more irritated than anything.

Red Eye inclined his head slightly towards the xeno before addressing the man and woman with weapons still trained on them. “If I were you, I would consider backing down now. The fact that you are not yet dead indicates that our Acolyte does not sincerely wish to kill you. Nonetheless, I would not count on such desire to last forever in the face of continued defiance.”

The xeno’s eyes narrowed again. “While your continued rational thinking is noted, do not presume to speak for me again. Is that clear?”

Red Eye nodded again, more deferentially this time.

“Good,” she – Red Eye had called it a girl and it hadn’t corrected him – turned her face back to the twin pistols and their targets. “Now, as it happens, I’m feeling somewhat generous as this is our first encounter. Stand down, right now, and I’ll forget this ever happened. Don’t, and…” Her front right leg gestured meaningfully.

Neither Whiner nor Ugly said a word.

“Last chance.”

“Go to hell, xeno.”

“Emperor preserve my soul.”

“Martyrs to pointless stupidity, then?” the xeno scowled. “Suit yourselves.”

Twin bolters cracked. Twin bodies fell.

The purple light returned the weapons to their holsters, a grim expression on the xeno’s face.

“Any more complaints?”

The room was silent. Aisen swallowed nervously. Tiny stared. Red Eye continued to look unruffled.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Now then,” Twilight said in her best authoritative voice. “Let me start from the beginning. I am Inquisitorial Acolyte Twilight Sparkle. I will be your commanding officer. I consider myself a reasonable woman, but as you have just witnessed…” she paused for a few seconds to let them think about it before continuing. “I will not tolerate disloyalty. We all serve the Imperium of Man and the God Emperor. We all strive to protect His domain from the ravages of the alien, the heretic, and the mutant,” she went on, totally aware of the disconnect between her words and her species, but counting on her earlier display to quiet any such thoughts. “We are here because an alien force unlike any other has violated the sacred soil of the Emperor. Metal xenos, called the Necrons, have come to the Imperium for no purpose but to kill, destroy, and bring to ruin everything and everyone they can find. Our duty is to stop them. Do all here understand that?”

There were vague mumbles of assent from around the table.

“I want to hear “Yes, Acolyte” or “No, Acolyte” from you.”

“Yes, Acolyte.”

Twilight nodded approvingly. “Do all here realize what is at stake in this war?”

More mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Acolyte,” came the slightly louder reply.

“And do all here grasp what will become of the Emperor’s world if we fail? Is it clear to you?”

“Yes, Acolyte.”

“I don’t believe you.” Twilight’s hoof pressed a button the head of the table, activating the old holoprojector in its center. The image was somewhat jumpy, but functional. She flicked other controls telekinetically, bringing up an image of a bustling mid-hive market, crowded with thousands, or perhaps even tens of thousands of humans going about their business. “This is Saint Jelia’s Gift Marketplace, Hive Quaries, Denton III. Three weeks prior to the initial engagement.” Twilight changed the image.

It was obviously the same vast indoor market building, but it had been turned into… a slaughterhouse really was the only good word to describe it. Bodies were everywhere. Men and women, young and old, healthy and diseased – it didn’t matter, all had been cut down. Dried blood coated the floors and the remains of market stalls. Organs and limbs were spread liberally throughout, torn from their forms by unfathomably vicious bladed blows. One could see faces, torn mercilessly apart by claws. Random chunks of flesh were missing from hundreds of corpses; ripped off, Twilight knew, to feed the demented hunger of those aliens now classified as “Flayed Ones” for fresh meat.

“This,” she said, after giving the men some time to soak it all in. “Is Saint Jelia’s Gift Marketplace, Hive Quaries, Denton III. Two days after the initial onslaught. This,” she pounded an armored hoof into the table for emphasis, “is what we are fighting to prevent. Fear me if you would. Hate me if you must. But you are going to help me stop these monsters, or Emperor help me I will make you wish you had been those two.” She pointed to the man and woman she had slain.

One of the men gave a slight whimper. Twilight ignored it.

“So,” she repeated. “Is. That. Clear?”

“Yes Acolyte!"

Author's Note

Short chapter today, but I think you'll enjoy it.

Comments are welcome, as always.

Training

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.634.879.M39++

“Good!” said the purple xeno – no, Acolyte TS, Aisen mentally corrected himself – as the low-powered las shot impacted on the floating metal dishware they were using for a target, scorching a small black mark onto the already ruined plate. Nonetheless, it continued to dart around the unused cargo bay the xeno had commandeered for training purposes. The Acolyte’s horn glowed again, and the target’s movement sped up considerably and it soared erratically, jerking suddenly from one direction to another. “Again!” she directed.

“Bloody xeno’s even worse than Sergeant Denson,” Aisen mentally grumbled as he took aim with the faux-hellgun in his hands, his thoughts drifting towards the profoundly unpleasant old man he’d once had for a drill sergeant. At least the sour old toad had had the decency to die suddenly in his office, giving the squad a few months free time before the Administratum drones had noticed anything. “Wonder how long these little horse freak li-”

*Smack*

Aisen’s thoughts were cut short by the abrupt impact of metal onto the side of his face. He fell over, clutching his jaw and moaning.

“Dead,” a harsh female voice announced.

Aisen looked up sourly at his little purple tormenter. Even sitting on the floor, his eyes were roughly level with hers, and he was treated to a pitiless stare in return. Another plate, the fourth in the air, orbited the xeno’s head.

“It is critical to maintain situational awareness at all times, soldier,” she lectured. “You let your mind wander, or else you focused too intently on your current target. If you’d have been paying attention, you would have had 3.129 seconds from the time that target lifted off before it impacted on you. Far more time than a gauss shot.”

Aisen glared, but bit his tongue lest she decide he wouldn’t be part of this little endeavor either.

“I see that look,” she scowled. “You think I’m being unfair with these little surprises, do you? I wonder, do you think the enemy is going to conveniently announce when they’re flanking you? Only attack from angles you’re paying attention to?” She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you think the Necrons take a break every afternoon at three for tea and cookies too?”

Aisen couldn’t resist snarking back a little. “We’ve been at this for hours! Maybe if you’d just let a man have a little rest, I’d-”

*Smack*

Another plate crashed into the rear of his head, knocking Aisen off his feet once again. He fell on his face and groaned.

“All these bruises are gonna be murder on my chances with the ladies on this ship,” he thought grumpily.

The sound of hooves on metal prompted the downed former PDF Sergeant to raise his head. The Acolyte stared down at him, undisguised scorn painted all over her nigh-cartoonish alien face.

“I said it was critical to maintain situational awareness at all times, soldier. Did you think I was joking or are you just too brain damaged to remember things?”

“I will be if you keep doing that.” Aisen forced himself back to his feet, rubbing his head again. The little witch looked a lot less intimidating when she only came up to the bottom of his waist.

The Acolyte sighed. “That’s enough of this for now.”

Aisen allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

“Now it’s time to see what you’re bringing in melee.”

Aisen groaned.

*Smack*

Twilight’s magic opened a locker that she’d prepared for this exercise. Inside were five chainswords she’d managed to weasel from Magos Katravich, at the cost of a few feathers and standing still for scans she still wasn’t sure of the purpose of. Three of the weapons, surrounded by her purple glow, flew from the locker and to the three remaining recruits, offering their hilts to the men.

Guardsman Henrick Yilmaz was the first to take the weapon, his large hand only just fitting the grip. Looking as uneasy as he had since the beginning, former Sergeant Aisen grasped the proffered chainsword warily, as if he was afraid it would bite him. The former 1st Lieutenant Fyron Durrane evaluated the weapon with his red cybernetic eye for several seconds before accepting it. He twirled it through several basic patterns before nodding once and returning his attention to the alicorn.

“These are Hecate-pattern chainswords. You may notice that they weigh slightly more than the standard-issue models you have trained with, but you’ll find that they more than compensate with superior balancing. Go ahead, try them out. Get a feel for them.”

Twilight allowed the three men to practice for some five minutes, going through the standardized sword drills taught to almost any military force worth the name in the Imperium. Aisen was the most hesitant and sloppy, almost losing control of the blade on at least three occasions. Had it been active, he might have injured himself. As it was, he appeared embarrassed, but seemed to be remembering the basics after a few rounds. Durrane was more stable, his sword slicing through the air in quick, efficient bursts. Yilmaz, despite the fact that the weapon looked undersized for him, surprisingly proved the best of the lot, his blade looking completely natural in his hands as it went through pattern after pattern with an easy grace that belied his muscled, almost brutish appearance.

After they had all attained at least a modicum of comfort with this new weapon, Twilight tapped the deck with her hoof for attention. All three immediately put their eyes on her, aware by now of the unpleasant surprises that could be in store if they failed to do so in an appropriately timely fashion. Twilight allowed herself a small smile and ticked one box on her mental checklist.

“Now that you’ve felt these swords, we’re going to have a little practice duel. It’s nothing too dangerous, just a little exercise to test your skill.”

“There are only three of us new grunts,” said Aisen, bluntly.

Twilight scowled at him. “No more alcohol during training for you,” she thought irritably. She’d made the mistake of offering the men a ration alcohol some hours earlier as a reward for acceptable performance. While it had definitely succeeded in motivating the PDF man, it had had the side effect of considerably reducing his inhibitions. And loosening his tongue.

Out loud, she replied, “I am aware, soldier. Are you under the impression that I lack the ability to count?”

Titus, watching his prospective squadmates from a safe distance, chuckled. Yilmaz snickered. Even Durrane smirked slightly. Aisen’s face turned red.

“That’s why you won’t be dueling each other,” she continued. “Instead, you’ll be facing me. Three on one.”

That got stares.

“You mean you want us to try and cut you with chainswords?” asked the sergeant, his tone slightly too eager for the question to be entirely academic.

Twilight let that one slide. “No. For your safety, we won’t be powering those swords up during this exercise. You can try and hit me with them, if you like. But I doubt any of you will get that far.”

“You lack a melee weapon,” observed Durrane, his red eye looking her over several times.

Twilight gave a little smirk. “Do I?”

Her horn shone as she cast a spell. A long, thin, purple sword materialized several feet from her head, composed of raw magical energy pulled directly from the Aether. It twirled itself nimbly through numerous Imperial attack patterns before offering a formal dueling salute.

“Thanks, Shiny,” Twilight thought as she caught Aisen’s nervous look, a second before he managed to cover it up. She remembered the day her brother had taught her the spell, long a staple among the unicorns of the Royal Guard.

“Is that blade dangerous?” Durrane asked.

Twilight shook her head. “No. I am capable of making one that doesn’t cut. Little more than a shaped stick, really. I’ve done so for this little duel.” To demonstrate, she brought the blade up to physical contact with her own throat, and slashed. All but Titus, who’d seen the trick before, stared. Twilight bared her throat so all could see. There wasn’t a mark or a drop of blood to be seen. “Satisfied?” she asked.

Durrane nodded before assuming a defensive stance. Yilmaz and Aisen took more aggressive postures and waited.

“Begin.”

Twilight stood calmly as the three spread apart. When they saw that neither she nor her sword were moving, they began to advance warily on her. Yilmaz to the front, Aisen on her left, Durrane to her right. Twilight continued to wait.

“Almost… Almost… Now!”

Twilight and her weapon vanished in a flash of light, Startled heads turned in every direction, searching for the alicorn.

She reappeared directly behind Yilmaz and thrust at his exposed back. By good instinct, he dodged several steps forward before whirling to parrying to catch an overhand blow aimed for his head. The blades locked, and Yilmaz pressed hard, but even his massive strength failed to push back the magic construct he grappled with.

Sensing opportunity, Aisen came at her flank with a yell. Twilight’s blade shot backwards with alarming speed, leaving Yilmaz stumbling forwards under his own momentum. It parried two rapid overhand blows from Aisen before locking against his chainsword and pushing back with enormous force. The ex-sergeant stumbled a few steps backwards, struggling to keep his balance.

Twilight’s blade turned to bat aside a thrust aimed for her back by Durrane, who had used the distraction provided by the other two to slip into her blind side. Two quick slashes towards his midriff drove him into a retreat even as Yilmaz and Aisen charged her. Twilight ducked Aisen’s sideways sweep for her head, lashing out with her two hind legs to catch him in the stomach. He doubled over and stumbled backwards again, coughing and clutching his midsection. Simultaneously, her blade caught an underhand swing from Yilmaz. The giant man brought his blade up and lashed out rapidly with several overhand power blows that failed to beat down Twilight’s blade, but kept it in place.

Durrane took advantage of Yilmaz’s attack to make another attempt at a back stab, taking several quick steps forward and thrusting. Twilight sidestepped the attack with her hearing alone, then kicked Durrane in the shin. His back hit the deck. Twilight’s sword abruptly pulled back from its defensive position with Yilmaz, leaving his latest blow to over-swing and stumble him again. Whipping around, Twilight thrust the blade directly into Durrane’s exposed abdomen. It poked him in the stomach.

“Dead,” Twilight declared, before turning again to catch a charging blow from a recovered Aisen. He ducked under her retaliatory sweep and transitioned directly into a stab for her heart. Twilight sidestepped again, then jumped over the sweep at her legs. Her sword point came down to touch the rear base of Aisen’s bent neck. “Dead,” she said again, then vanished in another flash of purple.

Twilight reappeared in front of her final opponent, sweeping at the huge man’s legs. Yilmaz jumped over the sweep and made one of his own for her head. Twilight’s sword shot up to knock his upwards even as she ducked underneath the chainsword. Yilmaz kicked, but Twilight rolled along the deck to avoid it. He made another overhand swing at her, which her sword caught yet again. The magic sword forced the chainsword to circle, then caught its tip on the chainsword’s hilt. It came around and yanked hard, tearing the mechanical weapon from the human’s hand. A purple glow encased the chainsword as Twilight’s magic caught it. Both blades crossed at Yilmaz’s throat.

“Dead,” Twilight declared.

Twilight returned to her quarters hours later, forced after drilling the men for almost fourteen hours to concede to the limits of human biology. She shouldn’t be too hard on them for that, she knew. After all, most ponies would have given out long before then, and only the enhanced biology of an alicorn allowed her the amount of endurance she had. If she had still been in her unicorn flesh, Twilight knew, she would have tired before the humans.

Still, it was frustrating to have to make allowances for such things. She had a mere five days in total to replace her old team, and by the time they had recuperated she would have three. And there was still the issue of replacing the stubborn fools she’d had to execute. With the new data on her men, this time from practical experience, she could at least select two new ones more quickly.

Sighing, Twilight opened Lord Inquisitor Rovini’s dataslate and began scrolling through the list.

Knowledge and Preparation

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.634.879.M39++

Alex Aisen let out a long sigh of relief as he flung his last boot off and simply collapsed onto the cot in front of him.

“Twenty. Two. Bloody. Hours,” he gritted his teeth at the thought even as he rested his sore, bruised head on the uncomfortable pillow. “Little xeno bitch. She hates me. I know it. She didn’t push the others half as hard.” But voicing such thoughts out loud wouldn’t be wise, particularly not when he had unceremoniously been jammed into a group quarters with Yilmaz, Durrane, and Titus. “Officers dumping the grunts into little cells while they get their own place. Some things never change.” Not that Aisen was in any particular position to complain about such behavior, having indulged in what small luxuries of power a PDF Sergeant could manage wherever and whenever possible.

Still, that certainly wasn’t going to keep him from complaining about it when the little purple devil wasn’t around.

“Why in the Emperor’s ballsacks does a little xeno slave driver get her own quarters when we’re crammed in here?” he managed, his intended inspirational anger somewhat muted by the fact that he was face down in his pillow.

“Because she is an Acolyte of the Holy Inquisition and we do not enjoy such a station. It is natural that rank carries privileges, even for an alien,” came the infuriatingly emotionless reply from Red Eye, or Durrane as his actual name went.

Aisen groaned. “If there’s anything almost as bad as the bloody xeno bitch, it’s that cold-blooded bastard! How can he be so bloody calm about all this? We’re humans! The Emperor’s own chosen! And some alien… cartoon… horse gets to order us around like slaves! It’s an outrage! A damned nightmare! And that bastard just acts like it’s no more important than crumbs on a jacket!”

“Stop your whinin’. I’m tryin’ ta get a bit a’ shut-eye.” Yilmaz’s deep, bass voice resounded throughout the squad quarters.

Aisen blindly groped around his small space for several seconds before his fingers closed around what he had been seeking. Raising a tiny metal flask, a pale shadow of the one he’d lost on the night he’d performed his blind charge, to his lips, Aisen took a long swig. The alcohol he’d “acquired” from a bondsman with an unhealthy gambling addiction flowed down his throat. It wasn’t very good, but it was something.

“Eh,” he managed after a long silence. “Shove it up your collective arse and smoke it, you alien backside-kissers.”

“You know she’s only trying to whip you into shape before our boss throws us back out there,” came the voice of that despicable xeno-lover, Titus.

“By killing us before the ‘crons can?” snorted Aisen. “Back in the hive, I heard tell that there’s kind of xeno that likes to take human slaves. Not to work, but just for the sport they get outa watching ‘em suffer and die in their arenas and dungeons. I think that our “good” Acolyte must be one of them.”

“She ain’t tryin’ to kill you, lad. That’s just the way she is. Believe it or not, you’ll find that she’s… actually pretty amiable most of the time,” Titus retorted from his bunk.

“I don’t believe it.”

“The thing you gotta realize about her is that she really hates the ‘crons. And I’m not talking like proper Imperial hatred for the heretic, neither. I mean she can get real fugging obsessive about hurtin’ ‘em. Somethin’ keeping her from dishing out pain on the metal bastards and she goes a bit crazy, starts getting’ real vicious on whatever’s between them and her. I’ve been with her for years, I know these things.”

“Yeah? And do I bloody look like I’m standin’ between them ‘crons and that purple daemon? They can have each other for all I care.”

“You ain’t gettin’ it. You lads,” there was a rustling sound from the direction of Titus’ bunk, Aisen presumed he was gesturing. “Aren’t exactly Imperial Stormtrooper quality.”

Aisen laughed harshly. “Well congratulations on figurin’ it out! Ya want a medal or something? Get to the point!”

“She can’t fight them herself. She’d get killed in seconds, minutes at best.”

“I’m not seeing the downside of that from here.”

“The Acolyte needs a team. And right now, that’s us. But you lot ain’t what she’s used to working with, and to her that’s an obstacle. You get it now?”

“What? She’s beating us because she’s an obsessive psycho in addition to being a xeno witch?”

“She’s pushin’ you so hard because she thinks you might let everything go to hell on mission one if she doesn’t. And she never wants anything to go anything less than perfect ‘gainst the Necrons. That’s the thing you ain’t getting’. She won’t let anything stop her from hurting them however she can, no matter what. That’s why she pulled the trigger. That’s why she’s drivin’ you all so hard. She normally ain’t the sort to be too stringent, but… she’ll never accept anything screwing her war with them. Don’t do that, and from what I seen she’ll treat you right. Do that, and… well, you saw what happened earlier.”

“Oh, great. Pleasant bloody dreams to you too.”

++3.634.879.M39++

“This,” Twilight gestured at a woman standing behind her with her front right hoof. “Is Imperial Guardswoman Liah Nessi. This,” she gestured with her left to the man standing next to Nessi. “Is Planetary Defense Force Private Ener Di’Tal. I have taken the time to have a little talk with them and am assured that neither my species will not be a problem to their integration into this squad, nor will they be giving us trouble. Will there be any from your end?” she asked the four men in front of her.

“No!” came the unified and timely response.

Twilight smiled to see even the good Sergeant Aisen jumping to respond on que, though she frowned a little when she noticed his eyes lingering overlong on Nessi. “Better keep an eye on that,” she decided. “Just in case.”

Twilight beckoned. “Then what are we waiting for, soldiers? We have training to do!”

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++

Trazyn the Infinite stared down from his command throne at the team of Deathmark assassins kneeling at his feet. “Is it finished? Are the Inquisition’s men slain?”

The leader of the elite squad and master sniper, Teritekh, raised his head from its bowed position. “Yes, my lord. The Stormtroopers suspected nothing until we struck. Not one did we leave alive.”

“Good. Very well done, honored warrior.” A lie, of course. Deathmarks were abhorrant to the old codes of martial honor that some of the Necrontyr still clung to. Not that Trazyn intended to be bound by such trivial nonsense. Particularly not when there were unique artifacts to preserve. “You may rise. I have another task for you.”

“What is your will?” asked Teritekh as he and his men regained their feet.

“Another squad of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers is attempting to scout out our positions in Quadrent X52981. Destroy it.”

“By your command.” The Deathmarks vanished quickly into one of their portals, returning to their pocket dimension until it came time to strike.

Once they were gone, Trazyn pressed a combination of buttons on his armrest, bringing a black-grey disk floating down from the ceiling. The machine presented itself to Trazyn. A handful of seconds later, an image appeared in its center. The uninformed would have suspected they were looking at a mirror.

“Honored Lychguard,” Trazyn said to the duplicate image. “Are my units in position?”

“Yes, my Overlord,” came the Lychgaurd’s reply, in Trazyn’s own voice. “All is in readiness. We merely await your signal.”

“The assault may begin as soon as scouts confirm the presence of the Deathwatch Space Marines.”

“As you wish,” said the subordinate wearing his master’s form.

“Remember, Lychguard, this must be convincing. The Deathwatch must believe that I lead this attack personally. Do not allow them to suspect otherwise. I do not want a single Imperial leaving that facility during this time. Keep them occupied until I signal you to withdraw.”

“It will be done, Overlord.”

“Good. I look forward to your successful return.” With that, Trazyn shut down the communications link with another few taps of his controls. Had he been able to smile any longer, he would have done so at that moment.

Instead, Trazyn the Infinite rose from his throne. Heavy thuds echoed through the gloom as he strode through his temporary headquarters – until a few days ago, an Adeptus Mechanicus facility deep in the polluted wastelands between the hive cities on Denton III. Nemesra Ehtekhra’s sources indicated that this place had had substantial ties to the Inquisition. Of course, the same data had placed it on a list of targets to be left alone for the time being, but such petty orders meant nothing compared to the chance to correct the mistake he’d been forced to make all those years ago and secure a priceless biological relic for eternal preservation in the Solemnance Galleries.

The Inquisition could not fail to investigate the base’s sudden silence. And with its other teams destroyed or occupied elsewhere…

Everything was in place, now he had just to wait until his quarry showed itself.

After all, it was simply a matter of time.

Skirmish (I)

++Facility X1938YP5, Denton III++
++3.635.879.M39++

“Brother Fares,” voxed Brother Venris of the Deathwatch. “Xenos flyer overhead. Fifty six degrees north-northwest.” He aimed his bolter out of one of the half-ruined bunker’s firing slits, and, with the split second precision only an Astartes could manage, fired three shots in quick succession. Three bolts exploded inside three of the nearest metal xenos as Brother Venris ducked back to avoid the inevitable counter-fire from the Necrons.

“Acknowledged,” came the voice of the Black Templar, now Deathwatch Space Marine, Brother Fares. “Moving to intercept.”

Brother Venris rolled out the bunker’s rear exit while its face was pounded by shot after green shot from the oncoming Necrons. Using his old training as a Scout for Imperial Fists, he kept low and poked around the side of the rapidly-crumbling Imperial bunker just enough for his armor’s autosenses and his own to locate the attackers. He aimed and fired five more bolts at the enemy before hurriedly rolling into the cover of a hab-block. Space Marines feared nothing, but Necron weaponry had proven effective against even their power armor, and Brother Venris had no intention of dying without doing as much damage as possible.

Venris’ keen hearing picked up the sound of a rocket engine going off, followed shortly by explosion. “That will be Brother Fares.”

“Xenos flyer directly hit. Kill confirmed,” came his brother’s voice over the squad vox a moment later, confirming what Venris already knew. Brother Fares had always been an excellent shot with the missile launcher.

“Status?” a different voice enquired.

“Skitarii unit 0257 confirmed KIA. Xenos advance 38 meters beyond facility perimeter. Minimum two hundred hostiles. Vehicular ground support. Combat servitors dead. Menials dead,” Brother Venris duly sounded off for Brother Nixios of the Angels Sanguine Chapter, the Deathwatch Sergeant.

Brother Fares was next. “Combat servitors at one-half strength. Xenos advance 18 meters beyond facility perimeter. Estimate four hundred hostiles. Five enemy vehicles KIA. Menials dead.”

“Skitarii unit 0419 at one-third strength. Xenos 21 meters beyond facility perimeter and closing. Estimated one hundred and thirty hostiles, three vehicles. Several breaches in outer defenses. Menials evacuated,” replied Brother Havelock of the Salamanders.

“Skitarii unit 0135 confirmed KIA. Xenos have overrun the perimeter. Unknown distance. Estimate three hundred hostiles. Totally surrounded. Multiple armor punctures. Left arm missing. Estimate twenty-two seconds before death,” said Brother Jarr of the Iron Hands, his mechanical voice sounding surprisingly impassive at the subject of his own imminent demise.

Brother Venris winced even as he retreated a few meters back and hurled a grenade into a cluster of the metal xenos. “Two battle-brothers dead or soon to be. Grave losses.”

“Odds of successful withdrawal?” asked Brother-Sergeant Nixios.

“Zero percent,” replied Brother Jarr. “Attempting to detonate promethium stockpile.”

“Acknowledged. Emperor be with you, brother.”

“And with you, Sergeant.”

“Skitarri units 0439 and 0276 have engaged the enemy. Xenos 51 meters from facility perimeter and advancing. Minimum two hundred hostiles. No visible vehicular support,” the last member of the squad, Brother Atellus of the Ultramarines, chimed in.

“Reports acknowledged,” Sergeant Nixios curtly replied.

A loud, sharp bang resounded above even the remorseless advance of the Necron army, the crack of weaponry, and the screams of the dying. Brother Venris did not turn his head. His hearing was more than enough to tell him what had happened. “Emperor protect your soul, my brother,” he prayed silently.

“Perimeter defenses untenable. Withdraw to secondary battle line.” Sergeant Nixios voxed in a moment later.

“Acknowledged,” said Brother Havelock.

“Acknowledged,” came Brother Atellus’ voice.

Brother Fares was next. “Acknowledged.”

Brother Venris backed up further, much as it offended his pride. “Acknowledged,” he voxed sourly. The Deathwatch Astartes retreated, abandoning yet more ground to the relentless Necron advance.

++Lunar-class Cruiser Kyne’s Fury, Orbiting Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

Twilight took a few steps past the now-familiar double doors, folded her right leg across her chest, and bowed her head. “You summoned me, Lord Inquisitor?” she said, looking up at the old man behind the desk.

For once, Lord Inquisitor Rovini looked directly up from the tome he was studying and made eye contact with the lavender alicorn in front of him. His eyes, Twilight noted, were slightly bloodshot, and had bags underneath them. “Acolyte. Good. Your men are assembled, I trust?”

Twilight bit her lip and nodded. “They are, sir.” Her ears flicked repeatedly, and she pawed one hoof along the hard floor.

“That is good. You have confidence in them?”

Twilight chewed her lip for a moment before answering “I think I’ve done all I can in the time allotted, sir.”

“That is not an answer, Acolyte.”

“Sir?”

“As you have no doubt noticed,” Rovini gestured to his face, “I have been somewhat pressed for time recently. I therefore do not have any inclination to play word games with you. Are you confident in this team you have assembled or are you not?”

Twilight’s hoof pawed the ground some more. “My Lord… frankly speaking I think they have a long way to go before they meet my old squad’s standards. More than one is likely to die on whatever this assignment is, perhaps even all of them.”

“And?” The Lord Inquisitor’s face was utterly expressionless. “I am informed you killed two of them yourself for insubordination.”

Twilight swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Remember what I taught you, Acolyte: the mission comes first. Beyond that, well... our Imperium has a great many soldiers.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Twilight bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“So, have you confidence that you can achieve your objectives with this squad or no?”

“Pardon me, my Lord, but I don’t even know what my objectives are yet.”

Rovini blinked, then rubbed his eyes. “Ah, yes. Of course.” The Lord Inquisitor bent down and rummaged around in his desk for several moments before sitting back up with a worn-looking dataslate in hand. He extended his hand in offering, and Twilight floated the little machine over to her face. Rovini continued as she hurriedly read through and absorbed the briefing, using skills learned in Equestria and honed to perfection in the service of the Imperium. “This is not the original mission I had planned for you, but as is the nature of this line of work, unexpected events require our intervention.”

“Sir…” Twilight said, cautiously, as she finished taking in the document. “This is not something I’d expect to be assigned to such an untested formation…”

Rovini’s face hardened. “And I feel that your special talents will be most gainfully employed in this work. Kindly do me the favor of not questioning my judgment when I have not asked for it.”

Twilight bowed her head again. “Yes… Yes, of course, my Lord.” She looked up. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

Rovini’s eyes had already returned to the musty tome on his desk. “Yes. See that my next visitor is brought in.”

“Yes sir,” Twilight mumbled as she turned to leave, somehow feeling like an unwanted intruder already.

The Lord Inquisitor’s voice interrupted before she could leave the chamber. “Oh, and Acolyte?”

Twilight turned her head back. “Yes, Lord?”

Lord Inquisitor Rovini’s face softened a bare fraction. “Emperor be with you.”

“And with you,” Twilight intoned as she exited.

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++

Trazyn the Infinite stood motionlessly on the rocky, polluted soil of Denton III. To a lesser, organic being, his position would have been quite untenable. The air was laced with toxic fumes from the hive cities and the remains of Adeptus Mechanicus technology alike. His right foot was in a small puddle of mildly acidic slime, which ate away at the rock underneath at a glacial pace. The strong winds whipped at his metal frame, even managing to move his heavy blue scale cape slightly. But the undying necrodermis shell Trazyn’s mind had inhabited for more than 60 million years weathered the storm without ache or complaint.

Trazyn’s mind was elsewhere, wondering how best to arrange the prize he was soon to acquire with the ones he already had. A suitably dramatic pose during capture would of course aid the process, but subjects were so very rarely cooperative.

“I do the ungrateful fools of this galaxy a great kindness in preserving what few pieces of their histories have meaning for all eternity, and they call me thief, butcher, and fiend. Bah! Short-sighted mortal peons, all of them, unable to see past their brief, petty lives. If it weren’t for me they would crumble away and be forgotten in the dusts of time. They should be begging to be taken!” Trazyn mentally grumbled to himself for what might well have been the actual millionth time, more for lack of anything better to be doing as he waited for his chosen prey than any real belief that complaining about the universe’s unfairness to collectors like him would do anything to change it.

The skull-faced Immortals around him stared blankly, their faces just as expressionless as their master’s though their minds were no doubt less active. Outside of combat, the black-bodied, white-faced elite of Trazyn’s warriors had little in the way of sapience or anything worth saying. Still, they had been proper soldiers in the Time of Flesh, not mere civilians like the more common Necron Warriors, and as such had retained more of their old selves. Enough so that they could be trusted to actually take something their Overlord wanted alive in one piece. With the lesser Warriors, mindless vaporization of a desired artifact had been a reoccurring headache since the reawakening of Solemnance.

Hours passed idly as the ancient machines simply stood still and waited, like patient spiders awaiting the arrival of a juicy fly. And if there was one thing the Necrontyr could be said to excel at, it was patience. The sun, or what little could be seen of it through the murky planetary atmosphere, was beginning to set by the time that one of the metal aliens spoke.

“Sir,” came the voice of Tyrentekh, one of Trazyn’s Immortals. “Our scans are detecting Imperial craft on an approach vector for our position.”

“How many?” was Trazyn’s reply.

“One, sir.”

“Class?”

“Transport. The Imperials dub it Valkyrie.”

“Signal the Deathmarks,” Trazyn gestured authoritatively. “Assume designated positions and await my signal. And remember,” he looked Tyrentekh in the eye, more out of unconscious habit than any practical reason. “I want the lavender alicorn alive and intact at the end of this. Is that absolutely clear to you, commander?”

“Yes, my Overlord.”

Trazyn nodded. Another old habit from his days in a mortal body. “Good. Kill any others.”

“It will be done, my lord.”

Trazyn gestured again, and Tyrentekh and other Immortals stoically assumed their planned formation around the ruined Mechanicus facility. The Overlord himself vanished in a flash of green light, reappearing much deeper inside, next to his temporary throne. Seating himself, he called up the tactical display and waited.

Minutes passed in empty silence as the predator awaited his unsuspecting prey. Finally, the video feed showed a Valkyrie touching down some distance from the site of the base. Its side doors opened to release passengers.

Trazyn could have sworn he felt his mouth watering. Which was ridiculous, considering that he had no mouth.

Trazyn signaled his Deathmark snipers. “Target the aircraft’s engines, and fire.”

Skirmish (II)

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

Green beams of light tore from the long synaptic disintegrator rifles wielded by the cyclopean agents of assassination. Each individual shot was too focused, too weak to hope to seriously damage the sturdy Imperial flyer, but two dozen such attacks were a different matter altogether. The Deathmarks were as chillingly accurate as they had always been, and the Necron weaponry tore great holes into the aircraft’s twin engines. The metal components shrieked as the arcane xenos weaponry began to break down what remained of the machine’s lift.

The Valkyrie had been grounded.

Trazyn gave the next order without ceremony. “Deathmarks, cease fire,” he said without the need for words. “Immortals, lay down cover fire and advance to point blank range. Do not let my prize escape.”

The night black elite of the Necrons appeared in predetermined coordinates in a green-hued short range teleport. Their double-barreled gauss blasters opened fire, tearing into the wings and sides of the trapped aircraft. The Imperials within fought back to the best of their ability, the forward-facing multi-laser laying down what fire it could from its immobile position. Two men opened up with both of the craft’s door-mounted heavy bolters, the powerful ammunition tearing through even the necrodermis armor of Immortals and shredding a trio of them, before counter fire from the xenos disintegrated both humans without ceremony.

To their credit, the Imperials did not cease their efforts to fight even for a second as the murderous mechanicals closed in. Primitive laser shots and crude but effective explosives emerged from the Valkyrie to rain down on the Necron elite, damaging more and even managing to bring down some of the xenos, however temporarily. But the undead legions pressed forward relentlessly, closing the distance to the battered aircraft slowly but surely, picking off any human that dared stick itself outside of the protective cover with precisely-aimed gauss shots. They used their alien weaponry to disintegrate great chunks of metal from its walls at point blank range, in order to force their way inside.

Glimmers of green light could be seen from within the Imperial vehicle for a handful of seconds. Simultaneously came the sounds of muffled explosions and the crack of las weaponry. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, all was still. Smoke wafted lightly from the slain machine while all but one of the Necrons damaged in their attack pulled themselves back onto their feet, their self-repair programs shrugging off what should have been mortal wounds. The final soldier, badly torn apart by the vehicle’s heavy bolters, vanished back to base to undergo more specialized repair.

“Report,” Trazyn demanded of his men, eager to collect his bounty and be done with this tiresome and uninspiring place.

“My lord, all hostiles have been terminated,” replied Tyrentekh over their communications system.

The Overlord had to resist a sudden urge to hit himself in the face. “And the exotic alien? It is intact, I trust?”

“All living entities aboard this craft were of the species designated human. There were no biological life forms fitting the descriptions given of target for capture,” came the emotionless reply.

“What?!”

++Valkyrie-class Airborne Assault Carrier Warbird++

“We’re approaching our destination. ETA forty-five seconds to drop point,” came the voice of the aircraft’s pilot through the intercom system.

“Acknowledged,” Twilight Sparkle replied through the same, for formality’s sake. “Alright people, lock and load! We’re going in nearly blind, so be ready for anything.”

“Great,” muttered a certain former PDF sergeant under his breath.

“What was that?” Twilight glared at him.

“Nothing, sir!” he snapped a hurried salute.

The little equine kept her eyes locked on Aisen for a few moments more before turning her attention back to a final check of her own gear. Around her, the assembled men of the Inquisition were doing the same with varying degrees of professionalism and composure; Durrane looked as though he might be getting ready for a relaxing walk in the park, while Aisen took hasty swallows of alcohol from a concealed flask whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

“It’s just as well, really,” Twilight considered. “We’re probably all about to die anyway. One squad and three flyers to extract a prisoner from a base under siege? May as well just let him have it if it makes him feel any better. And perhaps better somewhat inebriated than terrified.”

The Valkyrie continued to hurl through the polluted skies of the hive world, on course for Adeptus Mechanicus Facility X1938YP5. There, the team was to retrieve an imprisoned psyker by the name of Marius Quinn, for reasons that Twilight had not been authorized to know. What she did know was that contact with the facility had been lost with a full team of Deathwatch Space Marines on the premises, reporting a massive force of attacking Necrons. Again, for reasons she hadn’t been permitted to know, simply calling in an army had been ruled out.

“Probably because of all the other Necron assaults taking place across the planet,” she thought sourly. It was a full-scale war and resources were not exactly abundant, but she wished that she had more to work with. Even under the optimistic assumption that the base hadn’t been totally overrun, there weren’t likely to be men to spare.

Still, she had a job to do, and there was no way Twilight would rather die than fighting to her last breath against the metal monsters.

“Approaching drop point. ETA fifteen seconds to drop.”

Twilight began building magic around her horn. “Everyone, gather around me. Close as you can while maintaining combat formation. This won’t be an easy insertion, and I really don’t need it to be any harder than already is.”

The six troopers of Twilight’s improvised squad did as the Acolyte asked, clustering around her in a circle facing outwards, guns in hand.

“Five seconds,” came the pilot’s voice.

Twilight’s horn was encased in a purple aura, lighting up the Valkyrie’s compartment around the team. She drew upon the power the Warp slowly, trying not to attract its predators while absorbing enough strength to do what she was attempting.

“Four.”

The glow began to extend itself around the alicorn’s body proper, bright enough now to cause pain in unshielded human eyes.

“Three.”

It reached around each of the humans in turn. More than one shifted nervously in response, muttering prayers to their God-Emperor through closed eyes and clenched teeth.

“Two.”

Twilight focused intently on their destination, on the blueprints of the complex that she had committed to memory. She could see it in her mind’s eye, more than a mile below the aircraft, currently swarming with enemies determined to finish off whatever resistance remained.

“One.”

There was a blazing spark of violet light inside the Warbird, and the squad vanished into the depths of the Warp.

Author's Note

Short chapter this time, but I'm getting back into this story and expect that the next update will come more quickly.

Skirmish (III)

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

Alex Aisen was not a man lacking in tales of personal woes, many of them self-inflicted. But he could honestly and with considerable accuracy rate the passage through the turbulent Warp as the most terrifying thing he had ever done.

One moment, he was standing in the familiar if cramped crew compartment of a Valkyrie transport. The next, he was pulled into a whirling maelstrom of otherworldly nightmares. All around him was darkness, an endless void of pure black. No, it wasn’t darkness; it was an indistinct purple-pinkish glow. No, it was a green mist filled with wailing faces, human and otherwise. No, it was all of them at once. Screams and pleas for a mercy that Aisen somehow knew would never come echoed in his ears from across space and time, overlapping with yet distinct from the cruel laughter of otherworldly beings. In the distance, Aisen saw himself pass through a purple cloud, peeling his flesh from his bones in a graphic display of gore. He saw his soul taken apart then rended down and consumed by a vast, pink nightmare creature. Aisen wanted to shriek, but his lungs were empty. He watched himself die a dozen deaths on as many planets: from being viciously torn apart by aliens on his home hive to being buried beneath an avalanche on a frozen ice ball to slowly drowning underneath the murky green waters of a great sea. He felt every death as if it were actually him there. He heard his own screams joining the dark chorus of the Warp for all eternity, and Aisen knew then that he was dead.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

Aisen found himself standing in darkened room somewhere. He didn’t know where, and he didn’t care. He doubled over, vomiting chunks of brown sludge and blood all over the grated metal floor beneath his feet. He gasped for breath like a drowning man, desperately trying to fill the aching void in his chest. There was a sensation on his back and noise in his ears, but he ignored them, his panicked mind seeking only to consume air as fast as possible

*smack*

Aisen tumbled backwards and onto his arse as grey club hit him roughly across the face. More sounds resounded in his ringing ears. He stared blankly at the club that had just hit him until he realized that was attached to something. His eyes traced the origin point of his attacker while his brain struggled to cope with what had just happened.

“No, not a club,” he realized as something resembling reason began to reassert itself in his head. “A hoof. Attached to…” Aisen looked further “A purple horse.” Its mouth was moving, and with a start Alex Aisen realized that it was the source of the noise he was hearing. So he tuned in.

“-OUT OF IT!!!” the funny-looking equine was shouting at him. “WE HAVE A JOB TO DO!”

“A job?” Aisen blinked uncertainly. “What’s this thing going on about?”

Without warning, a rush of memories flooded the human’s worn brain. He recalled who he was, who and what this violet creature was, and why he was there. He almost wished he hadn’t.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled in a voice that sounded strange to his own ears, but seemed to register to Twilight.

She hit him again. “Get up! Yes, we ran into a bit of unexpected turbulence, but I pulled us all through. You’re fine and we have work to do!”

“Work. Right,” Aisen said vaguely as he slowly regained his feet. His whole body shook violently with the effort, until the purple one’s horn lit up again, and the tremors died down.

“There!” she said in a huff. “Honestly, no one else took it that badly. As you people put it: man up, son.”

“Ugh…”

“Just shut up and follow me. We have men to extract. And put on your night vision goggles.”

The small team followed the little purple creature, Aisen near the center. For the first time since arriving, he bothered to examine the room around him. It was dark, but filled with row after row of tanks with murky blue fluid inside. Peering closer at one of the strange machines, he was startled to see a human face float by in the ooze. He almost jumped, but then his mind filled in the blanks: this was a servitor farm. Where humans were grown in tanks to be made into the hideous half-mechanical, brain dead slaves of the Imperium.

Aisen shuddered.

Twilight peered carefully down the black hallways of the Mechanicus facility. The lights, even those powered by emergency backup generators, had gone completely dark. That meant either that the inhabitants had voluntarily shut off the lights themselves – unlikely to do anything to deter or hinder their attackers – or else all power generators had already been compromised. She had memorized the base’s layout during the ride here, and knew that the squad was roughly three hundred meters under the earth, deep below the occupied surface. If there were any survivors, not to mention their intended extractee, they would most likely be huddled down here.

But then, the Necrons never were strict about following the laws of physics. Distance was no guarantee of safety.

The prison cell where their target had been kept was, by Twilight’s recollection, some two hundred meters from where her spell had deposited them, through a twisting maze of corridors and Mechanicus laboratories. A little further away than she’d been going for, but precision teleportation was always a tricky act, much less during the times when the Aether was as tempestuous as it was then. That they had all made it through relatively intact and not possessed was about as good as could be reasonably expected.

“Hold,” came the low voice of Durrane, the cybernetic-eyed man with their auspex. “I’m getting something. It’s faint, but close.”

“How close?” Twilight replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“32 meters and closing.”

Twilight nodded and looked at her men. “Spread out and assume ambush formation… let’s say five.” It was a shame she’d only had time to drill them in the most basic of her prearranged maneuvers, but such was life.

The six humans and one alicorn fanned out across the hallway, the humans pairing off and taking cover as best they could in the doorways around them, the alicorn casting an enchantment on herself and simply walking directly up the wall and hanging upside down from the pipe-infested ceiling. From her perch, Twilight was difficult to spot unless someone chose to look directly up at her.

Below her, all was silence for several seconds as the impromptu “Stormtroopers” held their collective breath, Durrane being the only one to not truly look at least nervous. He eyes, cybernetic and organic, looked up and down from his auspex, checking the hall for signs of the approaching blips. Aisen took a swig of his flask; Titus and a few others muttered low prayers to the God Emperor. Other than that, there was no sound at all.

Just when Twilight was on the verge of calling off the team, her sensitive ears swiveled in response to stimulation. The slightest pang of metal on metal rang out through the hall. No one moved, or even dared to breathe. Then the sound repeated, louder this time. And again. And again. And again. Each time, the sound resonated more and more strongly. Getting closer.

Time slowed to a crawl. Seconds felt like hours. Twilight could feel the heightened beating of her heart in her chest as adrenaline pumped through her. Her bolt pistols teasingly made their way from their cases. Below her, fingers twitched over triggers.

Around a bend in the hallway came the skeletal form of a Necron Warrior, the eerie lime glow from its long-barreled weapon illuminating the hall around it. Metal feet impacted on metal floor, clanging echoing throughout the deathly silent tunnels. Two more followed the undead warrior, marching in a twitching shuffle befitting those long bereft of minds of their own. Two more still followed those, and the five machines made their way down the hall where Twilight’s men lay in wait.

“Hold…” the alicorn thought to herself, holding her breath tightly as the xenos approached. “Hold… Hold…”

The creatures passed directly underneath her.

“Now.”

Twilight’s twin bolt pistols opened up on the metal warriors, .75 slugs punching holes into their armor and exploding into their intricate insides. Simultaneously, she released the spell holding her to the ceiling and dropped directly on top of the Necrons. One, already riddled with wounds, staggered under her weight and dropped to the ground underneath her hooves.

A wave of telekinetic force swept from Twilight in all directions, blowing the four abominations still on their feet off of them and into the metal walls. Her men took their cue and struck, unloading high-intensity laser shots from their hellguns into their downed mechanical foes. Self-repair systems struggled to cope as damage poured in from all angles; simplistic targeting programs experiencing slight delays in determining threat priorities.

Twilight leveled a pistol at the back of the head of the Necron she stood atop. Its arms released its weapon and twisted at an unnatural angle to grab at her, clawed fingers scraping along her carapace armor. She fired once, twice, three times. The metal warrior’s head was reduced to so much metallic pulp, overwhelming its ancient repair systems at last. While Twilight hopped off its limp form, the metal carcass vanished in a flash of green light.

The alicorn’s eyes darted around to each of her enemies in turn. One, half-melted and thoroughly peppered with bolt holes, had slumped back against the wall and disappeared even as she watched. Another, missing and arm and with its chest torn open, struggled to regain its footing and aim its long gauss weapon. A third, despite enduring three hellgun shots in as many seconds, had clambered back to its feet and was aiming its gun towards the most visible target: Twilight.

Twilight reached out with her telekinesis, and a purple aura surrounded the gauss weapon. She forcibly yanked it to the side at the last second, her strength greater even that the undead warrior’s. Instead of vaporizing her, the weapon swung to aim at the last of the four remaining Necrons before discharging. The green energy flayed the prone metal xeno as well as it did anything else. Before the warrior could adjust its aim back to her, she shot it five more times with her bolt pistols, and it crumpled to the ground before vanishing.

“Status?” Twilight whispered into her comm bead. “Everyone alright?” Once they affirmed that there were no casualties in the first engagement, Twilight gave a small smile. “Congratulations, men,” she said in a genuinely pleasant tone. “Our first firefight and it ended well for us. Now, come on, let’s-”

The alicorn stopped herself. Her ears swiveled again. There was another sound coming their way, but different from the first.

She furrowed her brow. “Not the sound of metal on metal… Just one… And hurried…”

“Hold your positions,” she ordered her men, resuming her own place on the ceiling. “Someone’s coming, but if my guess is right.”

Another figure rounded the corner. But this one was alone, and human. A very familiar human.

“Interrogator Kylara,” Twilight said from her elevated perch.

The woman looked up at her with an unreadable expression. “Acolyte.”

Skirmish (IV)

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

“Acolyte,” said the tan-skinned, black-haired woman looking up at the alicorn.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Twilight, not lowering her bolt pistols or detaching from the ceiling. “You weren’t described in my mission overview.”

“I owe you no explanations,” Kylara answered impassively.

“If you want to keep breathing, Interrogator,” hissed Twilight. “You’ll tell me what you’re doing by yourself in the middle of a Necron-infested base out in the desert.”

The woman snarled. “You dare to threaten me?” She tightened her grip on the plasma pistol by her side, but did not draw.

“I dare,” the alicorn replied. “You aren’t in my mission briefing. But you’re here. And you’re alone. And you’re alive. In my book, those things are suspicious.” Her pistols clicked meaningfully. “Explanations now, Interrogator.”

“You have no right to demand explanations from me, xeno vermin.”

“Then that’s my problem,” Twilight’s expression was hard as diamonds. “But I’m sure the Lord Inquisitor will understand my judgment if I explain the extent of your suspicious behavior. This is a warzone, after all, and we cannot take chances.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Shock and outrage crossed Kylara’s face for an instant, before being replaced by narrowed eyes. The woman stared, her eyes glancing around to where Twilight knew the rest of her squad waited for orders. She sighed.

“What do you think I was doing?” she said at last. “I was here doing my duty,” Twilight’s face remained stony, and after a moment Kylara elaborated. “I was sent here to confirm the authenticity of the alleged visions of the witch Marius Quinn, and to extract any useful intelligence from him.”

“And why are you still here?” the alicorn demanded.

“I was caught in the xenos attack. I have been unable to secure exit for myself or the prisoner.”

“And why are you alone?”

“Because the last group I found myself with was destroyed by the xenos.”

“And why were you coming this way?”

“I heard the sounds of combat and thought I might find other survivors to regroup with.”

“Why weren’t you in my briefing?”

“I cannot speculate on our lord’s motives, but my suspicion is that he believed me dead, or else irrelevant to your assigned task.”

Human and alicorn stared at one another in silence for some time, neither moving at all. The men of Twilight’s squad looked on, some wondering whether it would come to a clash, others wondering who to side with if it did. But at last the alien seemed to make up her mind, and, with a sigh, reluctantly returned her bolt pistols to their holsters. Kylara in turn released her grip on her own favored weapon.

Twilight Sparkle dropped from the ceiling, landing easily on her hooves once more. “You can come with us,” she said, slowly. “But I warn you: give me one reason to think you might have mindshackle scarabs, and I’ll end you then and there. Understood?”

“I would expect nothing less,” said the Interrogator through gritted teeth.

“Do you know where Marius Quinn is currently being held?” Twilight asked. “I have his previous location, but if you were seeking others and didn’t go there it implies that either you couldn’t reach it or no one remains alive there.”

“The latter,” answered Kylara.

“Is our target dead, then?”

“I do not know.”

Twilight grimaced. “Very well.” She gestured for the others with a wing. “Let’s move!”

Another of the Emperor-damned machines fired from point-blank range just as the one in front of it went down, this shot catching the Astartes’ chainsword in a glancing blow. That was more than enough to atomize the bulk of the weapon, with the rest rapidly being eaten away by the lingering effects of xenos techno-sorcery. Brother Venris of the Deathwatch hurled the useless hilt aside with a curse. Before the Necron could fire again, the Space Marine seized the barrel of its weapon in one hands and wrenched it away, forcing the barrel to aim at the floor. Simultaneously, he took hold of the Necron’s upper right arm and pulled as hard as his genetically-enhanced muscles could manage.

With a rending sound, the monstrosity’s arm was torn from its joint. Brother Venris threw the useless, flailing metal limb aside to wrap his left hand around the Necron’s neck. With his right, he punched its skull-like face once, twice, then three times. Ceramite-encased muscle met unbelievably ancient necrodermis, and the necrodermis crumpled. With its face caved in like so much cheap aluminum, the Necron failed to resist as the Astartes hurled it to the ground and crushed its head beneath his boot.

“Xenos filth,” he snarled, for what could have been the thousandth time in those last few days.

Brother Venris turned to aid his brothers just in time to witness the now one-armed Brother Fares impale another metal abomination through the torso with his own chainsword before kicking its limp form to the floor and whirling around for more. But there were no more. The last of this group of Necrons had been sent back to whatever hell spawned them, their bodies fading away as they always did in green light.

A more superstitious man than the Imperial Fist would have taken the lull for an Emperor-granted respite, but Venris knew the relentless machines only stopped when they had all been slain – or else when they were simply preparing for the next assault.

“Brothers,” he voxed. “I am shamed. My sword has been lost.”

Brothers Fares and Atellus, the other two surviving Astartes of the original seven that had started this battle, themselves survivors of other battles that had culled their numbers from ten, bowed their heads solemnly. The loss of an honored mechanical comrade was more than just a tactical disadvantage; it was a black mark on the record of the Space Marine who had been so careless. Many of the weapons they carried had been honored relics of their Chapters or the Deathwatch for centuries or more. If they survived, Brother Venris knew that he must answer for it. But he was far from the only one so dishonored.

All of the Space Marines had been fighting for well over forty-eight hours by then, without substantial rest or resupply. Ammunition and grenades had been exhausted long ago, and guns were reduced to mere clubs – if they were not abandoned altogether or simply destroyed in combat. Brother Fares now held the one functioning weapon between the three – his chainsword – and he showed his loss in the form of a missing right arm and numerous gouges on his armor. Brother Atellus had taken to using a particularly tough section of piping for a crude bludgeoning weapon and had lost his helmet and portion of his left ear. Brother Venris now had an empty bolter and leg injury from falling debris to show for his efforts to stem the metal tide.

And yet still, in spite of the thousands of machines they had put down between them, the Necrons came on still. In large groups or small, in the form of scuttling insects or walking skeletons, in the doors or through the walls, the implacable advance had continued apace. Most everyone in the base was slain, those few mortals whom the Astartes knew yet survived cowered in a commandeered laboratory zealously guarded by the three remaining superhumans. None of them expected to escape, but all were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. They were sons of the Emperor, and He would expect nothing less.

It came as something of a surprise when their superhuman ears picked up the sounds of bolter fire. The distinctive crack of the gun, followed shortly by the detonation of shells, echoed throughout the dark and empty halls. It was a sound each Battle Brother knew more intimately than a lover, and as one they turned their heads towards the source.

A single thought passed between each Space Marine, communicated without the need for words: had help at last arrived?

Skirmish (V)

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

Twilight’s bolt pistols barked simultaneously. Twin Necrons, held immobile in purple telekinesis, could do nothing to stop the lethal slugs from penetrating their faces and exploding within. Both went limp as their central processing systems were damaged beyond repair, and Twilight unceremoniously tossed them aside.

Behind her came the sound of a plasma discharge. Twilight reeled just in time to see another metal alien, its chest half-melted and aflame, collapse backwards to the ground. Interrogator Kylara, smoking plasma pistol in her right hand, stepped forward to loom over the downed machine. Its arms still attempted to grab at her.

Kylara raised the thin power sword she held in her left hand and plunged it down into the machine’s skull. At once, it stopped moving.

Planting her boot on its neck, Kylara pulled her sword from the Necron. “Xenos filth,” she snarled irritably. Twilight’s practiced eyes caught a glimpse in her direction, but the human said nothing more.

“That’s all of them accounted for,” said Durrane, not yet leaving the wall piping he had been using for cover.

“And good riddance,” muttered Aisen, spitefully kicking one of the downed machines.

“Hold positions,” Twilight gave a whispered order, “There may be more.”

The small group looked uneasy at the prospect, and did as bidden. For several seconds, seven humans and one alicorn waited, pressing themselves into cover as best they were able. But no more of the machines made themselves apparent, and after a short amount of time had passed the Acolyte emerged and bid the rest do the same.

“This doesn’t make sense…” the alicorn thought to herself. “These patrols are too sparse, and too random. This isn’t any kind of assault or holding pattern these creatures have been known to use… And I’ve studied them all… But then…” She shook her head. “Figure it out later. Rescue mission now,” she muttered, before raising her voice. “Alright, move!” She beckoned with an armored foreleg, and to her satisfaction the squad made an acceptable effort to fall in line. Even Kylara was prompt, if sporting an unpleasant expression on her face.

Brother Venris, with his armor’s autosenses the least damaged of the three remaining, was the natural choice for a forward lookout. His genetically-enhanced vision easily penetrated the gloom without his helmet’s aid; with it, he could see as clearly as cloudless summer day in a Terran-grade atmosphere. The Imperial Fist had positioned himself not far from his brothers – with so few remaining they did not dare leave one another’s sight – to give himself the best possible view of the surrounding maze of corridors. Anything that did not come through the ceiling or floor, be it ally or enemy, he would see. It was possible that help would arrive soon. It was equally possible that they had been slain. Regardless, the brothers of the Deathwatch had a duty to safeguard what remained of this facility’s staff, and they would honor that oath.

Venris clutched his empty bolter, now an improvised but effective club, close to his chest as he slowly swept his head from side to side, scanning the area once again. The slightest hint of green registered from a distant corner. Immediately, he wordlessly directed his armor’s machine spirit to zoom in, and was unsurprised to see a mechanical insect leg and green photoreceptor.

“Scarab,” he voxed, his armor preventing any sound leaking out of it. “Corridor U35, right wall, seventeen point two meters. Alone.”

“Acknowledged,” came the voice of Brother Fares, the only other Astartes with a fully-functional vox system left. “Scout, most likely.”

“Agreed,” Venris replied. The loathsome metallic insects, when not sent forward in all-devouring swarms of uncounted thousands, had often been used in ones and twos to scope out Imperial positions. That the machine was simply holding position rather than advancing added further evidence. “Target?”

Brother Fares was a moment in answering, no doubt conferring with Brother Atellus.

“Advise negative,” came the response. “Distance too great, possible trap,”

Venris silently nodded his agreement – for destroying a single, replaceable enemy drone was not worth straying so far from his backup, especially when there could very easily be a silent wraith around the corner waiting to pounce on any fool enough to come close. In any case, it was virtually certain that there were more in the area. Scarabs never came alone.

“Acknowledged,” he said. “Holding position.”

Seconds ticked by slowly on Venris’ internal chronometer. All was stillness and silence in the dark metal corridor, with barely a movement save the dust in the air. Not even breathing could be heard, the capable systems of power armor muting even that sound. The mechanical insect remained unmoving and rooted to its spot, as did the Astartes who watched it warily. Eventually, the seconds became minutes but nothing more was heard of the gunfire that had surprised the Space Marines not long ago.

It was just as Brother Venris was considering abandoning the forward watch position and retreating to where his brothers waited that his keen hearing picked up something.

“Footsteps,” he voxed, “Approaching, north by northwest.” Venris listened for a moment more. “Not consistent with known Necron patterns.” The noises were too light and didn’t resound quite like the metal feet of the invading aliens did on the Adeptus Mechanicus’ constructions.

“Acknowledged. Ours, you think?”

“Possible,” Venris continued to listened to the steadily increasing tempo. “Probable organic. Hold position?”

There was a long pause as the two other Astartes presumably debated what to do.

“Advise hold. But be wary. Even if human, possible xenos taint.”

That made sense. If help didn’t come, the Astartes and their wards were dead men anyway – there was no way out of the base for them all, and even if there were all transports were destroyed in the opening minutes of the battle. It was worth taking a small risk to see if aid had finally arrived. But then, it was always possible that even if the approaching figures were human, that they were some manner of xenos cultist sent to make the Astartes lower their guard. Such things were not unknown to the Deathwatch.

“Acknowledged.”

The slight sounds came closer and closer, and by their low decibel level and frequent pauses Venris guessed that the mortals were attempting to be stealthy. It was an effort, but was unlikely to fool well-trained warriors. He gripped his empty boltgun, ready to move at the first sign of an enemy attack.

Without warning, the Scarab that Venris had spotted was lifted into the air by a violet glow. Its legs and mandibles flailed wildly, and then its head compressed into a miniscule ball with an audible crunch. The insect-machine’s struggles immediately ceased, and it fell back to the floor in a scrap heap as the aura surrounding it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Witchcraft…” breathed Venris. On the one hand, Necrons were not known to use the Warp or its powers. On the other, anyone as flagrantly ostentatious with psychic witchery as to evoke it to destroy a single insignificant drone was unlikely to be in Imperial employ. Chaos cultists, perhaps?

At long last, after what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a minute, the sounds finally reached the corner where the Scarab had been. Venris wished for the latest in Emperor only knew how many times that he had more ammunition for his boltgun.

A head poked out around the corner. The Astartes’ enhanced vision caught it easily, despite the darkness and its own attempt to minimize its presence.

“What the hell is that?” thought Venris.

It was a small, violet head not even reaching up to the Space Marine’s knee. Ears pointed up from its head, swiveling even as the Deathwatch brother observed. Dark purple hair with streaks of violet and pink dangled down, giving the head a distinctly feminine appearance. Eyes that looked altogether too large for its face honed in on Venris, and the expression on its face became one of cautious relief.

Venris resisted the urge, ingrained by countless hours of hypno-indoctrination, meditation, and bitter experience, to clamp down on his bolter’s trigger only by remembering that it still had no ammunition. This was a xeno. Different as it might have been from the Necrons he had seen, it was still an alien on Imperial soil and thus he was bound to destroy it.

Then the creature stepped into the open, and Venris’ surprise turned into hot rage. The equine-looking xeno wore armor in the style of the Imperium, which was bad enough. But even worse was the symbol displayed prominently on its shoulder. The sacred rosette. The symbol of Emperor’s Holy Inquisition. To see it on the armor of an alien was an affront to any loyal servant of the Emperor, and demanded retribution. His mind hurriedly processed the odds of killing it with a thrown object before it could use the two boltguns he saw on its belt.

“Greetings,” it said in unaccented Gothic. Its voice was noticeably feminine as well. “I am Acolyte Twilight Sparkle of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, serving under Lord Inquisitor Tas Rovini. I am here on a mission for my master, and perhaps we might help each other?”

Venris voxed his brothers, not bothering to include the alien. “This “Acolyte” you hear is xenos scum.”

Brother Fares hissed audibly through the vox, his Chapter’s special hatred for the foes of man no doubt running through his mind.

“It has weapons. Bolt weapons. I do not think I can kill from here it before it gets a chance to shoot me. And something displayed psychic witchcraft.”

“Act as if you agree,” urged the Black Templar, “Then kill it when it gets near.”

“A good plan.”

The xeno continued. "I can, of course, present a token of my service, if you do not believe me," she said, before a small medallion floated from a pouch on her utility belt, surrounded by the same violet aura from earlier. She held it up, giving the Astartes ample time to look at it.

“Twilight” then beckoned with a front leg, and two more figures stepped out from the same corridor it had come from. These two, to Venris’ shock and anger were human, and also bedecked in the symbols of the Inquistion. One was a male holding a rifle in Stormtrooper armor, the other a female with a blade in one hand and pistol in the other in a customized suit.

“Further, my colleagues are Interrogator Kylara and Stormtrooper Titus. They will vouch for me if you require it, honored Astartes.” Twilight with a slight bow.

Venris hesitated, looking from one to the other. Humans? With a xeno? Serving the Inquisition? It didn’t seem possible. But at first glance the stoic man and sour-faced woman didn’t show any of the more common signs of brainwashing. The latter was even glaring distastefully at the xeno.

“She is right, my lord,” said this Titus, bending his head respectfully. “We’re here on behalf of the Inquistion. Isn’t that right?” he looked briefly to the woman.

“Yes,” said Kylara, simply.

Before Venris could take the time to decide what to do next, he heard a sound he had become uncomfortably familiar with. The air some distance behind him crackled, and he swung his head quickly to look.

Green lights flashed in rapid sequence, and where once was a deserted corridor there were suddenly several tall, black-bodied, white-faced Necron soldiers, each bearing enormous double-barreled weapons. Near their center was a unique machine, with a metal hood and cloak, bearing a long staff in its hand.

Even as Venris began to dive back towards his brothers, he heard the little xeno scream out in a voice that sounded like it carried the Warp’s own fury.

“YOU!!!”

Skirmish (VI)

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

“YOU!!!” screamed the little xenoform, its voice echoing easily through the confined space.

Brother Venris had no time to consider the extreme antipathy for the Necrons evidenced by this “Twilight Sparkle”, as the metal monstrocities wasted no time in opening fire. Had the Astartes not already been moving, he would have been vaporized on the spot. As it was, he rolled along the floor with surprising agility for one of his size, and the lethal energies flew over him and down the corridor. Venris caught the briefest of glimpses of the green shots heading straight towards the xeno and her two human companions.

“So much for our xeno “Acolyte”” a part of his mind thought.

The rest was fixated on the now considerably worsened tactical situation. Venris’ roll took him to the room where his remaining two brothers yet waited, and he regained his feet as nimbly as he’d rolled.

“Immortals,” he said, simply. “Estimate a dozen or more.”

“Emperor protect our souls,” said Brother Fares said.

Venris and Atellus nodded grimly. Nothing more needed to be said. If the elite of the Necron army had at last come for them, it was a given that they would be slaughtered. Even Astartes in prime condition had to struggle against such foes – and the ragged remains of the Deathwatch force were hardly in their prime. Still, they were loyal sons of the Emperor, and would sell their lives as dearly as they could. It was their duty.

The Astartes would not have to wait long. Within seconds the sound of Necron weapons discharging, while not slacking in the slightest, was joined by the sounds eerily rhythmic footsteps along the metal floor. Moments later, the first black metal machine stepped through the door without hesitating.

Brother Fares had no hesitation either.

From his waiting ambush position, the Black Templar cried out the Emperor’s name as he swung his whirring chainblade in an upward slice for the machine’s neck joint. It was a good swing, especially for a man with only one arm remaining, perfectly calculated to slice into the armor’s weakest point and sever the deathly white head and with all the genetically-engineered super strength of the Space Marines behind it.

The Immortal caught it in one hand.

The machine’s left arm released its hold on its weapon with astounding speed, darting upwards to wrap its hand around the incoming sword. The buzzing teeth cut deep even into the heavily reinforced necrodermis of the Immortal’s hand, but it mattered not at all to the deathless warrior. Pain was a distant memory to such a thing.

While the Immortal’s left hand protected its head, its right lost no time in taking the offensive. Strong enough to wield its gun in one hand as well as it did with two, it brought the double-barreled weapon up to point directly at Fares’ chest. At the exact moment the chainsword was caught in its left hand, its right fired the gun. Once. Twice. Three times. At point blank range, there was no way it could miss.

And it didn’t.

Brother Fares of the Black Templars, then of the Deathwatch, was slain instantly. He had no time to cry out in pain or rage, to swear bloody vengeance or call the Emperor’s wrath down on the xeno’s head. His armor and chest were disintegrated in microseconds. The rest of his body, rapidly being eaten away by the energies that had killed him, clattered to the floor.

It had taken less than a second.

The Astartes battle cries were filled anew with a fresh fury, yet another reason to loathe the alien, to destroy it whenever they found it.

As if such things were needed.

Brothers Venris and Atellus were on the machine before its repair systems had a chance to renew its damaged hand, or its targeting systems to recalibrate and seek new victims. Venris brought his empty boltgun down on the Immortal’s head with all the force of a living avalanche, cracking sacred machinery and alien armor alike. Atellus could not swing his improvised bludgeon in such close proximity to his brother, and so instead settled for delivering a kick to its midsection. The ceramite boot caved in a portion of the machine’s armor, and more importantly sent the Immortal flying back the way it had come.

The Necron impacted against one of its fellows, the sheer kinetic force carrying them both into the corridor’s opposite wall with enough momentum to crack the sturdy Mechanicus design. Such a blow would have killed anything that lived, but both of the unholy creatures were already beginning to pick themselves up, necrodermis flowing back together to close wounds and repair damage.

Even worse, though the majority of the Immortals had passed the Astartes by in their efforts to close on the doubtlessly-slain purple xeno and her squad, two more turned back around to deal with the irritating Space Marines. Four of the Necron elite in full armor and wargear against two wound, exhausted Astartes without even proper weaponry? It was not a question of who would prevail. Given half a chance, the Immortals would butcher the remaining Deathwatch on the spot.

But they would not get such a chance.

Twilight Sparkle, Acolyte of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, last scion of the dead Equestria, screamed out her rage. All else fell away from her mind. The Imperium did not matter. The mission did not matter. Her team did not matter. Her very life did not matter. All that mattered was this: one of the beings that had killed her planet, her friends, her family, and everything she had ever cared for stood before her.

And she was going to kill him.

When the Immortals opened fire with their impossibly advanced xenotech weapons, they did not aim for their master’s prize, but rather the humans around her. Such chaff were of no value to Trazyn, and as such were merely obstacles to be eliminated. So it was that the first few bolts of lethal green energy passed over the alicorn’s head without incident. A human voice behind Twilight screamed with agony, but she did not know who of her men had been hit. Nor, honestly, could she have been said to care.

Twilight reached deep into in Aether, not at all concerned with possibility of drawing too much energy into herself. A part of herself had the sense to use some of that strength conjure a protective field around herself as the firefight broke out, shielding herself from the advancing Immortals and “friendly” fire alike. She had never had her brother’s special affinity for defensive magic, but she was competent enough. More than one shot clipped the violet bubble, but did no more than dissipate harmlessly.

The alicorn drew hungrily on the surging Warp, her rage pushing her to ignore the screams of protest from her overtaxed horn, or the pounding in her head. All that mattered was destroying the enemy, here and now, and Twilight knew just how to make it happen. If that meant her own head would simply explode afterwards, so be it.

Seconds ticked by as the alicorn struggled to accumulate the necessary strength to cast her curse. The Aether here was fickle, full of daemons and tormented souls. Not like it had been at home. In Equestria, magic had been as easy as breathing, but here Twilight had no such luxury. Still, she was a prodigy, a genius some had said, and even on this wretched dirtball her power was beyond almost any others’.

The Immortals advanced relentlessly, with neither fear nor pain to slow them. One went down under a flurry of las and plasma shots, but there were more. Another, Twilight’s brain vaguely noted, was sent flying out of the room where the Space Marine had retreated to. It hit another of its kind, and rearmost two broke off to assist the downed pair.

Then Twilight had the energy she needed, and all such thoughts ceased to be relevant.

The Immortals were mere meters away from the alicorn. The humans were retreating before them, the Astartes would soon be dead. They would claim the prize before them for Trazyn the Infinite, as they had so many others over the uncounted millennia of their existence. They did not know why the creature did not run or fight, but neither did they care. It was only their leader, clutching his staff tightly in the center of the formation, that had a suspicion that something might be off.

Too late.

Twilight’s magic reached into the barrier separating reality from the frothing hellstorm that was the Warp. And tore it apart.

A gaping hole in the fabric of reality manifested itself in the center of the Necron formation. Though they were the most advanced the galaxy had ever seen, the machines’ sensors could not warn them of the impeding danger. So they were caught utterly unprepared.

The air in the corridor immediately vanished, sucked into the whirling maelstrom Twilight had created. The staff-wielding Necron, as the alicorn had intended, was the next to go. His armor useless, his shields of no value, he was plucked from his metal feet by the sheer suction force directly behind him, and was immediately swallowed up. The three Immortals closest to him were next, ripped casually from where they stood and pulled into tear in reality. Others, further away from the immediate breach, had more time.

The machines closest to Twilight dug themselves into the metal, necrodermis fingers easily gouging out purchase for themselves and holding tight. The bolder of the human foes fired at the Necrons. Las bolts forced one to release its grip, whereupon it was promptly dragged to share the fate of its fellows. A plasma bolt all but vaporized the hand of another, which similarly could not maintain its hold on the walls. One human, particularly close to the alicorn, and particularly unlucky, was also grabbed by the unnatural suction of the Warp. He went screaming over Twilight’s head, and vanished into the hellish netherworld just as readily as the Necrons had done.

Then the alicorn’s borrowed strength gave out. Twilight collapsed to the floor, her protective bubble flickering out. Fortunately for the ex-princess, reality reasserted itself as soon as her spell failed, and the lethal vortex of Warp energy vanished in a heartbeat.

Of the dozen Necron Immortals who had occupied the corridor prior, only two remained, and they were suddenly leaderless. Their mechanical brains did split-second recalculations of their odds against the Imperium’s warriors.

They vanished in a flash of green light.

And then the corridor was empty, save for the stunned humans, panting alicorn, and a few seconds later, a pair of wounded but shocked Astartes. Everyone, without exception, was staring down at the unassuming form of the creature who had just unleashed such raw devastation on their enemies. Some with anger, some with hatred, some with admiration, some with relief, but all with awe.

“So…” managed Twilight Sparkle after some time had passed, in between frantic efforts to catch her breath. She did not even bother trying to stand up. “Where were we?”

Chastisement

++Unknown Location, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

As he waited on his Night Scythe to reach its designated drop zone Trazyn the Infinite watched for a second time the recording his surviving minions had sent to him. From the eye view of a scarab carefully perched on a distant ceiling, the Necron Overlord watched his Immortals, led by his honored Lychguard subordinate, storm the Adeptus Mechanicus facility to claim his prize. With typical efficiency, they set to work eliminating the worthless chaff and advancing to secure his prize.

And then, suddenly, when they were almost on top of her, everything had gone to hell. The last alicorn had cast some sort of spell in the center of the Necron formation, and the recording showed the situation immediately devolving. Sensors were going wild, unable to get a coherent grip on precisely what had happened. Even simply visual monitoring seemed to blur out or shift wildly to many spectrums of color in the location where the psychic witchery had landed. Purely from what could be seen, the nature of the anomaly was unknown. What was clear, however, was what had happened next.

The Lychguard, the commander of the diversionary assault, had been the one pulled in first. One moment he had been standing there, and the next he was ripped his feet and sucked inside the anomaly, where he vanished. More of Trazyn’s elite soldiers soon followed, even their prodigious weight and strength unable to keep them grounded in the face of such magic. Only the two that had been standing farthest away had survived, and they had opted to flee. All contact with the Necrons that had vanished had been lost.

“Such strength,” he commented, running a clawed finger over the frozen image of his target. “To utterly destroy an entire elite squad with a single attack…”

It was impressive, he admitted. Very impressive. The nature of what she had done seemed obvious enough to Trazyn – she had flung his men into the Immaterium – but forcing open such wound on reality in the presence of so many devices meant to prevent such a thing from happening…

It was well, he decided, that he had not been able to lead that attack personally.

But the question remained: what to do now? He could order the rest of the army to move in and attack, but they were mostly warriors, and their head had been effectively cut off. They could certainly overwhelm what Imperial forces remained, but could they be trusted to secure his prize without disintegrating it?

Trazyn looked from one monitor to another in silent contemplation for several minutes before reaching a decision.

He shook his head. No, the lowly grunts of the Necron army could not be relied on to secure something alive, especially without much in the way of immediate guidance from their leadership. To send them in would be to ruin the value of his future collection piece, if they managed to avoid vaporizing her altogether. They were too simple, too single-minded for anything but the simplest directives.

So, that was that. Now he simply had to come up with a new plan to secure the alicorn before she could escape, while not joining his subordinates in whatever hell they had been flung into.

“Shouldn’t be too hard. She’s only mortal, after all.” Trazyn mused, staring again down at the prize he coveted.

“Sir,” said one of the normally silent Immortals standing protectively around him. “Sensors report incoming craft.”

“Imperial?” Trazyn asked, somewhat absentmindedly.

“Necrontyr.”

If he could have, Trazyn would have frowned at that. “I didn’t order any craft to converge on our location,” he said in a slightly irritated tone. “Send them back to wherever they came from.”

“Sir, they are transmitting the authorization codes of Nemesra Ehtekhra.”

“What does that wizened old hag want?” the overlord snapped, now feeling genuinely annoyed at this distraction. “Inform her I am in the middle of a delicate operation.”

A few moments passed as communications went back and forth between the Necrons.

The Immortal spoke up again. “My lord, they report that they are aware of your activities, and have come to demand that you immediately present yourself to the Nemesra and defend your actions in defiance of her strategy.”

Trazyn waved a hand dismissively. “Tell them I’ve no time for such things now. There are important matters that require my immediate attention.”

“Yes sir,” the subordinate Necron answered, again sending the communication to the incoming aircraft. This time the reply was much more rapid. “Sir, they say you are guilty of insubordination and threaten to open fire if you refuse to accompany them back to the Nemesra.”

Trazyn did some quick mental calculations. His force could undoubtedly punch through this sorry lot of Ehtekhra’s aircraft and proceed with his capture attempt but… what then? The vast majority of Necrontyr commanders were frustratingly obstinate about their ridiculous notions of honor and hierarchy. If he ignored her direct summons and attacked her aircraft, her honor would be slighted. And the only way to amend such a slight…

It would be very difficult getting off planet with half the Necron army trying to destroy him.

Inside, though he raged as much as a soulless can against the inevitable conclusion, his self-preservation instincts won out, as they always did. There was only one real thing he could do now.

“Call off the attack,” he said, wishing he could sigh. “I will not have my prize destroyed. And inform the good lady’s minions that I will accompany them back to their Nemesra.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thantekh” stood before Nemesra Ehtekhra’s command chair, his arms folded behind his back, his posture carefully neutral as the honored leader of all Necrontyr forces on Denton III stared down at him. Behind him stood an honor guard of his own Immortals, and behind them twice that number of Ehtekhra’s own. She was taking no chances that this discipline secession might go wrong. Whether Thantekh was in the slightest bit concerned about being surrounded the Nemesra found she couldn’t say, though she guessed easily that he was far from repentant.

“I am informed, Thantekh, that your forces attacked and overran an Imperial facility that I specifically designated as being off limits to even raiding. Can you tell me why you saw fit to defy the orders I gave?”

“My dear lady, I sought only to advance the cause of our war effort,” he said, with slight bow at the waist.

“By ignoring your commander?”

“By destroying an Inquistorial kill-team,” he answered. “The damage done to our forces by these insidious squads can never be underestimated. They serve the most powerful and secretive of all the enemy factions, and as such were designated priority targets by no less a figure than yourself.”

“This is true,” she acknowledged. “Go on.”

“When I received intelligence that a full squad of Stormtroopers was to make an appearance at that particular facility while I happened to be in the area, I immediately resolved to remove them from the equation.”

“And you felt the best way to do that was to attack and destroy the entire Imperial facility rather than simply ambush their aircraft?”

“With my aerial assets in the area being somewhat limited, I felt it was the best way to be certain that they would be caught.”

“Yes…” the Nemesra said. She didn’t buy that for a second. He had another agenda in assaulting that particular area, this she was sure of.

“You do not need to take my word for it, honored lady. Ask your own forces their evaluation of the area. You will note a grounded Inquisitorial Valkyrie and a slain squad of Stormtroopers inside. I accomplished this for minimal casualties, and certainly none that cannot be repaired in time.”

Ehtekhra looked to a Necron seated behind a control console, who nodded in confirmation.

She returned her attention to Thantekh to deliver her judgment. “Be that as it may, you defied my orders, and as a result of your actions one of my spies is dead.”

“My lady, I had no idea-”

“Of course you didn’t,” she interrupted. “But you did know that I commanded the entire facility be left alone, and you chose to attack it regardless. That is insubordination of the worst sort.”

“Honored Nemesra, I meant no slight on your honor or authority, I only sought-”

“Silence!” she snapped, and he reluctantly ceased. “Your actions were in direction opposition to both my expressed will and your oath to obey me in this campaign. I will not permit another such incident to occur, and as such I order you to remain present in my command center until I choose to release you.”

All was silence for several seconds, before Thantekh carefully replied. “I will I presume, be allowed to keep a contingent of honor guard?”

“No,” she answered. “You have dishonored yourself, and hence have lost that privilege for the time being. My guards will be your guards, and none other.”

That was a serious insult to any of the Necron nobility, but especially to one holding the exalted rank of Overlord. Ehtekhra was taking a risk by demanding such a condition, but she was gambling that this one likely valued his own existence more than his honor, and as such would not call for a suicidal attack on her forces in retaliation. But as the minutes ticked by with no response, she began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Subtly, she began to wordlessly signal for troops outside her command center to begin converging on its location…

“Very well,” said the other Necron at last. “I shall do as you ask.”

Retrieval

++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++

Deathwatch Brothers Venris and Atellus stared down the hallway at the xenoform. A few seconds ago, they had been embroiled in what both fully expected to be the last fight of their lives, grappling Necron Immortals in a last-ditch bid to prevent them from bringing their guns to bear. Then, without warning, reality as they knew it had momentarily ceased to exist within a scant few meters of their position, their enemies had vanished, and the “Imperials” outside were the apparent victors. The gaze of the two Astartes had been drawn to the creature they instinctively recognized as the one responsible for this turnaround.

They were, naturally, debating whether to kill it.

“Too dangerous,” Atellus said in the sign-language all battle brothers shared. “Xenos untrustworthy. Terminate while exhausted.”

“Possible use?” Venris replied, fingers gesturing rapidly in the dark. “Obvious enemy of Necrons.”

“As is Chaos. Xenos obviously Warp-tainted.”

“Disagree. Further investigation needed.”

“Better ten thousand innocents die than one guilty man survives,” Atellus quoted a well-known Imperial proverb. “Take no chances with Chaos.”

“Primary objective: preserve all that is left of facility’s data and personnel. Impossible without assistance.”

“Better dead than corrupt.”

“Sure of corruption?”

“All xenos are fundamentally corrupt.”

“Imperium deals peacefully with xenos on occasion,” Venris pointed out. “In times of great necessity. Precedent exists.”

“A xeno Acolyte, though?”

“Do not know.”

“Neither do I,” Atellus admitted.

“Proposal: peaceful first contact with group. Agree to work with them. Confiscate best weaponry,” Venris signed. “At first sign of corruption, terminate with extreme prejudice.”

Atellus hesitated, considering. “Agreed,” he signed a second later.

The conversation had taken place over the course of a scant few seconds, yet another benefit of enhanced Astartes physiology and reaction time. Even if any of the supposed agents of the Inquisition were capable of understanding it, they were some distance away and darkness offered substantial privacy. At the moment, every eye that the Astartes could see was either on the floor or staring at the xeno with idiot expressions of relief or awe. For its part, the little purple creature was still struggling to catch its breath, and continued to do so for a good amount of time to come.

“So…” it eventually managed between gasps. “Where were we?”

“You were explaining who you are,” Venris said, with just the faint undertone of a growl. “And what you are doing here. Be quick about it, there are almost certainly more enemies on their way.”

“Yes…” this Twilight said, still panting badly and dripping with sweat. “We’re here to… here to…” she gasped loudly and stumbled, head towards the floor.

“Someone capable of speaking.”

“My lord Astartes,” the Stormtrooper called Titus stepped up and bowed his head, while the xeno “Acolyte” continued to wheeze loudly in the background. “We are here on the authority of Lord Inquisitor Tas Rovini of Ordo Xenos. We have orders to retrieve a psychic specimen under containment here, with the secondary priority of aiding any Imperial survivors that we find.”

“I am Interrogator Kylara, also under authority of the Lord Inquisitor,” said the sour-looking woman. “I do not answer to Acolyte, and was here prior to the xenos assault on a separate mission. That has since been aborted. I also seek the psyker called Marius Quin.”

“She is telling the truth on at least some of that,” Atellus signed. “I can vouch for her presence at least five hours prior to the initial xenos attack.”

“We are Battle Brothers Venris and Atellus of the Deathwatch,” Venris said aloud, a few moments later. “We and the few personnel that we guard are all that is left of this facility.”

“We are seeking a psyker in containment tank approximately 43 meters distant,” Titus pointed past the Astartes. “Unless you have it with you, my lords?” he sounded slightly hopeful.

“Laboratory specimens were left in their tanks,” Atellus told him.

“And most likely terminated by the xenos,” Venris stated the obvious.

“Not…” the little creature managed, “Dead…”

“You can be sure of this?” Venris was skeptical.

“Feel psychic presence…” this Twilight looked as though it might drop to the floor at any moment. “Ahead…”

“That would be highly unusual.”

“It’s true,” she insisted, legs visibly wobbling as she struggled to resume an upright stance.

“My lords, can you aid us?” Titus asked, hesitantly.

Venris growled at the audacity of a mortal asking a Space Marine to leave his post, half tempted to apply appropriate discipline on the spot.

“No,” said Atellus, brusquely. “Our mission priorities do not include the preservation of prisoners. Do you have transport?”

“Just one,” Titus answered.

“How are you getting it through the enemy air cover?”

“We aren’t,” he gestured at the xenos. “The Acolyte is capable of medium distance teleportation.”

“Do you have working vox equipment?” Atellus asked.

“We do,” Titus nodded.

“We require a set. And weapons,” he looked down at Twilight. “The bolt pistols will do.”

The little xenoform looked up at the Astartes, down at her weapons, and then back up at the Space Marines again. With a weary sigh and without a word of protest, both were gripped in purple energies and tossed limply at the Space Marines. Venris and Atellus caught them without a word.

“Terminate?” Atellus signed silently, even as he examined the disproportionately small pistol.

Venris considered. “Negative,” he signed back. “Imperial allegiance probable.”

Atellus hesitated. “Very well.”

Turning his gaze back to the small group, Venris beckoned them to come forward. One by one, they did so, eyes down and head wisely lowered. The Interrogator came first, with the least hesitation, while the little xeno hung back. Whether from fear or exhaustion, she was among the last to approach the Space Marines. By the time she drew near, Atellus was already activating the group’s long-range vox equipment, signaling the Space Marines’ continued existence and requesting immediate reinforcement and extraction. The process of contacting other elements of the Deathwatch took several precious minutes, during which time the remainder of the party took up defensive positions, waiting for the next wave of Necron attackers to appear.

They never came.

Several minutes later, the Astartes had duly established a link to their brethren and detailed what had happened. By that point everyone that wasn’t a superhuman immune to fear was jittery, half jumping at every shadow or half-imagined movement through the corridors. Necron attacks were bad enough, but if they had paused it could only be to prepare some especially horrible device to send against the Imperials. Right?

“Move along,” Venris commanded at length, making up his mind that they were not an immediate threat. “Complete your mission. We will remain here until relief arrives.”

The little purple xeno looked up at him, opened her mouth as if to say something… then thought better of it, clamped her filthy alien lips shut, and walked past without a further word. Which was a good thing. Venris found merely being in the presence of xeno scum difficult, having it question his actions would most likely have earned a bolt between its eyes.

The small Inquisition group tiptoed past the Space Marines, looking jittery. Weapons were pointed everywhere in a manner the Astartes considered highly unprofessional. Fear was for the weak. In the end, though, they rounded a corner and disappeared from even the Astartes’ enhanced sight. When they did, Venris and Atellus gave each other a brief, knowing look.

Neither of them would forget this.

For Twilight Sparkle, the next leg of the mission was simultaneously relieving and unnerving. She was greatly relieved by the fact that no metallic horror appeared from the darkness to rend their flesh from their bones while she lacked her bolt pistols. After spending so much energy on the last group, and with the promise of a difficult magical extraction ahead, a chance to rest and build her strength was greatly appreciated. At the same time, she couldn’t help but be worried. Why were the Necrons holding back? Surely there had to be more them? They couldn’t have all been chased off by that one attack? Was there some trap ahead, some ambush of which this was but the prelude? She had no way of knowing.

Competing for primacy with all these other feelings was Twilight’s heavily repressed sense of elation. Objectively, she knew that the mission wasn’t over, that she wasn’t safe, and that the Necrons on Denton III were far from defeated. Now was not the time for celebration. But at the same time, a large part of her wanted nothing more than to stop and skip around and sing her lungs out. Whoever said revenge felt empty was crazy or lying! Twilight had just destroyed one of the beings responsible for the senseless genocide of her people, plunged him into an eternity of horror and madness – and it felt great! She wanted to dance and sing and hug herself. She had long ago vowed to see Equestria’s blood avenged, and today she had taken a great stride along that path.

“Rest easy,” Twilight thought, willing the spirits of the departed to hear her. “Justice for you has been done, and more will follow. I swear it.”

No matter the alicorn’s thoughts on it, nor how nervous the empty gloom seemed to be making the humans, progress from the point where the group left the Astartes was swift and unimpeded. Not one Necron emerged from the shadows to menace them, not even a single Scarab was spotted scuttling about the halls. Why it was so was the topic of much fruitless speculation, such that by the time the group arrived at the shattered entrance to the room containing their target, half of them had worked themselves into a nervous frenzy. But still, when the crossed the broken doorway, nothing leaped out at them. The room had clearly been attacked, with chunks of metal and a handful of body parts littering the ground. But it was silent, and the containment tanks had not been touched.

“There,” Kylara instantly pointed out one of the containment tanks. “That is where the filthy witch was when last I saw him.”

Twilight walked carefully towards the indicated tank, sliding the image of the man she was after out of her belt.

“Why does the boss even want this man?” she heard Aisen asking in a whisper. “What’s so special about him and not Astartes?”

Kylara, for whatever reason, chose to indulge the man’s curiosity. “We have… evidence,” she said, carefully. “Suggesting that this particular witch may be able to see xenos movements in advance. Anywhere from hours to weeks in advance. Part of my mission was confirming his abilities. Mechanicus technicians even suggested he might be capable of seeing… more.”

“More?” Aisen echoed.

“More,” Kylara repeated, in a tone of finality.

“This is our man,” Twilight declared, moments later. “He seems to still be alive… why? Why would the Necrons leave him and the others be? They killed everyone else in here.”

“They are xenos filth,” said Kylara, irritably. “Who knows why they do anything?’

Twilight didn’t bother to respond to that. “Signal our ride,” she ordered. “We have our man, so have them move to our coordinates. I’ll get ready to take us out,” she glanced at Kylara. “I assume you’ll be wanting to join us, Interrogator?”

“Yes,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“Very well,” Twilight nodded. “Call it in.”

++Valkyrie-class Airborne Assault Carrier Warbird++

A short amount of time and a nauseating short plunge through the Aether later, Twilight Sparkle and retinue, plus one newly-acquired Interrogator and prison-casket stared down at the remains of the Mechanicus facility. There were shattered buildings, ruined machinery, and broken corpses everywhere, but as it had been inside there was not a single Necron to be seen. There were no patrolling soldiers, no mechanical insects, no flyers, nor any other sign of the invaders. It was as if they had never been. What they left behind was little more than an eerie, silent graveyard.

“This is Inquisitorial Acolyte TS to base,” Twiligth voxed as the Valkyrie rose higher into the sky. “Mission successful.”