Shafts of sunlight were what first met the eyes of the World Eater Captain, as he shifted ever so slightly in his position on the cave floor. His armor hissing and clanking, as if returning to life just as he did. His slumber had been an almost completely inanimate one; in which Gailus had laid entirely motionless throughout the long night. Despite his body's rest, his mind had labored furiously; continually ruminating on the deeper thoughts of his damaged psyche. Twas but a small miracle, as he sat up fully and started to rise to his feet that he didn't pulverize the tiny unicorn that fell off his massive knee guard and onto the floor.

He was left, baffled somewhat, for a brief moment. Staring quizzically at the miniscule creature that was looking up at him with slight pain and shock at being awoken so suddenly. He could smell the fear that started to fill the cavern practically as well; as the little pony realized the over-stepped boundary that had been made by her choices. Contempt, and anger began to seethe already at the back of his mind; and the butcher's nails were feeding off of that, as small of an annoyance as it was. Only serving to exacerbate his hatred as he clenched his armored fists tightly.

But, just as quickly as his fury was setting in; he was surprised to find it redirected as he heard the familiar sounds of roaring engines and armored tracks tearing through soil. The intense noises, and the crude, ramshackle sounds were certainly an indication that whatever it was, it wasn't of Imperial make. the Captain secured his axe, and headed for the mouth of the cave swiftly. Pushing the tiny Unicorn to the back with a well-natured flick of his boot. Ensuring she landed with precision on her makeshift bed safely as he exited the primitive shelter.

Once more, in the searing light of day, the Astarte felt faint vestiges of that same illness that had nearly overcome him his first moments arriving here. He quickly beat that down though with the mold of his will, as he felt the considerable impact of several rounds striking his shoulder guards. In the air, he could smell the scent of pollution in the normally sickly sweet air. Smog and promethium, mixed with the hot lead that was being sprayed at him.

It had been the bullets that caused him to mentally snap. He shook the earth with a shattering roar, and his helm snapped to face those who had been the aggressors to him. Poorly armed rabble, would've been the best way to describe them; as he glared holes through their souls for mere seconds. But, indeed, these were humans of a sort. As mangled and mutated as they appeared, he could still see a pitiful resemblance to man in their shambling, frenzied forms as they fired shoddily made autoguns and lasguns at him.

The few rounds and lasbolts that continued to strike his armored might bounced harmlessly off, and he started to step towards these wretches with violent intent. As he edged closer and closer, he revved his axe in lustful rejoicing. Finally he could vent his anger and frustrations on an enemy. Perhaps, not the best qualifier for such extreme anger; but an enemy nonetheless. One he was so grateful for, as he met the first disturbing twisted cretin in close quarters melee. The creature, of which he could vaguely guess was once a woman, charged him with insanity glistening in her eyes.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" She screamed, completely entrenched in whatever lunacy she was in.

He said nothing, merely overpowering her roar with his own as he easily smashed aside her rusted sword that she carried. Snapping her arm in the process, she frothed angrily and tried to swing with her uninjured fist. He caught it deftly, twisting it in his massive fist and yanking her up off the ground. With ease and not a care to the world, he fell to a knee and shattered her spine upon it. Casting her aside without a second thought.

Her body, flung as hard as possible, slammed straight into two of the wretches that were still spraying their rifles at him. The sheer speed at which her corpse had struck them tearing their torsos from their waists. Leaving them in complete shock and bleeding out quickly on the ground. Trying to crawl towards him voraciously in their last moments as he reduced yet another pitiful man to red mist by using the butt of his own rifle as a brutal club.

With ease and care, he surveyed and saw several dozen more were still to come; and so he revved his axe and charged with furious zeal towards them. Leaping into combat vigorously, relishing in the slaughter that wrought terrible, sweet music to his ears. Every single cry or scream; every drop of blood he spilled. It made him feel fantastic. It made him feel empowered. It made him desire only to spill more blood. No matter if it was of the guilty or innocent.

Suddenly, just as jarringly as when he felt the blast that sent him skidding back a few steps; he was given immediate pause. He was left with brows raised, wondering just where in the Emperor's name these thoughts had come from. Although, he had an assumption it had been the butcher's nails; he wasn't entirely sure as he checked over himself finally. His armor had absorbed the blast well, and he glanced up to discover it had been from a portable missile launcher.

"Utterly disappointing." Was all that he could manage to get out, as he reared back and threw his chain-axe with deadly precision. Striking and tearing through the foolish heretic that had tried to slay him with such a poor weapon.

By the end of it, he was drenched in blood all over his armor. It left a sickening, dark crimson taint coating over his prideful white and heraldic blue armor. Encapsulating his insignia on his shoulder of his Legion, as he stomped over and retrieved his axe. Listening intently, he could discern that there was still motorized and mechanized activity in the general vicinity.

Following his instinctual training, he began to consider various contingencies of which to handle these foes. He could tell that he was outnumbered vastly by the roar of the many engines; but he also could tell the vehicles likely weren't of a heavier nature. So long as they weren't of anything potentially comparable to a standard Leman Russ battle tank; he reckoned he could dispatch these foes as well.

But, just as he had made his plans to stand and fight, the forest around him suddenly began to fall silent. He growled quietly, searching around. His auspexes scanning the surrounding foliage for any abnormalities. He didn't have to wait for any data confirmations, as the screams and explosions started resounding around him. Music to his ears, he could consider, if it had been his actions causing this symphony of destruction. Smoke wafted skyward in multiple areas above the canopies, and he could smell burning promethium and blood in the air.

He saw emerging out of the dense shrubs and tangles of plants a stumbling, wounded man. This man was wearing tattered remnants of a tanker's uniform. He was covered in blood, and smoldering from having barely escaped one of the vehicles presumably. He raised his weapon, preparing to slice the poor man apart and end his misery, when he watched the wretch collapse to the ground. What he saw, bored through this creature's back and skull, were two, exceptionally precise shots. Just two, not any more, or less. One to the centerline of the spine, and the back of the skull.

Taking incredible pains to crouch and thoroughly examine the fresh corpse, he could easily denote that this was no mere Imperial Lasgun. Powerful it had been a shot for sure; too strong for any standard pattern lasgun. But too precise for something much more powerful, like the colloquially known hellgun of more elite Guardsman units. The scorch patterns that had been seared deep into the flesh and bone of the victim also pointed to this not being Imperial weaponry. These were carefully designed shots. Each one individually calculated to perfectly pieces just as deep as necessary for disabling and fatal blows. No Lasgun or Hellgun was designed to be able to alter these energy shots intensity so exactly.

With great care, he began to lower his weapon slowly and place it at his belt. He could feel the eyes that gazed upon him, even from this afar; and he knew just what and likely whom had aided him in this way.

"Fucking Eldar…" He griped to himself, noticing off in the distance the faintest glimpse of a few glints before they vanished once more into the dense woods. "That is one fuck of a surprise for the morning." He chuckled just a bit to himself, finding some surprising touch of hilarity in the oddity of why the Xenos would wish to even aid him in any capacity.

The thought of that, would give him more pause, as he began to slowly trod back whence he had come. His intended course to return to the cavern and conduct any necessary maintenance on his armor as well as clean himself of the disgusting visage he had become. Never could he be convinced that drenched in crimson was worthy of being his Legion's lineage. He was a shining, pure example at his own core. Or, at least that is what he believed himself to be. The troublesome thought came back to him, as he neared the mouth of the cave once more, that for but a moment he had indeed reveled in the darker paths of his psyche. A moment too long, he considered it.

"A mind without purity of purpose will dwell in dark places..." He murmured to himself, as he entered the cave and scanned around. Finding that the tiny unicorn he had tossed for protection purposes still was laid, shaking, on her little cot.

A minute pang of conscience grasped at his mind, and gave the smallest margin of pity towards her; as he moved to his own corner of the space and began to examine his armor. With great, painstaking care, he took a small, flat stone from the cavern floor and began to scrape the dried blood from his battle plate. Making certain not to scratch or damage the armor or the ancient painted scheme underneath. All the while, slowly growing lost in his own thoughts.

Now that he was out of combat, and his mental faculties were not as grasped by the butcher's nails as he had been; he could wonder and muse in his mind. "Who did I just fight? And why did they just throw themselves at me so, insanely? And why, by the Emperor, are the foul Eldar helping me?"

Author's Note

Hello there fine reading audience. I hope you have enjoyed the fourth chapter in what is my first story here on FIM. If you did, please remember to leave a like and comment your thoughts about the story. Constructive Criticism is always appreciated as it helps me grow as a writer, and I'm always looking for helpful thoughts or tips on how to improve.
Again, hope y'all enjoyed the fourth of many chapters to come, and may the Emperor Protect!