The Unquestionable Perfection, Observation Deck

The steel, sliding doors opened with a hiss of hydraulics, a looming, humanoid shape stepping through and into the corridor beyond. Her footfalls thudded on the steel-plated decking below, tiny servos within her armor whirring softly as it moved.

Several of the figure’s smaller brethren, regular humans wearing simple beige robes and cloaks, glanced up from their various tasks as she passed, and she acknowledged each with a glance and a nod. Some of the robed humans—the freshest recruits, probably—glanced up in surprise at even this token recognition of their existence.

Chapter Master Severa let loose a small sigh. She technically wasn’t human, set apart by her gene-enhanced stature, the blue-and-silver Power Armor she wore, and the demigod’s blood that flowed through her veins, but she still counted on these people to keep her armor and weapons functional, and so did the hundred other Space Marines on the vessel. No member of the Adeptus Astartes would be remotely worthy of the title “Angels of Death” without the hard work of these human Chapter Serfs backing them up, and it honestly bewildered her that some of her kind failed to recognize that.

Severa reached the end of the hallway, pushing her thoughts aside as she stepped through the doorway and onto the Unquestionable Perfection’s observation deck.

The walls of the chamber bore the same colors as her armor: blue with silver trimming. Further embellishments decorated the walls, the most common of which being skulls. Why the engineers who’d designed the vessel had seen fit to waste resources and space on high-ceiling, church-like interiors and covering everything with skulls was admittedly beyond her.

Severa looked away from the room’s decorations, her gaze falling on the four other occupants. “The situation?”

“In layman’s terms? Not great.” One of the four other Adeptus Astartes in the room besides Captain Severa responded, lifting his arm and gesturing out the window. Through that window, the thick forest that the Unquestionable Perfection had been forced to crash-land in was visible, spreading out in all directions; beyond the forest’s borders was the once-picturesque scenery of this physics-breaking planet.

When Severa had first looked outside, she had seen a whimsical, fairy-tale rendition of a Feudal World, complete with a fantasy palace affixed to a mountain in a way that flew in the face of even her admittedly less-than-complete knowledge of architecture and city-building. Now, that world was in flames. Villages were burning, columns of smoke stretching up into the sky and painting it an alarming shade of purplish red. The day/night cycle had ground to a stop, the moon inexplicably frozen at the zenith of its arc for well over 24 hours now. And above it all, huge, looming shapes hung in the sky, just barely visible past the smoke-shrouded sky.

“As you can see, this planet we’re crash-landed on has become the target of a Heretic Astartes invasion force.” Chief Librarian Magnus continued. His armor bore the same silver trimmings as his fellows, but was colored a brighter, more vibrant shade of blue. Runes had been carved into his armor, faintly glowing and crackling ever-so-slightly from concentrated psychic power. The lower half of a robe draped his legs and feet in tan cloth with silver lining, and a musty tome bound with heavy steel clasps hung at his belt. “They’re apparently too busy pillaging and burning their way through the feudal-level Xeno population to bother checking out a shipwrecked Gloriana-class battlecruiser, and thus have not noticed our presence aboard said battlecruiser.”

“Motherfuckers...” High Chaplain Lucius interjected, flipping the bird at the distant Chaos Space Marines visible through the window. Like the Chief Librarian, his armor bore the same silver trimmings as the rest of the Scions, but was black rather than blue, adorned with a dark-blue hooded cloak and a skull-like helmet with glowing red eyes.

“I strongly advise against tempting fate like that.” Magnus chided. “If and when they notice us, if the biosignatures our sensoria detected are accurate, we’ll have to fend off a force of roughly 1000 Chaos Space Marines and just under 1 million human cultists. Needless to say, the 100 Loyalist Space Marines and roughly 1000 crew at our disposal will be… less than sufficient for that task.”

“Thanks for the reminder that we have no choice but to leave innocents to suffer. I really needed that.” Chief Apothecary grumbled, crossing his arms over the chestplate of his blue-and-white armor as the mechanical arms of his servo-harness twitched in frustration. The “innocents” in question were Xenos, of course, but that fact was neither here nor there as far as Apothecary Casimiria was concerned, and Severa wasn’t really inclined to argue with him on that point; in her opinion, the Imperium of Man was a little too xenophobic for its own good.

Severa sighed, turning to the Master of the Apothecarion. “Look, I don’t like leaving those quadruped xenos out there to the tender mercies of the Heretic Astartes any more than you do. But as Magnus has explained, we simply don’t have the numbers to fight off such a large Chaos Warband. Getting this jalopy of a Gloriana-class battleship back into the void and linking up with the rest of the fleet has to take priority for now; we can swoop back in like a buncha big damn heroes once we’ve done all that.” Severa responded. “And speaking of which… Incomitus, you have completed your assessment of the Perfection’s condition, correct?”

“Yes, and I have good news and bad news on that front.” The Master of the Forge, like the Chief Apothecary, had a servo-harness affixed to the back of his red-painted armor, but his was larger, and bore many more articulated metal arms. One such arm lifted up, a trio of lights flickering to life and producing a miniature holographic blueprint, laying out the Unquestionable Perfection in it’s titular perfection… or rather, it’s complete and total absolute lack thereof. “The good news is that the manufactoriums on the engineering deck are still fully functional. The bad news is that the same can’t be said for literally anything else.”

Severa silently cursed to herself. Once, long ago, the Perfection’s name may have been fitting, but now the only thing unquestionable about it was the fact that it was a mangled, barely functional corpse of the vessel it used to be. It had already been in horrible shape to begin with, and having to make an unplanned planetfall for the 38th time since the Scions had been gifted the vessel had not improved its condition. Much of the hologram was a solid yellow, indicating damage that was neither negligible or crippling; very few sections were blue, indicating that they were undamaged. But that wasn’t the source of Severa’s frustration; that dubious honor went to the red on the hologram, indicating nonfunctional systems that were essential for traversing the Void. The number of such systems that had been damaged in the crash was far higher than she had estimated—and she was hardly a soul given over to heights of optimism.

“As you can see, all our sublight propulsion systems have suffered crippling damage, our gellar field generators have all been completely slagged, all our void shields are nonfunctional, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg regarding busted systems that this derelict can’t function without. Worse, several cargo holds got vented into space from the stress of our exit from warpspace, and the raw materials we need in order to produce replacement parts for damaged systems got vented with them. We’re gonna have to mine for new materials manually, and that will take about a month just to gather up the materials under optimal conditions. And having a frakton of Chaos Marines stomping around that we’ll need to avoid the notice of while we’re doing that is about as far from “optimal conditions” as you can get. All in all, getting this jalopy repaired to the point that it’s spaceworthy is going to take a full 2 months at absolute best. Given our luck, we’ll probably have to triple that estimate.”

“So, a thousand motherfucking traitors are stomping around out there, and rather than killing those bitches we have to hide from them like a buncha fucking cowards. For six. Whole. Fucking. Months.” Lucius grumbled.

“Pretty much.” Incomitus deadpanned. A long, drawn-out silence fell over the five of them.

“...I trust everyone knows what they should be doing right now?” A chorus of affirmations rose up from three out of the four marines as they turned around, heading towards the exits. In a matter of moments, the only beings left in the chamber were Captain Severa and Casimiria, the latter staring out the window.

“…Casimiria?”

“Nothing requires my attention at the moment, so I’m going for a walk. Outside.” And with that, the white-armored space marine spun around and stomped off.

Severa frowned beneath her helmet. Usually, such “walks” concluded with Casimiria dragging the corpse of at least one Heretic Astartes back with him. “Understood. But be careful out there…”

Everfree Forest, Somewhere near the Unquestionable Perfection

Wind rushed around Twilight’s form as she frantically pumped her wings, struggling to put on extra speed. Searing agony flared across her right wing every time she flapped it, but she did her best to ignore the pain.

She turned hard, nearly colliding with a tree trunk as she flapped against her own momentum. She couldn’t help but wince as branches scraped over her charred feathers, and her hooves nearly slipped over the branch they were reaching for as a result. Somehow, she managed to maintain her balance, collapsing against the tree branch and sucking in deep, gasping breaths.

How… how did this happen?! Her mind raced, struggling to figure out how that armor-plated creature had managed to spot her. The spell I cast should’ve prevented her from noticing me! Why wasn’t it working?! Why-

A horrifyingly familiar chuckle reached her ears. “Behind you…”

Twilight screamed, spinning around and unleashing a violet ray from her horn… only for the magical beam to slice through empty air.

More malevolent laughter echoed through the woods, dripping with a sadistic delight that made Discord at his absolute worst seem like a saint in comparison. Twilight peeked out from behind the trunk she’d pressed herself against… and promptly found herself staring straight into the glowing red eyeslit of the creature’s helmet.

Another scream, another magical blast; all the latter accomplished was a bush reduced to a smoking crater. Twilight’s heart pounded in her chest, barely stifled sobs slipping from her throat despite her best efforts as she frantically scanned her surroundings.

Everywhere she looked, she saw snatches of gleaming metal or hulking minotaur-like silhouettes, terror warping her perception and playing tricks on her eyes. Or was it more than just her terror? She could personally attest to the fact that her pursuer had offensive spells at its disposal; maybe it could use more subtle forms of magic as well, like summoned illusions or mind-altering enchantments.

Twilight sucked in a long, shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she wracked her brain for a spell that she could use to extricate herself from this nightmare…

It dawned on her a second too late that closing her eyes was a mistake, a mistake that her pursuer would be all too happy to capitalize on.

A sharp, white-hot agony flooded her right wing, like every single fiber of it had been dumped in hot magma. An ear-piercing shriek erupted out of Twilight’s throat as she fell from the branch, more of them thrashing her body as she plunged from the treetops and down toward the forest floor. She scrambled to her feet, spinning around in a panic… and promptly froze as she caught a glimpse of her left wing.

Or rather, her complete lack thereof.

All thoughts—rational or otherwise—promptly threw themselves right out the window as she stared at the charred stump that was all that remained of her wing. …no. No no nonononono-

Something heavy and hard came down on her right wing, crushing it beneath its weight. But still, the pain of her bones breaking was nothing compared to the pain of having those bones severed from her body. Again.

This time, Twilight didn’t even hear herself scream. Her vision had become nothing but a blurry, indecipherable haze, her mind clouded and sluggish from the shock of losing two entire limbs in as many seconds. Twilight would have wondered how she was still conscious if she didn’t have more pressing concerns at the moment.

“I must admit, that little ‘spell’ of yours was a clever trick. Too bad it only puts you beneath the notice of material senses.” Any thoughts of escape were quickly snuffed out when her attacker grabbed her in a single massive, armor-plated hand, lifting her up and holding her aloft in front of it.

“…please… no more… please just stop…” Her voice was a low, raspy whine, so quiet she could barely even hear it.

“I’d rather not.” The thing drew back its other arm, some kind of orange-and-purple enveloping the massive sword it carried as it wound up to chop her head off…

And all of a sudden, her vision went white, an earth-shattering WHOOM flooding her ears. She had the vague sensation of the creature’s grip loosening, of gravity taking hold of her bruised, mutilated body.

…this is what death feels like, isn’t it? Already, she could feel herself slipping away, consciousness sliding out from under her. She didn’t even feel herself hit the ground.

“WHO DARES!?” The Chaos sorcerer roared, wisps of smoke still wafting up from his armor as the slit in his visor flashed.

“Me.” Chief Apothecary Casimiria growled, his voice dripping with hatred as he leaned to the side, narrowly dodging a blast of witchfire courtesy of the Sorcerer’s baleful chaos-touched gaze. He drew another bead, and his Absolver bolt-pistol let loose another burst of mass-reactive rounds.

“Oh, a Loyalist puppet.” The Chaos Sorcerer chuckled, sidestepping the projectiles with ease. “So vehemently loyal to your Corpse-God, you couldn’t even hold yourself back long enough to let me finish killing that xeno.” The explosive bullets buried themselves in a nearby tree, blowing it apart as their intended recipient surged forward, his Force Sword flying toward Casimiria.

The Chief Apothecary didn’t bother responding as he narrowly evaded the flame-wreathed blade, answering the attack with a lightning-fast punch.

Again, the Chaos Sorcerer dodged effortlessly, Casimiria’s fist grazing the side of his face. No servant of chaos was completely alike, and that was doubly true for Sorcerers and their capabilities, but limited puppetry was one of the more common warp-borne abilities the Chaos Marine Psykers possessed. It was rarely strong enough to achieve complete control over a rational, sentient mind, even for a second, but it was strong enough to induce subtler things, like slips of the tongue, the twitch of a trigger finger at the exact wrong moment… or, in this case, a slight adjustment of Casimiria’s aim, just enough of one to throw his punch off-course.

Unfortunately for the Sorcerer, while his heretical warp-trickery may have led Casimiria’s fists astray, it had not affected the machine-spirit of his servo-harness.

“You could’ve just sat back and made your job that much-URK!” The Chaos Sorcerer’s hand spasmed as several needles punched through a seam in his armor, the shock of having his veins pumped full of heart-stopping poisons stunning him for a tiny fraction of a second. The dosage wasn’t high enough to kill him, but it didn’t need to be; by the time he’d recovered, Casimiria had already buried his Narthecium’s chainblade in the Chaos Sorcerer’s throat.

“Perish, heretic.” Casimiria growled, angling the gauntlet-mounted medical implement upwards, before pulling a trigger. In a flash, a short metal spike shot out of the device, punching straight through the sorcerer’s helmet and killing him instantly.

For a long, long moment, Casimiria stood there, studying the Chaos Sorcerer’s still-warm corpse for even the slightest sign of life. Some part of him almost wanted his opponent to still be alive, was tempted to just begin lashing out at his body even if there wasn’t.

But he had more pressing concerns than taking his rage out on a Heretic Astartes’ dead body.

He wrenched the Narthecium free of the Chaos Sorcerer, turning toward the fallen xeno and scooping her up. His servo-harness set to work immediately, cleaning and cauterizing the horse-like creature’s wounds and clearing away the dead tissue the Sorcerer’s force sword had left behind. “It’s okay, I’ve got you…” He murmured to it, a servo-arm snaking out from behind him and grabbing the dead Sorcerer by its shoulder as he turned back the way he came, slowly walking back to the Unquestionable Perfection

Author's Note

Yeah, decided to go back and rewrite this chapter.
Captain Severa: 1st Company Captain of the Scions, assigned male at birth but is Transgender and uses she/her pronouns (on a related note, those in the Warhammer 40k community who shout FEMALE ASTARTES AREN'T A THING CUZ BLAH BLAH Y CHROMOSONE BLAH BLAH are completely forgetting that having a Y chromosone and identifying as a woman aren't two mutually exclusive things). Keep in mind that Severa has been through the same augmentation process as any other space marine, and has a similar physique as a result. Think this, not this.
The Scions of the Konic: This is a Homebrew Chapter written specifically for this fic. One of the things I tried to do with it is to look at several of the cliches associated with homebrew chapters and then Deconstructing those cliches by exploring why they might be in effect and how they'd realistically affect a Chapter's place in the Imperium. For example; they have a Gloriana class by virtue of the thing being a barely-functional wreck that's a lot more of a hindrance to a Chapter than an asset.