The air was thick with the acrid scent of promethium and blood. The battlefield roared with the chaos of war as the Ultramarines clashed with the vile Orks. Bolter fire thundered through the air, echoing off the twisted metal ruins of a once-thriving city. Explosions shook the ground, and the guttural cries of Ork war cries mingled with the disciplined shouts of the Astartes.

“Git ‘em, boyz! Show these humies wot’s fer!” roared an Ork Nob, swinging his crude choppa in a wide arc, carving a path through the rubble.

“Stay firm, brothers!” shouted Captain Aurelius, his voice a bastion of calm amidst the storm. His power sword cut through an Ork’s torso, blue energy sizzling in the wake of its passage. “We are Ultramarines! We do not falter!”

Nearby, Brother Sergeant Valerian dragged the limp form of Brother Arcturus into the scant cover of a crumbling wall. Bolter shells ricocheted around them, and the Orks’ crude slugga rounds peppered the area with shrapnel and debris.

“Hold on, Arcturus,” Valerian said through gritted teeth, his helmet visor cracked and smeared with grime. “You will not fall here.”

Arcturus coughed, blood flecking his lips. “Leave me... Save yourself...”

“Never,” Valerian spat back, his voice resolute. “We stand as one. We fall as one.”

Captain Aurelius’ voice cut through the cacophony. “Valerian! Forward! We need to press the attack!”

Valerian glanced at his injured brother, then back at the Captain. “Yes, sir!” He clasped Arcturus’ hand one last time before rising, bolter in hand. “For the Emperor!”

“For the Emperor!” echoed the squad, their voices a unified chorus of defiance.

The Ork Boss, Gorgutz Da Smashah, watched the battlefield from atop a pile of wreckage, a massive grin splitting his brutish face. He reveled in the carnage, his bloodlust only stoked by the ferocity of the Astartes’ resistance.

“Oy, look at ‘em go!” he bellowed, his laughter a deep rumble. “Now dis is a fight!”

His second-in-command, a particularly ugly Nob with a bionic eye, looked up at him. “Boss, da boyz is gettin’ pushed back!”

Gorgutz grinned wider. “Good. Call in Stompy Gits. I wanna see dem blue boys dance!”

Back on the frontline, Valerian pushed forward, cutting down Ork after Ork with precision and fury. His armor was stained with the blood of his enemies, each step a testament to his resolve. He raised his power axe high, the weapon crackling with energy. With a roar, he slammed it into the ground, a surge of lightning clearing a path through the Orks, leaving smoldering corpses in its wake.

In the sudden quiet, he found himself face to face with Gorgutz. The Ork Boss towered over him, a massive cleaver resting on his shoulder. His red eyes gleamed with malice and delight.

“Well, well, well,” Gorgutz chuckled. “Wot ‘ave we ‘ere? A blue boy wot’s got some fight in ‘im!”

Valerian tightened his grip on his axe. “I will end you, xenos filth.”

Gorgutz laughed, the sound like rocks grinding together. “We’ll see ‘bout dat, humie. Come on, then! Let’s see wot yer made of!”

The two charged at each other, Valerian’s axe meeting Gorgutz’s cleaver in a clash of sparks and fury. The battlefield seemed to fall away, leaving only the two warriors locked in mortal combat.

Valerian moved with the grace and precision of his training, each strike measured and deadly. Gorgutz countered with raw power, his blows shattering the ground where they landed. The clash of weapons rang out, a deadly symphony of steel and hate.

“You fight well,” Gorgutz growled, “for a humie.”

“And you die well,” Valerian retorted, slashing at the Ork’s arm, drawing green blood.

Gorgutz roared, swinging his cleaver in a wide arc. Valerian ducked, the blade passing inches above his head. He retaliated with a powerful upward strike, but Gorgutz caught his axe with his gauntleted hand, the metal sparking and screeching.

“Not bad, humie,” Gorgutz grinned, leaning in close. “But not good enough.”

Before Valerian could react, a blinding light enveloped him. He felt a sudden, chilling sensation, as if the very fabric of reality was tearing around him. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by an eerie silence.

The last thing he heard was Gorgutz’s laughter echoing in the void.

The clopping of hooves sounded a stark contrast to the sounds of metal and death. A hooded pony walked through the streets of Appleloosa, surveying their surroundings. They seemed on edge, talking to themselves, always looking back to ensure they weren’t followed. They crossed into an alleyway, the color of their hood blending into the darkness. The pony mumbled something about a summoning, of prophets and of saviors. Making their way down the alley, a door to a small house loomed at its end. Entering, the pony was greeted with patterns of golden glyphs carved into the walls, a strange skull with a sword through it and wings, along with a familiar U-shaped glyph. The pony reached up and clenched their necklace. It was the same golden U, given to them during the indoctrination of their cultist group. They brought the glyph up to their face with a wary look, the hood blocking half of their face, allowing only a deep scowl to be seen on their muzzle.

Walking forward, they were met by a set of stairs leading to what seemed to be a lower level of this eerie house. They proceeded, the scowl never leaving their muzzle as questions of doubt rang through their mind. Would the summoning work? What manner of horror would be summoned? Would it be able to carry out their plan? They paused just before the end of the stairway, lost in a final thought that rattled their conviction to the core. Were they making a huge mistake?

A deep voice brought them back to reality. Another five hooded ponies quietly stared at them, as one of the five approached the pony on the stairs. They stood there, unflinching for but a moment before the pony who approached moved back his hood, revealing an elderly changeling. The pony on the stairs did the same, revealing a younger changeling, stone-faced and stiff with uncertainty.

“Pharynx,” the elder changeling greeted.

“Elder Vrax,” the younger changeling replied, bowing his head.

“Are the ritual’s preparations complete?” Pharynx asked, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.

Vrax nodded, stepping aside to reveal a magic circle drawn on the floor. “We have converted enough emotions into magic. I am certain the ritual will be successful.”

Pharynx shuddered slightly, trying to hide it, but Vrax simply smiled and rested a hoof on the young one’s shoulder. “Do not worry. Have faith in our beliefs. The creature we summon will surely grant us the means to get revenge on Celestia and Luna for what they have done to our leader, Queen Chrysalis. Equestria will be brought to its knees. Of that, I am certain.”

The changelings took their places around the magic circle, their horns enveloped in the sickly green aura of their magic, making the drawing on the floor begin to glow. As more and more magic poured into the circle, some of the changelings lost their footing slightly and stumbled under the strain. Looking around, Pharynx’s doubts began to fester once more. He saw four of the changelings around the circle gritting their teeth in an effort to stave off the pain and pressure. He was not too far off these changelings, pain gripping his horn and his legs beginning to feel like jelly. Were they about to fail, he questioned.

Looking over to Vrax, his doubts were soon washed away as the elder stood stoically, in the same pain, but braving it for the sake of their goal, his conviction showing on his face. This seemed to be what Pharynx needed to anchor him, as he focused on pouring more magic into the circle. Soon all six changelings were standing tall, the circle glowing brighter and brighter. The ritual was almost complete. Whatever happened next. Whatever creature they summoned. Whatever the future held was about to be decided. This was it.

One final time the circle glowed a blinding light, forcing the six to turn their eyes away lest they become blind. When they looked back, there in the center of the circle knelt a massive brute, clad in thick blue and gold armor. Even kneeling, he was scores larger than them, but it was not just his size that stood out. There on his shoulder was the U glyph of their cult. Pharynx smiled. Surely that’s a good sign. He is already under their control, he naively thought.

The brute began to move, slowly standing to his full height, nearly bumping his head on the ceiling. Pharynx’s mouth gaped at not just the height but the width of the brute. Such an imposing figure. It took all of his strength and faith not to turn tail and run immediately. However, while his legs refused to move, his eyes were glued onto the brute’s chest plate. A larger version of the strange skull and wings, majestic and emitting strength, almost captured all his attention. Almost. He would surely have kept staring at it if not for the piercing red eyes of the brute peering back at him, making his knees begin to buckle. Pharynx attempted to move back but instead fell on his rump, his jaw still agape in awe and fear.

Vrax moved in front of Pharynx and began to speak. “Greetings, mighty warrior. I am Elder Vrax of the Changeling Cult. You are the key to our grand plan to destroy Equestria. A five days’ journey to the north is a city known as Canterlot. Within it resides the diarchy of Equestria, who have near butchered our kind and imprisoned our queen for an eternity. We wish for their heads, and by the will of our queen, we will have it. You will follow my every word and become my tool of destruction.”

The brute stood there, still as a statue for only a few moments, somehow feeling like an eternity. Nopony said a word, but they could all feel it. The air in the room had become heavier. It was becoming harder to breathe. Pharynx looked around, seeing his fellow cultists shiver and buckle to the ground. Whatever fear and doubt he had was now amplified one thousandfold. What was happening? The summoning was a success, wasn’t it? This creature was under their control, wasn’t it?

His questions were promptly answered when his gaze returned to the brute, still standing tall and still, but this time, behind the red eyes of his helmet, there was an undeniable, unprecedented level of rage and disgust. Pharynx quickly looked to Vrax for guidance, but all he found was fear and terror plastered on the elder’s face. If it wasn’t certain before, it was 100% certain now that they had indeed made a HUGE mistake.

Finally, the brute spoke, clear and solid, his rage barely hidden behind his tone. The changelings could do nothing but listen as he spoke. None dared to protest, as they already knew, rebellion against this creature meant certain death. Peering down at Vrax, the brute’s steady, yet rage-filled voice pierced their ears.

“Hear me, vile xenos scum. You who have torn me from my brothers on the battlefield and my solemn duty to the Imperium of Man, DARES to order ME?!” Raising his axe, the brute cleaved Vrax in half with little effort, then continued his speech. “I, Brother Sergeant Valerian, Astartes of Ultramar, son of the great Primarch Roboute Guilliman, hereby swear that for this heinous crime, along with the crime of EXISTING, vile xenos that you are, you will DIE by my hand and your world shall be PURGED!!”

With a swipe of his axe, Valerian cut through the next four changelings, one of them falling to the ground, only to be crushed under his cold metallic boot. Pharynx couldn’t believe what was happening in front of him. The elder and his brothers were dead. It happened so quickly he was still frozen in fear, dazed by the horrors he witnessed. He was only awoken from his daze by the painful feeling of Valerian’s huge hand clasping around his head, raising him up to meet the brute’s eye. The pain was unbearable as the brute’s grip grew tighter and tighter. Through the pain, he could hear Valerian speak his final words, the brute looking deep into his eyes.

“By the Emperor’s will, filth, I WILL cleanse this world of ALL xenos scum, till I draw my last breath. This. I. Swear.”

The pain became unbearable as Valerian’s grip tightened even more, Pharynx’s consciousness fading into nothingness. His final thoughts were not of his family or regrets, no, it was of a simple question that held profound regret and terror.

In his final moment, Pharynx thought, “What have we done….”

Author's Note

Well there you have it. The first chapter of my wild, impulsive imagination.

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and perhaps stick around to see where it goes.

May the Emperor's blessing be upon you all