I don't always write pony fanfiction. Sometimes I write DIFFERENT fanfiction! · 2:48am Oct 1st, 2018
So.
Some background.
A few months back, Games Workshop had an open call for fiction submissions for their new "Inferno" magazine. Which I submitted some stuff to!
... and never heard back.
And then, just the other day, I happened to click around on GW's 'coming soon' thing, which included Inferno #1. Which ... decidedly didn't have my name listed on it, so it's like double-official that I didn't get in. Or something. Although, now that it's vaguely official or something, I can actually share what I -did- write. So yay?
GW only asked for an excerpt, so I only wrote an excerpt, and ... yeah. I could theoretically go back and finish the dang thing, maybe post it on Fanfiction.net or something, buuuuuut that would take effort (not to mention I've got a mess of other stuff I'm working/should be working on at the moment), so here it is!
Plus, I've heard more than a few folks compare The Flash Sentry Papers to the exploits of Ciaphas Cain (the only 40k character worth reading about, for the record), so there's at least SOME of you who'll dig this sort of thing. And if you're not familiar with 40k lore, just know that the Drukhari are sadistically evil Hellraiser-style space elf pirates. And the Imperial Guardsmen (derisively referred to as "mon'keigh" by the space elf pirates 'cause they're dicks), are pretty much the space marines from Aliens or Starship Troopers, complete with the tendency to be slaughtered in droves.
Speaking of which, this story's a bit gory and violent, so consider yourself warned! Or enticed. Who knows.
“This bores me.”
Xenocalmus Vil, Sybarite of the Brainripper Kabal, wiped blood from his monomolecular cutlass as he surveyed the carnage around him. The Imperial camp burned, and Vil's warriors made what sport they could from the bleeding, wild-eyed survivors. Firelight shone from their polished black armor as they flitted from body to body, knives and bayonets slashing and stabbing at anything that moved. The flames turned the outpost into a beacon amidst the dense jungle foliage surrounding it.
Vil's Raider transport hovered over the center of the camp: some of the more enterprising Drukhari warriors were already unrolling the slave-nets to be loaded with the most promising prospects. Not there was much stock worth taking-- even the strongest of the Mon'Keigh infantrymen wouldn't last a day in the charnel pits of Cormorragh.
“Victory bores you?” An arch voice said from behind him.
Vil turned to face Leandi the Flayer, the most dangerous warrior under his command. She moved like a wary predator, ready to pounce, ready to kill at a moment's notice. With each graceful step, the muzzle of her splinter rifle bobbed from where it hung on a strap over her left shoulder. This left Leandi's hands free: one to clutch a wickedly curved knife, and the other a gore-fresh human skin.
“If you stabbed me in the back,” Vil said, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his own sword, “this might actually be interesting.”
“Tempting.” Leandi tapped the flat of her knife against her lips, then absentmindedly licked the blood from the blade. “But I've got other trophies to claim today.” She threw the human pelt at Vil's feet, where it landed with a wet splatter.
“These trophies are barely worth taking.” Vil sneered, gesturing to the burning compound with his free hand. A scream shrilled out from one of the still-burning tents, followed by the wicked laughter of Drukhari at 'play.' “Slaughtering Mon'Keigh as they sleep is no challenge.”
“Who cares?” Leandi twirled her skinning knife between her fingers. “Pelts are pelts. Screams are screams. If we're lucky, one of these pathetic mon'keigh will squeal loudly enough for a worthier foe to hear. Maybe some of those big brutes they throw at us from time to time? Or better yet, we might cross blades with their armored champions? What do they call them-- astartes? I love to see what color their skin is underneath their helmets ... “ Leandi shivered in anticipation and licked her knife again.
“I wish I shared your optimism.” Vil shook his head. “If you weren't such a blood-crazed fool, Leandi, you'd realize our being sent on this raid is an insult-- something to keep us out of the way while the Archon leads his boot-lickers to take the real prizes.”
Leandi rolled her eyes. “So kill the Archon and take his place.”
“I've ... considered the option, but I haven't found the proper opportunity for it yet.”
“Of course you haven't.” Leandi said, deadpan.
“I should kill you for your insolence.”
“You should try.” Leandi's eyes blazed with savage glee. “Either way it ends, I won't have to listen to your mewling.”
Vil's hand strayed temptingly close to the blaster pistol holstered at his hip-- but before he could obliterate Leandi on the spot, a shrill cackle echoed out from one of the burning tents.
“We've got a live one!”
As if on cue, a human staggered into view. To judge by the extra decorations upon his (now bloodstained) uniform, he was some sort of officer. He bled from a dozen wounds-- shallow, playful cuts, the kind of knife-work that valued pain over killing. And yet, where a lesser creature would have succumbed to the torture by now, this one still stood on his feet, clutching a heavy, primitive chainsword. Three Drukhari warriors danced a circle around him, vultures picking away at prey that didn't know it was dead yet.
One cackling Drukhari stood in front of the officer and feinted with his bayonet. The wounded officer clumsily batted the blade away from him with his chainsword-- which left him open for the warrior behind him to lunge forward, slashing at his hamstring.
It should have been perfect maneuver-- but the wounded human proved faster than anticipated. He half stepped, half-stumbled out of the way of the dagger slashing at his leg, then swept his whirring chainsword around in a broad, savage arc. Caught off balance, the hapless Durkhari had no chance to dodge the heavy blade before it hit him in the collarbone with bone-shattering force. Flecks of gore and shattered armor flew in all directions as the chainsword ripped through the hapless Drukhari's torso. It would have been easy for the surviving warriors to overwhelm the lone human, but they merely laughed in sadistic glee as they watched their comrade's bisection.
“I always told Flix he was too slow.” Leandi mused. “Shame he didn't listen.”
“Enough!” Vil snarled. “If you can't handle a single bleeding mon'keigh, I'll do it myself.” He circled around in front of the wounded officer, who had since yanked his weapon free of the warrior's mangled body and fell back into a defensive stance.
Mockingly, Vil rapped the flat of the chainsword with his own blade-- the officer replied with a clumsy slash of his own, which Vil sidestepped easily. Despite his wounds, the human fought passingly well-- Vil wondered what it would have been like to fight him before the other Drukhari had started carving him up. Blade clashed on blade as the two fought-- the officer increasingly desperate, while the Sybarite remained almost casual with his parries and dodges. Even still, the mon'keigh's movements grew slower and slower as he lost more and more blood-- Vil decided to end the impromptu duel before it could go any further.
The Sybarite pivoted on his right foot, avoiding a lunge of the chainsword. Seeing his opening, Vil slashed with surgical precision, shearing through the flesh and bone of the human's wrist. The chainsword (along with the hand holding it) fell to the ground, and the officer followed suit, clutching his bloody stump.
Vil put one booted foot on the guardsman's chest. “Go ahead.” He hissed, putting more weight onto the officer. “Scream. I know you want to. One good scream might make this debacle worthwhile.”
The human spit in Vil's face.
Vil raised his sword up to end the mon'keigh then and there, but reined himself in at the last moment. “You ... You almost earned yourself a quick death-- but that would be too easy.” The Sybarite looked up at the circle of Drukhari warriors. “You two--” Vil pointed to a pair of warriors with his sword. “Take this one to the Raider. I shall attend to his torture personally.”
The two warriors scrambled to obey, grabbing the maimed mon'keigh by his legs to drag him to the waiting raider at the center of the camp.
They made it ten paces before the raider exploded.
White-hot flame blossomed from below the hovering skiff, shattering the raider like so much. brittle kindling. Jagged shards of shrapnel and what was left of the raider's crew tumbled through the air, only adding to the chaos of the burning camp. The shockwave of the explosion hit Vil with sledgehammer force, knocking him to the ground.
“We're under attack!” Leandi shrieked, swinging the muzzle of her splinter rifle left and right, searching for a target. The other warriors followed suit, snapping off shots into the dense foliage surrounding the outpost.
The wounded officer started laughing.
Vil grabbed the officer by the neck and hoisted him to eye level. “You know something.”
The mon'keigh met Vil's cold, merciless eyes, and smiled. Even as Vil's fingers tightened around his throat, the officer rasped out a single word.
“Marbo.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
POSSIBLY.
So yeah! In case you're not a super 40k dork, the 'Marbo' mentioned is Sly Marbo, an actual canon character-- basically an 80's style super-commando. He's pretty much the second best 40k character after Ciaphas Cain. And he even has a mini! (That I haven't painted yet 'cause I suck at painting).
My story pitch was basically "Predator, but in reverse" in which a bunch of gnarly aliens get picked off one by one by a sneaky and pissed off muscle-man. Using a canon character (however obscure) was honestly something of a crapshoot, but I figured I'd give it a go. To little avail, it'd seem, but what can you do. Considering that if I DID get into Inferno, my endgame was to see if they'd let me write some Ciaphas Cain stories, but I digress.
So yeah. Hope you guys enjoyed the snippet, at least! If I ever get around to finishing it I'll let you guys know.
Or maybe I'll just write an awful pony/40k crossover, instead.
Let's hope things don't go that far.
Heck, you can make it a bloody killer crossover just by changing one word.
"Fizzlepop."
VECT'S DICK WHAT IS HAPPENING
For those unfamiliar with Sly Marbo.
Or to could go the awesome route, and give them a scream. Specifically, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
4946239
Alternately:
"Derpy."
She didn't intend to eliminate both the Dark Eldar and their dignity. It just kind of happened. The Imperium is pretty sure it's some manner of psychic talent. Or a Warp curse. Or both.
I now know what it feels like to have a stroke. @_@
That's too bad. It'll be intersting to see if any of the winners are actually worth reading. I remember everyone hated all the winners from a Blizzard fanfic contest a few years ago.
All I've read of 40k has been the Cain novels and a few Horus Heresy ones, but I've been meaning to try Dan Abnett's Imperial Guard stories for a long time.