//------------------------------//
// I - They Shall Be My Finest Warriors 
// Story: Battle Brothers 
// by Miki 
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Battle Brothers Forever - Chapter 1
They Shall Be My Finest Warriors

Brother-Sergeant Maxuvos of the Knights Inductor thought he had seen the height of irrationality from Imperial high command. What he termed the "antics" of his battle brothers from other chapters he could tolerate. To him, they were simply cogs in a much larger machine; tasked with the defense of the Imperium. However, he hsd seen exterminatus declared on worlds he and his other knights knew could have been saved. He had seen his chapter investigated for heresy by the Inquisition for negotiating peaceful terms of surrender with the Tau; the Tau were, of course, the ones surrendering after a month long orbital bombardment. So when his chapter had received a call from command requesting a handful of Astartes to take part in a “measured response” against an Ork invasion of one of the Imperium’s numerous Forge Worlds, he had silently hoped, nay, prayed that some semblance of sanity had permeated the thick minds of his leaders.

The sight that graced his tired eyes told him that his prayers had been not been ignored. No, his prayers had been thrown into a cross-cut paper shredder. It was a sight that would have made the Chaos Gods proud. Although he had been assigned as the commanding officer of his squad, he had long since given up on trying to maintain order. He was a decent distance from the majority of the fighting, far enough where he was not readily noticed by the invading greenskins, but close enough to where he could leap into the fray to assist his brothers at a moments notice. Add to this his camouflage patterned armour and he was virtually invisible compared to the rest of the combatants. He lay prone on his perch and peered through the scope of his Stalker Bolter at the ruined cityscape. There, three of his battle brothers waged war against the invading xenos. Now this in and of itself was not very strange. Of course, he was one hand short, the usual squad size being five, but he was actually surprised as to the skill of some of the Marines that were assigned to him. What was strange, however, was that his superiors had decided to take Marines from four completely different Chapters and assume that they would be able to function properly.

In the center of the battlefield, a relatively open area in front of the ruined remains of what was once a manufactorum stood two figures, one towering nearly a meter taller than the other, with a crowd of orks gathered around them; their green-skinned bodies formed a makeshift arena around the combatants. The smaller combatant sidestepped swing after swing, using occasional short bursts from his jet-pack, standard issue for assault marines, for that extra bit of maneuverability he needed to keep his opponent thoroughly frustrated. The gargantuan maul in his hands proved not to be any sort of encumberance. Swing after swing struck nothing but open air, cement, and fellow Ork as the Nob's patience grew thin.

“WAAAAAAAAUGH! HOLD STILL YEW GROT!” roared the enormous ork as he swung his mighty axe once again, this time managing to score a glancing hit on his opponents yellow and red left pauldron; the pauldron adorned with his chapters’ red insignia, the Face of Rage.

“WAHAHAHA, SLOWING DOWN NOW ARE YOU?!” the ork bellowed as he continued his assault, “JUST DIE!” Unbeknownst to the green giant, an inferno of rage lit in the heart of the warrior he just struck.

Maxuvos watched the spectacle unfold as he fired into the crowd of distracted Ork Boyz, each one’s head exploding in a fine pink mist. He soon heard a voice over his helmet radio.

“Should we go and help him, brother?” it said.

“I would not worry too much about Brother Azerus, Brother Coludeus,” he responded, “Have you ever seen one of his Chapter fight before?” 

Scanning the battlefield for the source of the voice, he found an Astartes clad in green and black power-armour taking cover from a trio of Shoota Boyz, his bolter held at the ready. Three shots rang out and the Boyz’ assault ceased, prompting the pinned Marine to reveal himself and open fire on a quintet of rapidly advancing Scar Boyz. The slugs met their target and did their deadly deed, but the choppa wielding Boyz merely shrugged off the assault as if they were nothing but flesh wounds; so great was their bloodlust.

“Not good, some assistance please brothers!” Coludeus bellowed over the radio.

A shout echoed out over the battlefield as his request was granted in the form of another assault marine, this one clad in blueish gray armour with yellow pauldrons. The mighty warrior swooped down on the choppa' wielding greenskins, a mighty shockwave radiating outward from the point of impact. The charging attackers stumbled, and the newcomer began swinging his power-claws with brutal efficiency. 

“Space Wolves... always with the brutality,” thought Coludeus. He charged into the melee with his comrade, his combat-knife and bolt pistol drawn. 

With the last of the Scar Boyz dispatched, Coludeus made to thank his battle brother, but the Space Wolf merely grunted and with a flash of his jet-pack, he charged a far away squad of Tank Bustaz, leaving Coludeus alone once again. Instead, he picked up where his conversation with Maxuvos had left off, “No, I cannot say that I have.”

The Reasonable Marine chuckled and fired his rifle, relieving the head of a far away Nob of its owner, “Then you are in for a treat.”


~~~~~


The Nob stood easily a meter taller than Brother Azerus of the Angry Marines. His muscles ached from oxygen deprivation. His breathing was strained. Through his unfathomable and ever-present rage, Azerus was thinking more clear than he ever had before; it became clear to him that he was outmatched. The Nob finally cornered the Astartes and brought down his axe, intent on finishing the duel. Brother Azerus brought up his mighty Thunder Hammer to block the blow, the deafening clang of metal on metal signalling the beginning of the end for one of the two parties involved.

“GET ‘IM BOSS! KILL THAT SPACE MARINE!”, one Ork in the crowd shouted.

Time slowed to a crawl. The head of his massive hammer crackled with energy.

“YOU GOT THIS BOSS!”, shouted another.

Beneath his helmet, a single bead of sweat trickled down over his nose.

“‘EY HUMIE, YOU’S IS DEAD!” yelled a Grot.

The vein in his temple pounded. Hairline fractures revealed themselves in the handle of his weapon.

A steady chant of “Kill, kill, kill...” rose from the crowd of Orks.

There was no way he would let himself die at the hands of this filthy xenos.

“You... mother... FUCKER!” cried the Astartes as the handle of his weapon fractured completely. Many of the gathered Boyz reeled back in shock at the outburst of the Marine, and one or two simply had heart attacks from display of sheer ferocity.

They were the lucky ones.

Sidestepping the inevitable downswing of his opponent, the Astartes crouched low and fired the rockets of his jump-pack, reducing several ork boyz directly behind him to ash and sending his armoured body careening into the exposed abdomen of the nob. The two sailed straight up into the air, both screaming as they ascended. Upon reaching the apex of the jump, the Astartes maneuvered himself on top of the Nob, his power feet placed immediately over the head of the unfortunate greenskin.

“You ugly. Fucking. FUCK!” he cried as the two warriors began their descent. The Marine’s boots crackled with an energy so intense, Brother Maxuvos could smell the ozone from his perch.

Unheard by Azerus, Maxuvos issued a warning to his battle brothers.

“Brothers, I would seek cover if I were you,” he stated. Vocalizations of confusion from all involved were what he received in reply until they looked up to see the crackling energy of their comrades power-feet rapidly approaching the pavement, his unfortunate cargo in tow beneath them.

Once again, time seemed to slow. The shockwave of the impact of the marine’s boots against the ground could have easily been mistaken for the impact of a drop-pod, if said drop-pod had several thousand pounds of high explosive strapped to the bottom that detonated on impact with the tortured earth. No... no, that isn’t quite right. Let’s just say that it was like a rather large bomb went off, if said bomb was made of pure and unfiltered rage, fired from orbit from the cannons of the I.S.S. MAXIMUM FUCK, promptly followed by said ship ramming itself into the rather sizeable crater that the previous assault left... twice.

All of this was directed into the cranium of the unfortunate nob. In the mere blink of an eye, the Nobs’ head was obliterated, leaving nothing but a pulpy mess underneath his boot. Scores of greenskins were thrown off of their feet and sent flying several meters back from the blast.

His breathing was heavy. The vein in his temple pounded. His breathing was raspy. With each breath he took, the fire in his chest grew hotter and hotter, until he bellowed a war cry so loud that the Gods of Chaos themselves trembled at his fury.

“WHO THE FUCK IS NEXT YOU PANSY ASS FUCKCOCKERS?!”

The closest greenskins to him reportedly imploded (yes, they imploded) at the display of fury.

Without waiting for a reply, the Marine grabbed the Nob’s lifeless corpse by the leg and began swinging it at the recovering mob.

As stated before, the Nob was clearly outmatched.


~~~~~


“Indeed,” said the dumbfounded Salamander, “are they... is he... always that aggressive?”

“Hence the Angry Marines, brother,” deadpanned Maxuvos.

“ALWAYS ANGRY! ALL THE TIME!” cried Azerus over vox as a headless green corpse sailed in an arc over Coludeus’ head, crashing down into a squad of Stormboyz that were advancing on his position. Their advance came to a crashing halt as the body of the Nob bowled them over.

“WHAT ‘DA ‘ELL WAS ‘DAT?!” screamed one of the Boyz as he rose to his feet. He was able to make no further comment on his situation as a rather large blue ball of plasma sailed overhead in his direction.

Underneath his helmet, Coludeus’ eyes widened. He vaulted over a nearby piece of rubble and ran in the direction of Azerus just as the plasma ball reached its destination. The liquid fuel in the rockets strapped to the Boyz’ backs ignited as the plasma’s stored energy was released into the air; the explosions mixed into a fiery cocktail of death. Watching the scene through the scope of his Stalker Bolter, Maxuvos could have sworn that the resulting explosion sparkled.

“Hmph, uncouth ruffians,” came a new voice over vox, it being noticeably higher and quite... smoother than the the rest of his battle brothers.

“Identify yourself,” commanded Maxuvos.

“Oh that better not be who the fuck I think it is...” growled Azerus, the sounds of dying Orks filling the background of his feed.

A brief chuckle came from their com-systems before the new voice spoke once again, “This is Brother Cutes of the Pretty Marines, Brother Maxuvos. I am here with Brother Varivos of the Ultramarines. Devastators, at your service.”

“I can introduce myself, Brother Cutes,” came a voice that better suited a Space Marine; it was a voice that Maxuvos could only assume belonged to the Ultramarine. He raised his Stalker Bolter to locate the newcomers, but found the action unnecessary as a veritable storm of heavy bolter fire and plasma shots filled the air and screamed into the battlefield. 

Now, one could imagine that warriors equipped with heavy weapons such as those would start to have a noticeable effect on the battle, and indeed they did. Rocks, pebbles, walls, columns, and rebar all fell to their onslaught. Everything they set their sights on were torn asunder by the might of their weapons. Sadly, none that fell were green in any way, shape, or form.

Maxuvos, Coludeus, Azerus, and Grimorus all brought their hands to their heads in a display of shame.

Behind the two newcomers, a pair of Nobz made their way to the battlefield, big choppaz held at the ready. However, upon witnessing the completely distracted warriors, one of the Nobz couldn’t help but grin as an idea struck him. He turned to his companion and tilted his head toward the marines, still blindly unloading their arsenal into the battlefield. A deep rumbling chuckle emanated from his companion as they nodded in agreement.

“Don’t killz ‘em yet. Wez’ gonna have a bit o’ fun.”

Slowly, carefully, and surprisingly quietly, the Nobz crept up to the oblivious warriors. They lowered their choppaz, turning the flat side to face the warriors backsides. They nodded once more, and began a back-swing. Brother Maxuvos was the first to recover from the collective palming of faces, and was the first to witness the unusual sight. He quickly raised his Stalker to fire upon his brother’s attackers, but was too late. “FOOOOOORE!”, bellowed the Nobz as they swung their choppaz. Iron clashed with ceramite, and the Astartes were sent airborne, becoming nothing more than streaks of purple and blue as they flew into the battlefield. They landed at the feet of their battle-weary allies.

“Brothers, this has gone on long enough,” growled a very frustrated Maxuvos, who proceeded to rise from his prone position, intent on joining the rest of his brothers in the soon-to-be-carried-out melee.

“I agree,” said an equally frustrated Grimorus as he careened in the direction of the rest of his brothers, equally intent on finishing the fight.

“And I as well,” agreed Coludeus.

“YOU TWO!” rumbled an even more enraged Azerus. He proceeded pick both Cutes and Varivos up by their helmets.

“Azerus, whatever grudge you have with your brethren can wait. We have more pressing matters to attend to,” chided Maxuvos as he skidded to a halt alongside his brothers-in-arms. Azerus begrudgingly agreed, but managed a masked scowl at the both of them before dropping them back down onto the concrete. 

The greenskins halted their assault as a mechanical clanking and the pounding of armoured feet could be heard in a nearby alley. Some started to chuckle. Others pointed in their direction and drew their gnarled fingers across their necks. The clanking and pounding grew louder. More of the Orks started to chuckle. One of them far in the distance actually doubled over in laughter at the Astartes, choking out the words “You boyz is dead!”

Cutes and Varivos scrambled to their feet, the latter lowering his heavy bolter and spreading his blue armoured feet apart in a braced stance. Cutes unsheathed the chainsword at his hip and took up a graceful fighting stance. His brothers took up similar stances as the rhythm of the clanking grew faster.

The silhouette of a massive figure revealed itself in the distance. It barreled toward the Astartes, throwing aside any and all of its fellow greenskins that were too slow to get out of its way. The clanking and pounding stopped directly in front of the battle brothers, and all stood in staunch defiance.

“Hold your fire,” Maxuvos ordered. To his great surprise, his subordinates complied and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank the Emperor they at least gave me that,” he thought.

An Ork of gargantuan size, clad in the most crude mechanically enhanced armour any had ever seen, towered over them. He looked at them with a scrutinizing eye and turned back to the crowd of Orks under his command. He raised his klaw clad hands above his head and snapped them down to his waist as he bellowed at his own subordinates.

“WAAAAAAUGH! YOU GROTZ COULDN’ ‘ANDLE THESE BOYZ!? WOT KINDA SQUIG SHIT IS THIS?!”

Brother Maxuvos knew that the enraged warboss was not in a mood to negotiate, but he reasoned that it would be worth it to try to work out a peaceful surrender. To him, it was worth the risk if it meant saving more lives and ending the needless destruction. He stepped forward and addressed the monstrous creature.

“You are the leader of these Orks I assume?” he asked.

The warboss turned back to the bold marine and laughed, “No, I’m jus’ some Nob who got ‘is ‘ands on some power klawz. NO SHIT I’M THEIR LEADER.”

Brother Maxuvos leapt back to his comrades at the Ork’s outburst.

Coludeus turned to Maxuvos and said “Does not hurt to try at least.”

“My thoughts exactly brother,” he replied.

“Idiot,” mumbled Varivos.

The warboss thumped his armoured chest with his right klaw and continued, “I’M WARBOSS THRASHA, AND I’M ABOUT TO SHOW YOU LOT WHAT PAIN REALLY IS!”

His comrades primed their weapons, and Maxuvos unsheathed a chainsword of his own, while Coludeus grasped the hilt of his power-axe. The massive Ork lowered his body, preparing to charge the Astartes, and the boyz behind him made to do the same.

Suddenly, the cloudy skies grew darker, causing all to lower their guards. Ork and human alike looked to the skies to see otherworldly arcs of lightning streak between the clouds. Under their armour, the hairs on the arms of the Astartes stood on end. 

It was a Warp Rift. Maxuvos addressed the warboss once again.

“I don’t suppose you will consider a temporary alliance, Warboss?” he asked.

“Alliance?! With xenos?!” shouted a dumbfounded Varivos, “This is heresy Maxuvos.”

“If we do not get out of this alive, I think it will matter not if I am a heretic, brother. Now, Warboss Thrasha, will you or will you not fight with us for now?”

The powers of the warp grew stronger as the barrier between the materium and the immaterium began to fall to pieces. Hot purple lightning arced from the sky to the ground as portals to the immaterium began to open all around them. There was no escape; this was a full scale Chaos invasion.

The warboss looked to the Astartes, then back to the sky. His brow furrowed and he growled a deep guttural growl. He whipped back around and pointed his wide open left klaw at the marines and shouted,

“FOINE! WE’LL KILL YOU LOT LATER. BOYZ, IGNORE THE ‘HUMIES. KILL THE CHAOS ‘HUMIES FIRST! WE WILL DEAL WITH THEM LATER!”

All Orks present were thoroughly confused at his order and made to attack the Astartes until the warboss roared and slammed his klaw on the ground in frustration.

“Not ‘dem you grotz! Kill whatever comes out of ‘dose t'ings!”

He jabbed his other klaw at a newly formed portal, and the longer lived of the orks knew instantly what was about to happen. So too, did the Astartes. Coludeus could not help but feel a sense of familiarity with the current events, and turned to Varivos as they waited for the hellspawn of the Warp to show their grotesque faces.

“Did similar events not happen to one of your own, Varivos?” he asked.

He nodded an affirmative, “Captain Titus, yes. On another forge world. The Chaos Legions invaded after he was tricked into firing a weapon that triggered a Warp Rift. He is currently detained by the Inquisition for investigation of heresy and corruption.”

“I see,” said the Salamader, “not that it truly matters.”

Varivos was about to offer a retort when the floodgates opened, and the traitorous legions of the Chaos Space Marines poured out of portals. Their appearance left no room for doubt. The blue and yellow striped headdresses of the corrupted Astartes were that of the Thousand Sons legion; they were Tzeentch’s followers.

“ATTACK!” roared Thrasha, and the Orks wasted no time in doing what they do best. The Space Marines were about to do the same, if only they had control of their senses. Time in the materium ground to a complete halt. Bolter slugs, Orks, choppaz, and spittle from frothing mad Scar Boyz slowed in their travels as the lord of change himself, Tzeentch, stepped out of the portal closest to the loyalist Astartes. He approached the technicolour warriors, and craned his long neck, scrutinizing them. His beaked head shook in disapproval as he muttered to himself.

“No, this simply will not do.”

With a snap of his fingers, the Astartes disappeared without a trace.

Tzeentch made to walk back to the portal, before he noticed a heavy bolter slug stopped in midair. He plucked it out of the air and walked over to Warboss Thrasha, placing the slug directly in front of the unarmoured bridge of the greenskin’s nose. The slug stayed suspended in midair as the Chaos God walked back through the portal into the immaterium to plan his next move. With one more snap of his fingers, time began to flow again.

Chaos reigned.

Warboss Thrasha was no more.


~~~~~


A loud belch echoed in the halls of Golden Oaks Library, rousing Spike from his slumber.

“What in the world is the Princess doing sending a letter at this time of night?” he pondered as he unrolled the scroll that formed from the ash of his fiery eructation.

Twilight moaned in a drowsy drawl as she started to wake up as well, “Ugh, Spike, what is it?”

“I have no idea,” replied the equally drowsy dragon as he unrolled the scroll and began to read. His face took on an expression of shock and confusion.

“What is it?” asked Twilight. Spike held out the unrolled scroll and Twilight took it in her telekinetic grasp. She began to read, and she too wore a similar expression.

“Well, guess we should gather the girls,” said Twilight as she dragged her exhausted body out of bed.


~~~~~


Twilight,

I apologize waking you and Spike up at this hour, but time is of the essence and I need the help of you and your friends. I have sent a chariot to pick you up, and it should be outside your home in less than an hour.

I will be completely frank with you; what is happening here is unlike anything I have ever seen before, and I haven’t the time to explain. All will be made clear soon. Please, be ready for the chariot when it arrives.

Celestia