Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Hellstorm

The fire consumed the dockyards and warehouses of Manehattan's eastern district, raging through the day, blocking out the setting sun. A vast conflagration, incinerating hundreds of buildings, miles of rope and millions of barrels and crates. It burned wood and man alike, sparing nothing and no-one caught in its grip. Imperial observation aircraft circled around, sending a constant string of reports to Fleet Command and Commissar Birbeck at siege HQ. The fire spread was monitored, vid-picts were taken for propaganda purposes of enemy soldiers, human torches ablaze from head to toe, flinging themselves helplessly into the dull grey waters of the harbour.

Imperial combat operations were suspended entirely as their target districts were burning, impenetrable masses of flame. Frequent explosions ripped through the smoke layer as oil drums, fireworks, gas cylinders and even industrial explosives were cooked off by the heat. Buildings collapsed by the dozen, rumbling booms audible across much of the city. There was nothing for the Imperials to do save sit and wait, guns at the ready in case the enemy should spring from cellars or sewers.

The smoke plume from the firestorm was easily visible from space. A large image of the city from above was displayed on the main viewscreen of the Emperor's Judgement, as well as the Admiral's ready room. The two Lords in command watched with some pleasure, as it was certain that many thousands of the enemy were burning before their eyes, saving their men the job of going in and fighting them in close quarters. It would not, however, please the pony princess very much to see a quarter of the city razed to the ground.

'I suppose you'll have companies move in tomorrow, Hektor? Sweep the ruins, just to be sure,' Marcos commented. 'There is a good chance the enemy has taken shelter in underground tunnels or sewers, I imagine.'

'That is certainly a distinct possibility, Arlen,' the Lord-General nodded in agreement. 'We shall of course be cautious. But yes, once the fire is out, we shall clear the district just the same as we planned. This fire was rather advantageous for us. It seems the enemy commander perhaps did not plan his defence quite as well as he imagined.'

Marcos chuckled. 'Indeed not, and praise the Emperor for it. Their overconfidence is often their weakness. If there are any survivors, make sure your boys teach them a harsh lesson, won't you?' Marcos offered his Amasec flask to his companion, who accepted with a swig.

'With pleasure,' Galen nodded. 'Some roaches always survive. We will be sure to crush them. Once it is clear, we will turn the city back over to the ponies, I assume?'

'We certainly have no use for it,' Marcos agreed. 'The princess can have her city back once we have cleansed it of filth. She will appreciate it, I'm sure. She is certainly quite the enigma, isn't she?'

'I don't know what to make of her,' Galen replied. 'My dealings with Xenos have been mostly limited to finding the best way to kill them, but she is certainly...unique, and there is no denying her evident power. She may claim to wish us no harm, but she's dangerous, Arlen. Very dangerous. Your fleet is heavily weakened. It may be heretical to suggest, but I would say it was wise not to anger her. That little stunt of hers proved that much, at least.'

Marcos nodded. Celestia's display of raw power, her inexplicable yet clearly evident ability to control the output of the system's star, was deeply unnerving, despite her repeated claims of neutrality and peacefulness. Then again, perhaps it was evidence of her truth- such power could not be denied by anything on the planet save, from what she said, potentially by her sister, the Queen of the Changelings, or perhaps this secret weapon she mentioned in the most vague terms. She could long ago have taken the world by force, and yet she was still ruler only of one faction. Perhaps not deliberately imposing her will on those who did not wish to follow her revealed that she was, indeed, peaceful and pure by nature.

Not that that meant much. Corruption was rife among the stars, and many times in human history, men and women once deemed pure at heart and pious in nature had fallen to the Ruinous Powers, ending with the completion of their descent into madness either through suicide or being gunned down by those still loyal to the Emperor, the one true purity known in the galaxy. Such descents could be rapid, and even the most zealous Astartes Librarian or holy Inquisitor had to guard against such taint at all hours, with nary a moment's respite from the great mental struggle.Even if this princess had no presence in the warp like every other psyker, that did not necessarily make her immune to the forces of Chaos.

'My Lord! Urgent message from Navigator Pericles!' one of the bridge officers called.

'Put him through,' Marcos replied, and the vox transmitted a sudden screeching, howling cry into the ready room.

'They come! They come!' Pericles groaned.

'Calm yourself, man! Who are coming?' Marcos queried. 'What have you seen?'

'Not seen, felt! I can feel them!' the Navigator replied in anguish. 'Touching my mind! And behind them...He waits! Drive them back! You must! You must!'

Through the smoke, they came, out of hell and into the land of the living. The Imperials were ready for the enemy, but not for what was revealed before them.

Slavering hordes of horror charged down the streets and alleyways. Myriad individual forms merged into one writhing mass of pink, bright, vivid colour giving an otherworldly appearance to the scene.The streets were filled with a seething tumult of tentacles and teeth, gaping maws giving ragged, uneven grins of savage intent. The misshapen creatures moved almost in unison, a multicoloured tide of chaos.

Frantic reports went out over the vox of another Daemonic incursion, but unlike the last one, this time the hellbeasts had been unleashed across the city. Contact was made in the south, west and north. Fire lashed out and the lines held this time, backed up by tanks and heavy weaponry, not mere lasguns meeting the fell creatures. Dozens were blown apart, limbs removed, holes sliced through their otherworldly flesh. But they kept coming, and as they fell, they changed, splitting asunder, their very fabric and nature changing. Where once stood one pink entity, there were now two smaller blue creatures, and the most disturbing aspect of this transformation was that as they died, they laughed.

Not a simple chuckle, or a laugh of incredulity, but a playful, happy laugh, like children frolicking in the fields. It was not the only sound. As they charged, the Daemons gave off cries of joy, hummed unknown and maleficent tunes. It was as much a marching band as an army, yet they were brutally effective.

Flashes of warp lightning spawned from their fingertips and tendrils, balls of energy being flung at their human targets. Those unlucky enough to be struck found flesh burning away, but also strange new growths sprouting from their bodies- tendrils, extra limbs, even another mouth, in a similar unpredictable fashion to their enemy. The energy of the Empyrean was ever-changing and most fickle, and some of the projectiles instead made men flash out of existence entirely.

Heavy fire blazed back at the Daemons, cutting down hundreds, but as each pink one fell it became two of its blue brethren, and as each of the blue ones was struck, it turned into two still smaller yellow creatures, like a series of grotesque nesting dolls. The yellow creatures sprayed fire, flames straight from the warp burning through to the bone, a fire no water could extinguish. Men screamed and thrashed in a futile effort to put themselves out.

Tank shells blew great holes in the advancing line. Each shot killed ten, but created twenty. Only the yellow Daemons had the actual courtesy to finally die. The great multicoloured tide washed toward the Imperials in a dozen places around the city. Their sheer numbers overcame the firepower of the guardsmen, and they were upon them, hacking, slashing, burning.

Men stumbled and died, blood pouring in great fountains from slashed necks and severed limbs. Bayonets sank into the poisoned, monstrous flesh, to little effect. Any man foolish enough to accept mortal combat with the works of evil soon regretted it. Gunfire was the answer, las-bolts driving the enemy back, but only briefly, and where the tide receded in one spot, it rushed forward in another, sweeping over rooftops or through alleys.

Horrified observers in orbiting Valkyries passed along reports to Fleet Command. They could see the rush, the press of bodies in the streets, the lines being overrun. Reinforcements were ordered in to back up the men and women on the frontline. If the ring of steel were broken, then control of the whole city might be lost to these beasts. Where the surrounding buildings permitted, the Valkyries swooped down, unleashing swarms of rockets and pummeling the enemy with gunfire. A few blasts of warp energy drifted up lazily after them, to no avail. Man and machine fought like devils to stop the Daemons.

Sergeant Argan crouched low beside the rest of his squad, in cover behind a row of ornamental planters. The Daemons were everywhere, climbing and crawling and gyrating in their bizarre and sickening ecstasies, happy to just be cavorting in realspace and killing in the name of Tzeentch. Weapons alone were not enough to combat such fiends- the armour of faith was needed also. The Sergeant knew that, though it had seemed at Griffonstone that the Emperor had forsaken him, it was His decision as to when Barnard Argan would die. That simple faith alone was enough, as crude as he was, to bolster his resolve enough to stand his ground, whether confronted by abhorrent Daemon, cunning Eldar, implacable Necron, ravenous Tyranid or battle-hungry Ork. There were certainly plenty of targets. Every shot he fired struck something obscene. Their laughter, playful laughter, was the most unnerving thing.

One power pack emptied, Argan slammed home a fresh one and continued firing. Tanks blazed away around him, while a tripod-mounted heavy bolter hosed down the approaching stormfront of hideous flesh. Screams from the left flank contrasted with the childlike giggles of the Daemons. A quick glance showed Argan that the enemy had reached the line over there, and men were being gutted and beheaded. If the left flank fell, the centre would have to retreat. If the centre retreated, the right flank would have to run also, and then there would be no line anymore.

Circumstances were beyond his control, however. Even as the men on the left were being overrun, a Hellhound flame tank nosed forward from the reserve position. With some men still alive and fighting, but the flank in danger of collapse, the Hellhound's crew received its orders.

A loud hiss was followed by a thundering roar as man and Daemon alike were bathed in flame. Screams were drowned out, air sucked from desperate lungs and replaced instead by superheated gas. The survivors fell, but they fell in the name of the Emperor, and they fell so that the reserve company could rush into position and hold the line. Flame, especially that sanctioned and blessed by the Ecclesiarchy, as had been done with the Hellhound's promethium tanks, was an effective tool against Daemonry, and for once their sickening laughter turned to screeches of pain.

A necessary sacrifice.

Argan hoped the same extreme action would not be needed in the centre of the line. His platoon and the rest of Gamma Company held the middle of the large plaza, similar to the one where they had fought hand-to-hand after the theatre collapse. This one had a large statue in the centre, which appear to represent the pony princess, though one of her wings and most of her head were missing, either shot off during the seizure of the square the previous day or perhaps removed in an act of vandalism by the Chaos occupying forces. Office buildings, some nearly a hundred stories high, surrounded them. Snipers and heavy weapons teams positioned on upper floors were busy firing down at the oncoming hordes, though the tight confines prevented air support from reaching them easily.

Massed las-fire was surprisingly effective against the writhing mass, but they were self-replicating, splitting off into multiple smaller creatures when cut down, and redoubling the threat. Enough firepower and enough time would wipe out the Daemonic host, but the range was too close, the streets too narrow. They rushed across the plaza, left flank, right flank, centre. Tanks loaded canister and decimated entire ranks of Daemonry, heavy bolters ripping many more apart, but they were getting closer, closer, closer still.

'Fix bayonets!' Argan shouted a quick order. His men obliged, slipping their sharp blades into the lugs beneath the barrels of their lasguns. If it came to close combat, they were at a distinct disadvantage, but there was no alternative, as the devils continued to advance unhindered by heavy gunfire. Argan stood, ready to engage. If it be his last fight, so be it. The Emperor wills, so shall it be done.

Better to die on your feet than lie on your knees.

Princess Celestia watched the carnage unfolding in the city through a telescope provided to her by one of the Starswirl's deck crew. This sudden tide of creatures, similar but notably different from the ones that had attacked during the initial assault on Manehattan, had come from nowhere and were threatening to push the Imperials back in several spots. Most certainly not part of the plan.

The human spotter team nearby had their communications device, and she could hear the panicked messages being transmitted over it. There was fear in those voices, fear of whatever it was that threatened them down below. Though the Starswirl hovered several miles from the city, the crackle of gunfire was still definitely audible. A heavy engagement was taking place, and it was one that terrified some of the Imperial troops who had fought with consummate bravery against their similarly human opposition over the past few days. All she could see through the telescope was a pink mass charging through the streets.

The Starswirl and the other two pony airships had remained at their stations above the Imperial siege lines through the previous day as the fire had spread and grown, ravaging the dockyard districts. Celestia had expressed her displeasure through the human communication device, to both Senior Commissar Birbeck and Lord-General Galen in orbit. Birbeck had remained non-committal, but Galen had offered an apology, though he had explained that the fire appeared to have been caused by an accidental ignition as a result of combat action. It was impossible to determine which side had been responsible for the blaze, he contended.

Celestia knew that materiel losses were a guarantee in warfare, but she was committed to minimising the impact of the millennia-old feud between these two human factions on her world and her ponies. The loss of the dockyards may have been an accident, may even have been necessary, but such thoughts did not mollify her too much. These unknown creatures, at least, seemed to not be inflicting too much materiel damage on the city, rather just swarming through the streets and attacking the humans directly.

'Lieutenant Atter!' Celestia called out. The human officer walked over obligingly.

'Yes, Your Highness?'

'Your men appear to be under heavy attack,' she advised him. 'I stand ready to offer assistance, if your commanders deem it necessary. Perhaps you may wish to convey my message to them?'

'Oh, uh, yes, Your Highness.' Atter turned to Mons and had a brief conversation over the vox before returning to Celestia.

'Your Highness, Commissar Birbeck advises me that he has no need for your assistance at this time,' he informed her.

'Is he certain?' Celestia raised an eyebrow, taking another brief look through the telescope. 'It appears as though these enemies are overrunning your lines in several places.'

'The Commissar was...unequivocal, Your HIghness,' Atter replied, with a sideways glance at his deputy. 'He says our forces are more than capable of dealing with the present threat.'

'You seem unsure of your Commissar's words,' Celestia suggested. 'What does Lord-General Galen have to say about things? Have you spoken to him?' Atter shook his head.

'No, Your Highness, only to the Commissar. He is relaying messages to Fleet Command himself.'

'Then put a message directly through to the Lord-General,' she ordered. 'Inform him of my offer of assistance, if you please. I would hate for the mission to fail because of some...crossed signals.'

Or more likely deliberate stubbornness, she thought to herself. Birbeck clearly did not have the same respect for her that the Lord-General appeared to, either because he had some personal dislike for her or, more likely, given what she knew about the humans, because he either feared or loathed other species as a general rule. If such distrust extended far enough that he would willingly refuse assistance while his men were being slaughtered, then she felt sorry for those under his command. Men were dying in the streets of her city, and she could render aid to them, but she felt no desire to put herself into harm's way of these unknown creatures unless it would be appreciated in return by the human commanders. Her previous actions had mostly been in the defence of ponies- this would be entirely in the defence of humans, a gesture which, she hoped, would act as a show of unity between the two sides, at least against the current enemy, though she had no expectations of continuing friendship once they were defeated. The very nature of the human society seemed to knock that idea on its head right from the start, as evidenced by the attitude of Commissar Birbeck, no doubt also shared by many of the men fighting and dying in Manehattan. While she had no doubt many of them would never be persuaded, she hoped to change some minds and reinforce some views, particularly among those whose opinions actually mattered among the humans.

Atter and Mons fiddled with their vox-set for a few moments before the Lieutenant held out the handset for Celestia, who took it with her magic. 'Lord-General Galen for you, Your Highness,' Atter informed her.

'Lord-General,' she spoke into the set. 'Your forces in Manehattan are coming under heavy attack from some creatures unknown to me. Commissar Birbeck has refused my offer of assistance, but it still stands. If you believe I can be of help, I am ready to fight.'

'Our men are indeed hard pressed. Any assistance would be welcome, Your Highness,' Galen replied over the crackly link. 'But be advised. Those creatures are Daemons, similar to the ones that attacked before, but potentially more dangerous. They are creatures of pure Chaos...'

'Fear not, General,' Celestia replied. 'I have fought Chaos before.'

The Daemonic charge did not halt, or even slow, despite the heavy firepower pouring from the Imperial lines. The hordes of hell were upon them, cutting and slashing and stabbing. Argan and his squad backed up, managing to regroup with the platoon command squad. A nearby Demolisher tank hurled a heavy shell that shattered several dozen of the little cackling Daemons, destroying some and splitting others, multiplying. Their bayonets were ready, but each Daemon was larger, strong and faster than a man. Close combat was all but certain death.

'Focus your fire on those yellow ones!' Argan shouted, having noticed that only the creatures of that colour actually went down for good once killed, rather than bouncing back up into several lesser creatures. He snapped off a few shots, cutting down one of the disgusting creatures which quickly shriveled up and dissolved in a flash of warp fire. A larger pink creature hurled a spluttering ball of energy toward his squad. He shouted a warning and ducked down, enough to save himself, but too late for one man.

Corporal Garras, second in command of the squad, was struck in the chest by the mystical energy, and immediately screamed, catching fire. But it was not a fire such as that which had destroyed the dockyards, nor of a kind produced by the smaller yellow Daemons. It was a bizzarre fire that, as only something straight from the utter madness of the Empyrean could, raged with cold. The breath of the rest of the squad condensed as the air chilled around them, Garras quickly turning brittle. Within a second he was a block of ice and then, as surely as spring follows winter, he began to melt, rapidly, rivulets of water rushing down as he disappeared before their eyes, pooling around their feet. A happy giggle could be heard from the creature that had killed Garras as it pranced toward them, its tentacle-tendrils raised to fire again.

Argan raised his rifle and pulled the trigger, again and again, until the thing had burst asunder and metamorphosed itself into two of its smaller blue bretheren. He took aim quickly and fired at one of them, while Merkev and other members of the squad, aghast at the death of their Corporal, snapped out of their horror long enough to engage the other. Both Daemons fell, and became four, scant feet from their position. Accurate las-fire killed all of the things before they could get any closer.

But one became two, two became four, and only then would four become none. An overwhelming mass of evil was still pressing on the Imperial positions. One tank erupted in flame as a large number of the creatures swarmed all over it, levering its hatches open and pouring unholy energies inside. The explosion pulverised the aggresors atop and around the tank, as shrapnel rained down across the square.

Argan looked around. The line was folding, bending, about to snap entirely. Men were dying, and even the reinforcements arriving from the rear would not be enough. There were simply too many of the foul creatures for them to fight before they were overwhelmed. It was like fighting Tyranid, if the Tyranids were not soulless harvesters but rather disgustingly childlike abominations from another reality, imbued with the evils and sickening magics of the warp.

'We have to fall back!' Argan shouted to Lieutenant Albrecht, the platoon commander. 'There's too many of them!'

The Lieutenant was about to agree, but another explosion marked the death knell of a second tank on the right, and that was the effective end of resistance there. The Daemons swarmed through, rushing around to the rear of the square to cut off the advance of further Imperial reinforcements. The surviving companies around the square were being cut off and isolated, with their path of retreat cut off and thousands of Daemons gleefully skipping, gamboling and lumbering toward them. They had nowhere to run to, no way out of the trap, with the forces of evil on every side, massing in their thousands, not baying for blood but rather laughing, as if they were enjoying a picnic with friends, rather than engaged in a deadly struggle.

A desperate cry for reinforcements was sent over every available channel, platoon and company commanders alike screaming for aid. Air support could not reach them among the tall buildings, too tight for Valkyries to operate. Ground reinforcements were cut off by the tide of Daemons. Orbital bombardment would do nothing but grant them a relatively painless, swift death. They were on their own.

Argan knew that this was the day the Emperor had chosen for his death. So be it. His will be done. He turned with his bayonet raised to meet the cackling hordes, his last battle. He would be with Marla again soon. The Daemons pushed in, multiplying before his eyes as they were cut down.

With a bright, blazing flash, something appeared in the sky above them.

'

Comments

[Eric Longtooth]

An interesting cliffhanger, but I have to wonder if Celestia will have any trouble with these.
Not sure what I would prefer, seeing as I love some good OP Alicorn stuff, but I digress.
Until the next chapter then. :D

[OneAmongOthers]

derpicdn.net/img/2013/3/27/280348/full.jpeg
OP or not... It's about time Celestia is shown in a positive light how powerful she truly is.

[blackcomet1224]

9770214
That's the thing I notice with these crossovers they seem to debuff celestial to show how op Warhammer is.

[Animatorsnake]

'I have fought Chaos before.'

This isn't like the jokester, cotten-candy, chocolate-milk drinking Chaos... this is Chaos of blood, rage, decay, tentacles, and most of all... BDSM.

[Bronzer]

but she felt no desire to put herself into harm's way of these unknown creatures unless it would be appreciated in return by the human commanders.

That right there shows us that even the ponies are little different than other xenos once 40k is involved. Humans stepped in to protect them simply because Chaos is that evil. Ponies wouldn’t do the same unless they get a pat on the back and appreciation for it.

[Bronzer]

9770751
No, they don’t. Rather, stories like this one we’re reading make her massively more powerful than she ever displays in the show. And don’t say “she controls the sun.” All we know is the light moves, but the gravity doesn’t change. Either the object is extremely small, bright, and close, or it being her special talent is the only reason she can do it. In any fight her power is, though greater than Twilight’s (maybe, but that actually is not necessarily true), still radically below a 40k combat psyker like Primaris.

[Bronzer]

9988653
Yes, the most annoying part so far is how Celestia is not phased at all by things that should completely horrify her and any other sane being. Even hardened Guardsmen often are driven insane just by looking at a daemon and we’re to believe Celestia isn’t even so much as disgusted by them? Yeah, no. Plus, they are vulnerable to psychic power, which she lacks in this fic, and extremely resistant to “real” power, which is apparently what pony magic is in this fic.

Except Kornate daemons, who would laugh off a psychic attack.