• Published 20th Oct 2013
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Strange Bedfellows - BRBrony9



MLP/WH40K Crossover- An Imperial Crusade discovers a remote planet and its unusual inhabitants, but it soon becomes clear they are not the only ones whose interests lie in Equestria....

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Trying Again

Lord-Admiral Marcos had seen the failure and futility of the attacks on the Daemon, vividly depicted through the vid-links and displayed on the bridge of the Emperor's Judgement. Artillery, missiles, lascannon, all had failed to deter or slow the creature, the foul spawn of the warp. The sudden burst of energy detected by Auspex on the far side of the system's moon must have been related somehow- perhaps the Lord of Change had always been there, waiting, for millennia, for this opportunity. Or perhaps, as now seemed increasingly likely, its appearance had something to do with the strange actions of the Chaos battleship Daemonfate.

There had been a certain escalation which had been noted by Imperial strategists aboard the flagship, though without any particular indication as to whether it actually meant anything. FIrst, there had been a small Daemonic incursion in Manehattan, after the initial heavy bombardment by Imperial siege artillery. Then, there had been the fire, which had torn through the dockside districts of the city where the enemy were holed up. That might have been accidental, but it was immediately followed by a Daemonic incursion much greater in scope than the first. After that had come the destruction of the dam in Ponyville with the resulting casualties it incurred. An atomic weapon detonated in Baltimare had been next, seeing the deaths of thousands of the enemy, at minimum, and many Imperial troops, too. And then, finally, there had been the inexplicable suicide of the Daemonfate, and its crew not just of thousands, but of over a million. A million men, a million souls, twisted and warped by Chaos, but souls nonetheless, all wiped out in mere moments.

Though there was no concrete proof of any connection, it seemed that the Archenemy had been trying, with increasing fervour, to cause enough death or agony, either cumulatively or in one single event, to summon the Lord of Change. A Daemon of such power and strength would not be a simple matter to bring to the material world, and their early attempts, if that was indeed what they had been planning, had been failures for one reason or another. But perhaps, the death of the Daemonfate was the trigger that was needed. Maybe it had merely required a certain number of souls to be sacrified, or perhaps the importance of the ritual was that those souls had to die willingly; it was possible that the failures of fire, flood and radiation had suggested to whoever was in command of the enemy forces that a sacrifice of his own men was needed to complete their task, an offering of proof of loyalty to the Lord of Change and his dark patron god.

That was all speculation, however. Truthfully, it did not matter what exactly had summoned the Daemon to this place. What mattered was how they would defeat it, and drive it back into the Immaterium from whence it came. The ground and air forces had failed, so it was time for them to fall back. Marcos had issued the order through General Jahn; all Imperial ground units were to retreat to a minimum distance of eight miles from the edge of the city, and await further orders. It was time for the Navy to try its hand at the task.




All across the plains north of Fillydelphia, Imperial forces were in retreat, as per the orders they had received from high command. Tanks and infantry, artillery and aircraft, were all pulling back to the initial jump-off points from which they had launched the offensive just after dawn that morning, abandoning the hard-won trenches that ringed the city and heading back north. The orders they had received had been explicitly clear; fall back, as fast as possible but in good order, clear of the city and clear of the target. Every unit was to comply, there were no exceptions to the order.

Despite the fear instilled by the presence of any Daemonic entity, let alone one of such great potential power as this, there was little panic among the ground forces. It was not a flight borne of terror, but of a reasonable and very sensible order issued by high command, for a good reason. Nobody wanted to be in the target area of an orbital strike, which was exactly what they were now planning to unleash upon their foe. The most powerful weapons at their disposal would surely annihilate this creature, however strong it might happen to be. Some of the men were most confident that this would be the case, while others did not share their enthusiasm and were incredibly doubtful that a mere increase in energy output would make much of a difference; after all, that was all that separated a lance from a lascannon, when it came down to it. If lascannon and shell and bullet had done nothing to this creature, why should any of their other weapons?

Aboard the Emperor's Judgement and the Indefatigable, batteries were prepared for firing, coordinates logged, entered and relayed. The target was locked on by the main Auspex arrays, tracking the warp signature given off by the beast now that it was out in the open and fully exposed. Before a single shot could be fired from orbit, however, Lord-Admiral Marcos had to make a vox call, as strange as it seemed even to himself. Before they engaged the target with such powerful weaponry, he felt it best...no, he needed to get approval.

'Your Highness, this is Lord-Admiral Marcos,' he began his message. 'Our assault on Fillydelphia has developed some...complications. A very powerful creature, A Greater Daemon, has appeared on the field of battle.It is an extremely dangerous and cunning enemy, and...'

'I know, I felt its arrival,' Princess Celestia interrupted him. 'My sister and I are both aware of its presence, though not of its true nature. Nevertheless, we can feel its malevolence. What have you called to tell me, Admiral? That you cannot defeat it? That you wish us to assist you, or that you wish to destroy it from orbit?'

'We are planning to strike it from orbit, Your Highness, yes,' Marcos replied, the princesses' perception once again impressing him. She had not even been present at the front, as she had at Manehattan, and yet she apparently not only already knew of the Daemon's arrival, but also had correctly predicted his plan for dealing with it. 'Unfortunately it is located within the city of Fillydelphia itself, Your Highness. In order to engage the target, we would be compelled to destroy a large part of the city alongside it. Do I have your permission to do so?'

'We need that city, Admiral,' Celestia made a pointed reminder to him. 'We need those factories, the river port. Do you not think you can destroy this...Daemon...some other way?'

'I do not believe so, Your Highness,' Marcos admitted. 'I am not entirely confident that a strike from orbit would be able to destroy it, either, but it is the best chance we have. Our most powerful weapons brought to bear will give us the greatest chance of defeating this evil before it can spread. I must stress, Your Highness, that this being is incredibly dangerous, not only in a straight fight but also behind the scenes, psychologically, sometimes imperceptibly. It might make a small change here or there which seems inconsequential, but ten years later will result in the fall of an otherwise impregnable fortress or the death of a king or governor.'

'Or a Princess?' Celestia quipped, drolly. 'Do you believe I could be of assistance in combating this menace?' she questioned.

'Truthfully, Your Highness, I am not sure,' Marcos replied, for it was indeed the truth. While he had seen the power Celestia could wield, and had read through the mission reports and seen the vid-pict images of her fighting off hordes of Daemons in Manehattan, this particular Daemon was in a different league compared to those minor underlings which had threatened to overrun the assault force out to the east. He had no idea if the Princess could stand against a creature like that; he would not be at all surprised if she could, but equally, if she was not up to the task then she would die needlessly. Part of Marcos, the old part, told him that would be a good thing. Let the Xenos fight the battle for their own homeland; she wanted the factories of this city, so she should sacrifice herself to win them back. But another part, the new part, said that would be wrong. Not just wrong because it would deprive the Crusade of a valuable ally, but intrinsically wrong, on some moral level.

It was a feeling which still confused him greatly, not least because it seemed to get stronger the more time he spent here. He was not even on the surface, merely in orbit, and yet something about this place where he had never set foot in person, and something about its inhabitants, still grasped at his consciousness in a way that he had never felt before about any place save for his home planet. Even compared to that, this place was somehow different. There was, as strange as it sounded to try and explain to himself, an inherent goodness within the Princess, and that seemed to s[read to the land as well. Perhaps not to every pony, perhaps not to the other lesser species at all, but certainly to some. What would normally have led to confusion and the rapid order for some kind of destruction, at least of the species if not the planet due to fears of warp taint or psychic trickery, had stayed his hand for some reason here, on Kuda Prime. Marcos could not explain why to himself, and he feared he would not be able to explain it to the court-martial panel back at Hydraphur, either.

There would be questions, of course, questions about the fleet's many operations elsewhere, about space combat, about logistics and attrition and the Archenemy and oh yes, by the way, why did you decide to spare this race of psychic horse-aliens from destruction once you found out about their capabilities, Lord-Admiral?

But that was far in the future. Perhaps he would never even make it back to Hydraphur alive and all of his fears would be moot. Although, of course, in that case he would have to answer to the Emperor himself in the next world, but that would be alright. Marcos trusted the judgement and wisdom of the Emperor infinitely more than he trusted the judgement and wisdom of the men of Segmentum Command.

'If you desire my aid then I shall be here awaiting your request,' Celestia replied to his previous statement, jerking him out of his reverie. 'If not, then I wish you and your forces the best of luck in dealing with this creature. Are you certain there is no other way to defeat it?'

'This is no ordinary threat. It might be possible to lure it out of the city, Your Highness,' Marcos replied. 'Imperial forces are in retreat in preparation for the orbital strike, clearing the target area. If the Daemon were to pursue them, then it would leave the city and it might be spared. However we do not know what its intentions are. It may well remain where it currently is and try to turn Fillydelphia into a stronghold of some kind. If that were the case then we must strike now before the enemy forces have a chance to dig in. Other than our orbital weaponry, the only chance of defeating such a Daemon would be with another being of tremendous psychic power.'

'In your estimation, Admiral, would I qualify under that definition?' Celestia asked coolly.

'Yes, Your Highness, you would, but again, I must caution you,' Marcos answered. This Daemon is far greater in power than those you fought previously. I do not know what feats it might be able to perform. It is a master of change and trickery. It is unusual for one of these creatures to actively fight on the frontline, as far as can be discerned from Imperial records. It must be here for some particular reason, but I do not know what that might be.'

'Then I will put a simple question to you. Do you want to tackle this thing alone, or do you desire assistance?' Celestia asked, waiting for the reply.

'We will attempt to lure the Daemon from the city, Your Highness, in order that we may attack it from orbit,' Marcos replied. 'If that fails...then I will contact you again to discuss our next moves.'

'Very well, Admiral. I shall be waiting for news, whether good or bad,' Celestia responded, before Marcos cut the link and turned to General Jahn.

'General? Have your men pull back another two miles, ten mile inner perimeter. We're going to try luring this bastard out into the open terrain before we hit it.'

Jahn nodded and quickly issued the requisite orders for the thousands of troops and hundreds of vehicles to continue their retreat, putting more distance between themselves and the city. While they would doubtless like to get more distance between themselves and the Daemon, too, the plan was to lure it out in pursuit. Once it was in the countryside, hell would rain down upon it.




Lieutenant Miana crouched low in the bushes. Her lasgun was by her side, and in her hand instead was a thermoscope. Sergeant Ransome lay beside her, the vox set in his firm grasp. Ahead of them lay the gently rolling plains of southern Equestria, the terrain surrounding the city of Fillydelphia. Like the rest of the assault force, they had fallen back as ordered, leaving their captured positions on the outskirts and retreating to the countryside. As part of the liason company of the 23rd Brenner Scout Regiment, the two of them had been detailed to take up a position some nine miles from the city, well in advance of the bulk of the Imperial forces which had pulled back to a ten-mile perimeter. Their duty was simple; observe, and report.

It was not an enviable position to be in. They were alone, isolated, far out in front of their own unit, which itself was deployed in front of the majority of the friendly regiments. If the enemy decided to suddenly rush out from their positions in the city, Miana and Ransome would be the first Imperial units to encounter them. But they were not here for that. They were in their exposed position because the high command, in their infinite wisdom, needed someone to report from the ground on the results of their orbital strike. A battle damage assessment of the attack might let them know exactly what effect it had, much faster than their own Auspexes could see clearly through the inevitable smoke.

'Good sight lines...this will do,' Miana advised Sergeant Ransome, who spoke into the vox.

'Dagger 5-3 to fleet command. In position. Will advise on results of strike, over.'

Through her scope, Miana could see a ridge in the distance. That was where the friendly artillery had been located before the retreat. Now it was abandoned, empty shell casings glinting in the sun, visible even at this distance, a good couple of miles away. There was also a downed Lightning fighter, another good reference point.

She knew that there were other spotter teams up and down the line, assigned to a similar role. Every scout regiment would have at least one team deployed to report on the effectiveness of the orbital strike which, they had been assured, would see the demise of the Daemon once and for all. Like most Imperial propaganda, the majority of Guardsmen had immediately doubted the veracity of that claim. but Miana, Ransome, and the other spotter teams would be the first to see if it was true or not.

Assuming, of course, that the Daemon took the bait. A creature of such alleged intellect should know better than to run into a clear trap. At the very least it should realise that it would be walking, or floating, straight into the teeth of the guns of a thousand tanks and countless lasguns. Of course, whether that knowledge would cause the Daemon to do anything other than laugh remained to be seen.

Miana waited, and waited. Scouts always did a lot of waiting. Waiting for orders, waiting for the enemy, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Something usually did, but sometimes it could take forever. She could not see the city itself from her position, save for the tops of the tallest chimneys. The Daemon had descended well below that height, being seen to touch down inside the city boundaries, close to the fast-flowing river. Where it was now was a mystery to her, but it was expected, hoped, if that was the right word, that it would come toward them, in pursuit of the foe who had seemingly ran away rather than continue the fight.

The hope of the high commanders came true several minutes later. There it was, the Lord of Change, hovering a few feet above the ground, its feathery wings flapping needlessly, as they were not the source of its ability to fly. It loomed above the ground, floating over the grasslands and heading toward Miana and Ransome. There was a lot of ground between them, but Miana felt the dread, the horror merely from seeing the thing with her own eyes. It was coming, getting closer, slowly but steadily. It was not alone. Hundreds of traitor infantry accompanied their new master, striding confidently across the open country, lasguns ready to meet the threat of the loyalists who had fled before them. As far as they were concerned, the forces of the Corpse God had fled before them, the men of the False Emperor running scared with their tails between their legs, too afraid to face their patron Daemon on the field of battle. A few losses in the air, a failure of their artillery to inflict damage, and they ran away crying like children.

That was when the first strike hit.

A great flaming column of light descended from the heavens, igniting the grass and the clothing of the men beneath it a moment before it struck the ground. A huge plume of smoke and dust was kicked up by the blast, infantry caught on the edge hurled into the air like rag dolls and tossed about helplessly. The first strike was not quite on target, missing the Daemon by a couple of hundred feet, but it was not the only shot which had been fired. There was another titanic flash and blast, a little farther along the line, closer to the Daemon, which did not flinch as it continued onward, floating just above the ground. More men died, turned to ash by the intense, impossible heat. Thousans of burning embers started small spot fires in the grassland around the target area.

Unlike their implacable leader, most of the Chaos infantry began to panic, to break and run after only the first two shots of the bombardment. They fled in all directions, trying to scatter, to hide, anything to escape the certainty of death which the Imperial fleet was unleashing. But there was nowhere to hide, no protection out on the open plains, and no defence against the strikes. Some of the men ran forward, beginning a futile charge, but even that would just carry them into the guns of the waiting Imperial ground forces, who were eager for blood as well after being ordered to retreat. Braver men, or those captivated sufficiently by the presence of their Daemonic patron, remained with the creature, chanting foul prayers whose sounds were rendered inaudible by the thunderous cracks of displaced air caused by each strike, and the rumbling bass of the blasts upon their impact with the ground.

Lieutenant Miana flinched at the sudden fury of the first strike, even though she had been fully expecting it at any moment. The ships in orbit above were in position, and ready to open fire. Those first shots had merely been rangefinders, designed to check if the ship's Auspex targeting arrays were calibrated correctly. One shot from the Emperor's Judgement, and one from the Indefatigable.

'Dagger 5-3 to Fleet Command, both strikes on target. Fire for effect, over,' Miana spoke into the vox. A curt acknowledgement was received in reply, and those few simple words unleashed hell. Not just one or two shots this time, but a veritable rain of lane fire and plasma blasts falling from the skies. Those enemies foolish enough to have remained with their leader died in a heartbeat, hundreds of lives snuffed out in suffocating heat and light, engulfing their very being before vaporising them from existence entirely. Most of those who had tried to run would join them in death soon enough.

Lance strikes peppered the countryside, deep rolling booms shaking Miana and Ransome to the bone as they rang out across the land. Flaming corpses cartwheeled almost comically, as if they were playthings tossed aside by a careless child. Perhaps, ultimately, that was what the Daemon was; a mere child playing with its toys, except that its toys were men, women, human beings that were being warped to is own ends, their minds bent to its will by its psychic power. While Miana most certainly had no sympathy for the men who had betrayed the Imperium and the Emperor, she could not help feel at least a mild sense of indignation on behalf of her entire species. After all, these were still humans, being used for the twisted purposes of malevolent entities that did not even inhabit this dimension, this material plane where all life, in the traditional sense of the word, existed.

The fleet poured down fire from above, turning the grassy plain into a hellscape, blowing great craters in the ground and littering the bare, blasted land with bodies and flame. Fast-moving grass fires chased after each other across the gentle hills like children out enjoying the morning sunshine. There was no playful laughter, though. Only the screams of the dying, carried on the breeze in between each round of explosions. The target area was pummelled incessantly, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and thick smoke that obscured everything, drifting gently across the landscape, swirling eddies lifted by the heat from the flames which wreathed the area. The whole ridge line where the artillery positions had been located was almost squashed flat by the bombardment, suffering a considerable reduction in height as tons of earth became dislodged and hurled about by the tremendous forces being unleashed by the lance batteries of the Indefatigable and the ventral mass drivers and plasma launchers of the Emperor's Judgement. A fierce punishment for a fearsome foe; the judgement of the Emperor truly was in play, a divine retribution from the heavens striking at one of His most hated foes.

For ten minutes the barrage from orbit continued, with only a few moments of peace and silence here and there as weapons recharged or adjusted their aim to account for orbital drift. A stray shot could wipe out a considerable number of friendly forces, and would be unforgivable, no doubt resulting in either the Auspex operators or the gun layers being shot. The land was reduced to ruin, a smoking moonscape where no living thing, man, plant or animal, could survive. But what of the Daemon?

Aboard ship, they waited eagerly for word. Had their strike been effective? As the last few shots rained down, Maina prepared to make her report. A deafening silence suddenly reigned across the land. The bombardment was over, and surely, that was that. Maina peered through her thermoscope. The smoke obstructed any attempts at making visual confirmation of the kill, but the thermoscope would hopefully reveal the thermal signature of anything within the shroud of dust and debris.

She scanned around. There were a few rapidly cooling bodies here and there, one or two men who were still remarkably clinging to enough life to drag their pitifully burned and maimed bodies a few feet through the smouldering dirt. There was nothing on the scope apart from that. No sign of the target. The smoke began to gradually clear, and she took hold of the vox handset, ready to speak.

'Dagger 5-3 calling Fleet Command. Good effects on target. No, repeat no contacts. Standby for visual confirmation.'

The thick smoke parted almost like a curtain in a most theatrical way that surely could not have been an entirely natural occurrence. Lieutenant Miana grasped the vox handset tightly and spoke again.

Dagger 5-3...I have visual contact...target is...target is alive.'

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