Skirmish (VI)
++Facility 2W6379BJ, Denton III++
++3.637.879.M39++
“YOU!!!” screamed the little xenoform, its voice echoing easily through the confined space.
Brother Venris had no time to consider the extreme antipathy for the Necrons evidenced by this “Twilight Sparkle”, as the metal monstrocities wasted no time in opening fire. Had the Astartes not already been moving, he would have been vaporized on the spot. As it was, he rolled along the floor with surprising agility for one of his size, and the lethal energies flew over him and down the corridor. Venris caught the briefest of glimpses of the green shots heading straight towards the xeno and her two human companions.
“So much for our xeno “Acolyte”” a part of his mind thought.
The rest was fixated on the now considerably worsened tactical situation. Venris’ roll took him to the room where his remaining two brothers yet waited, and he regained his feet as nimbly as he’d rolled.
“Immortals,” he said, simply. “Estimate a dozen or more.”
“Emperor protect our souls,” said Brother Fares said.
Venris and Atellus nodded grimly. Nothing more needed to be said. If the elite of the Necron army had at last come for them, it was a given that they would be slaughtered. Even Astartes in prime condition had to struggle against such foes – and the ragged remains of the Deathwatch force were hardly in their prime. Still, they were loyal sons of the Emperor, and would sell their lives as dearly as they could. It was their duty.
The Astartes would not have to wait long. Within seconds the sound of Necron weapons discharging, while not slacking in the slightest, was joined by the sounds eerily rhythmic footsteps along the metal floor. Moments later, the first black metal machine stepped through the door without hesitating.
Brother Fares had no hesitation either.
From his waiting ambush position, the Black Templar cried out the Emperor’s name as he swung his whirring chainblade in an upward slice for the machine’s neck joint. It was a good swing, especially for a man with only one arm remaining, perfectly calculated to slice into the armor’s weakest point and sever the deathly white head and with all the genetically-engineered super strength of the Space Marines behind it.
The Immortal caught it in one hand.
The machine’s left arm released its hold on its weapon with astounding speed, darting upwards to wrap its hand around the incoming sword. The buzzing teeth cut deep even into the heavily reinforced necrodermis of the Immortal’s hand, but it mattered not at all to the deathless warrior. Pain was a distant memory to such a thing.
While the Immortal’s left hand protected its head, its right lost no time in taking the offensive. Strong enough to wield its gun in one hand as well as it did with two, it brought the double-barreled weapon up to point directly at Fares’ chest. At the exact moment the chainsword was caught in its left hand, its right fired the gun. Once. Twice. Three times. At point blank range, there was no way it could miss.
And it didn’t.
Brother Fares of the Black Templars, then of the Deathwatch, was slain instantly. He had no time to cry out in pain or rage, to swear bloody vengeance or call the Emperor’s wrath down on the xeno’s head. His armor and chest were disintegrated in microseconds. The rest of his body, rapidly being eaten away by the energies that had killed him, clattered to the floor.
It had taken less than a second.
The Astartes battle cries were filled anew with a fresh fury, yet another reason to loathe the alien, to destroy it whenever they found it.
As if such things were needed.
Brothers Venris and Atellus were on the machine before its repair systems had a chance to renew its damaged hand, or its targeting systems to recalibrate and seek new victims. Venris brought his empty boltgun down on the Immortal’s head with all the force of a living avalanche, cracking sacred machinery and alien armor alike. Atellus could not swing his improvised bludgeon in such close proximity to his brother, and so instead settled for delivering a kick to its midsection. The ceramite boot caved in a portion of the machine’s armor, and more importantly sent the Immortal flying back the way it had come.
The Necron impacted against one of its fellows, the sheer kinetic force carrying them both into the corridor’s opposite wall with enough momentum to crack the sturdy Mechanicus design. Such a blow would have killed anything that lived, but both of the unholy creatures were already beginning to pick themselves up, necrodermis flowing back together to close wounds and repair damage.
Even worse, though the majority of the Immortals had passed the Astartes by in their efforts to close on the doubtlessly-slain purple xeno and her squad, two more turned back around to deal with the irritating Space Marines. Four of the Necron elite in full armor and wargear against two wound, exhausted Astartes without even proper weaponry? It was not a question of who would prevail. Given half a chance, the Immortals would butcher the remaining Deathwatch on the spot.
But they would not get such a chance.
Twilight Sparkle, Acolyte of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, last scion of the dead Equestria, screamed out her rage. All else fell away from her mind. The Imperium did not matter. The mission did not matter. Her team did not matter. Her very life did not matter. All that mattered was this: one of the beings that had killed her planet, her friends, her family, and everything she had ever cared for stood before her.
And she was going to kill him.
When the Immortals opened fire with their impossibly advanced xenotech weapons, they did not aim for their master’s prize, but rather the humans around her. Such chaff were of no value to Trazyn, and as such were merely obstacles to be eliminated. So it was that the first few bolts of lethal green energy passed over the alicorn’s head without incident. A human voice behind Twilight screamed with agony, but she did not know who of her men had been hit. Nor, honestly, could she have been said to care.
Twilight reached deep into in Aether, not at all concerned with possibility of drawing too much energy into herself. A part of herself had the sense to use some of that strength conjure a protective field around herself as the firefight broke out, shielding herself from the advancing Immortals and “friendly” fire alike. She had never had her brother’s special affinity for defensive magic, but she was competent enough. More than one shot clipped the violet bubble, but did no more than dissipate harmlessly.
The alicorn drew hungrily on the surging Warp, her rage pushing her to ignore the screams of protest from her overtaxed horn, or the pounding in her head. All that mattered was destroying the enemy, here and now, and Twilight knew just how to make it happen. If that meant her own head would simply explode afterwards, so be it.
Seconds ticked by as the alicorn struggled to accumulate the necessary strength to cast her curse. The Aether here was fickle, full of daemons and tormented souls. Not like it had been at home. In Equestria, magic had been as easy as breathing, but here Twilight had no such luxury. Still, she was a prodigy, a genius some had said, and even on this wretched dirtball her power was beyond almost any others’.
The Immortals advanced relentlessly, with neither fear nor pain to slow them. One went down under a flurry of las and plasma shots, but there were more. Another, Twilight’s brain vaguely noted, was sent flying out of the room where the Space Marine had retreated to. It hit another of its kind, and rearmost two broke off to assist the downed pair.
Then Twilight had the energy she needed, and all such thoughts ceased to be relevant.
The Immortals were mere meters away from the alicorn. The humans were retreating before them, the Astartes would soon be dead. They would claim the prize before them for Trazyn the Infinite, as they had so many others over the uncounted millennia of their existence. They did not know why the creature did not run or fight, but neither did they care. It was only their leader, clutching his staff tightly in the center of the formation, that had a suspicion that something might be off.
Too late.
Twilight’s magic reached into the barrier separating reality from the frothing hellstorm that was the Warp. And tore it apart.
A gaping hole in the fabric of reality manifested itself in the center of the Necron formation. Though they were the most advanced the galaxy had ever seen, the machines’ sensors could not warn them of the impeding danger. So they were caught utterly unprepared.
The air in the corridor immediately vanished, sucked into the whirling maelstrom Twilight had created. The staff-wielding Necron, as the alicorn had intended, was the next to go. His armor useless, his shields of no value, he was plucked from his metal feet by the sheer suction force directly behind him, and was immediately swallowed up. The three Immortals closest to him were next, ripped casually from where they stood and pulled into tear in reality. Others, further away from the immediate breach, had more time.
The machines closest to Twilight dug themselves into the metal, necrodermis fingers easily gouging out purchase for themselves and holding tight. The bolder of the human foes fired at the Necrons. Las bolts forced one to release its grip, whereupon it was promptly dragged to share the fate of its fellows. A plasma bolt all but vaporized the hand of another, which similarly could not maintain its hold on the walls. One human, particularly close to the alicorn, and particularly unlucky, was also grabbed by the unnatural suction of the Warp. He went screaming over Twilight’s head, and vanished into the hellish netherworld just as readily as the Necrons had done.
Then the alicorn’s borrowed strength gave out. Twilight collapsed to the floor, her protective bubble flickering out. Fortunately for the ex-princess, reality reasserted itself as soon as her spell failed, and the lethal vortex of Warp energy vanished in a heartbeat.
Of the dozen Necron Immortals who had occupied the corridor prior, only two remained, and they were suddenly leaderless. Their mechanical brains did split-second recalculations of their odds against the Imperium’s warriors.
They vanished in a flash of green light.
And then the corridor was empty, save for the stunned humans, panting alicorn, and a few seconds later, a pair of wounded but shocked Astartes. Everyone, without exception, was staring down at the unassuming form of the creature who had just unleashed such raw devastation on their enemies. Some with anger, some with hatred, some with admiration, some with relief, but all with awe.
“So…” managed Twilight Sparkle after some time had passed, in between frantic efforts to catch her breath. She did not even bother trying to stand up. “Where were we?”
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hmmmm, i dont think hes dead
Some kinda black hole attack? Nice.
One human was sucked in the Warp? Is he Astartes?
Trazyn the Finite?
blog.tradegecko.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Its-Alive.jpg
well...at least the Templar is dead. this wouldn't end well otherwise. (and i hate saying that, they is my favorite-ish chapter)
5494876 Blackholes...real blackholes tore everything apart....and that look like a sort of blackhole attack to me...you cannot survive something like that unless it is some sort of Deus Ex Machina....
I wonder, does she realize how fond that guy was of body doubles?
5495440
I imagine her rage at the fact will be quite the sight to see.
5495380
yeah but warp magic is weird and necron leaders are amazingly difficult to kill, i wouldnt be surprised if our necron destroyer comes back.
5495858 Eh...I'm not talking about warp magic...I'm talking about real life Blackholes....
Also, the necron are not invincible...deal enough damage and they will die...Although, I'm not sure if those guys got transfered to a new body or not...
Badass Twi is badass!!
Now at least the not so stupid humans will realize why the Inquisition want her.
because there is no way this can go wrong, right?
It wasn't a black hole. She tore open the veil of reality into the Imaterium, and threw the Necron force into the Warp. Not the most common psyker technique in 40k, but not unheard of. Necron technology reinforces realspace around them. It is possible that the Necron Lord will survive because of this, seeing as it lacks a soul, but I don't know how he would enter the Materium again.
5495380
These are Necrons, Deus est Machina.
5496191 I don't think they can be called Deus yet...after all, the universe already have deus class beings.
Typo list.
'were hardly in their primne'
'Though they were most advanced' (should be 'the most')
'The air in the corridor immediately vanished, sucking into the whirling maelstrom' should probably be 'sucked', not 'sucking'
'necrodermis fingers' should probably be 'necrodermal'
Yup about what I expected...
you defenetly don't disappoint!
5499213
How about this one :
th04.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2014/283/c/1/twinquisitor_by_shaadorian-d821seg.png
Damn it, Snake Staff, I wish you wrote more. Or faster. This is probably the closest to matching the tone and style of the Black Library’s better works that an MLP/40K crossover can get and your sedate writing pace is leaving me high and dry here.
‘Acolyte’,” a
wounded,
5495023
It was somebody near her. Almost certainly one of her squad or, if we’re lucky, the interrogator.
got to love this story reminds me of my favorite dark heresy game were I played a tech-priest who through a series of events gained access to basic understanding of necron tech and had necrodermis implanted as an augment.
5495019
.
Well, this spell is called "vortex of doom", and for good reasons
Poor nameless guardsmen