Chapter 1
++Baltimare. Night time.++
Gasping loudly wasn't the right thing to do upon waking, as it only lead to inhaling more than a desirable amount of puddle water from the night darkened alley.
Coughing and sputtering, he scrabbled up, onto his knees to gag at the stagnant water sliding down his esophagus, bringing a rancid taste to the back of the mouth and causing ancient instincts of panic over drowning to expell it back out in the least gentle means, scraping his throat raw.
Moments of horrible bodily reactions, causing him to hack out the taste from his throat, he's able to glance around at the alleyway, eyes half glazed from disorientation from something not just relating to the violent fit, but something that felt more on par with the effects of minor concussion. The problem is, he doesn't remember hitting his head on anything. Infact, he doesn't remember how he got here at all.
A wave of nausea builds up like a chemical fog, bubbling through his body, bringing dry heaves with it, and leaving him just as it came, ebbing into a haze he would liken to a dull yellow fog of crippling illness, dissipating and leaving him feeling..
Better?
Taking a few breaths, he closed his eyes tight to focus on his breathing. Body reducing the trembling that he didn't notice was there, losing its strength and restoring him to clarity with each breath. The air tasted clean. The trash around him coloured the tight space, but over it all the usual city scent wasn't there; pollution of petrol chemicals, ozone stink from various generators, the smell of despair, more of a feeling that clung to places like a stink, all of it missing. All but one he could pick up as his mind begins sorting itself out.
He stands wearily, the scuff of his heavy boot tread and the long scattering scrape of his rifle, the polymer strap still loosely wrapped around his torso, bringing more noise to his surroundings, in what he realizes is the back alley to what smells like a bakery.
Wood smoke. Bread.
The two scents bring flashes of old feelings. This wasn't his first time smelling those, rare as they are, he had been to a world of less blessed ways of life. The darkened brickwork of the squat buildings verifying his assessment. Taking another breath of the quaintly perfumed air, both to get his head clear of idle thought and perhaps a sinfully indulgent sample of the untainted night, he adjusts the plates of his grey armour that shuffled out of place to sit uncomfortably and gripping his weapon in both hands, he starts for the alley entrance, feeling bolder and more sturdy than minutes ago on the filth of the ground.
Girding his will further by pulling a winged amulet to his lips, silently breathing ancient prayers both to his Lord and to the war spirits of his rifle, keeping them below a whisper from a throat feeling to painfully raw for speech, he brings himself forth to find anything that will fill the still fuzzy hole in his memory and put him back on the path to..
To what?
Duty.
Obviously, but what was his last immediate purpose before waking here? A cautious glance from the shadows of the ally mouth reveal nothing to illuminate his failed memory. An empty street of what seems to be shops accessible at street level, all wood and clay brick. Above, settled on top of the ground level merchant spaces, lights shon from what he assumed to be hab dwellings for the business owners and their families, came from upper floors. Strange how short the buildings were, leaving only a few feet between windows, like a city built for those half the size of a man.
Frowning at the new puzzle, he casts his gaze around the cobbled streets for a quick moment, side to side. With nothing standing out to his immediate attention he withdraws back into the darkened alley, near the fenced end to collect his thoughts while sitting on a refuse bin, letting all the drifting pieces of his mind come together.
John Pyke. Adderack third auxiliary. Imperial guard. Last stationed at...
Grimacing as the thoughts begin to drift again, just out of reach he shakes his head to rattle something back into place.
John Pyke, Adderack.. Former auxiliary. Seconded to Kaelus. Who the bloody hell is Kaelus?
Clutching his head he can feel the scars through the stubble of his hair, reminders of a mad general and his abhuman guard, and the near death by a stray chainblade bigger than it had the right to be, leaving jagged, claw like marks down the left side of his scalp, just one more momento picked up in the service of-
The flash of a gilded icon burns up out of the fog in his mind. It's presence brief but its meaning is everything terrible and righteous. Bringing him near parade attention on reflex to its recall.
The Inquisition.
A rattle of trash from the bins near the mouth of the alley cut the moment down, replacing his attention is a figure,human, shaggy, short and wearing nothing as he roots around the refuse, grunting and sniffing like an animal in the trash.
Approaching cautiously through the alley, Pyke tilts his head to observe the man. An unfortunate, possibly mad or on some chem that has him in such a state that he surely wouldn't react well to being snuck up on. Might not react well to an armed guardsman in carapace armour bearing off world rankings either, but the empire wide propaganda should make the man compliment to a figure of authority. Taking a breath not ten paces away he opens his mouth to call out to the man and nearly chokes on his own tongue. ripping pain grinds his voice down and leaves him in a loud coughing fit, clutching his throat in shock.
Throne blessed, what in the frak was..!
The sound of a feral keening, wild and angry, with rushing footsteps was all that saved him from taking a full hit from the man, his dirty fist swinging for his head and missing with the mad haymaker when John pivots on his boot toe and heel to swing himself away from the rushing lunatics fist, half bent over to standing at a full height in a moment as guard training kicks in, almost hopping off the cobblestones in his reaction. Unfortunately the lunge was not avoided as well, the opponent forcing his balance off when their bodies collide, falling to the same puddle he had awoke in. On top of being assaulted by a hairy lunatic junkie, this indignity angered him more than anything at the moment, taking personal offense at his warp blighted luck to soak the other side in that same damn puddle.
The snarling figure above him drew his attention back from the galaxies Ill humour to the slavering madman who for all intents seems to be trying to bite at his face. if not for a plated forearm pressed against the throat and keeping him back, those disgusting yellowed teeth would have added another scar to his embarrassingly growing collection. Limbs flailing, scrabbling at one another in defense and animal like snaps and slaps by dirty hands, Pyke growls out as he works a leg between them, pushing up and to the side, levering the man away to the dirty ground and off of him. Swinging a booted foot out from prone to catch the savage in the side out of spite before rolling away and onto his feet with a clatter of ceramite plate, facing off with the other already rushing to him for another lunge.
This time the blatant attack hadn't the advantage of shock and surprise, Pyke simply darting to the left and bringing a knee against the leg of the attacker, pitching him off balance, allowing Pyke to use his lower center of gravity to shove the man down, taking his arm and following him down in a controlled descent, pinning the lanky figure back into the puddle face down with a knee on his back and arm wrenched behind him. A howl of pain escapes the wild man as his arm is pulled back further, dislocating the joint from his shoulder moments after the fall, he doesn't get a second chance to shout as plated knuckles slam into the back of his head, hammering down until he stops moving in short remorseless strikes.
Dropping the man's arm to let it flop to the cobbles below at an unhealthy angle, the guardsman takes time to breath down his panic, reciting litanies to calm himself, or he would, but the moment he speaks the tearing pain returns, sending him into a coughing fit that has him left on one knee and panting for breath.
Ave imperator. Blessed is his light. Ave dominus. Blessed is your touch. Dear Emperor, make the fraking pain stop already!
Taking the time to wobble back to his feet, weighed down by the armour and feeling like the fourth night in boot, he makes his way to the alley mouth, lasgun clattering against his side along with the scabbard chainsword, silver chasing and inscriptions along its casing. Another momento from the mad general. His scuffing steps end and he leans against the wall to gather himself. It wouldn't do to not be prepared for another madman or under hiver, or whatever these worlds called their dregs.
As his breaths came in deeply, lessening to normative levels, he was able to get a look of this new location for a sense of where to go, only to squint in confusion. Was it him, or are all the buildings even shorter than they should be?
staggering lightly out of the alley mouth, coughing wetly to clear his throat, he stepped out into the now obviously squat, coloured structures around him, glancing at doorways and carved window sills. Heart shapes and flowers with flowing lines adorning all wood in varying skill. A community with more frivolous hope than pragmatism it seemed. still it was pleasant to see the optimism in the decore, naive or not.
Placing a hand onto the wall to steady himself, he gives a glance over of the storefront and the glass display, finding just as he expected. Bread. He was right in that at least, but what sort of pygmy folk dwell here he didn't know, but they seemed to have a love of their pets, if the pict prints were anything to go by. Throne they loved their colourful equines.
He almost started down the street before he remembered the miscreant in the alley and turned back to haul the foul smelling wretch to the nearest Arbites, when a noise was heard across the way, causing him to stagger in an instinctive about face to the sudden sounds of a door opening and an old voice calling out.
“Missy! Come girl. Come for walkies.”
Raising his hand and taking a step forward he begins to hail the woman walking out the door with an, oh Lord it has to be a hooved creature doesn’t it. Stopping his forward motion at the sight of the small equine shape with purple fur and gray mane and tail, bringing up the sting of a phobia gained late in life from his first encounter with the wildlife on another back water, he flapped his mouth uncertainly, realizing he couldn't call out anyways and would need to jog across the way to get the young woman with the elderly voice to lend aid.
The young, naked woman. With a collar and leash about her neck. Walking hunched and dumbly behind the hooved monstrosity that was tugging on the leash and speaking to her.
Scrambling backwards he makes it into the darkened alley with enough noise to simply turn their heads but giving nothing more than a cautious glance to the dark alley, shadows too thick to see into, before moving on.
Pyke for his part was leaning against the wall, with hand on his mouth and the other tightly gripping his lasrifle, trying to come to terms with the horrific scene of the alien beast towing her human pet along.
As the two moved on out of hearing, Pyke aggressively rubs his face, as if to clear away the sight like mud in his eyes. Pacing back and forth, mind whirling with ideas too agitated to stick, it was the pained moan of the taller man he had beaten that directed his thoughts to a path of reason beyond gaping in horror. Now, cold logic and training took over for scattered panic as he marched over to the hairy mess of a man, wrenching his head back while sitting on his back to keep him down and pinned. Pulling at his dog-tags he flashed his rank/name at the man, grunting and gagging once at his inability to demand answers verbally.
Pitiful mewls of pain and fear was all he received, even as he shook the tages at the man, indicating his status in the guard, the man could only submissively whine and keen at him. Any other man would at least be begging or trying to communicate back, not making this animal sounds. Frustrated Pyke shoves the man back down into the puddle, pushing off the greasy torso onto his own feet. The wildman scrambles away to huddle miserably in fear against the wooden fence closing the alley off.
Like an animal.
Observing the man he thinks on it. The way the monster was treating the woman, like a beloved pet. The glazed look in her eye as the woman was led. This waste of a life, whining like a dog against the fence. There was something wrong here. Wholey, deeply wrong. Moving back to the bakery window out front, he looked over the pict captures again. More equines. More mutant or alien creatures. A city of them if the buildings were a clue. A world even likely.
He was trapped here with them.
Rage started mingling with the panic, the need to end something almost making him put a fist through the glass show window before he redirected his wrath, turning about for something that wouldn't be so noisy and obvious, or at least a direction to give him a plan to follow to soothe the anger and fear.
Purple fur, gray tail, and a naked woman in tow.
They were turning down a street over a block away. He centered on the sight as they both disappeared down the street when something crystalized in him. Something so pure and cold it locked everything in like a blessing from divinity.
Hate, the Emperor's greatest gift to man. It showed him the way. He now had a course to follow. It was the only way it should be.
He moved off, locked onto the corner the two had taken, the hiss of his combat knife leaving its sheath and the ring of its blade the opening tune to tonight's work.
=][=
Across town, east Baltimare.
The modern hollow core, ‘wooden’ door opened with a slam against older wallpaper and slats behind with a hollow thud.
“Ponyfeathers, Trace! Trace can you come get some of these?” Shuffling in backwards the golden yellow pegasus mare, now self appointed pack mule called out to her apartments second resident, wherever she was. “Trace! I’m dropping stuff, c’mon already!”
Steps shuffled over the carpet to the door. Red hair, freckles and green eyes, the human female moved up from a shamble to a scramble as the bags adorning the mare were slipping dangerously to the side, off tired wings holding them up.
“Its slipping, its slipping! Getitgetitgetit!” Trying to balance half a dozen bags already the pony could only lean on two hooves so much before everything else would fall, luckily her ‘roommate’ snatched up the tragedy to come with deft hands. After all, Lucky layers cakes were too pure for this candy coated world to let anything as monstrous as gravity harm them. The ginger woman holding the bag up and turning on the spot with a pleased expression, leaving the mare to her other burdens. “Trace! I swear if you don’t take something else i’m going to make you eat your-!”
More bags vanished off her back, giving the golden mare the chance to glare daggers at the grinning spawn of Discord she called a friend for the last two years. Growling in a way that would make a diamond dog proud, she just stepped inside, hoofing the door closed with a back leg and clip clopped her way to the kitchen where her reason to drink was reverently pulling the blue cardboard box from the cloth bags with the paislie and cake motifs indicating the confectioner of this fine creation.
“Trace I swear, if you eat more than your share on this one, i’m dragging you out with me on morning jogs. Six Am, Trace. Celestia's own breakfast!” The pout turned her way would have melted her heart if she didn’t know the pest wasn’t working thus didn’t pay her way. Hay, she COULDN’T pay her way! Humans can’t think, can’t smile, don’t talk. And certainly don’t eat all the sweets in the place without telling, so if her red haired friend started tossing out resumes around town, Dusty Trails would certainly lose more than her badge.
Hoofing a few bags onto the counter she looked back to the pouting human, locking her into a glare, showing her displeasure with all the force a hard boiled beat cop could muster.
She blinked first.
‘Damn freckles. Why does she have to be such a cute breed.’
“Alright, fine!” She drags the words out as she turns back to the scarred wood counter. “You can have one slice, but a foal sized! No excuses about growing bodies needing more, you already spilled that little tidbit last month, its not gonna work again.” The snap of fingers signifying her victory as behind her back the red head sulked at forgetting she had drunkenly given up one of her cons.
“Serves you right miss ‘twenty five isn’t elderly.’ Now go get the cards, it's your turn tonight to deal, I'll get supper ready.” The clapping behind her was briefly followed by footsteps away, till they returned and the sound of boxed cake being murdered gleefully was heard before more footsteps back towards the living room. Dusty could only sigh and shake her head, smiling ruefully. “Productive adult member of society my tattooed rump.”
Giving her two toned green tail a flick, dusty returned to laying out and organizing tonight's meal and future lunch for both of them. Really, pulse crop diets weren't that bad, she should have switched to them years ago.
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You've got my attention, I hope to see more in the future, good luck!
DAMN IT THIS IS WHY I DONT CHECK THE NEW TAB I FIND AN AMAZING STORY AND THERE ARENT ENOUGH CHAPTERS WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF
On a calmer note this is as I said amazing and I cannot wait for more
9221411
I'M TRYING! I'll see if i can update once a month or every few weeks. I promise nothing, NOTHIIIINNGG!
9221227
Thankee. I hope to do more too. Only way to get things you want is to do it yerself.
You've earned a follow and upvote. Let's see where this goes.
I think you mean machine spirit.
11603006
Nope. War spirits were part of the beliefs in older lore. Just more stuff new editions have left out from 40k lore.