So, where are we again?
“So let me get this straight.”
Zuko shifted uncomfortably under his Master’s scrutiny. It could never be said that the Warsmith was an object of any sort of personal, or least of all religious significance to the warband-they weren’t Word Bearers, with their thrice damned Dark Apostles. The Iron Warriors were a more…practical brotherhood, the Aspiring Champion supposed.
None of that meant he particularly enjoyed being the object of the Warsmith’s ire.
To his left, Rorke gave an uneasy cough and stared at the ground some more, his fingers drumming on the hilt of his sheathed Power Sword. Rorke, de-facto sergeant of the Iron Warrior squad that wasn’t Zuko’s. He’d taken that sword from the corpse of a Son of Horus at the Siege of Terra, as the Warmaster’s forces had routed and fallen back to their ships. Even then, he’d found the time to loot and steal; but that was Rorke all over, conniving and desperate to a fault. Despite his own unease, Zuko couldn’t help but allow himself a small grin inside his helmet at the other Champion’s nervous state.
He risked a glance at the Warsmith. The Lord of the Iron Warriors looked less than pleased. His armour, once the pinnacle of an artificer’s craft, now sported designs that were clearly dragged from the realm mankind had elected to call Hell. Tendrils snaked out from it, from the chest plate and the baroque power pack mounted on his back. Their heads were the heads of avian and snarling Daemon beasts, and they coiled around their owner like loyal concubines entwining a prince; each also conveyed their master’s anger, coiling and tensing as if to strike. He rested his gauntleted hands on the top of a wicked looking axe, one crossed over the other in a gesture of deceptive calm. The blade emitted a sickly green glow, as if it was sick to its very soul. Zuko didn’t doubt it.
“We are stranded here, wherever HERE is…and if one of you idiots manages to figure out where exactly that is then please do share it with the rest of us…we’re stranded here with half a bloody ship, half our bloody armoury missing, no way of replenishing our bloody ammunition, and only half our bloody crew!”
Angry smoke belched from the leering gargoyles that functioned as exhaust points for his power pack. Rorke flinched, and for once Zuko couldn’t blame him; they were all well used to the Warsmith’s foul temper, but the touch of the warp that covered them all infected him most deeply, and the way it reacted to his rising fury still had the capacity to take the veteran Legionaries off guard.
A small, polite cough broke the expectant silence that had descended. The Warsmith turned with a growl, his Mecha-tendrils snapping round with him to hiss and snap at the source of the noise. Within his helmet, Zuko closed his eyes with another small smile, and breathed a sigh of relief. The fourth Astartes in the circle leaned on his sword, the tip of the serrated weapon embedded in the ground. He wore the same iron and bronze coloured armour of his fellows, but it was decorated with faintly glowing runes of dark origin, and his helmet was fashioned in the shape of a snarling hound’s maw. The lower half of a robe draped his legs and feet in black cloth with golden lining, and a musty tome bound with heavy steel clasps hung at his belt. The air became charged and crackled around him, reality seeming to rebel at his presence.
“I assume you have something brilliant to add to our little debate, Mordecai?” the Warsmith asked, his impatience clear. The other Marine made no comment, merely tilting his head to the side.
“With your permission, my lord.” He asked. His voice was polite, well spoken. There was none of the usual snivelling madness that clung to those who dabbled with Warp sorcery; for all his evident threat, this was a man of refinement. The Warsmith gave a single nod, to which Mordecai cleared his throat again.
“We appear to be on a Daemon world of some kind, although I must say that the architecture is much more…how can I phrase this…’quaint’ than is usual, shall we say. That said…there is extensive magic of a kind here, although it has been perverted and I cannot precisely identify its source.” Mordecai paused for a second, seemingly apprehensive. “I confess, the touch of the Realm is strong here, Lorkhan. You heard that…singing earlier as much as I did. We should exercise caution.”
The Warsmith bristled at the use of his real name, the grip on the shaft of his axe tightening. Zuko wondered whether he was about to discipline the warlock, before Rorke butt in.
“How exactly did that rabble of walking grit dispensers get the drop on us? I didn’t think there were any of them left after that cock-up on Fenris?”
“Nein, some of ze Legion survived. Now zey are just a band of petty knowledge thieves scrabbling in ze dirt for lost glories.” A deep, gargling voice countered. The fifth assembled member, Vortun of the Cult of Obliteration. He loomed over all the others in the circle, even Lorkhan. Flesh twisted and ran like a river across his armour. It was even more cracked and pitted than Zuko’s yet somehow managed to provide even greater protection. In place of easily identifiable hands, a mish-mash of different weapons sprouted and steamed. Plasma Cannon, Multi-Melta, Heavy Flamer-truly were the Obliterators the avatars of the Omnissiah the False Emperor had once claimed to be. Vortun was from the Pan-Europan hives, one of the original members of the IV Legion. He had never lost the accent, even after all these millennia.
“It still makes no damn sense. Sure, they’re great Psykers and all, I’m not denying that. But they shouldn’t have been able to take us so unawares, not in the ancient bucket of shit they were using as a Cruiser.” Rorke answered, folding his arms.
“It was still in their original Legion colours.” Zuko responded, his voice quiet and measured. “Crimson and Ivory, with the sun symbol. You must have noticed that, Rorke.”
“Why the hell would they do that?”
“I’m from Olympia, brother, not Prospero. Strangely enough I haven’t subscribed to the Cyclops’ newsletter.”
Rorke was about to reply, when Zuko something rest on the back of his helmet. Before he could respond, his head was violently thrust forward, knocking him off balance. His forehead violently collided with Rorke’s, who had suffered the same fate, and both Iron Warriors collapsed to their knees grunting with pain. Looking up, Zuko saw two of the snake-headed appendages on Lorkhan’s armour retracting.
“If you’re quite done debating fifteenth legion philosophy.” The Warsmith asked. Zuko nodded, and slowly stood. Rorke just swore.
“Yes, whilst I am partial to intellectual discussion and theorising as much as the next purveyor of knowledge, this is hardly the appropriate time gentlemen.” Mordecai chided. He removed the tip of his sword from the ground and pointed the blade ahead of him, aiming towards a forested area at the edge of the area cleared by the Cruiser’s impact. Following the line of the sword, Zuko saw that what he had assumed was a tree was, in fact, a small cottage. Clearly, Lorkhan saw it too. He growled.
“Especially considering we have been being observed for the past twenty minutes.” The Sorcerer concluded.
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“Wh-What are they, Twi?” Spike asked, panic clear in his voice as he bit down on his claws. Twilight ignored him, rather continuing to look out the window with Applejack, Rainbow and Pinkie. They hadn’t managed to convince Fluttershy to vacate the bedcovers, and in any case the figures she had spotted were of more immediate concern.
Three of them were moving towards the house now with paced, murderous intent. As they approached, Twilight could see them in greater detail-their helmets were horned, and from chains bound to their black shoulder plates hung bones belonging to animals she didn’t recognise. One of them clutched a heavy firearm with both hands, easily as long as a Ponies’ head. Another held the same gun at his side, whilst in the other hand he gripped a long metal pole. It was crowned by a jagged, steel eight pointed star and torn red rags. The last-who Twilight assumed to be the leader-held another small one handed gun, but this one had green coils that emitted a menacing light, and his right hand was clad in a set of large fearsome talons. They didn’t look like anything Twilight had read about in any of the bestiaries of Equestrian animal life.
“Horse apples, they know we’re here.” Applejack muttered, turning to look at the lilac Unicorn. Twilight didn’t reply, but put a reassuring hoof around Spike’s neck in an effort to appear a lot more confident than she felt.
“So what? I’m telling you guys, we can take ‘em!” Rainbow said, hovering up into the air and giving it a couple of boxing jabs with her hooves. Pinkie Pie started bouncing up and down, grinning excitedly.
“Oh! Oh! Maybe they’re friendly! We could have a party, with balloons, and firecrackers! We could even have punch, but not like the punch that I made for you when you first got here Twilight because that was too hot, but this would be supedy dupedy mega-awsomearrific punch that I just know would make us best friends for EVER!” she said, becoming more and more giddy as she went on.
“Ah’m pretty sure they ain’t here tah make friends, Sugercube.” Applejack hissed. Twilight had to concur. Pinkie, for her part, looked disappointed but said no more on the matter. They turned their attentions back to the advancing creatures. By this point they had stopped about 10 metres away from Fluttershy’s home, and with a sinking feeling in her gut, Twilight realised that they must have seen them. The tension was palpable-even Rainbow Dash seemed on edge. Fluttershy by now was peeking out from under the covers, still shaking with fear. Nothing else moved. Nothing else stirred.
Then, the taloned creature nodded its helmeted head a fraction, and the other two brought their guns to bear.
Twilight didn’t bother explaining herself as she teleported the group outside; in any case, she wouldn’t have had time to. The purple light enveloped them, and moments later they were outside. The Unicorn wasted no time in deciding their next move:
“Everypony RUN!"
The bullets began to fly only seconds later. They easily penetrated the walls of Fluttershy’s humble dwelling, lodging in beams and support. They exploded moments later, sending out shards of wood into the air. Furniture was chewed up in seconds by the storm of mass reactive rounds, legs blowing off tables and chairs and fabrics simply being reduced to ribbons. The noise was terrible, a throaty roar coming again and again and again. They never stopped, never even slowed down until they ran out of shells in their magazine. The cottage tottered slightly before the nearest wall began to collapse. With a groan, the whole structure disintegrated, falling into ruin. As she ran the butter-coloured Pegasus turned to take one last look at her ruined home, tears streaming down her face. She quickly turned, unable to face it any more, sprinting to keep up with her friends.
“C’mon!” Twilight called back, Spike clinging onto her for dear life. “We’ve got to get back to Ponyville and warn the others, and then go and see the Princess! She’ll know what to do!” She turned back, focusing on keeping up her speed. Something impacted her hard, sending her sprawling onto her rump. Blinking the stars dancing in front of her eyes away, Twilight looked up into a familiar Stallion’s face.
She had never been so pleased to see someone.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You’ve stepped in something, ‘Kor.”
The icon bearer swore as he looked at the structure that was now clinging to his foot. He extracted his heavy boot from it and kicked it away, causing it to splinter into a thousand pieces. Despite himself, Zuko chuckled.
“What even is this place?” Basikor asked, adjusting his grip on the icon pole. “I struggle to believe that anything this fucking…cutesy wutesy could ever be a gift from the Pantheon.”
“Well, Mordecai says it is, and I think he knows a little better than you do ‘Kor.” Said Barbus, the other Iron Warrior Zuko had chosen to accompany him. He aimed his bolter up and down, trying to take all their surroundings in. It was clear this whole situation was amusing him; then again, Barbus had always had a twisted sense of humour.
“Mordecai’s an aristocratic mental case who we should have given to the Ultramarines a long time ago. Gods know, he’d probably prefer their company.”
“You just don’t like him because he’s polite.”
“No, I don’t like him because I don’t like anyone.”
“Quiet, both of you.” Zuko cut in. Barbus gave one last snigger, but complied, as did ‘Kor. Zuko appraised the room again, spotting something. Holstering his pistol, he crossed the floor and bent down. When he rose, the others could see he was carrying a photograph in his power fist.
“What did you make of the Xenos we spotted?” he asked, not taking his eyes of the picture. Barbus raised one pauldron slightly-the most he could shrug.
“I’ve never seen anything like them. They looked like…well, they looked like horses.” He replied. Zuko nodded, flipping the photo around. It was a group of six small equine creatures, all of different colours; blue, purple, white, orange (this one, strangely, wore a hat), yellow and pink. They appeared to be embracing.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Barbus drew in breath to reply, when something distracted him. Looking down towards his feet, he beckoned his brothers over. The Iron Warriors encircled it, tilting their heads in confusion.
It was a rabbit. A small, white rabbit. How it had survived the bolter fire Zuko didn’t know, but it stared at them with angry eyes, tapping one foot on the ground impatiently as if to inquire what they were doing here. Zuko had only seen rabbits once before, on the world of Lorn IX. Well, before the company had put it to the torch, that is.
“Interesting.” The champion muttered, before unholstering his Plasma Pistol. A raised hand from Basikor, who had holstered his own Boltgun, stopped him in his tracks.
“Let me.”
The rabbit’s eyes widened as it seemed to realise what was coming, but it was too late to get away. Taking the shaft of the icon in both hands, Basikor speared the bunny through the spine. There was an audible crack as the bone splintered and snapped. The rabbit fell onto its front, blood seeping from the wound on its back and being coughed from its mouth. Air bubbles started to form as it took its last breaths, and the pristine white fur was slowly stained a visceral red. Moments later, the sole of Basikor’s boot slammed down on its head; the bone shattered instantly, leaving only a crushed paste and two sorry looking ears in its place. The icon bearer wiped the bloody residue on the ground, in an attempt to clean his armour.
“Charming.” Barbus said.
They turned as Lorkhan entered the shattered building, picking his way over the rabble, Mordecai following a few steps behind. Rorke and about seven other Iron Warriors held the rear, whilst Vortun and one of his Coven prowled on the flanks.
“Having fun?” the Warsmith asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, looking around at the devastation. “You’ve made a mess.” Turning, he let his gaze fall on Zuko again. “Report?”
The Champion flipped the photo around to show Lorkhan, still clutching it delicately in his power fist.
“This place appears to have been occupied by some small, equine life forms, lord. They appeared to…to disappear when we began firing.”
“Teleportation, I suspect.” Mordecai said, seemingly uncaring that no one was listening. “There is certainly some sort of magical flux in this area.”
Lorkhan just stared at the photo for a while. “Horses.” He said finally, his voice incredulous. “We’ve crash landed on a planet of magical, brightly coloured horses.” Zuko squirmed slightly.
“So…so it would seem….I think they can talk, too. If it helps.”
Zuko braced himself for, at best, a verbal berating, when there was all of a sudden a loud bang and flash of light. Looking up, the Astartes could see that a dome of pure purple energy enveloping them. Instantly, battle instincts kicked in. Warriors unleashed their bolters, firing short controlled bursts, whilst the Obliterators sent out bursts of warped Chaotic plasma fire. Only Mordecai was unmoved. None of the weapons seemed to have any effect, their munitions simply absorbed by the dome. Finally, Lorkhan called them to halt, though no warrior was quite content to drop his aim.
“It’s not going to work.” Mordecai said, more than a hint of smugness in his voice. “That’s powerful magic. Even I can’t dispel it.”
“Find a way.” Lorkhan hissed. The sorcerer chuckled.
“It wouldn’t do us much good I’m afraid sir. Take a look.” He pointed, with his hand this time, and Lorkhan followed his direction.
They were surrounded. Outside the bubble, there were hundreds of the Xenos, spears lowered and wearing armour. They all had a single horn atop their head, faintly glowing. He turned back to Mordecai.
“We can take a couple of these…whatever they are.”
“I don’t doubt we could. But if they wanted to kill us, I’m sure they could have done by now. Might I suggest caution once again, sir? Perhaps co-operation is in order here.” At that, Lorkhan couldn’t stop himself giving a snort of derision.
“You aren’t suggesting we surrender to horses. Please tell me that isn’t a thing.”
“I’m not, sir.” Mordecai responded. Before he could finish, a voice cut over him.
“By order of Captain Shining Armour of the Royal Guard, and Princess Celestia of all Equestria, we hereby demand that you lay down your arms and submit yourselves to Her judgement!”
Lorkhan was about to let them know exactly what he thought of their offer with another burst of bolter fire, before Mordecai caught his eye. The Sorcerer just nodded. For a second, Lorkhan considered going through with attacking anyway-but then again, annoying as he might be his advisor was very rarely wrong, and if the other’s in the Legion heard about him dying in glorious battle against pastel-coloured horses, ‘doing a Lorkhan’ would forever be a watchword for hilarious failure. Somehow, the notion didn’t appeal.
“We’re actually going to do this, aren’t we?” he asked no-one in particular, letting his axe drop to the ground. Around him, some Iron Warriors looked confused, but followed his lead anyway and placed their weapons on the ground. The Obliterators, for their part, just stood around confused, not entirely sure what to do in a ‘lay down your weapons’ scenario. “We’re actually surrendering to a pretty pink pony princess.”
There was a slight pause.
“Fuck me, we suck.”
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Gotta say, your short description sort of had me hooked.
Having just read The siege of Castellax, I'm up for a bit of Iron Warriors.
Well done sir/madam.
More, The Four demand it!
Those poor, poor Obliterators...
They... *sniffs* they can lay down their wepons not matter what they do!
But the Obliterators could shift their weapons to their insides.
They can still do that right?
Also one Obliterator could probably decimate the entire army of Equestria they don' run out of ammunition and i doubt any shield produced by ponykind could withstand a constant barrage of HE-Missals or Warp Plasma.
Very good. Nice description. And very very nicely put together. Another well done chapter.
Thanks for the continued support Chaps/Chapettes.
@Cad: I admit I'm unsure as to whether the Oblit's can shift weapons to inside their body, if I'm honest. It may well be that they can, but I'm willing to let it slide for humours sake. In response to your other query, in theory the IW should be able to dominate Equestria in a matter of days, but that wouldn't make for a particularly interesting tale. My suspension-of-delief excuse (poor as it is) is that Equestria's sorcery works on a gestalt Psychic field, much like Ork Psykers do. As it works in a slightly different way to 'regular' Psychic powers, the Chaos Marines have less defense against it.
Sort of.
Kind of.
Yeah.
Lol Loyalist Thousand Sun Reference, though that guy doesn't really have the crew to run his ships guns.
Not an Angel Fan I take it?
I could see Ponies being a genetic experiment of the Old Ones or some early awakened Necrons. Here's hoping you interpret Discord as being an Avatar of Malal.
That name sounds familiar....
How in hell did the mane 6 know if the rounds were mass reactive or not?!
YES! THE TYRANT IS DEAD!
*Cough*
Also, Damn it Mordecai, why are you so classy
static2.fjcdn.com/comments/+comedy.+I+wanna+know+where+she+got+that+tiny+_af6b88e7091b2cfd3269c436989537bf.jpg
NO. NO. FUCK NO. NO. FUCK THAT. NO.
Jw cause I'm not that connected what are all the "iron warriors" referenced from? Is it a book? Or a game? Idk I just saw this story and thought it was interesting
I know this story is super old,but I love this already. Iron within,Iron Without (place sounds of artillery fire here)
They killed the demon bunny? I can't say what my reaction to that is, but I think the Stare may be on their menu...
Why not have the sorcerer teleport their weapons to some place nearby, or warpify them into being tiny and teleported into a pouch or something?