Pollos
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“There are no words that accurately describe how much I hate you.”
“You’ve made your point, Rorke.”
Rorke glowered at Lorkhan’s back as he and the rest of the Iron Warriors in their group trudged through the deep forest cover. For all that Celestia had claimed that the ‘Everfree’ was wild and untamed, there certainly seemed to be plenty of these conveniently open pathways beneath the canopy. Rorke didn’t bother complaining. He had more than enough of that to do today.
This was ludicrous. Everything they’d done since they’d crashed on this blasted planet had been flawed, but this latest idea of Lorkhan’s to not only let the Xenos live, but to actually work together with them took the cake. Rorke hadn’t believed it when the Warsmith first told the surviving Astartes of the deal he’d agreed with the Pony princess. He had felt many emotions over his long life-embarrassment, anger, incomprehension, hysterical laughter-yet he had never been treated to the experience of all of them together in one concoction. It was all he could do to not tackle Lorkhan from behind in a vain attempt to usurp control and try and salvage something-anything-from this entire shitty escapade.
He looked down at the helmet still maglocked to his belt. He’d liked that helmet. The fact that it had sustained damage at the hands of these horse things galled him. The fact that he couldn’t take revenge, for fear of upsetting Lorkhan’s perfect little plan, annoyed him even more. The Iron Warrior champion rubbed the stubble on his chin, spitting in disgust. The acidic saliva burned the patch of grass where it landed with an audible hiss, leaving it brown and withered. It was only a small consolation.
Increasing his pace, Rorke moved to walk alongside the Warsmith. Lorkhan had not slowed down or stopped looking directly ahead since they’d entered the forest, seemingly wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. On that at least, Rorke could sympathise with. The Company had divided into two groups of roughly equal size at the beginning of their trek, in order to cover more ground and discover whatever this thing the Ponies wanted them to take down quicker. Lorkhan and Rorke headed one of the parties, whilst Zuko and that slippery bastard Mordecai were in charge of the other. Vortun had gone with the other group two, leaving his two brethren to lumber alongside Rorke and his warriors. The Aspiring Champion had never heard either of them speak since falling prey to the Virus-they preferred to let Vortun do the talking as they whooped and cackled in battle, unleashing their profane pyrotechnics. Rorke wasn’t sure they actually could still talk.
Slowing down his jog, Rorke came to a level pace with the Warsmith. Lorkhan still did not look at him, moving forward at a relentless pace. All the Iron Warriors had more or less been silent since entering the Everfree, instead staying on the lookout for any danger lurking in the undergrowth. Eyes had been watching them since their arrival, yet the Astartes had dismissed them as an irrelevance. They moved from the path, striding through tangled creepers snaking down from the trees and the knotted mass of vegetation being trampled beneath their ceramite boots. Rorke wished for his Power sword, or even a combat knife-anything to make navigating through the bush a little easier.
“I refuse to believe that Celestia would not have given us any sort of weapon had you pressed her for them.” Rorke muttered. Lorkhan still didn’t look at him, but the slight raising of his pauldrons betrayed a shrug.
“She made us a good offer, all things considered. I decided not to push our luck any more than was necessary. This might shock and appal you, Rorke, but I like living.”
“As do I, sir. I just prefer living on my own terms.”
Now Lorkhan did look, turning his head only slightly to give the former sergeant a sidelong glance. Rorke returned his stare, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Internally, he felt himself squirm slightly-for all his occasional blundering, the Warsmith was still in charge for a reason.
“So it’s ‘sir’, now?” Lorkhan asked, the daemon-faced gargoyles that functioned as his armour’s exhaust letting out a steady stream of black smoke. Rorke went back to looking dead ahead.
“I could go back to telling you I hate you. Which I do, by the way.”
Lorkhan chuckled slightly, and returned his attention to the path ahead. They walked in silence for a few minutes, before the Warsmith broke it.
“Horus is dead, Rorke. The crusade we fought to topple the False Emperor is not the same as it once was. Abbadon leads it now, for all the good that’s done. We need to adapt to the times and not cling on to past glories.”
It took Rorke a moment to formulate a response. “Maybe so. But we can choose our battles, and fight the ones that matter. We were at the Cage, Lorkhan. We humbled Dorn and his bastards. I think you can see why being stuck on this planet having to work with Princess Pony and pals annoys to me.” It took him a couple of seconds to continue. “It’s not a crime to want to win this war.”
“Do you think I like this any more than you do? I hate this, really brother, I do. But I accept that right now we haven’t been presented with much of a choice. All we can really do is play along, and see what fate deals us.” The Warsmith was starting to sound more annoyed by the second, but Rorke would not be dissuaded.
“That was strangely poetic. Please tell me you’re not turning into one of Fulgrim’s dandies.”
“I’m not nearly fabulous enough for that.” Lorkhan stopped abruptly, catching Rorke off guard. The Warsmith tilted his head to the side, as if pondering upon a great question. Rorke watched with a rising mixture of expectation and annoyance.
“You realise that this is probably the first time in years that you and I have had a proper discussion.” The Warsmith finally stated. Rorke blinked in surprise, but merely shrugged
“Huh.” The Warsmith turned to look at the treeline, clapping Rorke on the arm with a heavy gauntlet. “I’m starting to remember why you piss me off so much.” Without another word, he walked towards it, disappearing into the gloom. Rorke watched him go with a roll of the eyes, before sighing an exasperated sigh and following him in.
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Zuko grumbled unintelligibly as he kicked the rock without thinking. It sailed through the air, whistling as it went, before vanishing from sight. Zuko didn’t bother trying to track its flight. In truth, he didn’t care.
This place sickened him. All he’d seen of this world so far had sickened him, yet he found himself developing a special loathing of the Everfree. The whole place was too…close. Zuko had never been particularly claustrophobic, no Space Marine was. But something about the forest and the way it surrounded you so totally sent small tingles of battle-preparation adrenalin through the Iron Warrior’s body.
Something made a hooting sound above him. Zuko snapped his head back, turning his eyes skyward as he searched for the source of the noise. Whatever it had been was already gone, and he grumbled in annoyance again. The polite laughter from just over his shoulder did not improve his mood.
“I say, dear brother, you are particularly jumpy tonight.” Zuko turned to look at the speaker. Mordecai was already looking at him. “Do try and relax.” The fact that he sounded sincere only aggravated Zuko further.
“That’s easy for you to say. You already know if we’re going to run into anything unpleasant in here.”
“Oh my, surely you don’t still cling to the childish notion that I can divine the future?”
“I had hoped” Zuko snorted. Mordecai shook his head sadly, while from over the vox Vortun grunted.
“I am as puzzled as you are concerning the nature of our quarry, Brother-Sergeant.” Mordecai continued, swaying slightly as he walked. “Though I admit that I am most curious.”
“I still fail to see what ‘great evil’ could lurk on this pastel-coloured hellhole of a world, even if this corner of it in particular isn’t the most…inviting.”
“Well, quite.” Mordecai looked at Zuko expectantly. It took the Iron Warrior a moment to work out what the Psyker was getting at.
“You want to know what I think it is, don’t you?”
“I have always found your opinion to be most valuable.”
“Bullshit.” Zuko spat. Despite this, he couldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about that exact issue as well. There’d be no harm in humouring Mordecai.
“Well…from what Lorkhan said that Celestia had told him, the Ponies think it’s a ‘great evil’ or some-such. But I suppose to them, anything that doesn’t support kindness and other such nauseating concepts would be classed as evil. It’s entirely possible we will have no quarrel with whatever it is. Plus…” Zuko went quiet, trying to think of the right words to articulate his thoughts. “They had never heard of the Warp, or the Gods, or anything to do with us. It’s like this whole planet is cut off from the galaxy at large, which would explain why the Xenos are so accommodating. But here, in this forest, the ‘normal’ rules obeyed by nature such as dominion of the sun and the moon by the Princesses don’t apply. And even I can feel the presence of the Realm here. Personally, I reckon that whatever we encounter, it’ll have been here a long time, and it’ll be familiar to us.”
Zuko did not look at his brother, electing to carry on walking. When no reply was forthcoming, he turned in confusion. Mordecai was staring at him, expression masked by his horned helmet. Zuko felt his eyes narrow.
“You think the same thing, don’t you?”
Mordecai nodded, but for once there was no smart-arse comeback. The group of twelve or so Iron Warriors continued to navigate through the dense forest in silence, the stillness only punctuated by the rustling of leaves, the cries of animal, and occasional angry cursing from an Astartes who had stepped in something unpleasant.
“Why do we swear so much?” Mordecai again. Zuko gritted his teeth to hold back his annoyance.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked.
“Right there.” The sorcerer said. “See? It cannot have escaped your notice the…crass dialect of our particular company. We curse more than perhaps we should do as the heirs of Olympia.”
“One, Olympia is dead. We killed it. Two, why does it matter?”
“Back in the Crusade, we were much more eloquent in our responses, if you recall.”
“We used to be a lot of things.” Zuko finally stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heels to face Mordecai. The witch simply looked back at him, head cocked to the side slightly. The champion raised his arms in defeat. “Look, Mordecai, I don’t know. I don’t care. We were in the Warp a long time, maybe it’s just a gift from the Gods. Frankly, you’d know better than me, and I am really not in the mood to be having this discussion with you right now.”
“As you wish.” Mordecai nodded, resuming his march. A couple of Iron Warriors, Basikor and Barbus amongst them, had stopped to watch the exchange. They followed Zuko, seemingly disappointed it hadn’t come to blows. For about twenty minutes, the party walked in silence again.
Finally, after a half-hour of solid walking, they reached a place where the tree canopy was even thicker. A small ridge led down into an area clear of heavy bush cover. At the edge of this clearing stood a large tree. It looked old, and gnarled, twisted and looming over the ground so as to cast its long shadows more completely. Other haggard looking trees rose around it, contributing to the unwholesome air. Fungi and strange species of plants that Zuko couldn’t recognise sprouted under the trees on the clearing’s edge, and even through his helmet grille a strange scent assailed the Iron Warrior’s nose. Something wasn’t right.
“Ze tree.” Vortun was the one that pointed it out. “It is hollow.”
It was. Light shone out from two windows cut into the bark, and a door was affixed to its base. Baubles and charms hung off the tree’s branches, whilst upon the ground outside were large masks that looked almost daemonic in visage. Zuko found, to his dismay, that he actually kind of liked the place.
“Do you think it’s inhabited?” The Champion muttered over the general vox, squatting along with the rest of his brothers-save Vortun-in a vain effort to hide himself.
“Considering there’s a light on inside? Yeah, that’s pretty much a giveaway.” Barbus whispered back. Zuko crawled slightly closer, subconsciously analysing the building’s structural weaknesses and blind spots. He was about to pounce when he felt eyes on him from behind. He span round in a combat stance, as a heavily accented voice spoke up.
“Tell me, what are these creatures that dare roam, away from the city and close to my home?”
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“Sister, please calm down.”
“This is an outrage, Celestia, and you are well aware of it!”
“You are overreacting, Luna. Please, calm down.”
“How can you permit this?”
Twilight stared down at her hooves as the two Princesses argued, the feeling of being utterly out of her depth washing over her in waves of nausea. Fidgeting awkwardly, she attempted to get comfortable on her cushioned seat. It didn’t work.
After Celestia’s orders that the Iron Warriors were to be sent into the Everfree forest, a council of what were ostensibly the wisest ponies was called to discuss what to do after. Twilight had protested at her invitation, but apparently being Celestia’s faithful student had its responsibilities as well as perks. None of the other element bearers had been invited, and she wished for the hundredth time that at least one of her friends was here supporting her; specifically, she missed Spike. She hadn’t seen the little Dragon since things had kicked off in the throne room, and worry was starting to set in.
Luna had been apoplectic when she had heard of her sister’s decree, and most of the ‘council’ had consisted of the Princess of the Night demanding justice and explanations in equal measure. Celestia had been more taciturn and defensive, giving little information on what the Iron Warriors were doing, and even less on what she had discussed with Lorkhan. The other Ponies seated round the table-Twilight, Mayor Mare, two members of the Royal Guard (as Shining Armour had been ordered to attend the infirmary), Due Sentence the clerk, and some aristocratic looking residents of Canterlot that Twilight didn’t recognise-had been utterly silent, bar a report from the Guardsponies. Looking at them, the purple Unicorn guessed they all felt as awkward as she did.
“We have said it once, and we shall say it a thousand times.” Luna went on. “It dismays us that you believe these fiends are possessed of but a single redeeming quality, let alone are entitled to such generous mercy.”
“They saved those filly’s lives, Luna.” Celestia retorted. The Lunar princess merely scoffed.
“Tis’ a lie, and you are well aware of it. That was but a chance error upon their part, albeit one that we are extremely grateful for.” Luna’s face softened slightly, and she rose from her seat to trot over to her sister. Resting a midnight blue hoof on Celestia’s shoulder, Luna gave a weak smile.
“It is not weakness to take a stand against evil, Celestia.”
Twilight watched in awe for a moment, the rest of the assembled gathering following suite; seeing the two Princesses act as siblings was rare, to say the least. For a moment, Twilight thought that Celestia would be swayed by her sister’s tenderness. But then, she brushed Luna’s hoof of an shook her head slowly, and the spell was broken.
“They can still serve us, even I they don’t want to. And everyone deserves a second chance.” A moment’s pause. “You should know that better than anyone.”
Luna seemed less than pleased, her face turning stony and cold. She did not say anything, but stalked around the table, circling like an ocean predator that has just caught the scent of blood. Twilight felt sweat begin to bead across her brow, and tapped her hooves on her seat awkwardly. Trying to focus on something else, she idly stared out the debating chamber’s window.
She could more or less make out Ponyville in the valley below. The town seemed to be more or less recovering from this distance, although the ugly wreckage of the ship the Iron Warrior’s had arrived in and the scar it had gouged out of the land were still visible. Beyond that was the Everfree Forest, a dark and unsettling mass of foliage in an otherwise pleasant landscape.
Twilight suppressed a shiver. They were out there, under those branches and boughs. The Iron Warriors. Whether they were dead or alive was another matter, but the fact remained that creatures that had been enemies of the realm not a week before were now working by Princess Celestia’s whim. Twilight couldn’t stop her skin crawling.
“Twilight?”
Twilight’s attention snapped back to the present as she heard her name. Turning, she saw the other members of the chamber all staring at her expectantly. Her cheeks flushed.
“Y-yes Princess?” Celestia smiled not unkindly as Twilight’s voice wavered. For her part, Luna tapped her hoof impatiently on the stone table.
“I asked what you thought of our current situation concerning the…interlopers.”
“Oh.” Twilight cleared her throat, trying to slow her heart and seem as business like as possible. “Of course, Princess.” She paused momentarily, searching for the right words. “Well…on the one hoof, I think it’s pretty obvious that these guys aren’t enjoying their time here anymore than we are, and based on what we know they’re capable of, I’m willing to bet that they have every intention on turning on us if they get the chance.”
“You see, Tia? Even your faithful student supports my view.” Luna put in, proudly. Celestia gave another smile.
“That certainly did seem to be your friend’s viewpoint.” The solar princess said. Twilight nodded.
“Well, I guess so. But…” she felt Luna’s eyes bore into her, but pressed on regardless. “But we’ve never seen anything like them before. I’m not sure even they know the full intricacies of what they are. And I hate to say it, but they did seem to be intent on keeping their promise on investigating the Everfree. I know that nopony really wants it, but I just don’t think we can cast them out when given this opportunity to learn more.”
Luna had apparently heard enough, making for the door. “You will damn us all, Twilight Sparkle.” She murmured, still loud enough for all to hear. “Misplaced kindness and compassion serves nothing.”
“With the greatest respect, Princess, I don’t think it’s about compassion.” Twilight retorted, the urge to defend her point stronger than her fear at back talking a Princess. “It’s about having opportunities presented to us, and…”
She trailed off as she looked out the window again in passing, eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. The other ponies in the room followed her eyes, their own mouths hanging agape as they saw what she did. A buzz of muttering broke out as the Princesses watched in silence; Celestia closed her eyes and shook her head, whilst Luna’s face seemed to be a mix of horror, outrage, and subtle glee at being vindicated.
“Damnit Lorkhan” Twilight heard Celestia whisper. She couldn’t blame her.
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Lorkhan snarled as the Timberwolf pitched him onto his back, great wooden jaws snapping at the seal joining his helmet to his chest plate. The creature’s soulless green eyes stared down at him as its jaws edged closer and closer, saliva drooling from its mouth like armour that had been reduced to molten goo by a Meltagun blast. The Warsmith gave another grunt of effort, grasping the wolf’s forelimbs in his ceramite gauntlets and heaving. Despite being almost as long as the Iron Warrior was tall, the Timberwolf was surprisingly light, and Lorkhan had swiftly regained his footing and held the creature in mid-air. It still drooled and snapped at him, until a Mecha-tendril smashed through its head, ending its frenzied assault for good.
The Warsmith dropped the creature’s broken body by his feet and kicked it away contemptuously. Dsting himself down, he was just in time to see the rest of his brothers drive away the remnants of the pack that had attacked them. Rorke raised one over his head, his face a mask of wordless rage, and brought it crashing down onto his knee. The wooden beast’s spine splintered clean in two like an overused toothpick, and the Aspiring Champion hurled the two halves of the wolf away with a howl.
Hardly the company’s greatest victory, true, but at least it was a victory.
“What…were those things” Rorke panted, and Lorkhan knew that the Astartes kill-urge would still be flooding his system as it was with all the warriors. The Xenos had held the element of surprise, but they’d soon found their efforts hampered by Power armour, and in just over three minutes around twenty of the creatures had been slain by the Legionnaires. A couple of the Marines nursed fractured wrists where a lucky tooth had sank into soft armour, and there was hardly a suit of armour that had not had some of the steel paint stripped from it, but all in all injury was light.
“Gods be damned if I know.” Lorkhan said, still surveying the scene. “Some kind of Xenos beast that was able to flourish within the confines of this forest. Our gracious employers probably live in abject fear of them.”
The Warsmith looked down to his left as Kravix grasped onto one’s body. The Marine placed a hand on each side of the Timberwolf’s wooden skull before yanking. It came free with little effort. Kravix held the head out in front of him, seemingly pleased with his effort. Before Lorkhan could ask what the hell he was doing, it collapsed in on itself; the magic keeping these creatures together seemingly fleeing from the corpse, and the wood becoming lifeless chunks of tree again.
“I wanted that as a trophy.” Kravix said. He sounded disappointed.
“You’ll live.” Lorkhan replied, his helmet’s vox-grille rendering his voice a growl even if he hadn’t meant to himself. Over his shoulder, the Obliterators paced back and forth in what Lorkhan could only guess was impatience. They hadn’t got to use their weapons in the fight, and the inactivity was clearly galling to them. Lorkhan had never been a particularly pious man even by the IV Legion’s standards, but he muttered a silent prayer that the warped warriors would keep their tempers in check and not bring the whole bloody forest down on their heads.
“Lord.” One of the other Iron Warriors called. With Rorke a step behind, Lorkhan paced his way to the other side of the clearing they had found themselves in. The Iron Warrior who had called them over was crouched by the treeline, examining something obscured in the shadows. His Power Armour gave an even angrier whine than usual, and sparks fizzled from the backpack in irregular bursts.
“Your backpack is damaged.” Lorkhan said, crouching down with some difficulty. The other warrior merely shrugged.
“One of those bug things caught me off guard, Lord. It looked like Zuko.”
“And you didn’t kill it immediately anyway?”
The Iron Warrior laughed, before nodding at what he and the Warsmith were looking at. Lorkhan’s eyes flicked left and right within his helmet, taking the sight in.
“These plants.” The Iron Warrior said, nodding his head towards the flora. To Lorkhan’s eyes they looked nothing special; completely blue, with a bud on top and several antennae like stalks sprouting from it. There was a cluster of them here that led away into the trees, and now the Warsmith thought about it he’d noticed several bunches of them as they’d been walking.
“What about them?” Rorke asked with a sneer, reaching down to grab one. As his hand moved towards them the other Iron Warrior’s arm shot out, grasping the Champion’s wrist and holding it in place.
“Don’t.” The crouching Astartes said softly. Rorke bristled in barely contained danger, but retracted his arm. The Iron Warrior turned to look at the Warsmith.
“I ran some diagnostics. These plants may look harmless, but the spores…not so much.” Lorkhan looked at him inquisitively as the Iron Warrior breathed slowly, weighing up his next words. “They seem to contain some kind of toxin, but not one that can be countered with a Narthecium and some time spent in the Apothecarion. From what I gather, there’s some kind of psychic charge to it.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Lorkhan snorted.
“Aye. I couldn’t tell you what it does, as I’ve no intention of finding out, nor do I know whether it would affect us. But it’s worth bearing in mind.”
Lorkhan looked at him in silence for a minute. “So, this is just…for my information.”
“That, and the fact that if this plant reacts like plants with its structure in the rest of the galaxy do, it’ll be a powerful narcotic when burned.”
The Warsmith’s head tilted to the side, seemingly in non-comprehension. “So…it’s a drug?”
“Yes, Lord. Although the fact that there’s so much of it here indicates one of three things; it grows incredibly quickly, the Xenos don’t know about that it’s a drug, or this forest is more shit-scary to them than we thought.”
“I see.” The Warsmith rose, servos in his legs giving an angry growl as he did so. “I never had you down as a student of horticulture, brother.” The Iron Warrior gave another chuckle, before turning back to examine the blue flowers.
The rest of the squad seemed preoccupied with disposing with the wooden remnants of their attackers. Lorkhan sighed and paced around aimlessly, replaying the journey over in his head. Zuko and Mordecai’s group had not been in contact yet, and without knowing how they were doing it was becoming harder and harder to think of where else there was to go. Rorke had taken a seat on a rock and had begun kicking at pebbles scattered across the ground.
“So what the fuck do we do now?” The champion asked. He rubbed his armoured wrists impatiently, still twitching with the last vestiges of adrenalin. Lorkhan watched his brother. Rorke had always been the most violent of the Company, but this shuddering was…not ideal.
“Control yourself, damnit. We’ll get there when we get there”
Rorke grunted in amusement, spitting more acidic bile onto the ground. Lorkhan felt his nose curl in revulsion.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re on talking terms with the Xenos it seems, so I guess when they invite you to their next tea party you’ll just have to tell th-“
“Are we really going to have this discussion now, Rorke?” The Warsmith cut in, voice the sound of iron crashing into stone. “Really. We’re stuck in this fucking forest and have bugger all idea where we are or where we’re going, there’s no way of us getting of this shithole of a planet without us having to kiss the backside of bastard pastel-coloured horses, and in addition to all that we’ve come under attack by animal shaped trees, shape changing insects and the fucking sun, and you really think that now is the best time to bitch at me?” Lorkhan gave an exasperated sigh on the last word, before turning and rubbing his red visors with the tips of his armoured fingers. It accomplished nothing practical, but it did make Lorkhan feel better. His nose was still curled; there was a new scent in the air, sharp and irritating. Rorke said nothing, merely sitting back on the rock and crossed his arms. Whether it was in defiance or simple acceptance, Lorkhan couldn’t tell.
“Sir.” The vox crackled to life, snapping Lorkhan out of his reverie. He raised a hand to his ear, as if that would help him hear better.
“Tell me there’s good news.”
“It’s Barbus, sir. We’re at point 99-XC along our route, it should be patching into your optical stream now. I think you need to get here right away.”
Lorkhan was already running as the scent tingled at his nose. No matter their level of intelligence, all Warsmiths were used to the smell of fire.
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The creature had introduced herself as Zecora, and in stark contrast to every other damn thing the Iron Warriors had encountered so far-Celestia not included, perhaps-had not wanted to put the Astartes’ heads on spikes at first sight. Although the presence of the armoured giants near her home had come as a surprise to her, she revealed that she had been quite aware of their arrival in ‘Equestria’ and didn’t see any reason to needlessly make an enemy.
This act hadn’t convinced many of the Iron Warriors, who had seen little difference in this Xenos from the ones who’d tried to kill them earlier that very weak. Zuko had to agree with them; the fact that she’d somehow been watching them all this time was enough to cause concern. The constant rhyming the creature insisted on only added to the list of reasons Zuko thought they should just snap her in half and be done with it. But alone of the Space Marines, Mordecai had argued against violence. The Sorcerer had proposed that, seeing as Zecora was a native of this forest, if anyone was going to know where they might find a ‘great evil’ that the Princess would want destroying then she would. This had elicited grumbles from the other Iron Warriors; as far as they were concerned, they had made more than enough allowances for aliens recently. Yet Mordecai had been insistent, and at the very least Zecora had been accommodating and willing to listen.
Her hut was small and cramped, and Zuko reckoned that it couldn’t have held two or three other ponies, let alone anything bigger. In his Power Armour Mordecai took up most of the room, and he sat hunched over like some great steel gargoyle. Despite the impracticality, Zuko had offered to accompany the Sorcerer in anyway; Mordecai had responded with a curt shake of the head.
“That will not be necessary, brother.” The warlock had said, voice all smiles. “I will handle this myself.”
Which meant Zuko, the other ten or so Iron Warriors that had come with him, and Vortun were stuck in the clearing outside the tree-hut for the time being. A couple were examining the baubles hung on trees, or the strange masks scattered around, but for the most part they simply around and waited in bored frustration. Zuko and Vortun had taken to wandering around purposelessly, trying to find something to amuse themselves with.
The smell of what Zuko guessed was incense, or some kind of potion, wafted out from the glowing windows of the hut. It managed to penetrate the grille on Zuko’s helmet, and despite all his genetically altered stature it was an effort to not gag. Strolling closer to the window, the Champion risked a peek inside. It was difficult to see anything due to Mordecai’s bulk, but Zuko spotted a large black cauldron with smoke pouring from the green liquid that sat within. There were more fetishes and charms scattered around, and on the shelves sat bottles and bowls of what were likely ingredients for her witches’ brew.
Zuko could see why Mordecai liked it so much.
The Sorcerer and the Xenos both sat sipping from cups containing the green drink, the Iron Warrior’s helmet resting on his lap. It struck Zuko that this was the first time in a long time that Zuko had seen his brother unmasked. Although he had no way of telling, or an appreciation for such things, Zuko supposed his brother may have been handsome once, had he not been taken at birth and transformed into a god-like warrior. His face was lean and narrow, and his eyes were a piercing shade of violet. There was no facial hair, or any trace of bionics that were the norm for so many Iron Warriors. From what little he knew of Mordecai’s past, he was from one of the Olympian street gangs that were widespread at the time Father had claimed dominion the planet and it was reunited with the false Emperor. It was funny, sometimes, to imagine how he must have been; a scrawny and foul mouthed child who could move things without touching them. Truly the Legion, not to mention the Warp, changed all things.
The pair seemed to be discussing mainly irrelevant things, such as magical theory and the correct use of charms in spell craft. It was all Zuko could do not to bark a plea for his brother to hurry up, but he knew that Mordecai would not be rushed. The champion turned so his back was to the wall and began to slide down it slowly, letting out a sigh as he touched the ground and hung his head between his legs.
Vortun lumbered over to him, expression unreadable even when the mutating touch of the warp was ignored. The Obliterator wasn’t capable of sitting, but he rested his back on the tree-hut and gave a sigh of his own.
“Ve really should be moving.” The Obliterator rumbled in his gruff baritone. Zuko raised his hands, an expression of both agreement and questioning what the hell Vortun wanted him to do about it.
“Mordecai will do it all in his own time.” The Champion complained, still staring at the ground. “From what I can hear he’s convinced this…thing, whatever it is, has knowledge of ritual magic, and when was the last time he got to talk to someone like him who wasn’t trying to kill him.”
“Zere vas Khalophis, during ze Crusade.” The Obliterator replied. Zuko turned to look at him, the unspoken reprimand clear. Vortun looked down at him, before his rippling features cracked in an ugly smile.
“I never said it vent vell.”
Zuko slowly stood back to his feet, searching for any source of entertainment. Finally, his eye came to rest on a boulder situated towards the treeline. Sauntering over to it, he lifted it effortlessly; it would have required both hands and a not inconsiderable amount of muscle for a human to lift, yet it slotted neatly into the Iron Warrior’s palm. He tossed it into the air, watching it span as it fell back into his waiting palm. He tossed it again, then a third time. Finally, the fleeting interest it had provided faded away, and the Champion tossed it away as thoughtlessly as he had picked it up.
THOOM
The beam of light sliced through the still forest air, sending birds squawking from nearby trees and bringing every Iron Warrior spinning round into a combat stance. The beam struck the rock, both dissipating itself and shattering the stone into thousands of scorched pebbles. Vortun stood, weapon braced and the barrel of his Lascannon still smoking. He began a throaty, phlegm filled chuckling. Soon that chuckling was taken up by every Astartes there; Zuko included.
“Lucky shot.” The Champion said, tone only the slightest bit confrontational. Vortun relaxed slightly, tilting what remained of his head to the side in an almost quizzical expression.
“You’re just pissed because I’m still ze best shot in ze Company.”
“Utter bullshit.”
“Am so, and you know it mein bruder.”
“I know you’re a lying bastard Vortun.”
The Obliterator did not respond immediately, instead looking at the ground around Zuko’s feet.
The milky-white orbs of his eyes scanned back and forth, narrowing in what appeared\ to be frustration. Finally, he indicated another rock about the same size as the first, Power Talons crackling with barely contained energy as he did so.
“Zat von. I vill prove it.”
Zuko looked at him for a moment, before shaking his head in defeat and stooping down to pick up the rock. Grasping it tightly, he moved to stand beside the Obliterator, aware that every Iron Warrior outside the hut had stopped whatever it was they were doing and were watching with poorly disguised interest. Rocking back on his heels, Zuko let go of the rock with a mighty throw.
THOOM
Another beam hurtled through the air and struck the stone as it soared, reducing it to rubble as the first shot had. Vortun lowered the Lascannon, evidently pleased with himself. Zuko just scowled.
“My friends, if you would, I would think it fine,
If you would cease your horseplay near this home of mine.”
The voice was singsong and melodic, coming from over the Iron Warrior’s shoulders. Zuko turned to find Zecora staring at him from her window. The Xenos did not look angry per se, but her displeasure was clear enough to give Zuko pause.
“Sorry.” He mumbled, galled at having to apologise to aliens. It seemed to satisfy their host at least, and she ducked her head back inside, taking another sip from her cup. Zuko caught Mordecai’s eye as the Sorcerer leaned forward. The Psyker said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow. It was enough to cause Zuko to turn back around and fold his arms in annoyance.
“ ’Horseplay’? That’s just fucking insulting, coming from these…things.” The Astartes warrior muttered. Vortun grunted in response, but offered nothing more. The pair fell silent, the Iron Warriors gathered around them seemingly losing interest.
“Von more.” Vortun whispered eventually, leaning in slightly closer. Zuko unfolded his arms, but didn’t look at his larger brother.
“You heard her, apparently fun’s banned here as well. Besides, Mordecai would kill us.” He whispered back. The Obliterator gave a sound that Zuko realised must be a laugh.
“Come on, von more. Zhey’ll never know.”
“Vortun, we can’t.”
“Only because you know you are wrong, da?”
That was too much. Zuko sighed, clenching his hands into fists in annoyance at letting Vortun goad him so easily.
“Fine. One more. But only because it’s you.”
Casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being observed, Zuko walked forwards, looking for another target. After a minute or so of searching he chanced upon a third rock; this one was only about half the size of its two predecessors, but the Iron Warrior reckoned it would suffice. Moving to stand back beside his brother, Zuko prepared to throw.
“One more thing,” he added, only now sparing Vortun a quick glance. “Use a weapon that’s not so loud this time, hmm?” The Obliterator nodded, and Zuko heard the distinctive squelching sound of an arm reforming. The Lascannon was replaced by a vicious looking Multi-melta, barrel scorched a shade of brown. The Obliterator could have made it look brand new if he wanted; it was probably just vanity in showing off how much it’d been used. Pushing the thought from his mind, Zuko tossed through the stone through the sir. It took considerably less effort than the other two, turning end over end as it flew. With a gruff snarl, Vortun fired a single beam from his weapon.
Zuko could already see it was going to miss. The timing was off, the trajectory miscalculated. The beam sailed over the rock harmlessly, more than a small gap existing between the two. The stone dropped back to the ground with a muffled thump, yet the Melta beam kept going. It gave a quiet roar as it travelled, though not as loud as a Lascannon’s, and cut through the treeline disappearing into the distance to dissipate harmlessly. Vortun lowered the weapon seemingly disappointedly, and Zuko was just about to join in the jeering of his brothers when he noticed something that was slightly out of place.
The light from the beam hadn’t disappeared entirely.
Except it wasn’t the beam at all. The leaves crackled as the flame took root, already scorched black where the Melta shot had glanced over them. The licks and tongues of fire spread, creeping onto the branches with the slow tenderness of a lover. That creeping pace was soon replaced by what seemed to be an almost frenzied push; the fire devoured the bark without pause, spreading higher and higher into the canopy. It wasn’t long before it had begun to set the other trees ablaze, heat washing off them in great waves. Within a minute of the fire starting it was quicker to count those trees that were not burning as opposed to counting those that were.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Zuko turned his head towards the Obliterator. The rest of the Astartes watched in seemingly dumbfounded silence, yet the Aspiring Champion was content to simply swivel his neck until his eyes rested on Vortun. His horned helmet gave away nothing of his expression, rigid armour not conveying body language. It wouldn’t have needed to. Zuko’s absolute stillness and silence said more than enough. Vortun looked back at him, cracking his best apologetic smile. This shoulders rose in what must have been an approximation of a shrug.
“Oops?” He ventured.
The fire was spreading even more rapidly now. Thick clouds of smoke produced by the burning vegetation wafted through the clearing. They would have been choking to any who were not Astartes. The flames had spread to behind the huddle now, tentatively pawing at the top of the tree in which Zecora had built he hut. They spread back as far as the Iron Warriors could see, burning branch and twig, encircling the Marines totally.
Zuko said nothing. He noticed briefly, out the corner of his eye, Barbus nodding his head as if he were talking on the helmet vox. It was probably to Lorkhan. Wonderful. The rest of the Iron Warriors, Vortun included, watched with an almost detached fascination, not moving to escape the blaze or try to put it out.
“We should really do something about that.” Zuko pointed out after a moment or two, voice utterly emotionless. A few of his brothers nodded or murmured agreement, as nonchalantly as if they were discussing the pros and cons of different ammunition calibres.
Inevitably, the door hut-miraculously still intact-swung open within seconds. Zecora stormed out from within, ace a mix of panic and anger. Mordecai followed a step behind, snapping his helmet into place and looking around with the same dispassionate interest as his brethren.
“I do say brother, this really has been a less than stellar week for you hasn’t it?” The Sorcerer asked. He sounded disappointed, yet not surprised. Zuko kicked at the ground, his embarrassment clear.
“It was Vortun’s idea.” He managed, weakly. The Obliterator gave him a rough elbow, nearly knocking Zuko onto his side. Zecora ran back and forward in a general panic, wide-eyed and fearful.
“You brutish fools, just look around.
They should have buried you beneath the ground!”
Mordecai raised a placating hand, seemingly trying to calm the Xenos down. Zuko watched on, shifting uncomfortably as the heat became more and more of an irritant.
“My dear lady, pray forgive my brothers here. They are rather set in their ways when it comes to heavy firepower.” Mordecai said, voice silky and smooth. Zecora batted away his hand with some effort, face contorting more and more in rage.
“Celestia was right, it would seem.
Daemons like you cannot be redeemed.” She hissed, spitting onto Mordecai’s armour/ Turning back to her burning home, which by now had flames coming from within as well; she galloped around desperately as if seeking some way to reverse the damage done. It was that distress that meant she didn’t see the branch.
Perhaps it had been loosened by the flames, or maybe it just fell of its own accord. The flaming bough tumbled end over end downwards, not deviating from its path in the slightest. Zuko saw it, but remained rooted to the spot, following it to its inevitable conclusion. Beside him Mordecai drew breath, as if to state a warning. He never got chance. The burning chunk of tree slammed down onto the Xenos’ neck, driving her to the floor instantly without even giving her chance to cry out. Zuko flinched involuntarily, letting out an impressed whistle. The body twitched momentarily, legs spasming in a way that was almost hilarious. Zuko, Mordecai and Vortun stared at it for a moment, the Psyker folding his arms as they watched the flames singe the black and white fur.
“I must say gentlemen, this was a poor performance.” Mordecai eventually said. Zuko and Vortun simply looked at their feet with mumbles of “sorry”, like Hive city juves that have just been caught doing wrong by their mother.
Their gawping was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots thudding into the ground. Lorkhan, Rorke and the rest of the Iron Warrior barrelled out of the smouldering bushes, the other two Obliterators lumbering a step behind. Their ceramite armour protected them from the flames, but they still ran as if their lives depended on it.
“What…did…you…DO?!” Lorkhan barked, running up to his three subordinates. Rorke said nothing, mouth held agape. The Warsmith seemed about to say more, when something caught his eye.
“Do I even want to know what that is?” he asked in a low unimpressed voice, pointing at what remained of Zecora. Mordecai and Zuko turned back briefly to look at the corpse, before facing the Warsmith again.
“Not really.” The Champion admitted. The Warsmith stared at him for a moment, before dragging a gauntlet down the front of his helmet in despair.
“Right then.” He began, voice oddly composed and calm. “How exactly are we going to solve this?” The flames were reaching up higher now, and Zuko guessed they were probably past the treeline and visible from the castle now. Well, that was shitting wonderful.
“Maybe we should deal with that first.” Rorke offered dryly, gesturing towards what remained of Zecora. Lorkhan turned to look at it again, before giving a single nod. Two Iron Warriors jogged up to the body, heaving away the still-flaming fallen branch and grabbing the Xenos by the fore and hind legs. Her head flopped back and forth limply as they moved her, betraying where the branch had snapped the neck. Strictly speaking one Astartes would have been more than sufficient to move Zecora, but nevertheless they heaved her back and forth in a strange leg-and-a-wing manoeuvre before eventually tossing it into the still flaming undergrowth. It rolled unceremoniously down a hill, before disappearing into the smoke. Despite everything, it was almost amusing to Zuko.
Lorkhan watched it go before turning back to his inner circle. By now the ceramite plates of the Marines’ Power Armour were beginning to be stained black by the soot in the air. Rorke spluttered as some of it forced its way down his throat, rubbing his eyes as he did so. Zuko rubbed the back of his helmet awkwardly feeling the vox-grille of the impaled Imperial Fist helmet impaled on his power pack brush the back of his gauntlet. The Warsmith met their eyes one by one, lingering on Mordecai’s a moment longer than the others.
“You all know what I’m going to say, right?” he finally said, speaking into the general vox. All the Iron Warriors nodded. They knew. Turning on their heels so the Xenos’ hut-which by now had been almost completely burned to ashes-they began to run.
The Astartes sprinted through the flames, keeping only the loosest formation as they leapt over rocks and ducked beneath blazing tree boughs. The Obliterators lumbered a few steps behind, not able to keep up with their smaller brothers yet seemingly unbothered by the danger they were in. Zuko and Rorke ran side by side, unsure of where exactly they were going but reasoning that anywhere was better than where they were. The rest of the Iron Warriors moved to follow Lorkhan, pushing themselves harder as the fire raced to catch up with them. Their eyes shone red through the smog. Mordecai was navigating his own way through the pack of Astartes, esoteric items clinking on their chains as he ran whilst the small skirt he wore smouldered with a tiny fire of its own.
The smoke was blocking out the sky now, black against the black clouds that had been gathering above the Everfree that afternoon. The Iron Warriors forced themselves to keep on going, heedless of their complete ignorance concerning their location. Finally, they came skidding to a halt in another open clearing. All was burning, tree, branch and grass, and it wasn’t hard for the assembled Marines to see that they were surrounded.
“Shit.” To Zuko’s surprise, it was Mordecai that swore. His voice quiet, and still quaintly polite. The Aspiring Champion could not fault his brother’s frustration; for all the genetic wizardry poured into their, they could still be vulnerable to fire, and this seemed to be a singularly ignoble way to die.
Lorkhan strolled ahead of the milling group, that strange air of calm seeming to depend upon him again. He turned his head skyward, his intricately-wrought helmet even more unsettling in its new shade of ash black. Looking down at the ground again, the Warsmith shook his head with more than a trace of grim humour.
“You all agree that this is entirely Mordecai’s fault, right?” He muttered. Some of the Iron Warriors, the Sorcerer included, laughed. Under his helmet Zuko allowed himself a smile. Just as it seemed that Mordecai was about to retort, Rorke flinched, nose wrinkling in surprise. Zuko turned to his brother, tilting his head to the side in confusion.
“What?” he asked. Rorke looked at him and opened his mouth to reply, when he flinched again. The helmetless warrior raised a gauntlet to his cheek and rubbed downwards, before removing his hand and looking at his palm. Zuko tapped his foot in frustration.
“What?” he asked again, voice sharper now. Rorke did not reply immediately, instead turning his head to look up into the cloud of smoke. His brow furrowed in confusion.
“Something hit my face.” He answered, still looking up. Zuko felt an eyebrow rise. Following Rorke’s gaze, his optics still couldn’t penetrate the dark, and he was about to call his brother out on being delusional when a droplet of something moist hit his right lens.
It was a raindrop. It couldn’t be anything else. Zuko blinked in surprise, wiping the spot of water away as if it were a phantom. Before his mind could catch up with the questions racing through it, a he felt a second drop soak into some soft armour. Before long there was a third, and a fourth, and then a fifth. Soon the drizzle was consistent, against all the odds breaching the cloud of ash that circulated above the Iron Warrior’s heads.
The rest of the Astartes felt it to. They looked at one another in stark bemusement at the sudden presence of rainfall, chattering excitedly as the torrent intensified. Soon, what had started as a drizzle became a shower, and soon the rain came on in a veritable storm. The smoke was already dissipating, great winds that seemed to spring from nowhere buffeting and diffusing the ash and letting some grey light back through the canopy. The rain never slowed but seemed to come on with greater force, as if being forcibly vomited from the clouds above. From the corner of his eye, Zuko saw Lorkhan still staring upwards in shock.
The fires were already beginning to recede. Although not petering out fully, the sudden downpour quelled the more unruly flames, controlling the blaze and extinguishing those infernos that had climbed too high or too fast. The layer of black that had formed a fine sheen across the Iron Warrior’s armour began to wash away in dark, ugly streaks. It still stank, but at the very least, they looked like warriors of the IV Legion again. Rorke spat out some water that had gone down his throat, before returning to staring open mouthed.
Eventually, the rains stopped, leaving only the stench of what a Terran may once have called spring hanging in the air. The conflagration of mere moments ago had been reduced to a few pockets of still burning timbers, almost laughably pathetic now. The Iron Warriors said nothing, still whispering grateful prayers and supplications to the Gods and whatever Neverborn had pulled them out of the shitter once again. Their prayers were about to be answered.
From behind the mass of clouds, now a fluffy white as opposed to stony grey, came a small horde of Xenos. There were Ponies of every colour; red, white, blue, black, some even yellow or sickly greens. They flapped on small feathered wings, watching the Iron Warriors below with a mixture of apprehension and disgust. A couple were more focused on the damage the fires had wrought, looking around with stunned expressions at the blackened remains of most of the Everfree. The Iron Warriors stared back up at them, unsure of exactly how to respond.
“Deus Ex Machina.” Mordecai whispered, voice sounding awed. Lorkhan did not divert his eyes from the Pegasi above, but sniffed derisively.
“You almost sound impressed.”
“I almost am, brother.”
One of the Ponies was recognisable to the Astartes. She flew slightly away from the rest of her kin, closer to the ground than they dared. With the exception of Rorke, who merely squinted, the Iron Warriors zoomed in on her face-scrunched up tightly with wrath and antipathy as it was. It was the rainbow-haired alien from earlier, the brash one that had accused them of destroying the city after killing the shape shifter queen. Zuko remembered her. He remembered he didn’t like her.
No one spoke. For a minute or two it seemed like the cyan Pegasus was going to scream at them again, but she seemed content to glare at the Iron Warriors. Zuko saw Lorkhan raise a hand to his brow, flicking it outward in a thankful salute that could almost have been genuine. It served no apparent purpose besides enraging the Pony further, and gritting her teeth she accelerated away in a burst of rainbow light. The rest of the Pegasi followed suit, heading back to where Zuko supposed the castle must be. The Iron Warriors for their part still stared gormlessly at the sky, unsure of whether the past few hours had just happened.
Just as Zuko began to turn away, something in the sky caught his eye. One of the Pegasi had returned, seemingly ignorant of the intentions of its fellows. The Xenos was a dark grey colour with blonde hair, and magnifying again the Marines could see that her eyes were not centred, instead rolling around at lazy angles. To Zuko’s surprise, a goofy smile broke out across the Ponies’ face as it-or she, he supposed-stared down at the Iron Warriors. Irritatingly, the Champion found it strangely infectious. The Pony began to wave furiously at the Astartes, still grinning innocently. Zuko’s arm moved without his conscious consent, awkwardly returning the wave. His brothers were doing the same; even the Obliterators raised their Power Talons to the little alien. Seconds later, the blue angry pony jetted back, grabbed her waving friend, and with another angry glance at the Iron Warriors zoomed off with her charge in tow. The Iron Warriors lowered their hands, some letting out breaths they didn’t realise they had been holding.
“So,” Lorkhan started, seeking to break the tension. Zuko walked closer, his brain still reeling. “They can control the weather.” The Warsmith looked at Mordecai, tapping a finger to his chin. When he spoke, his voice sounded almost petulant.
“Why can’t WE do that?”
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Nice. Although, I want to see if a ursa is a creature from the chaos realms. Be interesting for them to come back with a group of grumpy ursas and then whack sun-butt.
Quite excellent. The Iron Warriors sound "Mariney" for lack of a better word, but they sound more like Space Marines from during the Great Crusade (I am going by the beginning of the Horus Heresy novels).
Killing off Zecora?
That sure escalated quickly.
And the ending worked perfectly. Quick, wrapping up a scene, and moderately amusing. I approve.
That was a very good chapter. And honestly, I feel like we can say this took you a while longer than normal because of the word count here or something. Either way, in certainly not holding it against you; you made an update, which is more than I can say about a lot of other supposedly good stories. Though I don't personally understand the decision to have Zecora die, but I won't complain.
Meh, Zecora's a minor character at best anyways.
It'll be amusing when or if the ponies find her body.
They accidently Zecora and a great part of the Everfree forest.
blame the warp, noone can argue with that.
And lol at the scene where Mordecai questions why they swear so much
And why do i have the feeling that they, or at least Mordecai, are going to become bffs with whatever they where sent to destroy in the first place?
Would be fun if they came back and where all like: "yeha hes a greater deamon of Chaos and we know each other from that one time we wiped out those Hive Cities and butchered millions as sacrifices in the name of our dark gods, hes a really cool guy if you get to know him and don't mind the occasional bouts of insanity and mindless bloodlust"
I'm not sure that ponies can control the weather over the Everfree since it's implied in the second episode of season 1 that weather works normally there.
Poor Derpy