927.M41
Unknown Location
Segmentum Obscurus
"Black Ship Enigmus under heavy attack. Astartes Strike Cruiser escort has taken heavy fire and is to be considered lost to the Warp."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"WARP INCURSION. WARP INCURSION. GELLAR FIELDS DRAINED."
Metal thundered under heavy boots as the brothers aboard the Strike Cruiser Perdition's Gaze rushed to their battle stations. 3 assault squads of Exorcists marched up the ramp of the Thunderhawk, Squad Deus lead by Brother-Sergeant Azrel Pontius as they strapped in to their drop harnesses.
"Chaos warband identified. Classification: Thousand Sons." The servitor's voice droned over the vox speaker. Traitor Astartes. The spawn of Magnus the Red, the Cyclopean, the thrice-damned witch. Brother Pontius grimaced beneath his helmet as the g-force of takeoff rocked the hull of the Thunderhawk. Then they hit vacuum and he felt his organs quiver as they adjusted his body to weightlessness.
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"WARNING. CRITICAL DAMAGE. ENGINES FAILING."
Pontius struggled with the controls for the Thunderhawk. He'd been the only member of his squad to make it back to rendezvous pad, but the assault craft was lying on the deck of the chaos vessel. Through the viewglass, he struggled to avert his eyes from the twisting energies of the raw wound in reality. A foul portal to the Empyrean itself, the Warp leaking into realspace. As the chaos craft pitched crazily, Brother-Sergeant Pontius felt his gut wrench with the Thunderhawk's stabilizers as it was pulled directly into the yawning maw of the Warp. He prayed to the Emperor for protection as the searing pain of the chaotic energy crashed against his mind and then dulled rapidly, his daemonic training protecting him even as an impact rocked the cockpit and shattered the glass. The void reached out for him and he could do naught but tumble into unconsciousness and pain with nearly half the escort fleet, burning, right into uncertainty and the very flames of Hell itself.
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bzzt Altitude...80km and falling...
Atmosphere: bzzt Extrapolating....Extrapolated scans indicate Tomb World...
Pontius opened his eyes to see the vast, gray expanse of the planet below him. All around his form, wreckage and pieces of the fleet fell around him. He spotted a full terminator squad burning against the orange hazy sky, his squad's Thunderhawk arcing towards what looked like a settlement. His power armor's HUD was fizzing and cutting in and out. The marine tried to move, the left gauntlet of his power armor ripping from his hand in the whipping winds. A temporary jolt of sensation shot through his abdomen, and he looked down to see a metal pole piercing his side at a dangerous angle. If he landed badly, it could pierce one of his hearts, and Pontius severely doubted any of the apothecaries would survive impact either.
Thankfully, Pontius was a veteran of the assault squads, and as such was equipped with a jump pack. Each shock of the thrusters slowing his descent into the shady mass of twisted metal and ruined building forced more reminders of his wound through his senses. Pain was more or less optional for one of the Emperor's chosen, but it was needed as a sensory response all the same. Once he had landed, he could deal with the agony.
Finally, the last burst required from his overtaxed jump pack put him within 5 meters of a clearing in the vast wreckage fields. Brother-Sergeant Pontius landed on his knees, grunted, swiveled his helmet to check for immediate threats, then proceeded to fall like a felled oak onto his uninjured side and promptly pass out.
Unknown Location
Segmentum Obscurus
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INQUISITIORIAL ACCESS GRANTED≡][≡
Astropathic Communication Transcription
"Black Ship Enigmus under heavy attack. Astartes Strike Cruiser escort has taken heavy fire and is to be considered lost to the Warp."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"WARP INCURSION. WARP INCURSION. GELLAR FIELDS DRAINED."
Metal thundered under heavy boots as the brothers aboard the Strike Cruiser Perdition's Gaze rushed to their battle stations. 3 assault squads of Exorcists marched up the ramp of the Thunderhawk, Squad Deus lead by Brother-Sergeant Azrel Pontius as they strapped in to their drop harnesses.
"Chaos warband identified. Classification: Thousand Sons." The servitor's voice droned over the vox speaker. Traitor Astartes. The spawn of Magnus the Red, the Cyclopean, the thrice-damned witch. Brother Pontius grimaced beneath his helmet as the g-force of takeoff rocked the hull of the Thunderhawk. Then they hit vacuum and he felt his organs quiver as they adjusted his body to weightlessness.
-------------------------------------
"WARNING. CRITICAL DAMAGE. ENGINES FAILING."
Pontius struggled with the controls for the Thunderhawk. He'd been the only member of his squad to make it back to rendezvous pad, but the assault craft was lying on the deck of the chaos vessel. Through the viewglass, he struggled to avert his eyes from the twisting energies of the raw wound in reality. A foul portal to the Empyrean itself, the Warp leaking into realspace. As the chaos craft pitched crazily, Brother-Sergeant Pontius felt his gut wrench with the Thunderhawk's stabilizers as it was pulled directly into the yawning maw of the Warp. He prayed to the Emperor for protection as the searing pain of the chaotic energy crashed against his mind and then dulled rapidly, his daemonic training protecting him even as an impact rocked the cockpit and shattered the glass. The void reached out for him and he could do naught but tumble into unconsciousness and pain with nearly half the escort fleet, burning, right into uncertainty and the very flames of Hell itself.
---------------‐-------------------------------
bzzt Altitude...80km and falling...
Atmosphere: bzzt Extrapolating....Extrapolated scans indicate Tomb World...
Pontius opened his eyes to see the vast, gray expanse of the planet below him. All around his form, wreckage and pieces of the fleet fell around him. He spotted a full terminator squad burning against the orange hazy sky, his squad's Thunderhawk arcing towards what looked like a settlement. His power armor's HUD was fizzing and cutting in and out. The marine tried to move, the left gauntlet of his power armor ripping from his hand in the whipping winds. A temporary jolt of sensation shot through his abdomen, and he looked down to see a metal pole piercing his side at a dangerous angle. If he landed badly, it could pierce one of his hearts, and Pontius severely doubted any of the apothecaries would survive impact either.
Thankfully, Pontius was a veteran of the assault squads, and as such was equipped with a jump pack. Each shock of the thrusters slowing his descent into the shady mass of twisted metal and ruined building forced more reminders of his wound through his senses. Pain was more or less optional for one of the Emperor's chosen, but it was needed as a sensory response all the same. Once he had landed, he could deal with the agony.
Finally, the last burst required from his overtaxed jump pack put him within 5 meters of a clearing in the vast wreckage fields. Brother-Sergeant Pontius landed on his knees, grunted, swiveled his helmet to check for immediate threats, then proceeded to fall like a felled oak onto his uninjured side and promptly pass out.