V Under Heavy Fire

Solomon Grundy

GRUNDY LOOKING FOR FRIENDS
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Segmentum Obscurus

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INQUISITIORIAL ACCESS GRANTED
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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."

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"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.
 

Solomon Grundy

GRUNDY LOOKING FOR FRIENDS
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skrrrrch
skrrch skrrch scrrh-


A metallic crunch sounded as Pontius grabbed whatever was scrabbling at his faceplate and crushed it to splinters. H
Only then did he open his eyes and sit up, a shock of pain arcing through his side. The marine sat up, his armor still functioning but heavily damaged. Still, it was working enough for him to move in it normally.

Gripping the steel pole jutting from his side as he got to one knee, he pulled hard and bit his lip as the wound immediately began to clot and thicken,. Frayed fibers from the joint of his armor's padding floated free as Pontius rose to his feet and sighed, looking all around him at the tangled piles of metal and scrap. "Tomb world confirmed." He spoke, his voice buzzing through his helmet's vox and recording his audio. "Brother-Sergeant contacting all surviving members of Squad Pontius. Brothers, do you read?"

Nothing but silence.

Smoke spiralled into the air at several points in the vast scrapyard. Logically, the largest smoke trails had a high chance of being the Thunderhawk he saw spiralling away from him in the fall. Either that, or a section of a larger vessel. Either would allow him to attempt to reach the fleet in orbit, even though in his heart he knew they were not there. There had been no planets fitting this description for a sector and a half, and the stench of warp transit was all over him. In all likelihood, he was more than a segmentum away from the Strike Cruiser Perdition's Gaze and the rest of the Inquisition fleet. Still, with the range increase from a salvaged transmitter, he could at least attempt to contact any local Astartes chapters or the planetary government.

Pontius proceeded towards the largest impact sight, his armored boots coming down on the remains of the thing he'd crushed. Curiosity got the better of him as he crouched down and inspected it. Some sort of spindly, arachnoid creature. It reminded him uncomfortably of the living metal of the Necrons. As soon as he had that thought, his eyes opened wide and he engaged his chainsword, drawing it from it's holster and letting the engine roar a challenge to the spindly metal creature sneaking up behind him. This one resembled a beast, like a dog or a grox, but was covered in jagged metal spines.

The beast skittered back with a metallic clicking and let out a synthesized growl. More of them started to click and bound over the tops of the metal wreckage surrounding the Marine's impact site. Pontius drew his bolt pistol and began firing at the creatures, the scatter starting to become a swarm.

Inside his helmet, the Exorcist smiled. Across the galaxy, it was always the same. It made his blood sing, and his fist tighten around the enameled grip of his bolt pistol. Even when most people would be running for their lives, Pontius simply turned his retreat into a bloody march towards his destination, metal, sparks, fluids, and a din to drown out the storms above the sky. The beasts came, dozens of them, but they were frail and flimsy. Soon enough, Pontius was able to climb over obstacles undisturbed, the skittering creatures having seen so many of their kin fall into splinters. The marine smiled again to himself. They were concerned with their own imperatives; energy, propagation, base instinct. In their minds was the confused, wary thoughts of beasts, judging the value of potential prey and deciding whether to attack.

In Pontius's mind, there was only war.
 
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