NationStates Jolt Archive

Proletarian Starfleet Admiral Darlington (http://www.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/6/6a/180px-Captdarling.gif) took a deep breath, reclining in the Spartan seat bolted down into the bridge, in case the anti-grav generators were to fail. While filled with an intense pride to be commanding the first Kriegos spaceship, a Liberator class vessel, the pride of his status was always laced thickly with the less glamorous scent of fear and anxiety, murmurs had been passed about the crew, suggesting of a time before the Fedor regime – the dark ages, as the Collective Oligarchy called it – when the Master Kriegor Zan Varr was forced to his knees be a race of warriors from the stars, standing over seven feet tall and clan in bulky equipment crafted from unnaturally strong materials, while being vengeful, they were rumoured to being extremely pure of intention.

Dismissing the bizarre, incredulous thought, Admiral Darlington closed his eyes and mentally braced himself for this final step, pondering at the fork roads, the potential rewards of being the commander of the first true ship of war for the Collective Oligarchy flashed through his mind but doubt was threaded into his resolve as contrasting colour veins into marble. Ambition won out and Darlington gave the order. The brutal look ship was released from the magnetic clamps of the space station, titled “Red Hill”, technicians could be seen moving about the space station through five inch thick glass while “oligarchonaughts” could be seen fixing exterior based problems.

The bridge was surprisingly silent, save for the quick whispers of crewmen dishing out orders. A few bursts of oxygen later and the Liberator class ship had two hundred metres between it and Red Hill. Things were going smoothly thus far and Darlington could look forward to a hospitable pension when he retired from the Proletarian Starfleet, it would be quite hard to topple Darlington from his crystal throne of content seated upon the dais of ambition. But it seemed the universe wasn’t content with Darlington being content.

“Crewman, power up Ion Drives and give full power to aft bow-“ Ordered the Admiral, in his most patient and mature sounding voice.

”Sir!” Was the cry of a crewman.

Irritated at his verbal will being interrupted, he snapped at the crewman.

”What is it!”

”Comrade, sir…we have an unidentified space vessel, not bearing RSF or PSF designation.”

”What the…by Fedor.”

And in moments, a mighty hammer shattered Darlington’s throne and dais.

The Imperium notices much; its eyes and ear spanning the galaxy, ever hungry for knowledge. Yet here, the Imperium was pleasently surprised to find an old acquiantance...Kreigorgrad.

So long ago, in the days when the Lord Emperor was Pure; and stretched his hand across the stars to liberate humanity from Chaos...Marcus and his legions had set foot on that soil; they had brought the light, the Word, to Kreig. And in return, they had been praised almost as Gods. Against the power of the Psyker and the Bolter, they were nothing; against the purfiying flame of the Imperium, they had dimmed...

And now a very different Chronosia; a different Imperium, returned to Kreigorgrad...

The God's returned, and they were vengeful.

The fabric of space itself tore asunder, the great vessels vomitted forth; gothic behemoths like knives through the void itself. The great warships slid like serpents across the black sea of space; headed for Kreigorgrad...

Yes; the God's had returned; and with their new allegiences; their new black Gods, their dark faith and zealots fire...They prepared to remake Kriegorgrad again, as it had once before...

For Chaos...

Darlington held back a scream when the consoles were filled with images of a grotesque abomination of steel, warped into ways it shouldn’t tolerate, foul iconography lined its hull and glowing glyphs that spoke of demonology wouldn’t suffer human eyes without inflicting pain on the viewer. Screams echoed from the crewmen and there was no shadow of a doubt that this monstrosity was in no way hospitable. His eyes glancing over the monitors, details missed in the adrenaline induced panic but even in his less than perceptive state, he could clearly see the strobe effect of the red triangle over the enemy ship: a firing solution.

Crewmen looked up at him, faces filled with fear and worry, looking to their commander for some reassurance or hope. Darlington could smell the fear in the air, he couldn’t have his crew in a state of shock, a scared crew was a useless crew. Mustering a voice of nobility that rang of leadership, he began to deliver his orders in a most dramatic fashion:

”Comrades! Our glorious Comrade Leader is testing us! Do you want to fail that trial and plummet to the depths where the infidels go when they die? No! We shall triumph over this new foe, ready the rail guns, lets send this found beast back to the abyss!”

Confidence returned to the faces of the crewmen and even the Proletarian Guardsmen posted on the bridge held their backs straighter, Sten guns held at the ready. The Proletarian Guardsmen serving in the Starfleet were an odd mix of the standard Proletarian Guardsmen, clad in a uniform akin to the British soldiers of world war one or two, and of foreign marines (http://www.eyeofterror.com/it/background/images/CADIAN-VIG3.jpg) of a more advanced nature, clad in battle armour for boarding actions. Primarily equipped with Sten guns, trench spikes (http://www.gunmuse.com/uploadphotos/1119123586.jpg), Webley revolvers and even flamethrowers when boarding a hostile vessel, however, Sten guns were usually the weapon of choice when aboard a friendly ship.

“Comrades, fire on my mark…three…two…one…”

The ship rocked ever so slightly as the shock absorbers dampened the recoil of the mighty guns, six slugs of depleted uranium shot out of the barrels at mach 10+ and screamed towards to the undoubtedly daemonic ship while the entire crew and one hundred and fifty Proletarian Guardsmen aboard the Liberator class vessel held their collective breath…

The great ship rocked as the weapons fire hit it, and then stopped; pausing in the midst of the audient void; communications channels thick with black and obscene prayers; the cries to Chaos roaring on every frequency known to man. The chants, the howls; the brutal savagery of servants of Insane Gods.

It was here; it was now; it was coming.

The great cannons of Chronosia returned fire; meant not to disable or to destroy; but to frighten, as waves of destructive force surged towards the enemy vessel.
Fools of Kriegorgrad; Acknowledge your Gods

And in a flash the hissed whisper that had uttered those words was behind them; and a Chaos Space Marine, its chainaxe whirring; stood upon the bridge of the ship.

((1. these two nations have a history
or
2. controlled by the same person))

~As always was the case with the Draconic Order, any significant presence of ships in one system, especially if weapon fire was detected, was tagged to be scouted. This wasn't any different. A lone corvette class ship drifted in the asteroids on the edge of the system. Its passive scans and tapped transmissions largely unnoticed by the cosmic radiation/planetary bodies and the preoccupation of the victims.~

OoC: Us two have a history, before the Jolt forum move he put my nation under Imperial rule but the effects waned after Kriegorgrad turned into a Collective Oligarchy

Communications officers screamed and threw headsets away in horror, the primal dark chants and howls threatened to spew forth monstrosities from hell itself. Should the Kriegos crewmen had been paying attention to their consoles and the bridge not in such a state of chaos, they may have noticed the Draconian corvette stalking at the edges of the primitive sensor’s perception, but the crewmen and the Proletarian Guardsmen were slightly preoccupied with the eight foot tall embodiment of death. The stench of electrified air clung to their nostrils as the teleportation’s effects slowly dissipated and screams not only belonging to those manning the communication terminals echoed around the bridge as the guns of the steel horror boomed, sending pangs of terror through the crew that paled in comparison next to the raw fear provoked by the eight foot tall warrior’s presence.

Darlington stumbled back off of his chair as he heard the dark prophetic message of these self proclaimed gods. Instantly, the rumours of a pure warrior race made themselves known in the Admiral’s mind, except that this particular warrior was in no where pure, his armour wasn’t gleaming naturally and his face told of evil deeds but most of all, the sinister axe, with its chopping teeth constantly moving akin to a chainsaw, it was almost as if the brutal weapon bayed for blood. Most of the crew were hidden behind chairs, peaking over nervously the tops of the chairs to get a glance at the evil beast that had just materialised aboard the bridge, their posts forgotten.

The Guardsmen guarding the bridge had Sten guns shouldered and tromp of boots against steel announced most of the other Kriegos soldiers had been alerted via alarm on the bridge, the monotonous drone of klaxons echoed in the distance as the sliding doors into the circular bridge opened with a hiss, revealing soldiers each side of the door, one kneeling, one standing and another standing; each one with a Sten gun shouldered. Hurriedly drawing his Webley revolver and pointing at the Chaos Marine, one arm keeping the man from falling flat on his back, his aim flagging and his hand shaking, Darlington attempted to regain some of his composure and began to set about reclaiming leadership aboard his vessel.

“N-n-now listen here alien. You are n-n-not…. not our Gods, only the Comrade Leader can claim that title of brilliance! You are nothing more than…” Darlington’s resolve faded and he trailed off, severely regretting what he’d just said to the manifestation of chaos itself.

OOC: Hope you don't mind if I bump into you, Krieg...

IC:

RSS Hercules

The second in the Centurion class of Republican starships, the Hercules had been hastily prepared and scrambled into action to come to the aid of the Centurion and the incident that she had apparently gotten herself into. Commander Yates, commander of the Hercules, had personally requested the mission; Captain Olliver of the Centurion was an old friend, and Yates had volunteered to come to the aid of the beleagured vessel and its crew. Thus the Hercules had broken away from Earths tentative hold a mere two hours ago, and had proceeded towards the position of the Centurion, with only two-thirds of its crew onboard, bolstered by crewmembers from the Praetonian class spacestation they had launched from.

However, enroute, the LADAR system, tweaked to pick up weapons fire to ensure that they could engage any unfriendlies and protect the Centurion as soon as possible, had picked up signs of weapons fire and lasers being discharged far nearer Earth than had been expected. Fearing some sort of mass battle or even possible invasion, Yates had ordered the coordinates of the fire to be intercepted.

As the Hercules came into the area, Yates had the main screen show the front camera system. What he saw shocked him to the core, and he heard several other crewmembers cry out and whisper to each other. Two ships were present in the system; one a Kriegos vessel that RSF command had monitored launching several days ago; its armour was blackened and scorched, as if from some sort of blast, though the damage seemed negligable itself. The other ship, and presumably the source of the weapons fire, was...the word monstrosity seemed infinitely inferior to describe the vessel. Its hull was black, its angles harsh and glaring; when the cameras magnified the image, what appeared to be human skulls lined the edges of the vessel.
As the Comms Officer tuned into a multi-purpose frequency, a cacophony of screamed prayers, vile curses and harsh static screeched throughout the ship, and sent primeval shivers through the crew before the channel was closed. Clearly this was not a vessel of peace, nor even one of humanity. It looked practically inpenetrable, yet the Kriegos vessel was a close ally, and in space, allies were all.

Yates looked at the abomination for a split-second longer before barking out orders. "Power up the lasers, deploy the missile cells, and bring the Mass Drivers online. Target that...vessel, and prepare to fire. Marines to their posts, I think, and have them break out the heavy weaponry while they're at it. Comms, broadcast the following message,"

Attention unknown vessel. You have engaged a vessel of the Kriegos Oligarchy, a close ally of the Grand Republic. Cease your actions and fall back, or we will be forced to open fire. We will not brook insubordination or ingnorance of this message.

tag,

note to Chron: I'll be rping as my MT self, which is basicly the past version of Doomingsland, but feel free to give my people foreshadowing hints

IC:

Lieutenant Colonel Marius Leverius stared across the black abyss in amazement of what was transpiring. He and his small wing of three F-121A Hellspawn space fighters had just witnessed the arrival of an alien race and the subsequent interaction between them and a less-than-friendly nation: Kreigorgrad.

Alone within the cockpit of his spacecraft, he attempted to contact his home station. Nothing.

Hellspawns Two and Three, this is Hellspawn One: You seein' what I'm seein'?" he said over the radio to his comrades, a hint of panic in his tone,

"If you're seeing a fuckin' bigass alien space ship, then yes, sir, I'm seein' what you're seein'." replied Hellspawn Two bluntly.

"Well, what should we do?" joined in Hellspawn Three,

"Hell if I know. Um, I say we head back." replied Marius.

Upon that command, the retrorockets fired, flipping the fighters completely around, and their main thrusters fired, pushing them back towards their station.

Attention unknown vessels; we are the Imperium. By right of blood and toil, we claimed this bastard realm once; and by the Dark Gods we shall claim it again! We came meaning to make peace, but it is clear that the bastard dogs do not know when to cease biting the hand that feeds Chuckling, wry and sardonic, echoing behind the hissed message.

They fired upon us first; and should they fire again we shall destroy them. Should you stand against our act of self defence, you shall be cleansed; countless are the warriors of the Imperium; numberless its strength. To stand against us, is to invite the stars to run red with blood.

The communication broke into hissed and screamed prayers; a chorus of heretical praise to God's foul and insane. The Blood God, who rained on high, inviting war and bloodshed; the Plague Lord, who brought glorious transfiguring disease to the mortal realm; The Lord of Pleasure, who brought pain in equal amounts, setting the nerve endings of the faithful to overload; and the Lord of Magic, the caprcious master of change...

Vessels of Kriegorgrad; you have fired upon a vessel of the Imperium. The Steel Warriors from the Skies have returned...Do you know that of which I speak?

RSS Hercules

The threat by the enemy vessel filtered through the Comm speakers hidden throughout the Bridge; Yates listened quietly to the threat and the ending of it, chilled by the casual way in which the words were spoken, and the horrific ending, the screeches and muttered prayers, the calls for death. When the transmission had ended, Yates slid his hand across his throat roughly, a signal for the Comms officer to shut off the link to the vessel.

Yates stared at the image of the vessel, reflecting upon the casual threat, and what it meant to both his vessel, and the Republic itself. Finally, after several minutes of reflection, he nodded to the Comms officer again, and transmitted another message to the abomination floating before the Hercules.

I do not take well to threats, especially from a race that the Republic has never met before, and has no idea of its power. The Kriegos Oligarchy is a close ally of the Grand Republic; should you fire again upon that vessel, I will have no choice but to engage your vessel in combat. Make no mistake, we are not an easy foe to battle; blood will be spilt, but mark my words - It will not all be ours.

As the message was transmitted across the empty void to the vessel, Yates turned to the Comms station again. "Inform the Praetonia that we have met an unfriendly vessel, and require any reinforcements that are available - immediately. Then transmit to the Centurion that we won't be available to come to their aid for a while."

"Well, if they wanna kill those commie bastards so damn badly, I say leave them in peace." chuckled Marius over the radio as the Chronosian message sounded over the radio.

As the fighters did a 180 degree flip, the Chronosians would have been no doubt pleasently surprised to see an all too farmiliar symbol painted on the sides of the primitive spacecraft: the Golden Skull. This was both the mark of Doomingsland in these ancient times, and Doomingsland after it was 'changed'.

The followers of Chaos were, in fact, staring back in time at their sworn ally. Marius and his comrades didn't know this, of course, and continued on their merry way back to St. Michael Station. There they would report their findings to their CO, who would know doubt repremand them for lying in after action report. He didn't particularly like hearing "alien bullshit" coming out of the mouths of the men under his command.

"So, what do you suppose all that shit about 'Dark Gods' was?" asked Major Cassius, callsign Hellspawn Two.

"Hell if I know, Major. Sounds like some sort of fucked up cult to me." responded Marius.

"Well, you know the rule on cults: if they don't believe in our God, they are infidels, and must be crushed. Simple as that," chimed in Captain Decimus, callsign Hellspawn Three,

"Well, I'm not sure our government is gonna want us making war on some futuristic cult-worshipping alien race just now, seeing as they appear to be at least a few hundred years ahead of us."

"We'd better report to the High Command on this one."

"That'll be the Commander's decision."

"Yes, unfortunately." said Marius in a disdainfull tone. None of them particularly liked Commander Brutus, commander of the St. Michael. He was a strict disiplinarian, and as a result, absolutely hated flyboys.

"Well, only one way to find out..."

Laughter, a mock barbaric cackle echoed across the comms; the captain almost hysterical. His eyes flashed with sinister intelligence as he reinitiated communications with the Hercules.

You know nothing. Nothing of the power of the Dark Gods, nor the might of the Imperium. Once we trod upon this world, and we shall again; the living gods return from the stars to manage their flock. We shall not fire upon them again, but should you interfere; then great and terrible shall be the wrath of the Imperium

Silence....

Pray we need not warn you again...

Recoiling at the daemon’s dark words, Darlington’s face took on a look of terror and realization – the rumours were true, this embodiment of all things unholy was nothing less than a warped parody of the star gods from the past. A million thoughts tumbling through the Admiral’s head, some beckoning Darlington to flee, some ordering him to stand and fight, some ordering him to take his own life. Military training shattered the other two options and suddenly, propaganda induced bravery swelled up and thoughts of the Comrade Leader watching over Darlington with his fatherly gaze convinced him that his next actions were wise.

“Open fire!” Screamed the Fleet Admiral and in roughly timed unison, Sten guns opened up and – someone must have found it in the armoury – a PIAT rocket screamed towards the evil daemon clad in iron, Darlington already behind his chair taking pot shots with his Webley as the rest of the crew cowered behind their own seats, sobbing and praying to Nikolai Fedorenkov…

The great axe slived the missle shell, deflecting it; the explosion echoing about him. Smoke and ashes surrounded him, as he strode forward; bullets slamming against ceramite; countless deflecting; ricocheting. He continued onwards; spinning his great weapon, slamming left and right as he drew his bolter and opened fire. Whirling, slamming the axe into a control panel; then lunging at the enemy.

"Glory to the Dark Gods!"

OoC: Yeah, I know this post is kind of weird, but I've been reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and Douglas Adams kinda rubs off on me. ;)

Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet...

A small corvette slid slowly from the atmosphere, heading for the milky glow of the stars above. Inside, the ten man crew went about their business. This route was not foreign to them- they often found themselves either here, leaving their home system, or somewhere in between. On the particularly cramped bridge, three figures worked in silence, the palpable feeling of intense boredom overwhelming the men.

Then a computer beeped. This, in itself, was not a wholly remarkable thing. Computers beeped all the time (along with a wide variety of other noises). But this beep was different. It sounded urgent (in reality, all the beeps sounded identical, but when you were on the same starship for many, many years, you could seemingly tell the difference in beeps, when there was none at all).

The remarkable unremarkable beep attracted the attention of the person sitting nearest the beeping computer, who pushed his rolling chair to the console to see what the beep was beeping about. He read the text. Then read it again. And again. The imagined urgency of the beep suddenly made sense to him. He swiveled around to face the captain, who was sitting in the middle of the cramped room reading a datapad (but was, in reality, daydreaming about laying on the beach with a particularly attractive girl he'd met at a bar...).

“Sir,” said the worried flight officer.

“Yes, what do you need?” replied the captain.

“I've picked up several signals moving around near the upper atmosphere.”

“And...?” posed the captain, thoroughly unimpressed with that announcement.

“One of them matches the signal of the mysterious fleet that attacked and destroyed one of our military meteoroids a few years back, then disappeared.”

The captain was obviously alarmed by the thought of it. That incident was one of the more tragic in Parlimian military history. An entire station destroyed, thousands of lives lost, and the attacker had never been found. “Where, exactly?”

“Other side of the planet, they seem to be somewhat preoccupied with another vessel.”

The captain paused again and thought. He had had a brother on the station that was destroyed, and a part of him called out for vengeance. He looked back at the crewman, “Alter course, let's go see what they're doing. Bring us in along the atmosphere, nice and stealthy.”

“Aye, sir.”

“All hands,” the captain said, his voice being amplified throughout the ship, “battlestations.”

Since Kriegorgrad had launched their space craft, Halladis had been watching. Despite a rather friendly attitude toward Kriegorgrad, the Workers State found their nation disturbing and a possible threat. The Halladi government knew full well Krieigorgrad could have every man, woman, and child in their nation with a gun in their hand marching on Halladi soil if they truely wanted thatg. Even with negiotiations with them and the rest of southern Haven coming up soon a Halladi ship was sent to follow the Kriegos vessel.

The Wasp Mk.II Ion Cannon Frigate, Slayer, stayed well out of the range of the sensors of the Kriegos ship, unfortunatly the vessel was barely within range of their own sensors and rather difficult the track. But, suddenly the Kriegos vessel was firing, and Captain Alzabaar knew something was wrong. They didn't pick up any other ships on their sensors. The captain knew he had to act.

"Move into range of their sensors." He ordered.

This was a diplomatic move. He could be praised by both Kriegorgrad and Hallad for aiding the Kriegos vessel.

"Hail them. Ask if they require assistance." He ordered again, coldly.

Then other ships began showing up on the sensors. The Halladis stayed a distance away, hoping for a Kriegos responce.

Darlington just heard screams. It moved in the smoke from the discharged rounds and it truly was an angel of death, hurried orders being the herald of its coming, blood and the cries of the dying left in its wake, gunshots rang out through the bridge and the bridge rocked as a stray PIAT hit the ceiling – thankfully the armour held out and no true damage was done. Then, the screaming, the gunfire, the bellowed orders: they all stopped. Dead silence held the bridge in its awkward vice, leaving the surviving crew on the edge of uncertainty, an immeasurable fear of what may have happened.

Then the smoke cleared, everyone wished they were back in that unbearable position of uncertainty, if only to escape the gruesome image before them. Proletarian Guardsmen lay strewn about the bridge, as if tossed like rag dolls, limbs missing, sternums open the steel ceiling and the chill of space. The cold vacuum truly had sent a reaper to those who dared defy the lethal temperature of the void.

The Admiral, only seconds ago brimming with confidence, now let his shuddering hands let the Webley revolver drop, his face painted anew in an expression of terror never before seen on his countenance. Beeping meaning a hail from a friendly ship was forced to be left for the moment, diplomatic mind cursing at Darlington for leaving a message unattended and rational mind praising him for not doing anything that may provoke the reaper. The semi-silence was unbearable, as Darlington stumbled backwards, weakly feeling his way, the crew didn’t even pray anymore, they just sobbed. This was no test from the kind Nikolai Fedorenkov, this was a slaughter sent from the pits of hell. Darlington hadn’t joined in the crying yet, he was still making his way backwards, Webley revolver some distance away from him, the Fleet Admiral felt temporary relief in retreating, it gave his mind something to focus on. Until his back came into contact with the wall, then, then he joined in the sobbing.

------

Some two decks below the bridge was situated the tertiary Guardsmen quarters, it was their task in case of the bridge being compromised, to prepare to retake the bridge while the secondary Guardsmen in their quarters had to quarantine the zone and the primary Guardsmen were supposed to launch an assault on the bridge before the quarantine zone was set up, for some reason though, the soldiers on that deck wouldn’t respond to radio transmissions and when they did, all the soldiers a few decks down got was “it will hear us! We can’t speak!” This left the soldiers greatly confused and sergeant major Harker wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Alright lads, we got us a cocky arse ‘ole up on the bridge what thinks ‘e can boss us lot around!” Came the thickly proletarian accent of, oddly enough, the Proletarian Guardsman Harker while grabbing a Sten gun and checking the clip, broad features massive compared to the compact submachine gun.

“I don’t know sarge…something just ain’t right, why’s the lads up’a’decks so spooked?” Replied Heaton, locking his helmet into place.

“I say we go up there and torch whatever uppity bastards thing we Kriegos ain’t as ‘ard as the next lot!” Came the, as always, enthused reply of the squad’s pyromaniac, Johnson who was busy prepping his flame thrower while Heaton, now done with his own equipment, was checking the fuel pressure on the volatile tank of napalm strapped to Johnson’s back.

“Damn rights, lets get moving-“ Started Harker, zeal like the froth of a rabid dog on his lips.

”No!” The entire squad was shocked at the interruption from Heaton, usually a civil man who always cared for the men in his squad, each of them coming from the same neighbourhood in Fedorgrad, a very rough neighbourhood where the poverty was worse than most of the other Kriegos cities, it was very surprising to hear his voice raised.

Looking stunned, the rest of the squad waited for what the man had to say.

“You see, I know a few of those lads up guardin’ the bridge and I know they ain’t the types to go crazy over nothin’, they’s spooked for a reason, I suggest we check an’ see if we got any allies out here? Let’s send a message to nearby ships requesting help. Whatever is on the bridge is dead ‘ard or our comrades up on deck one wouldn’t be so scared.”

The squad slowly nodded in agreement, even the over zealous Johnson realizing he had to wait if he wanted to torch something. Rushing to the nearest console, the sausage sized fingers of Harker began moving over the communication console with as much dexterity as they could muster, quickly forming a very illiterate message to anyone kind enough to proffer assistance.

-----

{::Establishing Uplink::}
{::Encrypting::}
{::Secure Channel Procured::}

Type of Communiqué: Broadband Frequency - Emergency
To: Anyone neerby!
From: The Oligarch of Kriegorgrad, Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov
Subject: Asistance needed!

------------

”I am Sergeant Major Aidan Harker, it is my dutee to inform you that our vessel has been boarded by a large amount of borders! We neeed help fast! Send help, anyone!“

Sergeant Major Aidan Harker



{::Closing Uplink::}

That was all they needed. It was clear that the Kriegos hadn't responded to the hail, but they had sent out their own message. Boarding pods were launched, with two platoons of men being sent over. There were only three other platoons of men on the ship, and the Captain was weary about leaving his vessel vulnerable.

The pods launched and the men inside waited. They'd been in the simulator enough times to know that boarding another ship was hell, even when it was to help the men inside. If a pod landed wrong, it could kill one or more of the Red Marines. Those of the men with a God, or Gods, prayed. The others just waited.

Then there was a bang, and clank, and the sound of a drill. They had landed, or rammed rather, on the Kriegos ship. There was a green light in Lieutenant Abdul-Ahser's pod. The hatch opened and the Red Marines piled out. He gave an order to a sergeant, telling him to take a fire squad of five men and search for Kriegos troops and crewmen. Then he told another to take a full squad to find the other platoon. They would make a base where he had landed in case enemies attacked.



OOC:

Halladi Red Space Marines have suits like that of Tau Fire Warriors. But, they are human, so the legs have boots instead of the wierd thing made for the Tau's goat legs... Also, they have HAR's (Halladi Assualt Rifles), not pulse carbines/rifles.
http://uk.games-workshop.com/tau/getting-started/images/fire-warrior-boxart.jpg

Countless more marines teleported into position throughout the Krieg vessel; hurling themselves with insane abandon into the flurry of combat. Some bore swords; others bore weapons of plasma; and guns that would destroy a man entirely. Even rockets surged and screamed in the corridors.

Beside the Marine that had come forth, a man materialised, placing a steadying hand upon the Marines shoulder as he turned to regard them all...This was no ordinary man. He slid back the cowl, revealing his face; eyeless; tongueless; and yet it spoke, its voice echoing in their minds.

My Master, Lord of the Vessel, will not grace you with his presence; instead; I have been sent. I am Zamiel... The body had been that of a Trekys captain who once crossed the Inquisitor in charge of the vessel.

We give you a choice. Cease hostilities and take us to your rulers; or we shall obliterate all life on this vessel; and rain down upon your kind as we did so long ago. This world shall burn in our wake, if you do not surrender.

It's robes slipped open; revealing the marred and tormented flesh below; inscriptions and runes were cut into its flesh, ink tattoos ran side by side with scars. Chains were wrapped around its pale flesh, and locks were closed around skin. Parchment hung in great pages upon its flesh, detailing oaths and bonds...

What is your decision, being of flesh?

The "Peregrine" class corvette coasted along the atmosphere, in full blackout mode. All but the most important systems had been shut off, in an attempt to keep from being detected. It drifted closer to the gathering of ships, the crew inside hoping they wouldn't be detected.

"Sir?" spoke the crewman again. "Orders? Should I respond to their distress call?"

"With what? No, that thing," he said, motioning to the monstrous Chronosian vessel looming above them, "massively outguns us, we wouldn't last long in a firefight. Meanwhile, that other vessel seems to have responded. We'll stay put, see how things turn out."

"Aye, sir."

"Are there any other Navy vessels nearby?" posed the captain, wearily hoping someone that outranked him could swoop in and take over.

"Sir, the USS Dallas, "Orca" Class, but it's docked planetside and not due to leave for another month."

"Notify them of the situation at once."

RSS Hercules

Within a few tense minutes, the situation had changed dramatically. Two new vessels had entered the system. One was an unknown design and was hovering nearby doing very little; the other, however, was larger and appeared slightly familiar, and had been tentatively identified as a Halladi vessel. However, before anything could be done to call upon the technicaly friendly vessel, an urgent broadcast came through the speakers from the Kriegos vessel:

”I am Sergeant Major Aidan Harker, it is my dutee to inform you that our vessel has been boarded by a large amount of borders! We neeed help fast! Send help, anyone!“

This was the first message the Kriegos vessel had sent, and it was an urgent plea for help; their ship was being boarded, and there was no way in hell Yates was going to stand still whilst an allied vessel was boarded and occupied by enemy forces. Yates turned to the Nav Station. "Get us within boarding distance of the Kriegos vessel - immediately! Comms, send out the following message on all frequencies to that unknown vessel, and the Halladi one as well,"

This is the RSS Hercules. The Kriegos vessel we are nearing now is being boarded by unknown enemy forces. We intend to board her as well and counter this attack. Any vessels that have armed troops onboard are requested to aid our Marines in re-taking the vessel and aiding the Kriegos troops onboard the vessel. Our Marines are heavily-armed, but can be signaled with the codeword Harker.


Within a minute, the Hercules had moved to within a few metres of the Kriegos ship, opposite the Halladi vessel that had also sent boarders in via pods seemingly similar in design to the ones the Kriegos vessel had onboard. Two docking clamps were fired, latching onto the blackened hull of the Kriegos vessel. Three seconds later a hatch extended, a flexible one used for ship-to-ship boarding, and was held secure by several thick bolts penetrating the first layer of armour.

Just inside the Hatch waited five squads of Republican Marines, armed with XM-8s, Combat Shotguns and several heavy-machine guns. Half a dozen LAW AT Missiles hung in their cardboard tubes on straps across the backs of some of the Marines. In front of them two crewmembers, plastered in sweat, used acetylane torches to burn through the Kriegos hatch they had aimed for. With a resounding clang that echoed through both vessels, the hatch fell in a single, slightly charred piece, and the two crewmembers, lungs heaving, moved aside.

The first squad of Marines rushed through, weapons moving constantly for hostile targets, before moving into a dimly-lit corridor and allowing the other squads to move up behind them. Just behind this first squad strode Lieutenant Harry Giles, commander of the Hercules Marine detachment. His boots made scarping noises on the rough interior surface of the floor, but he ignored this, and began barking orders.

"First and Second Squads, secure the hatch area. Third and Fourth, take the left and right corridor and secure. Fifth Squad, follow me."

The Marines obeyed instantly, and Giles moved into the dim interior, XM-8 against his shoulder, searching for either friendly Kriegos soldiers, or other, more hostile targets. He cocked his head to one side, and spoke quietly into an attached microphone to broadcast throughout the ship.

Attention Kriegos Marines. Republican forces have boarded, and are coming to your aid. Identify yourselves.


The Marines having boarded successfully, the Hercules gently fired her thrusters, pushing herself away from the Kriegos vessel and placing herself in a defensive position a thousand metres away, weapons primed and ready for action. On the bridge, Yates prowled about incessantly, awaiting news from the Marines, or even better, reinforcements from Space Command...

Imperial Weapons Platform St. Michael, high Earth orbit

The pilots stood around the entrance to Commander Brutus' office, torrents of sweat dripping down their faces, soaking their polished black armor. They'd all decided that when presenting their after action report, they'd leave out the detail of the big alien ship. Of course, they'd HAVE to tell their commander that a Kreigos ship was now a sitting duck for boarding action.

The High Command was always interested in aquireing new technologies.

The sleek silver door slid open, revealing a dimly lit room. Stepping through the threshhold, Marius noted how sparsely decorated it was: a cheap desk bolted to the floor in the center of the room, a chair behind that, a few papers cluttered about.

"Sir, Hellspawn Squadron reporting as ordered." said Marius to the Commander, who sat with his back to them.

"Ah, yes. Come, please, sit down." replied the Commander without even turning.

The men all took seats in the three chairs bolted to the floor in front of the desk.

"You wanted to see us about the after action report, sir?"

The Commander turned at that. He had a grandfatherly look about him, yet the men knew by now this was but a ploy. He had greying hair and kind looking brown eyes. Well, kind when he wanted, at least.

”Indeed.” replied the commander casually, ”So…a Kreigos spacecraft is now adrift and is being boarded by an unknown force?” he asked with a sardonic smile.

”That’s correct sir.”

“And they explicitly requested aid from anyone?”

“That’s also correct, sir.”

Commander Brutus was most satisfied.

”Well then, it would be rude not to help them, don’t you agree, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, you are to escort a pod laden with Marines to the Kreigos craft. We shall take her intact and rip whatever technology we deem useful from her. Dismissed.”

In the darkness of deep space, Azreal stired. Slaughter, always present, had a darker tint in a certain part of the galaxy. He focused on it, and recoiled, the bitter taste of Chaos strong. He felt much fear, much anger, death and loss, and then he heard the call for help.

A bitter bile rose in the throat of his living corpse and the entire starship shuddered with his rage. In a flash, the massive ship folded from existance and reappeared in system. With little grandure, the form of a winged human was launched from the torpedo tubes in a contained boarding torpedeo. He traveled alone, laying down in the coffin sized munition. It tore through space, soon joined by dozens of others heading towards the beleagered defenders ship. As they reached it, they clamped on, and cut through the hulling, discharging thier conponents into the ahllways of the ship in flurry of black armor, and white feathered wings. STanding, Azreal looked over his mechanical form and marched down the hallway, soon joined by the rest of his raiding party. They made haste, sharpnal guns held at ready as tehy moved towards the source of the transmision.

* * * *

I am Alpha and Omega. . . I am the begining and the end. You false Gods of chaos, you wretched fear mongers. You have been judged unworth, prepare thyselves to meet your false Gods in hell.

A withering fulisade of fire ripped from the broadside guns and streaked towards the unholy vessels, the power of which was enough to shake the bulk of the Takian Godship.

The crescendo of gunfire never ended, screams sporadically pierced the din of gunfire before the ambient noises of combat claimed the airwaves once more. Klaxons screamed, pleading for non-existent Proletarian Guardsmen to relieve the embattled defenders while Chaos marines wrought havoc with the Guardsmen aboard. Then, a siren song erupted from the intercom, beautiful music to Harker’s ears, crouched down behind a barricade, his comrades rising now and again to take let rip with a Bren gun, the repeated boom threatened to deafen the Sergeant Major but the cooing song from the intercom.

“ Attention Kriegos Marines. Republican forces have boarded, and are coming to your aid. Identify yourselves.”

Harker could’ve broken down then and there, weeping in joy but the situation wouldn’t allow for such pleasure. The shuffle of equipment told him that the communications officer had finally got his bloody vox-caster to work. Private Nikani sprinted over, vox violently bashing into his back, protesting at the brutal pace, and collapsed next to Harker. Enough humour left in the wearied sergeant to make a smart comment, Harker turned to the panting private.

”Why ‘allo ‘allo, nice o’ ye to join us…”

”Enough with the smart rot sarge, them lads what over check point nine is getting’ fucking ‘ammered!” Shouted Nikani, glaring at his superior with a look of defiance not usually on the unshaven man’s face, far more accustomed to cheeky grins that face was.

“Right right…well contact that lads what talked to us over the intercom an’ said they was bein’ our mates an’ all.”

The cheeky grin that belonged on Nikani’s face split his mouth open in glee.

”Why go lookin’ suh? They’s right there.” Motioned Nikani, pointing at an XM8 wielding marine, bearing the insignia of the Grand Republic – an ally of the Collective Oligarchy.

A similar expression of merriment claimed the broad features of Harker, helmet absent from his military cut head of hair. Standing up and ignoring all the tracer fire impacting on the walls around him, he trotted over to the Republican marines, grin still rampantly commandeering his countenance. Hurriedly turning back and ordering Nikani to contact that Halladi Red Marines, pivoting and offering a jovial salute, he began with the usual xenophobia of Kriegos soldiers absent.

”Why, welcome aboard suh, enjoy your stay.” Then, turning back to the barricades, he yelled back: “Where in the name of Fedor is Johnson?”

While in the background…

”This is Proletarian Guardsmen squad #14, do you read me Halladi?”

-----

Sweat clung to his very being and the tin-scent of blood had taken up residence in Johnson’s nostrils, fighting with the familiar scent of napalm for living space. It was cramped and vile in the maintenance ways and his face held a tinge of madness: the presence of chaos didn’t bode well for the already on-edge pyromaniac. Fuel tank constantly banging against the pipes that lined the emergency lit access ways, he cursed while holding the flamethrower before him, careful not to let to damage the flamer unit. The old battered weapon had a task yet, then, red lights giving way to start neutral, Johnson’s face held a look of insane happiness as his target came into view.

It was warped, twisted, a mere parody of human life, numerous gashes and cuts decorated the foul being, chains clattering, bolted into its tortured flesh while the writings of a madman were scribbled over its pallid torso, insane scripts dangled from the thing and it truly was the pinnacle of insanity. It was calling to the Proletarian Guardsmen, telling them to lay down arms and accept them as rulers: something Johnson wasn’t too keen on doing. Safely concealed in the narrow maintenance way, looking out into the corridor, rationality and the voices struggled. The voice of rationality, was but a whisper now, the voices of vengeance and bloodshed now echoed in the pyromaniac’s mind with potency. The voices told him this thing needed to be burnt, the voices told him that he was doing Nikolai’s will.

“Being of flesh…” Whispered Johnson, sending a jet of napalm fuelled flame at the tortured meat daemon, a silhouette dancing in the burning flames that lapped at protesting flesh.

-----

Darlington’s eyes leapt from his pistol to the figure of death, each competing for his vision, however, a new contender for his sight arose and the Admiral was quickly entranced by a most attractive image was displayed on a console, crewman who should be manning it cowering under his chair, not daring move out into the corridor even with the Chaos warrior’s back turned, not out of fear of the daemon itself but rather the fact that the din of battle outside the doors told of a worse time in the warren of corridors.

“It’s beautiful…” Moaned Darlington, his eyes locked on the relayed image that was one of the godships of Taka. Nothing mattered to Darlington, not the the slow pounding footsteps of the Chaos marine, not the screams of his comrades outside the door, not the din of gunfire. Just the beautiful godship.

The dim red light reflected off of the sweat drenched faces of the Doom Marines. Sitting facing one another, eight men sat crammed in a tiny boarding pod. Their black armor was meticulously polished; a golden skull adorning the center. These were some of the toughest men the Empire had at her disposal. Their leader, Lieutenant Kaeso Gnaeus, had been a Marine in space for nearly twenty years, and it showed. His face was pale; a sharp contrast from his desert-bound brethren, his eyes a dull grey. His bald head merely added to the ferocity of the man.

As the pod drifted closer and closer, the men prepared for boarding action. Thoughts raced through Kaeso's mind; not a very good thing on the eve of battle. He had been instructed to leave nothing alive when the ship was stormed, to jettison the bodies out the airlock. The Kreigos government would be told that when the Marines boarded the ships, there were no bodies.

This would hopefully make those dirty commies rethink their position on the conquest of space.

Kaeso grinned at that thought. Tapping a button on his gauntlet, a hood of metal deployed over his head, a tinted plexiglass visor concealing his face, like the rest of the men. He had some of the most advanced infantry equipment known to man at his disposal. However, he didn't know the half of it...

The pod shuddered as it impacted the hull of the Kreigos vessel and a sharp hissing sound emminated from the door as it was sliced through with several high-powered plasma cutters.

Shouldering his weapon, he prepared to storm aboard. Being the closest to the door, he was also the most likely to be killed early on. He never bothered to reflect on that. Upon hearing the section of hull fall inwards, he braced himself. The door flung open, and he rushed out the threshhold, immediatly taking up a defensive position around the new entrance to the ship.

His men followed suit, their automatic rifleman deploying his bipod and laying prone. The sound of gunfire and screams came from further down the hallway. The walls were red, as expected. Of course, upon further inspection, Kaeso realised this wasn't paint at all...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Imperial Weapons Platform St. Michael

Smiling wryly amidst the flame from the candel, Commander Brutus reflected on the attrocity he was about to commit. The attrocity he reflected on was not that of the extermination of the Kreigos crew, but something far more sinister. This was an affront to mankind and God Himself.

Was it this truley worth it? This heathen science, would this truley bring greatness to his people? If not, would it at least bring him glorly, wealth, fame, and whatever it is that make men great?

This question bounced about within his head. He had, long ago, come to what he felt was the correct answer: Yes.

Now he merely reflected on what he had seen as a past weakness: a refusal to instantly decide what was obviously correct. That to him was weakness.

And weakness lead to heresy, did it not? And what did heresy lead to?

Death. he told himself.

If he continued on this path of weakness, he would be killed for it. And, so, he now made what he saw as pennance for his past weakness. His strength would lead to the rise of his nation as a far greater power than it was. He would be remembered in history as a great man.

This was, after all, exactly what he wanted. Immortality. To be remembered for all time, weather for good or ill. He preferred the former.

Tapping several buttons on his desk console, a touch screen display arose from the steel desk. Smirking, he imputted the correct passcode. The screen now displayed the vital signs of the Marine squad.

Initiate conversion?... asked the console, humming in perfect harmony with the hum of the station's fission reactor.

Grinning and punching in several more combinations of buttons, he initiated what was to be remembered as...well, it really wouldn't be remembered all that well. At least not for many thousands of years. He would have his fame, just not in the way he expected. Or was it?


Conversion=True
Conversion process engaged...
Standby...

Now he could only wait and watch. And watch he did. Exiting out of that program, he switched over to a display of the Marines' helmet cameras, the names of the doomed men listed above the individual views. And there he watched them rip each other apart...

Onboard Kriegos Vessel

Despite the heavy amount of tracer hitting the walls and deck around him, as his men opened fire on the enemy soldiers in aid of the beleagured Kriegos Marines, Lieutenant Giles could not help but crack a quick smile at the almost comic crude wit of the Kriegos sergeant, who was crouching besides him. He turned to the man; "Well, we thought we'd come along and see what the trouble was, old man" Giles said, ducking and then rising to fire a short burst at another dark shadow nearby, then crouching again, as a Marine pulled the pin from a fragmentation grenade and tossed it over his cover, a piece of charred and blackened grating.

The grenade exploded in a ball of fire and vicious fragments that almost blinded Giles in the cramped and darkened interior. Giles turned back in time to see one Marine go down, his chest burning from what must have been an incendiary round. The man screamed and thrashed on the ground, pain etched on his face as another Marine, given covering fire, dashed out and pulled him into cover, the deck about him being spattered with rounds as he managed to pull the grievously wounded man into cover, his screams mingling with the sounds of war and echoing down the corridor

"Well, enough chit-chat. Shall we get back to business the..." Giles' words were cut off as he finally saw one of the enemy soldiers come through the corridor towards him. He had been expecting other humans, perhaps aliens, but this...he couldn't believe his eyes. The...thing was tall, covered in some kind of thick black armour that had scales and ridges, thick with blood, and hefting some sort of large weapon and what appeared to be an axe. It seemed twisted and tortured, something that had been human, but was not quite human anymore. It had chains hanging from it, and lettering spattered with blood that Giles could not read, and had an urge not to read, and it screamed at him with a force he had never heard before as it moved; indeed, with only the weak, incessant light of a klaxon flashing on and off around the corridor, and the irregular strobe of gunfire, the flickering light made the figure look almost...demonic in nature.

Giles blinked once, then shook his head at the preposterous idea. Demons, indeed. What a lot of rubbish. He selected three-round burst on the XM8 in his grip, reared up and fired several bursts into the creature, whilst shouting for his men to do the same. Behind him, the men of fifth platoon opened fire, a crescendo of lighter XM-8 rounds, the heavier rumble of the M-60 machine gun one had perched on an upturned barrel, and the screech of an AT-4 Missile being fired and streaking down the corridor towards the foul beasts within it.

Giles again added his own contribution, emptying his clip into another beast before crouching by the Kriegos sergeant, changing the clip, and cocking his head to one side again. "First and Second platoon, support Fifth and Fourth to advance and clear this corridor. Third platoon stay at the airlock and provide security. Grenadiers, give me some firepower on whatever the hell those things are we're fighting."

Immediately, Giles orders came into being. His men began laying down covering fire and advancing in pairs and threes from piece of cover to cover, ducking from returned fire and returning their own, mixing their tracers with the heavy whump of greandes being fired and another two rockets being let loose down the already ruined corridor, unguided but seeking flesh. Giles began to move with his men when he heard another noise nearby; it sounded like some sort of insane brawl, with men screaming and choking and screams of pain, as if...as if they were tearing themselves apart. Giles' eyes widened a fraction, but turned away. He had more important things to deal with, and Third Platoon could deal with whatever that was.

He went to move, when a thought occured to him, unbidden, yet welcome. He ducked down again, and fumbled in a zipped pocket for something. Ducking from an errant bolter blast, he finally pulled out what he had been searching for; a small compact disc. He slipped it into the small drive on his belt, and turned it on, selecting the 'External' option. Immediately, the wild, skirling notes of a bagpipe came from the speakers in his helmet, and filled the air around him and his men. Smiling, Giles moved on, firing...

Planet Earth, Geosynchronous Orbit

The Destroyer, UKCS York was about a kilometre ahead of the fleet, pulling round an orbit of the Earth for "the cameras", which where nationalised tv satellites, when it spotted several ships not so far from it. Captain Adam Brown, the thirty eight year old Captain of the York strolled around the bridge over to the Detection/Comms Ensign. Leaning over the control substation, and the Ensign's shoulder, he could see several red blips getting closer and closer.

"Do we have any recognition Ensign?"

"No sir..they're not coming up as any of our registered ships. Then again, our databases aren't exactly huge. What I mean by that is, it's not say, A Star Destroyer, or a Tie Fighter, or something like that."

Brown turned around quickly and looked outside the main bridge window..turning back to the substation he said "Bring up Bow Camera D, pan it over to that one there." The ensign did so without replying an affirmative, and the pan gave the two a view of the ship they had targeted. On it's side, in neat block writing, was RSS Hercules.

"Bingo. Ensign, give me a reco-scan on RSS."

"Alright Skipper..here we go. RSS, Republic of Skinny Ship. (Did I guess right? ;))"

Adam smiled. "Good work Ensign. Comms, fetch me a line to the Hood."

##"Admiral Rayes here, what've you got for me son"###[CODEREDPRIORITY:SIGNALBEGIN]

##"Sir, this is the York, we have unidentified vessels and a Republican vessel on scans and on visual. orders? "###[CODEREDPRIORITY:TRANSMIT]

##"Cut your engines son. Let us take care of the rest. good work. Rayes out. "###[CODEREDPRIORITY:SIGNALEND]

Planet Earth, Geosynchronous Orbit, UKCS Hood

"Comms, open me a wide band transmit, range approximately eighty klicks. Then get me Alpha, Bravo Wing and Foxtrot Wing on escort patterns, transmit my navigational orders for the fleet and do it YESTERDAY!" Rayes barked.

"Aye Aye Skipper!"

Sure enough, the Formidable fell in behind the Hood, the three destroyers flanking the two ships slightly below them and in a delta pattern. the interceptors spread out, the fourty eight ish craft bringing themselves into two groups on either side of the flanking destroyers, in between the Hood and it's smaller escorts. It was always part of Hogsweat's agenda to do things forcefully first and diplomacy later, and why not take this into space? the fleet acellerated to fourty two knots and pushed forwards, ripping through kilometres of space to the side of the foreign vessels.

##"This is Star Admiral Rayes of the Hogsweatian United Kingdom Space Command, UKCS Hood, First Battlegroup, will all vessels in the area please identify their nationality and intent. Our Battlegroup is here on our first launch, we have no aggressive intent. Rayes out."###[WIDEBAND:SIGNALBEGIN]

Bridge, RSS Hercules

Yates was agitated more than ever, both anxious and nervous, awaiting news from Lieutenant Giles or of reinforcements. Suddenly, the Comms Station lit up with activity. In a flash Yates was there, leaning over the shoulder of the constantly harrassed Comms officer and reading the transmision coming in. It was not, however, from Giles, or even from RSF Headquarters. It came from several Hogsweatian vessels on an intercept course:

##"This is Star Admiral Rayes of the Hogsweatian United Kingdom Space Command, UKCS Hood, First Battlegroup, will all vessels in the area please identify their nationality and intent. Our Battlegroup is here on our first launch, we have no aggressive intent. Rayes out."###

Yates frowned; he'd had no idea that Hogsweat even had any vessels in space, let alone that many. Still, they were close allies and needed to be warned of the situation. Literally pushing the Comms officer from his seat with a scowl, Yates sat down heavily and began typing out a messagem which he transmitted to the incoming fleet:

Star Admiral Rayes. This is Commander Yates, commanding the Republican Space Ship Hercules. We have a priority situation ongoing here, and some help would be appreciated. The damaged vessel you can detect is a Kriegos vessel, and the larger, rather horrific vessel is somekind of chaotic enemy vessel that has boarded the Kriegos vessel. To the port is a Halladi vessel that is aiding us in boarding and re-taking the Kriegos vessel from the alien boarders. We have been unable to identify the other two alien vessels, though the larger one has commenced a bombardment of the alien vessel that is boarding the Kriegos vessel.
Any assistance you could give would be welcome, including another boarding party to aid the Kriegos vessel. Yates out.

Three men had died on inpact. Not even their state-of-the-art armour could protect them from a head on collision with a Kriegos ship. And still, Lieutenant Abdul-Ahser was disturbed by this place. The Collective Oligarchy gave their crewmen cramped space to work in, with dime lighting and a cold, empty feel to everything. This feeling was worsened when a squad of Halladis entered one of the mess halls. Alteast twenty men had been slaughtered in this room. But what could do this carnage, and how many of them were there?

The wounds of the dead Kriegos were peculiar ones. They looked as though they had exploded from the inside, like someone shoved grenades down their throats. But that of course was a ludicris explanation.

A door opened on the other side of the room, and the men spun around to see who was there. A Kriegos crewman, looking like he'd seen a ghost ran out, screaming. Some men would have shot on instict, but the Red Space Marines were taught otherwise, so this man lived. For a moment more, atleast, as a shot went off, but not from a Halladi. A projectile came whizing out from the hallway in which the Kriegos had arrived, and tagged him the in the back. He went down, and much to the surprise of the Halladis, he tourso exploded.

A hulking creature, clearly in armour, was now in the doorway. It was disgusting, just looking at it made the Halladis cringe. A message rang through their helmets, from the Sergeant leading them.

"Fire at will!"

The Sergeant relayed back to Lieutenant Abdul-Ahser.

"Hostile encountered! Send support."

The Halladis fired at the creature of Chaos, but it seemed their weapons had no effect. Even the squads machine gun seemed to bouce off the creature. Finally the man with the RPG-7 took aim and fired. The RPG knocked the foul creature down, but not out. The creature stood up again, took aim while the Halladis fired at it, and fired its own massive weapon. Two shots went off from the weapon, one killing a Halladi. The other bounced off of the Sergeants armour, and richoceting (sp?) off the wall before exploding. Another RPG was fire, and this time the creature was killed.

The Sergeant reported in to the Lieutenant. This fight was going to be a difficult one...

Elsewhere on the Kriegos ship

Sergeant Hasan and his men suddenly got a transmission. He wasn't exactly sure what the "Proletarian Guardsmen" were, but they assumed they were Kriegos troops. With a silent order, the man took up firing positions, incase it was a trap.

"Proletarian Guardsmen Squad 14, this is Sergeant Hasan of the Hallad Red Marines. What is your current position, and do you need any supplies?"

OOC:

Chronosia: Sorry if I got kinda godmody there. Not like I was trying to control your men and stuff, it's just I wanted my men to encounter a chaos marine to get across the point that they're a bitch to kill. I can edit it if you'd like.

Three centuries of warfare. . . three centuries since the line between man, machine, and God had been blured by Adam and annihilated by the Cain and Abel projects. Three centuries since his torn form was pulled from the shattered bridge of his flagship and was made a God incarnate. The searing pain from his scars reminded him of the price he had paid to lose his mortality, and he gave a slight chuckle that reverberated from both his robotic angel form and the massive Godship still drifting lazily between blasts from its weapons bateries.

The screams of battle raged inside the ship as guardmen were ripped apart by the brutaly efficent marines. Azreal was ripped from his revery as he rounded a courner and saw the backs of guardsmen desperalty holding the line against the armored goliaths approaching under a withering but futile line of fire. He unsheathed his blade and charged the Kriegos line. He lept over it, wings spread as he glided with wingtips brushing the walls and a few stray shots bouncing harmlessly off of the silver, slightly luminessent feathers.

THOU SHALLT DIE, TRAITOROUS DOGS!

It was more a thought than a shout, more a command than a simple battle cry.

He and his men lept over the barricaded troops and crashed into the armored jugernauts, long, blue bladed bastardswords out and shrieking with furry as it ripped through flesh, armor, and ship plating with equal ease. He felt the heavy bite of an ax and smiled with sadistic glee as it squeeled and spit teeth from the ax head as it fouled in his armor and ripped apart. He grabbed the marine by the chest plate, fingers biting hard enough to cause the thick plate to creak and groan. The demi-man snarled in rage and a meaty hand wrapped in thick armor plating grabbed his sword arm hard enough to cause him to winch. They grappeled for a moment, the beast of Chaos matching the robotic body in strength. A blur and a blue ionic trail shattered the beast's body and head, ripping chunks of steel, bone, flesh and gore from the armored hulk. The stench of Ozone filled the air, and Azreal threw the body aside, leveling his shrapenal gun down the hallway. When he found no others, he turned slowly to the guardmen and bowed slightly to the stunned defenders before he and his squad of angelic beings hurried towards the bridge.

Harker couldn’t believe he was unaware of such brilliance on the vessel he guarded, such beautiful, wonderful perfection and he wasn’t aware of it. Comrade Leader Fedorenkov had sent his angelic warriors, beings of brilliance and love had come to the aid of Nikolai’s chosen. Slowly but surely, shell-shocked soldiers arose, confused at the heavenly beings and held in the paralysis of awe and uncertainty. It was one of those moments that demanded leadership. Completely ignoring the Republican marines, he screamed out in a tone of holy zeal to his fellow Guardsmen.

”Comrades! Nikolai Fedorenkov himself has summoned his mighty guardians, beings of pure divinity! Now! Onwards comrades! Onwards for the Comrade Leader!”

He spoke like a true priest of war and the temporary absence of the proletarian accent only added to his circumstantial nobility. With that, he charged forward, clearing himself over the barricade and pelted after the implements of divine intervention, and with a mighty roar, the rest of the Proletarian Guardsmen followed suit…

-----

The magnificence on the monitor that captivated Darlington so began to fade, and in its place, a more powerful, an infinitely more powerful glory approached and drew the Admiral’s eyes to the sliding doors. It was warm, the feeling of salvation rushed through Darlington’s body with a quiver, provoking a deep and audible breath from him. The ideas of bravery and reassurance of safety planted themselves in the fragile mind of the Fleet Admiral, rising to his feet from the cowering position he was previously entombed in.

“Pathetic enemy of Fedor, my Comrade Leader’s architects of divinity come, you’d do best to flee you pathetic dog.”

With his back straight, Darlington locked gazes with this foul creature, the same sight that had chilled him to the core only minutes before was now a distant worry with the impending arrival of his saviours so near…

Kriegos Vessel

Harry Giles was not a religious man by any high standards. The Grand Republic was, on the whole, rather an atheist nation, and state religion had long ago withered and died away to be replaced with...well, nothing really. Giles had never prayed to any god or deity, nor had he ever really believed in that sort of thing.

Until now.

He had turned away from the insane growlings and howls behind him, and had jumped up, firing at one of the hideous abominations in front of him, when he had heard a shout behind him from one of his men. He had half-turned, expecting more of the abominations to be behind him; what he had seen instead was...perfection. Pure, untarnished good. An angel stood before him, wings moving slightly, as if in a breeze, silver sword in hand, and behind this magnificence stood more angels, all armed for battle. They moved forward against the fire of the hideous creatures as if nothing were before them.

A light seemed to glow around them, pale, white and pur, and the sounds of the horrific fighting around them slowly died away. Giles stood, mouth open in awe at these heavenly, celestial bodies, and as the first moved past him, it looked briefly at him as time seemed to slow down. It was the briefest of looks, yet for Giles it seemed to last an eternity. Suddenly, time seemed to move forward again, as if even time had been held in awe by these angelic beings, and he dimly heard the Kriegos sergeant next to him shout a command to everyone,

”Comrades! Nikolai Fedorenkov himself has summoned his mighty guardians, beings of pure divinity! Now! Onwards comrades! Onwards for the Comrade Leader!”

The words jolted Giles out of his daze, and he grabbed his XM-8 as if it were a staff, and waved it over his head, as if he were a standard bearer in a holy crusade. He turned to follow the angels and shouted to his men as he followed the sergeant over the barricade. "For the Republic, and for the gods. Onwards, drive the abominations out of this holy place!" The words did not seem to fit properly, as if someone else was manipulating his tounge and mouth, yet his men, also in awe of the angels, heard the hoarse yell and jumped up, weapons blazing at the chaotic, hellish pariahs. Giles turned and fired another burst at one of the abominations and charged, shouting as he did so...

The Marines whirled and danced like flailing engines of destruction, as the Daemonhost shrugged off its cowl and hissed; the air around it crackling static as its warp-spawned will was done; the warp energy coalesced about it; searing the deck, crackling through the computer systems, as it sensed each and every death. Countless of the Chronosian's fell, their deaths spurring their allies on to greater madness and bloodlust; the great hulking warrior on the deck roared as he plunged forth to meet his enemies.

"As you return to the stars" The Daemonhost hissed "So the blood of many is spilt; as you forsook your gods; now your gods forsake you. The blood of countless races stain your virgin flight; and now, it shall remain forever a memory of your attempt to touch the stars."

The Marines brought chainsword and axe to bear upon their foes, even as scathing enemy fire tore at their armor and bit at their flesh; they brought bolters to bear against alien weapons; and gouts of Plasma filled the air.

"Bring us foes! Fresh foes to slay for Khorne! Fresh skulls for his throne!"

Something pierced the side of Kaeso's neck, and he winced in pain. Suddenly, he found himself becoming numb. The world around seemed to blur. He was changing. He could feel it. His very blood seemed to boil within his veins. He began to feel doubts about the mission, about the Empire's glorious conquest of space. Then he remembered the Inquisition was watching.

But where were the Inquisitors?

As his vision darkened, he remembered that the only men currently with him were his Brother Marines. That meant only one thing: there was an Inquisitor in their midst. If they knew what he was thinking....

He realized he must take action. A new anger began to boil over within himself. He suddenly stood up straight and looked from face to face at his men.

"Sir, are you alright?" asked one of the men.

He is the obvious traitor. thought Kaeso to himself, glaring at the man that dared address him in this moment of chaos.

As he concentrated on this new suspect, all else seemed to fade. The world began to blacken once more, but not this foe. Even amidst the darkness of the corridor, he appeared clear as day. As he recollected more on this man, he realised that he had been acting more tense than usual. On the pod, he had prayed allowed. Normally they would do so in silence.

As more and more suspicions boggled his mind, he was once more interrupted.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" asked the man once more.

That was the last straw. Tapping a button on his wrist pad, Kaeso's faceplate detatched itself and fell to the ground. Looks of shock consumed the Marines behind their visors as they beheld their changed leader:

His skin had turned a solid grey color, his many honorable scars now festering on their own though they had been fine just minutes before. But that wasn't what horrified them. His eyes. They were now a bright shade of red.

Reeling back, the man shouldered his rifle. Kaeso let out an ear curdling roar in response and drew his blade, quickly letting off a back-handed slash, catching his former comrade in the throat. A jet stream of blood spewed out, soaking the Lieutenant, who quickly brought the blade back and jammed it into the gut of the man behind him.

What happened next was dazzling to Kaeso, for to him it all seemed to be a dream. He moved with unnatural speed, butchering the men he had known and trusted for so long in a matter of seconds. When all had gone quiet he looked at their remains: severed limbs and heads, torrents of blood circulating about the hall. To this he grinned; he had achieved a strength he previously though impossible.

To him, there was only one thing to do at this stage: complete the mission. There would be no Inquisitors hampering him now.

"Squad Broken!" Yelled a voice, it ressounated throughout the Halladis helmets.

The remaining four men of Squad 6 ran for their lives, as their baracade was overrun by disgusting creatures of Chaos. The ran into the next room, closing the door behind them. An axe slammed through the door, hitting one man, who was holding the door, on the head. He wasn't dead, he took off his helmet and threw it aside. It was useless now.

He didn't take to much time before he started runnning again, into a different room. He waited for the door the get knocked down in the room he was just in. It wasn't knocked down. It melted. Some sort of plasma weapon had been used... and it could be used at him. He shut the door. This time he ran, with his comrades, to the next room. Only two rooms over was the next barricade. They ran to it, knowing their lives were on the line.

One man radioed to the men ahead of him, to make sure they didn't open fire. They opened the door, hoped over the barricade, and took a deep breath.

"What the fuck happened?" One man from the Fire Team that's stationed at the barricade asked.

"No time to explain." He ponted his gun at the door. "Get ready to shoot..."

The soldier cursed, then checked his weapon. It was in working order. The was a bang, and the door creaked. There were five of them, five servents of Chaos on the other side of the door.

And they came; door breaking under their onsalught as they poured in, axes and swords swinging; bolters roaring in the darkness of the ship. One lunged forward; plunging into the enemy line, roaring and screaming his dark prayers with fervent devotion; while the others steadily advanced, bolters roaring, blades hungry. One fell, torn asunder by enemy fire; slumping down dead in the corridor; blood oozing over his armor, knowing it mattered litrtle if he lived or died here...

For Khorne cares not from where the blood flows; so long as it flows....

"Onwards Brothers! Onwards! We shall cleanse this entire ship, one room at a time! Feel the warp take you over; feel it fuel you! Kill our enemies, FOR KHORNE!"

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

Onboard Kriegos Vessel

The angels had triumphed over the daemons of chaos. Giles and his men had stood alongside the heavenly bodies as they had torn apart the abominations with their bare hands and their pure swords that gleamed so brightly; Giles himself had killed one of the pariahs by emptying an entire clip from his XM-8 into the foul creatures head until it disintegrated in a mess of blood, gore and pure evil, spattering his armour with its remains.

The entire fight could not have lasted more than two minutes, yet alongside the angels it had seemed to last for hours, every second stretching into an hour, every minute seeming like an entire day; Giles had seen every movement, every second of the chaos in crystal clarity, and it had confused him, yet still he went on, fighting the chaotic beasts. Now, the skirmish was over, leaving nothing but a battle-scarred deck and dozens of bodies. The entire corridor was wrecked; bullet holes were in every possible surface like some bizarre acne, alongside hideous plasma burns and blackened surfaces from grenades and blasters detonations.

Wreckage lay everywhere, scattered as the crude Kriegos barricade had been broken by the fighting; only a few things remained recognisable. A chair lay on its side, pitted with bullet holes, whilst next to it, a tube had been knocked from the ceiling, and spurts of steam moved across the deck in fitful clouds. There were several small fires burning, one seemingly out of control, but there was no time to stop and even put it out; there remained many Chaos fighters onboard the vessel; their gleeful shouts and twisted words could even now be heard echoing along the length of the vessel.

Giles stepped gingerly over the body of a dead Chaos marine, body contorted in a deathly rigormortis, and stared blankly at the bodies that also covered the deck. There were dozens of them, mostly clustered around the barricade itself; here, a Kriegos Marine lay slumped over a piece of upturned grating, killed defending the barricade, and there, by the steampipe, lay the remains of two of Giles' Marines, torn apart by a bolster blast at the cusp of victory. Many of the corpses were chaos, but some, far too many, were Kriegos and Republican. A heavy price had been paid here, and it was only the intervention of the angels that had won the battle.

Giles moved aside as one of his two medics, wounded Marine at his side, arm over the medics shoulder, moved past for treatment; the mans arm was twisted and had a savage cut in it that was bleeding profusely. Oddly enough there was little sound, apart from the cries of the few wounded and the quiet snarl of the flickering fire; the silence itself told of the death and suffering, and of the exhaustion of the survivors. Suddenly, a grenade exploded up ahead, there was the pounding of feet, and sudden cries of the chaos beasts nearby.

Giles shook himself out of his reverie, grabbed his rifle and motioned to his surviving men to follow him, all thirty-five of them. In sqauds the moved out at a trot, and rounded the corridor corner, Giles in the lead, to see more of the abominations fighting through a doorway; one lay dead at the floor, but more crowded through the doorway, towards faint sounds of gunfire. Giles stopped suddenly, bought his assault rifle to bear. They would hit the foul creatures from behind and make them suffer.

He turned and shouted; "Open fire!", before crouching down and letting loose a burst from his XM8 as his men did the same; a dozen other rifles fired, a grenade sailed through the air towards the beasts, and even a LAW rocket streaked through the air...

The Marines roared; sandwiched between prey and predator; one whirled, only to be struck by the rocket; showering his comrades in flesh and armor as they bellowed; lashign out left and right; some whirled, plunging itno the new front; while the others continued to slay their foes; determined to kill as many as they could.

Far above; the Daemonhost hovered above the ground, flesh contorting obscenely as it hissed and snarled; its psychic waves echoing through the ship; loud for those with any kind of telepathic 'gift'; yet a seductive whisper to the others; its warp-spawned madness penetrating the vessel.

Sons of Chaos; fight onwards; they are many but you are the chosen of the Gods! Fight! It chuckled softly; glancing about it; crackling with energy

Many had died; many more would die; but the dead would pile higher on the enemies side. Who would of thought that the return of the divine would be so painful?

One man coughed up blood as an axe chopped into him, it oozed out from the neck joint of his helmet. He was still firing, but it was into the ceiling. The Halladis armed bayonets, two stabbing at the marine. The machine gun kept roaring, and the men kept firing even as two of them were cut apart by bolter fire. The sergeant, with a pistol and combat knife out, radioed for reinforcements even while he fire his weapon.

There were five of them... maybe four now. The Halladis weren't sure. But it only took five of them to take out six Halladis, and take no cassualties. These men were fortunate. Men from the Grand Republic had come to aid them, trapping the Chaos Marines between a deadly crossfire.

There were two more Halladis on the way, and the Sergeant stopped using his comlink. He went to join the two Halladis fighting the one Chaos Marine behind the barricade, but a bolter round struck him in the leg, and he fell.

"Man down! Man down! Get medics up here!"

Onboard the Kriegos Vessel

The heavy fire from Giles' men and the remaining Halladi Marines had cut down many of the chaos beasts, and one had exploded in a gory yet rather spectacular spray of blood and limbs. Yet they were tough fighters, and there were many of them to Giles' dismay. His men had taken cover and were putting up a good show of themselves, but they were only a few, perhaps too few.

Next to Giles, a Marine peeked his head over an upturned panel and fell back suddenly, his head gone from the jaw upwards, spraying Giles with a fine mist of blood; another Marines went down with a thud on the floor, screaming in pain as he was dragged away by the over-worked Medics to the rear of the corridor. Despite these casualties, the Marines continued their heavy barrage, deploying their two light machine guns now and turning their firepower on the beasts. Giles pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed it over his head towards the enemy troops, then cocked his head to one side and began relaying orders.

Third Squad, move from the airlock and move to our position to give covering fire; Hercules, this is Lieutenant Giles. We need reinforcements immediately, bring in fifth and sixth squad immediately!

He was cut off in mid-shout as suddenly several of the enemy rushed his position, screaming hatred and firing their weapons. One Republican Marine went down, and his comrades managed only a few more rounds before the foul creatures reached their position, and hand to hand combat broke out. Giles fired at one of the beasts who came towards him before it came too close, and it was upon him. It grappled with his rifle, its horrific face only inches from Giles' as he wrestled the rifle away from it; its grip was tremendously strong, and its breath vile, and Giles' eyes watered from the stench and the pain. Suddenly, he fell back as he lost his balance, and both he and the creature came crashing down in a snarling, writhing heap. Giles pushed at the beasts face, struggling to move, even breath; panic began to seep into his mind as he thrashed about. Suddenly, the thing went taut, then slumped over. Giles pushed the bulk off of him to see a Marine, ducked behind a crate, his bayonet bloody. The man checked that Giles had survived before turning his attention to the rest of the battle.

Giles pushed the heavy bulk away from him completely to see his men fighting with the creatures hand to hand; they were using pistols, bayonets, rifle butts and even their bare hands. No quarter was asked for, and none given...

Picking up the Republican's call for help, six pods discharged from the destroyer York each filled with a fireteam full of trigger happy marines, prepared to investigate what the hell was going on and to get a piece of the action. When they were approximately halfway towards the Kriegos ship, two pods split off from the main group and proceeded to slam into the vessel hard, only about a hundred metres down from another transport that had latched onto the vessel prior to the Hogsweatian arrival [cue Doomingslandi freak], and the other four began to slow as they latched onto another deck.

The door of the pod grabbed onto the metal hull of the Kriegos ship, if you were on the inside it wouldn't have been odd to have seen sparks flying off the wall as a superpowered welder cut a hole in four different parts of the wall, eventually the wall would be kicked down and out of each section would storm eight heavily armoured Marines (http://members.tripod.com/yugiohs_dragon/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/characters_marines.jpeg)

They dashed out, silently, crouching, spreading to corners were cover could be used [anyone played 343 guilty spark will know what I mean] Using hand commands and nothing else the platoon of thirty two moved silently around corners and up stairs to try and meet up with some friendlies. They packed Spenfield mk8s and 8 bore shotguns, perfect close combat weapons.

Doomingslandian pod
The marines that landed nearby fanned out, the vanguard watching their backs and they proceeded down the corridor carefully. To their horror though, they turned the corridor, and blood splashed against the walls told the telltale signs of a murder- as did the bodies on the floor. And as they looked from side to side, from the floor upwards, something was looking at them- and whatever it was, it did this.

Third Platoon

The ten Marines left behind to guard the docking hatch cut open by the Hercules crewmen had been monitoring the radio transmissions of the firefights between their comrades and the alien boarders, and had become increasingly tense at the fact that they could not aid their friends in battle with what they had heard one Marine near the barricades refer to as daemons before a burst of fire had cut the channel off from them. Nervousness and tension do not go well together in the professional soldier, on an unknown ship; especially when there had been extremelyweird sounds coming from around them, noises that animals would usually make, mingled with screams and bursts of gunfire.

Sergeant Sam O'Keefe was in command of Third Platoon, and he was crouched by the corner to the Corridor, slightly ahead of his men. He gripped his XM8 in a deathgrip, and sweat beaded down his forehead as he strained to hear anything from the darkened corridor. Suddenly, there came a tremendous bang that echoed around the walls and corridor, and the quiet tramp of feet. O'Keefe was reminded of when he had arrived on this godforsaken vessel, and realised that someone had breached the vessels side. The question was - Who?

The clang had been heard by the other members of Third Platoon, and there was a chorus of muted clicks as safties came off, and ten pairs of eyes roved the darkness in front of them. There came the sound of soft footsteps, and O'Keefe readied his rifle, before peeking slowly around the corner. He saw nothing for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness; then he saw a figure emerge, dressed much like him, and holding an unfamiliar rifle. O'Keefe lined his rifles sights up, and put tension on the trigger...

The figure was ten feet away...

Five...and there were more of them...

Three...

Suddenly through the darkness, O'Keefe recognised the symbol of the nationstate of Hogsweat, the closest ally of the Grand Republic. Relaxing slightly, he moved slowly out, and called to the man. Sergeant O'Keefe, Republican Marine Corp. We're friendlies, don't fire! O'Keefe smiled at the sight of reinforcements, and was about to move out to greet the man when his headmike crackled, and Lieutenant Giles voice came out, shrouded in static and loud gunfire,

Third Squad, move from the airlock and move to our position to give covering fire!

O'Keefe swore; no time to meet the reinforcements. "Allright boys, looks like we're needed with the Lieutenant. Lets move out. Go!" He turned to the approaching Hogsweatian troops. "The main battle's going on further down with the Halladis and the Kriegos blokes. Want to tag along?" With that, Third Platoon double-timed it past the Hogsweatians and moved towards the Lieutenants position...

The Deamonhost reeked of corruption and chaos. . .a taint that soaked through the entire ship and caused the walls to pulse with a black energy perceptive to only the angelic warriors. The scent of blood was so thick that the biological units could taste it. Azreal stopped at the T junction, motioning his force back to clear the body of the ship.

"You." he said simply to one of the Skinny Republic marines. . . the man who seemed to be in charge. "Bring a flamer. . . and come with me, send your men back to clear the ship. We two have a deamon to kill." He strode off towards the bridge, following the feel of chaos. He stopped at the elevator to the bridge, sheering away the steel as if it were paper with his blade. Silently, he slipped into the shaft and climbed up to the bridge, cracking the elevator and slipping wordlessly into the room behind the marines and the Daemonhost.

"We meet again, servant of the welp Khorne. . . " He said simply, motioning for the skinnian to remain hidden in the shaft. "Face me. . . fase god against the Angel of Death. . . One on one. . . or does your false god fear gettign into even fights? Are you a coward, afraid of battle who must hide behind your troops?"

As he mocked the being of Chaos, he activated his personal shields, and loaded his sharpnel gun, setting it to full auto setting.

You have odd ideas of honor; little one. This is not the place for our duel; not with your kin like cattle all about us. Khorne is no coward; but he chooses his battles wisely; where the most blood can be spilled It tilted its head softly, foricng forward with insidious and corrupting mind towards he who challenged him; its body crackling with psychic force; the great horns upon its head gleaming with white bone.

What are you hiding from me, little one? What is it within that skull of yours, what are you planning? It surged forth, its mind implacable; thrusting, scratching at his mind.

The Hogsweatens were indeed being watched. just a few feet above their heads, Kaeso was perched upside down over an open ventalation shaft, his bright red eyes glowering through the darkness. He breathed in an unhuman fashion, a sticky, drool-like substance eminating from his mouth and impacting the floor below him, dripping down ever so slowly, sticking together in a long string.

Suddenly, he sensed that these foes were becoming suspicious. Kicking off from his perch to the ventalation shaft, he crawled at remarkable speed on all fours, causing the cieling to shudder as he moved. He had obviously been heard, for the sound of voices became louder and louder from the area he had just fled.

As he moved, he hit a loose board, causing him to fall out of the shaft onto the blood-soaked floor below. He was just down the hall from the Marines, who turned to see what was the ruckuss.

He looked absolutely meanacing: his blood-soaked Gladius in his right hand, drawn back, prepared to strike, his black armor now coated with the blood of his former comrades, his eyes wide with anger, his teeth barred, his now-grey skin making him appear truely nightmarish. The one thing that remained untouched was the polished golden skull that adorned his breastplate, showing his allegiance to the Hogsweatens, who had had more than enough unfortunate experiences with Doomingslanders. And then he let out a roar. This was no roar to come from a human. Nor from any animal from Earth.

This was the roar of some unholy creature not meant to exist in this universe.

Kriegos Vessel Bridge

One moment Giles had been staggering to his feet, dead daemon by his side, watching his men fighting the other chaos soldiers around him, the next the entire corridor had slowed; time came through as a trickle as the Angel approached in a haze of pure white light. Giles looked around at the scene unfolding around him. Next to him, the Marine who had rescued him was ducking down as a barrage of plasma bolts went past his head, bolts that Giles could clearly see, and count; there were six of them, all flowing in a single chaotic line in slow motion.

Turning his head again, he saw the melee unfold second by second, action by action around him. A Marine was knocked down by a bolter blast, falling to the floor even as his killer, a chaos warrior, blood spattered across his armour, was hit in the chest by a shotgun blast and nearly cut in half; behind that, two more of his men brawled with more of the chaos warriors in a deathly silent struggle. The same was repeated around him, every detail flowing like rain, with every drop detailed and visible. Then the angel was next to him, talking in a soft voice that managed to drown out all other noises.

Giles nodded, dumbstruck, in awe of the heavenly warrior, and grabbed one of the flamethrowers that lay undamaged next to a dead chaos corpse. The angel then moved along the corridor, past the battle unfolding around him, and Giles followed; his mind was a blank, thinking of nothing but following the angel. He watched in silence as the demigod wripped open the elevator doors and climbed effortlessly up the deck to the Bridge. Giles placed the Flamethrower on his back awkwardly and followed. He managed to get to the Bridge just as the angel faced the...thing. It was a being of chaos, yet the foulest Giles had seen in all of his fighting below. It was bigger than ones he had fought and killed, with bigger armour and a scarred face, blood running down it. Its voice was a mere whisper, yet held more malice and cruelty than any Giles had ever heard or even imagined.

He looked quickly around the rest of the Bridge; various Kriegos crewmen cowered beneath their consoles and seats, and in the middle was placed a large chair, a throne almost, where a man in a gaudy uniform stood, facing the foul creature. In the few seconds that Giles had taken to see this, the angel and the chaos creature had spoken, and Giles had grabbed the handle of the Flamer, and poined it at the creature, ready to use it...

OOC: Giles is my main character. No killing or maiming him please

Darlington held a mischievous smile across his face, a smile that hid faltering resolve, he had just signed his death warrant, if the angels didn’t arrive soon and put an end to this beast’s reign of terror. His eyes locked with those of the daemon after his short speech then…it began. He fell to his knees, screaming as the master of dark magicks, he felt as if nails scratched at his skull and the rasping rattle that was his mind’s voice gave in, it begged the thing to stop, as Darlington did, and pleaded with his torturer. Pain painted itself on the Admiral’s face, he couldn’t hold it in, the agony was unbearable.

”Comrade Leader! Comrade Leader has sent his angels…I know it, I can’t tell you why I know but-“

The Fleet Admiral fell silent, rapt in awe of the mighty angel appeared behind the chaos marine, standing a bit from the doorway to the bridge, the doors themselves seemingly…welded apart in an amazingly small passage of time and soundlessly. Such things didn’t concern Darlington: his saviour had come. He got to his feet, unarmed save for defiance and said.

”Your time has come foul beast, the glorious warrior of Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov, his chosen ones shall rain righteous vengeance upon those who dare violate his children!”

The creature touched Azreal's mind, brushing across the cold, inhuman cyerbnetic brain that was housed beneath the angelic form. The AS system enacted defences against the beast, trying desperatly to keep him out. They begin to buckle and crumble under the chaos demons assualt. . .

Azreal smiled calmly, locking eyes with the fell beast.

"You realize, that those inhibitors are in place to protect you. . . not to protect me, right?"

The last wall broke and a brilliant white light filled the room. The body of Azreal burst into thick white flames, shrouded by a storm of electrical energy. The skin of the angelic robot burned off and the body crashed to the ground.

Though the body died, the link between demon and angel did not. . . a white light grew and pushed back, pericing the daemonhost like a lance. . . the Godship opened it's mind and flooded into the Daemon with all it's hatred of chaoskind. The Sephirothic generators opened and spun, runes on the bottom of the ship bursting into incadessant lights as the entire Godship took on a wraith like image of an angel with outspread wings, flinging fire and brimstone towards the Chaos fleet. Even as the body crackled and died, anouther manifested itself, this one constructed of energy made mass and filling the room with a flash like that of a thousand suns. When it died down, Azreal stood. . . flesh and blood as the robotic body had been. He smiled quietly at the demon.

"Do not say that I didn't warn you. . . "

With that, he lunged, blade held to the side, cutting through the flooring of the cabin before be brought it across the midrifts of the Chaos champion's body guard. He let out a snarl as he cut a swath towards the daemonhost at throat level.