Hell, yeah! I'm definitely getting this guy!
I don't know what I'm going to do with him, and I doubt I'll make a Catachan army, but I really, REALLY want this guy.
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Ave Omnissiah!
My blog is primarily my own personal fluff in the Warhammer 40,000 universe regarding the Draconis system such as the Knight House Yato in Ryusei, their Household Militia, the Draconian Defenders, and the Forge World of Draconis IV with its Adeptus Mechanicus priesthood, Cybernetica cohorts and Skitarii legions, and the Titan Legion, Legio Draconis, known as the Dark Dragons.
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Retrospective: Imperial Knights
Today, we're going to a Retrospective on...Imperial Knights! I mean, this is primarily an Imperial Knight blog, so obviously if I'm ...
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
The Final Chapter of The Awakening of Edea VII
Heinze
coughed as he crawled from the debris, his ears still ringing from the
explosion. His head hurt, and he could feel blood streaming down his face and
trickling off his chin. He resisted the temptation to yank off his helmet and
instead staggered to his feet. A sharp pain stabbed into his chest, causing him
to wince.
A broken rib…maybe two…
Ignoring
the sharp, throbbing sensation, he glanced around to assess the situation.
Gorbec’s sacrifice had not been in vain. The veteran sergeant had detonated the
melta bombs as he had promised, bringing the xenos architecture down upon the
Phantoms and burying half the regiment in rubble.
The Necrons…did we…?
“Sir!”
Heinze
whipped around when he heard Mallory’s voice. His aide was stumbling across the
broken stone, desperately trying to make his way toward the wounded colonel.
The explosion had knocked off his helmet, revealing his painfully young face,
pale and slicked with sweat. There was a nasty gash at the boy’s temple,
leaving a slight trickle of blood.
“Are
you all right, sir?”
“Yeah.
The men…?”
“Sergeant
Gonz is gathering them together.”
At
his aide’s words, Heinze swept his gaze across the ruins. He could see the
grizzled sergeant major striding across staggering rows of men, yelling orders
and hastily reestablishing their collapsed lines. Irie and Jones were dragging
their autocannon from underneath the rock and setting up an emplacement.
Why…?
Turning
his head slowly, Heinze stared at the entrance of the xenos tomb. It was still
glowing an eerie green. Ranks of metallic figures were still silently marching
out from within, their gauss weaponry suffused with a deadly luminescence.
“We…failed…”
Heinze
felt dread grip him as he stumbled forward, trying to confirm what he was
seeing. His gambit had not worked. Gorbec had died for nothing. The Necron
structure was undamaged, and they had failed to seal the entrance.
The
xenos tomb had fully awakened, and now it was bringing its full complement of
soulless troops to bear.
“Fire!”
Gonz shouted. A barrage of red las scythed downward upon the marching Necron
warriors, only to dissipate against their chrome surface. The gleaming warriors
replied mercilessly, green streaks of gauss arcing over and blasting screaming
men to atoms. The autocannons did a bit more work, smashing Necron warriors off
their feet and denting their armor. However, even with their limbs sheared off
by the high caliber rounds, the broken automatons continued to crawl forward,
their advance implacable and inevitable.
By
the Throne, there were so many of them.
Bradley
screamed before he vanished, his body erased from existence. Jay wasn’t even
able to make a sound, his body disintegrating instantly when a gauss blast
struck him. Scarlet let off a shriek before the upper half of her body was
atomized, the remnants of her lasgun clattering on the floor. All around
Heinze, men and women were dying, his troops decimated by the seemingly
unkillable metallic monsters.
Even
so, his Phantoms did him proud, defiant to the end. Yelling, they continued to
pour a hail of las-bolts upon the advancing Necrons. The ineffective las-fire
illuminated the cold, skull-like visages of the emotionless xenos, and Heinze’s
gut curled at the sight of their rictus grins. It was almost as if the Necrons
were mocking them.
“Sir!”
Vaan scrambled over the debris, his heavy vox-pack banging against the stone.
Heaving from the exertion, he managed to dive under a stray gauss beam, the
ethereal green energy atomizing a slab of stone above him. Gagging from the
dust, Vaan crawled toward Heinze. “Colonel Rayford says the Volpone 95th
are pulling out!”
“Damn
those cowards!” Heinze hissed. He wanted to strangle his fellow colonel, but
inwardly he knew he couldn’t blame Rayford. They had failed to seal the
entrance and prevent the Necrons from emerging. There was little reason to
remain here. All they could achieve now was to sell their lives as dearly as
they could before the inevitable. They had already given so much during the
assault on the catacombs, and now his surviving men – reduced to two-thirds –
were being routed.
This is how it ends… Heinze couldn’t help
but sigh, his mind going numb. The
annihilation of my regiment.
The
proud, gloried history of the Preslayian Phantoms 42nd, a
prestigious Astra Militarum with hundreds of victories notched under their
record, doomed to die here on an insignificant ball of dust. Under his command.
I’ve let my
predecessors down I’ve failed the Imperium. I’ve let my God-Emperor down.
No
doubt, if Commissar Makarov had survived the initial onslaught, he would have
executed Heinze without any hesitation. The embattled colonel could still
remember the stout, sturdy Commissar striding boldly through a storm of gauss
fire, screaming for the men and women of the 42nd to follow him. He
must have thought himself immortal, blessed with the protection of the Emperor.
Heinze
had seen that fanatical belief die along with the Commissar, the courageous
political officer shrieking when he was disemboweled by a Wraith, the ghostly
constructs phasing through the ground to slice through the troops he was
leading.
Shame
gripped the colonel. He was actually relieved
that the Commissar had died in the first wave of the assault. There would be no
one to shoot him for his cowardice.
The
thought lingered in his mind for a second. Makarov was dead. Rayford and his
Volpone Bluebloods were pulling back. There was little more they could do here,
except die in droves. Heinze chewed his lip for a second before coming to a
decision.
“Gonz!”
He yelled to his sergeant major. The grizzled veteran looked up at him, and the
colonel nodded. “All units are to retreat in orderly fashion, squad by squad!
The heavy weapon teams are the last to fall back. Tell them to leave their
weapons behind!”
Abandoning
their heavy weapons was the least of Heinze’s worries. The Necrons had no use
for Imperial weaponry. Their technological sophistication of their armaments
far surpassed anything the Adeptus Mechanicus could conceive.
Gonz
nodded, and he relayed the orders to the squad leaders, hollering off rapid
instructions through his vox bead.
“Mallory.”
Heinze turned to the boy. “Fall back. Link up with Freida’s squad and fall back
with her.”
“But,
sir…” his aide protested.
“That’s
an order, soldier,” Heinze interrupted sharply. “I don’t need you here with me.
I need you to stay with Sergeant Freida. Okay? Listen to her orders.”
Mallory
hesitated as he met Heinze’s cold, steely blue eyes, and then finally snapped
off a salute.
“Yes,
sir!”
He
then ran off, occasionally glancing back. Heinze watched him, his chest tight
with emotions, and then he turned to Vaan.
“Contact
High Command,” he instructed the vox-operator. “Request for reinforcements.”
Vaan’s
eyes went wide in disbelief. “Reinforcements, sir?”
Heinze
understood his hesitation. High Command had thrown everything they had into
this assault. In their desperate gamble to halt the Necron threat, and to trap
them within the subterranean caverns where they had slumbered for eons, they
had committed all of their reserves into this one final push. The destruction
of the Necon structure was supposed to seal them in, but it had weathered the
superheated blast of the melta bombs. For that goal alone, Lord Militant Voytz
was willing to sacrifice all the men and women under his command.
The
Nermenian 22nd Armor had been annihilated. The Cocytus 58th
Rifles had been buried under the rock, triggered off by a seismic charge – the
enemy had been expecting them. The Bremian Mobile Infantry had been slaughtered
to a man, not just by the exotic gauss weaponry of Necron warriors, but also
the deadly knives of Flayed Ones. There were no reinforcements because there
literally was no one left to send.
However…
“Just
send the request anyway,” Heinze said sharply, wiping at his eyes tiredly. He
glanced back at his retreating men and women, and wondered if there was still a
position to escape to. Pretty soon, Edea VII would be swarmed with millions of
Necron automatons, and there would be nowhere for the Imperial Guardsmen to
fall back to.
Leaving
Vaan to try and establish contact through the vox, Heinze swept his gaze over
the withdrawing lines of his Phantoms. Credit to Gonz, the sergeant major had
succeeded in organizing an orderly retreat despite the dire situation, the men
and women moving in staggered movements and taking up positions squad by squad.
Pausing occasionally to provide their comrades cover fire, they waited until
the other squads were in position before rushing off again. The line of
Imperial Guardsmen was slowly folding in, allowing the relentless wedge of
Necrons to stretch them.
Only
the heavy weapon teams remained, firing off an endless stream of high-caliber
rounds at the enemy. With the order to abandon their weapons upon their
withdrawal, there was no need for them to worry about preserving ammunition.
Thousands of rounds were spent in mere minutes, the armor-piercing rounds
hammering into the advancing Necron warriors, even the crawling, reanimated
ones. Even the sturdier and more heavily armored Immortals – elite soldiers of
the skeletal xenos – that led the countless warriors were punched off their
feet, their exoskeleton of living metal shattered beyond the repair
capabilities of tiny Canoptek Scarabs. The insect-like constructs crawled and
scrambled over the broken remains of downed Necron soldiers, attempting to knit
their broken husks back together.
There
were in turn extinguished by huge gouts of flame, with the flamer operators of
each retreating squad dousing the approaching Necrons in burning promethium.
Several of the immolated Necrons fell, but not nearly enough.
Not
nearly enough.
Heinze
swallowed when he caught sight of Wilhelma’s squad cut down by gauss fire, the
Necrons’ retaliation fierce and merciless. There was nothing left of them, the
aggressive redhead obliterated into atoms alongside her squad. Ryder’s squad
was next, the poor men and women caught out in the open as they sprinted
desperately for cover. One moment they were running, the next moment – after a
blinding flash of green – they simply ceased to exist.
Pyro
roared, the big man stepping from his cover and unleashing a torrent of flames
upon the Necrons as vengeance for his compatriots. His heavy flamer bellowed,
liquid fire gushing out of the nozzle like molten lava and incinerating the
first row of warriors that had reached the final line of Phantoms. Even an
unfortunate Immortal had been caught in the blast, its blazing mechanical body
dropping as it continued to burn. Thousands of Scarabs fled the inferno,
scattering away into the safety of their larger brethren.
“You
fool…!” Heinze growled, but it seemed that the Emperor was favoring Pyro for
his courage. A storm of high-caliber rounds smashed into the ranks of the
Necrons closest to the massive guardsman, knocking them off their feet and sending
their aim askew. Irie and Jones had seen him, and now they turned their fire
upon the Necrons, their autocannon barking harshly as it spat deadly bolt after
bolt.
Then
the two of them disintegrated, their autocannon vanishing along with them, as a
massive surge of green washed over them. Heinze blinked, the glare almost
whiting out his retinas. He recognized that attack from anywhere. It was the same one that had punched through the thick ceramite armor of
the Lady’s Blessings, blowing the
venerable Leman Russ battle tank up in a single shot.
“So
you’re still alive…” he murmured, dread welling up in his chest as he turned
toward the source. The familiar mechanical torso and skull-like face, welded to
a hovering grav-platform. The commander of the Necrons, wielding a gigantic
gauss cannon, floating above his warriors and directing them with savage
arrogance.
Heinze
closed his eyes. He was so sure that Gorbec had destroyed the foul abomination
when he triggered his melta bombs at such close range, but evidently the cold,
uncaring galaxy had other plans. There were still signs of damage – molten
living metal dripped from ragged holes across the Destroyer Lord’s armor, and
his face had been fused into a hideous mask of fury, the once gleaming gem-like
visage mutated by heat. There was a noticeable list to the hovering
grav-machine that now served as the xenos’ legs, a result of damage to one of
those alien thrusters.
For
a moment, Heinze’s eyes met with those cold, metallic orbs shining deep within
the Destroyer lord’s sockets. Then the abomination turned away and continued
raining down fire on the dwindling heavy weapon teams. Already the majority of
the heavy weapon operators had abandoned their autocannons, heavy bolters and
missile launchers, and were scrambling for safety under the cover of their
fellow guardsmen.
The
colonel understood the gesture. The xenos commander regarded him with contempt,
and saw him as little more than an ant. An insect not worthy of its attention.
Somehow, the Destroyer Lord was aware that he had failed his mission, and that
he had failed his men.
“Sir,
orders from Lord Militant Voytz. He says we are to act as rearguard, to buy as
much time as possible for the other regiments to retreat.”
Heinze
stared at Vaan dumbly for a few moments, and then he laughed. Tears streamed
down his grime-stricken face as he chortled. His vox-operator watched him,
bemused, and the colonel shook his head.
“So
this is it, huh? We’re all going to die here.”
“…it
seems that way, sir.”
“Frak
this!” Heinze snarled, slamming his fist against a nearby piece of debris. Pain
shot up his arm, but he didn’t care. “Continue the withdrawal! The Preslayian
42nd will not die here today! We are the Phantoms! We’re the
Unkillable! Our legend will not end here, not like this!”
“But,
sir…the orders from the Lord Militant…”
“I
don’t give a grox’s ass if it’s an order from the Lord Militant or High Lords
of Terra themselves! These are the lives of my men he’s throwing away! Gonz!
Continue the retreat!”
“Sir…sir!”
Vaan was pleading, but Heinze paid him no attention.
“If
the Lord Militant threatens me with execution for disobeying his orders, tell
him that he’s welcome to shoot me…if I’m still alive after all of this!”
“No,
not that, sir! Look above!”
“What?!”
Heinze spun around and stared upward, at where Vaan was pointing. His jaw
dropped when he saw meteors streaking through the heavens, illuminating the
night sky like fireworks in summer. “Holy Terra…!”
“We’re
doomed,” Vaan was muttering. “We’re about to be hit by a…”
“No,
Vaan,” Heinze cut him off as he laughed. And for the first time in what seemed
like a long while, his laughter was one of delight and relief. By the Throne,
the Emperor truly protected. “We are saved.”
The
fiery contrails that lit up the horizon were those of Adeptus Astartes drop
pods.
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