The Time of Reckoning (W40K/Real Life)

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

DISCLAIMER: Warhammer 40,000 belongs to Games Workshop. All lyrics used throughout this story belong to whoever wrote them.

The 41st Millennium

'Dark Gods damn you all, you fools!' the voice screamed throughout the ship.

A series of explosions counter-pointed the threat, as the ship's Warp Capacitators overloaded. Red lightning flared through the hallways of the ship, incinerating cultists and servitors with the raw power of the Immaterium, reducing them to atomic vapour with pathetic ease. But the Thousand Sons in the hallway of the ship were unharmed, preserved by plasteel and adamantium and ceramite and spells of protection, the runes upon their armour glowing bale-green with power. The great ship shook mightily, the uncontrolled transition into the Warp was not going well. Worse than that, the ship was falling, its trajectory uncontrolled, nothing could stop it from heading straight into the deepest layers of the Immaterium.

The Deep Immaterium was a strange place to say the least. Unlike the perpetual storm that was the rest of the Warp, it was calm. But the naked malevolence here drove even the strongest-willed of the Astartes mad. A Gellar Field could barely be sustained here, in the dark of the malevolent void. Time barely existed as well, and it was said the Deep Immaterium could be a portal to the future, the past, or even alternate realities. But it was swirling with Daemons, for it was their spawning-place, from which they came and to which they returned when banished from the Materium. The risks involved in anything to do with the Deep Immaterium were too high even for Chaos to accept. For an aeon, for an instant the battleship Prospero's Revenge drifted in the nothingness, until the winds of the Warp or the whims of the Dark Gods drew it to a place where the Immaterium intersected with proper reality.

It was spat out of the blackness of the Immaterium, devoid of engines or sensors, near a blue-green world. Gravitational mechanics took care of the rest. It began to fall, not back toward the lightless depths of the Warp, but toward the planet, a blue-green one floating around, third from, a yellow star. There were no lights of cities on the planet, no signs of industry or civilisation. The ship fell, fell unstoppably toward a certain segment of the planet, its spiral path contorting as it fell. It hit the atmosphere like a brick wall, the flames of re-entry burning against it, then struck the ground. Where it struck, a mountain ceased to exist as it exploded, pushed aside by speed and heat and the sheer bulk of the mighty spacecraft. A matter of seconds later, it was finished. Debris and rock began to bury the great starship, and would eventually cover it entirely.

But, as a writer of fiction once said, that which is dead may not eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.

===

2011

This mountain in Iraq was now the site of an excavation. The locals called it the Hill of Demons in their language, on account of the screaming they could hear coming from it at night. Hill of Demons or no, the archaeologist was surprised when his trowel suddenly struck dark metal. But how? Metal was unknown here, had been at the time period he was looking at - on the order of twelve thousand years. He dug again. The trowel shattered. How? This metal seemed to be unnaturally hard. He touched the metal. It vanished. What was this? More digging, lasting the better part of the day, revealed that there was a hatchway into a much larger structure underground.

The archaeologist gingerly entered, but felt something wrong almost as soon as he had stepped within. There were statues of bulky armoured figures everywhere. Then their eyes started glowing, and he realised that they weren't statues at all.

'All is Dust,' he heard the figure say, the words somehow directly entering his mind, then the figure levelled something he couldn't quite make out in the dark. He didn't even have time to scream. But some did.

===

BBC News 23 July 2011

In other news today, an archaeological team in Iraq vanished under mysterious circumstances. They are believed to have been attacked by bandits or insurgents of some type. The United States Army is investigating.

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

2011

The air tasted strange to Sorcerer-Sergeant Tzenaar of the Thousand Sons. Strange and unfamiliar. Tzenaar had been to thousands of worlds before, and yet not one had air that tasted exactly like this one's. The tang of industrial pollutants, the actinic taste of ozone - it was all there. But there was a missing element here. Something he couldn't put his finger on - a feeling of...familiarity. Never mind, he checked the surrounding landscape for hostiles. A psychic feeling brought him to turn around and focus on what seemed to be some primitive combustion vehicles some miles away, out of mere mortal sight. He drove his helmet's autosenses forward, to their location. There seemed to be a primitive flying vehicle and seven primitive ground vehicles, two heavily (at least to some worlds' standards) armoured.

More than that, all these vehicles bore the emblem of the eagle. Not the double-headed Aquila of the hated Imperium, but something close, and it still stirred a cold hatred in Tzenaar's hearts. Who were these people then, Eagle-worshippers? It at least made sense. Tzenaar activated his teleport pack and began the assault. These eagle worshippers could not be allowed to discover what was going on here.

===

The song rang out through the desert, although there was no-one to hear it but the US Army soldiers.

...I want your ugly, I want your disease
I want your everything as long as it's free
I want your love
Love, love, love, I want your love...

'You know,' Sergeant John Castellucio said. 'I like that song. It kinda reminds me of my old girlfriend. Heh.'

That was when the armoured giant appeared in front of the convoy. The being was tall, clad entirely in dark blue armour (or was it a robot of some type?) with eyes that glowed a sickly green. Runes were carved on its armour, runes that glowed with the same evil light and seemed to hurt Castellucio's eyes, as they twisted and writhed, almost as if they were...alive. The being raised its gauntleted hand, pointed it at a hummer, and the thing exploded. Castellucio fired his rifle at the thing, but all his shots missed, as if space itself had twisted to protect it. Time to bring in some more firepower. Castellucio signalled desperately to the gunner on his hummer, but the gunner was screaming. No, not screaming. Now he was desperately chanting something in Greek.

'Kyrie...Eleison,' the gunner whispered, as he began to bleed violently from the eyes. Then he fell, dead. The song was still somehow playing, the lyrics somehow underscoring what was happening:


...I want your horror, I want your design
'Cause you're a criminal as long as you're mine
I want your love
Love, love, love, I want your love...

'What the-' somebody shouted, then pale-green lightning from the figure's hand struck the helicopter, bringing it down as it exploded. Castellucio grabbed the machine gun, then fired wildly at the figure, together with the remaining hummers. The thing seemed to barely notice the machine-gun bullets. It turned, raised its hand, and a hummer rose into the air. A swift motion, and it was sent flying to the side. The remaining troops were disembarking, this...monster could withstand their machine-guns with pathetic ease.

Thinking, Castellucio grabbed his captain's radio - the man was dead. It looked like he had bled from the eyes as well.

'This is Sergeant Castellucio, repeat, this is Sergeant Castellucio. We are under attack, repeat, we are under attack. Hostile has neutralised our air support. Requesting backup, repeat, requesting backup.'

The thing levelled its weapon, a black rifle, boxy, but the monster used it like it was a handgun. It fired a series of bursts at the troops. They literally exploded, blasted into chunks by the thing's explosive shells. The thing wasn't just a rifle - it was an RPG as well. Castellucio looked away, focusing on whatever that monster was. He'd seen plenty of deaths, but US Army soldiers literally, casually, blasted into fragments by an unknown enemy with terrifying powers, that was most definitely new. That was when the Abrams came up, The figure vanished and reappeared right on top, ripped the command hatch open with sheer brute strength, then fired its RPG pistol right into the hatch. But this opened up another chance for attack. The other Abrams fired its heavy machine guns right at the monster's helm, seeming to damage it badly. Then the thing ripped its own helmet off - why?

The thing - the monster - looked human enough, with pale skin and black hair, but there was something wrong with its eyes. Then Castellucio's brain realised, they were glowing ever so slightly, and the colour of the glow was perpetually shifting. Castellucio looked away, he had a hunch that looking straight into the thing's eyes was a very bad idea. His hunch was proven correct when one of the surviving troops made that same mistake. He screamed, collapsed, spasmed and then lay still, dead. He fired his rifle once, he was almost out of bullets, hoping he killed that thing. A single bullet flew true, hitting the thing right in the eye, penetrating the brain. It bounced around within its reinforced skull, reducing its brain to mush. The monster stayed upright for a while, then collapsed.

That was when the helicopters arrived and Castellucio breathed a sigh of relief.

[Mr. Coffee]

Interesting so far. Keep writing.

[That NOS Guy]

Uh, er, aren't Thousand Sons like not flesh anymore?

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

Uh, er, aren't Thousand Sons like not flesh anymore?

As I recall, not all the Thousand Sons were turned to dust by the Rubric of Ahriman. That may have been retconned, though.

[Teebs]

Uh, er, aren't Thousand Sons like not flesh anymore?

As I recall, not all the Thousand Sons were turned to dust by the Rubric of Ahriman. That may have been retconned, though.

I thought it was sorcerors that survived while normal marines were turned to dust.

Edit: http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Thousan ... ost-Heresy has more information. I'm not sure how reliable the site is, but it sounds about right to me. Apparently mutated marines were turned to dust and those that were unmutated were protected from mutation and had their psychic powers strengthened.

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

August 5

Doctor Goodman looked over the specimen that the Army had brought back from Iraq, enclosed in the black body-glove it had been handed to him in. A week had passed since the thing had arrived in his lab, and he was still no closer to working out how it worked. Unavoidable damage to the subject's brain had occurred in the process of acquiring it, but that was little. He was still puzzled over the results from the materials science division. The substance of the specimen's armour had been incredibly hard and tough, and chemical testing had revealed that it was like no substance on Earth. Then there was the matter of the runes carved into it. They still glowed unnaturally green, without any visible source of energy, and it still hurt his eyes to look at the runes - even though, rationally speaking, there was nothing about the shapes that seemed naturally repulsive.

Curiouser and curiouser. Autopsy of the specimen had revealed sterility, many redundancies (especially in the vital organs), and many organs that he simply didn't know the purpose of. This thing couldn't have evolved naturally, he was certain of that. It seemed to be human-derived, which meant it couldn't be alien. But people twelve thousand years ago couldn't have had the knowledge or the technology to create this thing. It simply made no sense. Goodman was aware of out-of-place artefacts, but this simply took the cake. That was when Goodman was handed the report on the thing's DNA.

'My God,' he muttered. The thing was most certainly genetically engineered. And not just that - it was almost certainly designed from the ground up from human DNA as a living weapon of war. That explained the armour which seemed to enhance the thing's strength and speed, the hostility. It didn't explain the psychic powers though - Goodman had read Castellucio's after action report, and had been terrified. Lightning-throwing? Telekinesis? Those things were impossible! But Castellucio had just been reporting what he had seen, and Goodman was inclined to believe him, particularly after the impossibilities he had already discovered.

And worse, what if this thing, this impossibility, was not the only one? That terrified Goodman more than anything else in the world, The Army were maintaining a quarantine around the mountain where this had all began, but if this thing wasn't alone...they didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell. He prayed to God that it was the only one in existence. That was when things got much worse. A man walked into the lab, set down his laptop and asked Goodman to come and see.

Goodman gaped. It bore a shocking similarity to the figure he had been studying...and yet it was a metal miniature, a toy soldier. Produced by a company called Games Workshop, for God's sake. What did this...what did this all mean? This made no sense...this was fiction, and yet it was real. When Goodman went to bed that night, terror, sheer naked terror, filled his heart.

===

Supreme Magister Tzaranios laughed as he looked upon the scrawny prisoner. This was what his scouts had found to interrogate? Still, this could do. Tzaranios was not a believer in asking questions, for why should one ask when he could take? Except for the first question.

'What are you?'

'Abdul-' the figure tried to reply, but Tzaranios cut him short.

'No. You are a dog!' he said in a guttural voice, as if speaking a language long-dead.

Tzaranios then with a sudden movement of his hand entered his captive's mind. The captive had no mental defences, as he had expected, and all will to resist was swiftly gone. After that he could take information at his leisure. The captive worshipped a God called 'Allah', not the hated Emperor, but this was a false belief nevertheless. Soon the followers of Tzeentch would reveal the truth, the good news to this miserable, primitive planet. The captive also hated the eagle-worshippers, hated them with all the fury he could muster. Also, apparently these eagle-worshippers called themselves 'Americans'. That intrigued Tzaranios - he was Terranborn, and had heard old stories as a child of the great Empire of America before the rise of the hated corpse-Emperor, that had had warriors in thunder armour.

Not like he cared. This primitive world could not defeat his armies. He sensed the minds of these soldiers nearby, they were disciplined, and he respected that, but they could not compare to the Thousand Sons. When he had gathered enough information, he disengaged the psychic link and carved off the captive's head with his daemon-blade. Shreds of ethereal spirit-stuff flowed into the blade as it feasted.

He looked to Magister Omnius, one of his lieutenants - and gave the order telepathically.

We attack at dawn the next day. Kill all in your path!

===

August 6

Joseph Carpenter didn't understand. Why were he and his troops maintaining a quarantine around this mountain? What was the Army asking of them? It just didn't make sense! Then, out of nowhere, the sandstorm came, blocking visual. Carpenter swore he saw gigantic figures in the swirling sand, walking toward them. That was when he heard something in his head, constantly repeating.

All is Dust, it said. All is Dust!

Carpenter swore he saw a muzzle flash, then fire consumed the hummer right next to him. And not just any fire. The fire burned multi-coloured, in blue and green and red and iridescent purple. It seemed to writhe as if alive. And worst, it screamed, a high keening sound that sucked the very life from his limbs and filled him with absolute terror. The Captain was screaming words and various profanities into the radio, but all he got was static. That was when he screamed loudly two words.

'THEY RISE!' he screamed as loud as he could, and then he began to convulse, bleeding as wounds appeared in his flesh, then he rose into the air, covered in blood, and literally exploded, showering Carpenter in blood and viscera. He fought to pull the trigger of his rifle, firing wildly at the armoured figures. But their advance was unimpeded. They were tall, far taller than him, and their leader wielded twin blades that glowed with evil green witch-light. The lead figure, the one wielding the blades, glared at an Abrams tank and it literally exploded. He turned his gaze around and three hummers did the same. Carpenter was terrified, but he was far too scared to try and run. The two remaining tanks kept firing, to seemingly little effect. The lead figure stopped, as did the others.

Carpenter could see them clearly now. They were covered in gold finery, their armour a deep royal blue, their helms vaguely reminding him of a book on Ancient Egypt he had read as a child. They carried massive rifles, ones that looked more like rocket launchers than anything else. Their armour seemed to be thick, Carpenter doubted he could hurt them with his meagre M-16. But he was going to try anyway. He fired his rifle at one of them, not the lead figure that killed with his mere gaze. Another soldier rushed forward, the lead figure turned him to dust with a brief glance. The figure turned round, slowly, almost robotically. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. There was a muzzle flash, from the figure's rifle. Then Joseph Carpenter was literally blasted to pieces by the Bolter round that hit his chest. The sandstorm continued for most of the day. By then Tzaranios had already planned his next move.

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

MOAR insanity, to please the Changer of Ways!

August 7th

Barack Obama had had a tiring day. If nothing, yesterday had seen the deaths of hundreds of US soldiers in Iraq, without any warning, by a mysterious enemy that had then vanished into the desert. Some of the generals had urged the use of nuclear weapons, but Obama didn't know where to nuke, and anyway, he didn't want to be responsible for the third use of nuclear weapons in anger. No, he was keeping all information about this threat strictly on a need-to-know basis. No need to worry the civilians.


He turned on the White House television - today's evening was going to be long.

===

'Prepare to broadcast,' Tzaranios ordered. The ship's communication rigs were extremely sophisticated, and its electronic warfare suite could casually hack every cogitator on this miserable planet. The thing might be buried under rock, but that didn't prevent it from sending a signal to every telescreen, analogue or digital, on this pathetic world.

As the slaves prepared the equipment, Tzaranios mused. The Imperium had not understood - never had, as Nicaea had proved, as had Prospero. And it looked like this world too did not understand. Mixed into the pre-arranged broadcast was a psychic signal, an attack that would kill or severely harm this world's psykers, even latents. The ultimatum, the threat, mixed with the deaths of seemingly random people wold doubtless terrify this world into surrender. If it did, he won. But Tzaranios was never without a back-up plan, and if this world did not surrender, the Thousand Sons would unleash thneir wrath. Then, Tzaranios watched the slaves put the final pieces of the equipment together, and spoke three words that would change the world forever.

'Begin live broadcast.'

===

New York was a busy city, the downtown area especially so. It never slept. The screen at Times Square was always on, many smaller televisions were in the city. So, when the Times Square screen blinked into darkness, followed shortly by every television and computer screen on the planet, terror began. Stefani Germanotta, also known as the famous popular music artist Lady Gaga, was exceedingly tired. The latest concert had pressed her to her very limits - she had retired to her apartment to sleep. She was thinking of watching a movie in her apartment, but the television screen had turned black. She frantically changed channels, but the blackness remained.

What was this? That was when a set of green-glowing eyes appeared in the television screen, and a voice spoke.

'People of Earth, you are fools,' it uttered. 'And you have been deceived, by your priests, by your leaders. Those who you put trust in have misled you. But do not worry. We don't care what they say, for we KNOW THE TRUTH! So, I give this ultimatum, in my infinite mercy. You have nine days to surrender this world. If you do so, some may live as slaves. If not, we will crush you. So, as a gesture of power, I give my first order as your rightful Lord and Master - on your knees, mankind!'

She felt some kind of force knocking her down, forcing her to her knees. No matter how she tried to stand up, she simply could not. Then, she felt some kind of presence forcing itself into her mind, defiling it, violating the sanctity of her very soul. She fought it, trying to drive it back with all her reservoirs of willpower, but her struggles were futile. She was dimly aware of her body spasming, screaming in agony, but what her body felt was as nothing compared to the mental anguish. Visions stabbed into her, hallucinations, waking dreams of an endless war fought across a burning universe where misery and suffering reigned triumphant. Tentacles of coldness attacked, hate for whatever thing was doing this to her screamed in every corner of her mind. She stayed grimly on the defensive, hate her armour and weapon, her sword and shield. She wasn't going without a fight. she was certain of that. She lashed out against the tendrils attacking her, drove them back. Again and again, they tried to stab into her mind again, but she shredded them. Then they vanished, leaving her exhausted on the floor.

She reached blindly for her phone, dialled 911, then passed out in exhaustion. She wouldn't wake up for three days, but it could have been much worse.

BBC News, August 8

...Mysterious broadcast on the night of the 7th has left many people dead or in comas for seemingly no reason. The United States military has risen to DEFCON 2 for the first time since the Cuban Missile Crisis...

August 10

And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.
Revelation 9:1

-A great library, burning with so many silver spires-

-War over the entire galaxy, whole worlds burning, exploding, blasted to fragments-

-A thing so beyond mortal experience that all who beheld it were driven mad-

-A giant clad in golden armour, eyes glowing with power so bright that the face was impossible to make. A feeling of quiet benevolence-

Stefani Germanotta woke up to bright light and a stabbing pain in her right arm. Fear filled her, before she turned her face, and realised she was connected to a drip. A drip? Then she remembered what had happened in her apartment, the assault on her very mind, and she knew why she was here. A doctor was there, standing over her, and just by looking at him she could somehow read his thoughts, mainly thoughts of complete surprise. He stepped back and Stefani jumped out of his thoughts, surprised and shocked by what she had done.

They disconnected the drip, and Stefani breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she wanted to get out of this hospital at the first opportunity.

August 15

Tzaranios fumed. It was one day before the deadline, and this miserable planet had not yet responded to his ultimatum. Yet there was more worrying news than the defiance of unruly savages. Magister Omnius had calculated the position of this world in the galaxy using the stars, and had determined that it was at the position "Holy" Terra had been at 38,000 years ago. That would not have worried Tzaranios if not for one thing - so much of this world's history matched with the old legends of Terra pre-starflight. A sinking fear filled Tzaranios - what if the hated Corpse-Emperor was on the planet, alive? In an instant, Tzaranios rose from his command throne on the bridge. and walked to his steed, a faithful Disc of Tzeentch. He floated fast through the ship's passageways, to the black heart of its Librarium, its doorways opening for him with a glance or a wave of his hand.

At the entrance to the Librarium, he dismounted, and spoke the passcode, in the Dark Tongue that daemons spoke, a phrase only he knew. But the door would not open, he had installed more defences in the door than any could guess. Stasis-generators to freeze would-be thieves for all eternity, deadlock-seals, spacetime-manipulators that sealed the area beyond the door off from the rest of the Materium, and more.

''Ax'zyon Ama'khar Khabaal Tzeen'neth!' he commanded, the unholy, infernal words not meant for mortal tongues to pronounce making his very mouth bleed. But that was a minor sacrifice. There was a clang, then the snickety-snick sound of tiny, impossibly intricate mechanisms working, then the great door opened, and Tzaranios was let in to the great Librarium. Blasphemous tomes bound in human skin and written in daemon-blood whispered to him, offering him all their secrets. But Tzaranios, in his studies of the black sorceries of Tzeentch, had mastered each and every tome before him - they had nothing more to offer him, and in any case their powers and malevolence paled before that of the artefact he sought.

He pushed the whispers aside, and the tomes grew quiet. He pushed on, past daemon-artefacts, each more potent than the last, blades and staves and rings, each with untold amounts of power. But they were still too weak. He pushed past, to the black heart of the Librarium. Floating atop an altar was a cube of glossy black stone, sized to fit into the palm of an Astartes' hand, runes carved into it glowing a malevolent green, all spiralling toward the rune at the centre of each side - the Dark Tongue rune TZEEN'NETH, a fragment of Tzeentch's very own True Name, a maker's mark. The object exuded a limitless malevolence that drove all who beheld it mad, but Tzaranios had beheld it many times, and was used to the whispers that poured forth from it, contradicting themselves, offering secrets of the universe, giving threats and curses and adoration to great Tzeentch.

This, the Maleventium, was an artefact of the Chaos God itself. It had driven worlds mad, and was the reason the Prospero's Revenge had no need of a reactor - the Warp-energy it exuded merely by existing was more than enough to easily power the ship. If anything could give him power enough to stand a chance against the Emperor, this would.

Slowly, Tzaranios began to laugh, chuckling softly at first, then beginning to cackle with insane mania.

===

The man in the New York apartment was very young and yet also old. He had been many things and many people in his long life...

A preacher, giving a sermon on a high mount

A knight, riding forth to do battle against the Dragon

A scientist, who said these words: "Now I Am Become Death"

...And many others, some forgotten, some not. And now he sensed a threat, a great threat not just to himself but to the Plan as well, blocking the unnerring foresight he had relied on for so long. And so he would reach into the future, and play his knight, a champion, a mighty one, one of the last remnants of the fast-collapsing original design. He whispered a word, or it might have been a name.

'Valdor.'

[Feil]

Haven't read the latest section yet. I like it so far. The writing could use a little polish, but is generally good. I like your representation of the Sons in combat: not unstoppable, but individually a serious threat to a whole tank platoon. The DNA business in the science section is a bit far-fetched. The one thing that I strongly dislike is the inclusion of Games Workshop and its intellectual properties in the fictional Earth. It's just not done. Batman can't tune into the cartoon channel and watch Batman cartoons on Saturday Morning, and when Superman comes to Gotham City to help Batman fight the Joker, people recognize him from the news, not by how much he looks like Christopher Reeve. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with it, but it runs counter to decades of established tradition: a given work of fiction is never part of its own fictional universe.

Addendum: Last section is good. Interested to see what happens, if anything, with Earth's psykers. It looks like the Sons might have accidentally woken the Emperor in the last bit of the last section. Along with Saint Gaga, it seems. A formidable team. I like it.

Formatting is excessive. Printed text gets by fine with only one formatting mark (italicization), even though it's perfectly possible to boldface and underline text with modern printing technology. For better or worse, italics only seems to be the accepted convention in modern fiction.

[Eternal_Freedom]

The Emperor was Jesus, Saint George and Robert Oppenheimer? Oh man that's awesome. Keep going!

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

The Emperor was Jesus, Saint George and Robert Oppenheimer? Oh man that's awesome. Keep going!

Saint George is canon, from Mechanicum (which is really good), Jesus is a popular piece of fanon, and...well what's one of the greatest human advancements if not the atomic bomb?

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

Thought for the Day: Through the Destruction of Our Enemies Do We Earn Our Salvation.

Holy Terra

The Imperial Palace was the greatest fortress in human history. Battlement upon gilded battlement, void-shield projectors, macro-Gellar fields, blessings and consecrations upon the ground making it so that servants of the Ruinous Powers could not stand upon it. Statues of Primarchs on high eyries glared, the glow of their baleful eyes driving out all thoughts of heresy. Then there were ancient weapons from the Dark Age of Technology, quantum fields that rendered all projectile weapons useless, transduction barriers that protected against all harm, nerve destructors, null-guns, death-fields and worse. There was no army that could breach the Palace sanctum's Eternity Gate, not even a full Legion of Titans, unless the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, Constantin Valdor, willed it.

Valdor looked from the palace's highest battlement, reaching to the atmosphere's edge, at Terra. He could see the individual faces of members of the pilgrim-throngs from so high above, testament to his ultra-enhanced senses and the auto-senses of his helm. For more than ten millennia he had faithfully guarded the Master of Mankind. He had looked upon that beatific face when it was still unmarred by the wretched blows of Horus Lupercal, thrice-damned. He had stood with him at Ullanor, had led the Custodes at the Burning of Prospero, had fought innumerable battles and won uncountable victories. He was not just Constantin or Valdor, the two names he used most often, he was Leonidas, the Lion-like, Alexandros, the Defender of Man, the Keeper of the Key that Knows no Lock, and many other titles, a thousand names for a man who had lived more than ten thousand years.

A pure white cloak made of memory-fabric, woven by the Tech-priests of Mars, blowed in the barely-existent breeze here, near the edge of Mother Terra's atmosphere. Gold power armour artificed with eagles and countless sigils of the Emperor seemed to glow from within with the light of Valdor's soul. The fusion pistol in its holster was hot, and the blazing sword in his hand seemed to be made of light. It was mono-atomic in the sharpness of its edge, could cut through individual molecules with pathetic ease. A power-field ensured that it would never, ever dull or break. The Custodes required nothing less. His faithful and true mount was a jetbike, one of the last of its kind, that had fought with Valdor in the secret time of the Heresy itself. Its Machine-Spirit was loyal and reliable to a fault, Valdor knew from personal experience.

Valdor walked over to the hovering jetbike and mounted it, driving close to the door back into the Palace proper. That was when everything went black, and Valdor began to fall. Not through mere air, but beyond space, beyond time. He sensed briefly another mind lost in the darkness, perhaps a Grey Knight's - but Valdor was the superior in power and authority of any Grey Knight, so it did not concern him. Daemons tried to claw at his soul, at his flesh, but they could not, for the Light of the Emperor was with him. His blade carved through immaterial flesh. For what seemed an eternity Valdor continued to fall, then finally he saw light.

Cold. Snow. The oxygen level was too low for mere humans to survive, but Valdor was no mere man. He was atop a mountain. He rose, then a flash of light appeared in front of him, resolving into a figure. Valdor was ready to raise his weapon, then he realised who he was looking at, and kneeled.

'Imperator,' he whispered.

Valdor, the figure before him communicated.

'Where am I?' Valdor asked.

Rather, the beatific figure communicated. Look around, and ask when you are.

Valdor took in the view, and suddenly realised. These were the very same mountains that surrounded the Imperial Palace, and he was atop the highest peak of Terra, that had in forgotten times been called Verest. He must be in the distant past. But for what reason?

You will see, the Emperor communicated to Valdor. But for now we must go.

Valdor took the Emperor's hand.

August 16

Woe to you, O Earth and Sea - for the Devil sends the Beast with wrath, because he knows the time is short.
Revelations 12:12

Magister Omnius looked on at Tzaranios, who stood on a raised platform, above the mass of common sorcerers, guarded by Rubric Terminators. The Maleventium stood there, protected by a stasis-field.

'I shall speak!' Tzaranios uttered. 'Now, we have learned much about this miserable world. And we have learned of the weaknesses of its people. In particular, they believe that their God shall protect them, that their God makes no mistakes. We shall disabuse them of this notion with fire and bolter shell. We will raze their cities, crush their armies, salt their fields and at the very last moment kill EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! Why? I shall tell you why! Because they are blind, so very, very blind. Some may call us madmen, but that is wrong, for Tzeentch, who truly makes no mistakes, has given us true sight!'

'Magisters Omnius, Bessarion,' he gestured. 'You may lead our armies. Nine squads, for that number is loved by Great Tzeentch, shall go forth. And they, led by you, shall go to the village they call the city of Berlin, and raze it so thoroughly no stone stands upon another.'

'We must make them feel true terror before we destroy them all. They call themselves masters of the Earth - we will prove them utterly wrong before we feed their souls to Great Tzeentch, the Sorcerer Supreme, the Changer of Ways, the Lord of Mutation, the Schemer, the Keeper of All Knowledge!'

Beyond Space and Time

Call it a table, for it was many things at once, not all amenable to human description, and a simple metaphor will do. Call them Thrones, or animals, or gods or men, for they too were many things. They were Three, or rather Four, but one was yet to come. The Schemer, who ranked himself foremost, communicated first. The other Two agreed, with reservations. The One that Was Yet To Come, and yet Was, agreed too. They plucked their Champions from their rightful places in space and time, to the world where the champions would face the Master of Mankind's.

The Age of Battle was begun.

[Eternal_Freedom]

The Emperor, the Captain of the Custodes and now the Champions of the Chaos Gods in this time-period? Oh this si going to be utterly epic.

[Simon_Jester]

Could use some polish, but it works.

But I have to ask, LoC9. What is it with you and Lady Gaga?

[Eternal_Freedom]

Maybe he is Lady Gaga's online persona.

Regardless, keep writing, this is shaping up nicely. If ever you want a proof-reader, I'll gladly volunteer, I've got loads of time on my hands right now.

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

The Emperor, the Captain of the Custodes and now the Champions of the Chaos Gods in this time-period? Oh this si going to be utterly epic.

Indeed.

August 16

Who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him?
Revelations 13:4

Magister Omnius held his gauntleted hand out over the ritual circle. The sound of inhuman chanting in a language like the clanging of broken bells filled the chamber, deep-throated voices lending power to the spell being wrought here. Sparks and the smell of ozone filled the air. The intent behind the ritual here was simple, to bend reality just so, just enough, that two points in space were 'persuaded' to occupy the same location. It was impossible, or very nearly so, but that was where the Warp came in. The chanting reached a climax - the blood in the ritual circle began to boil, then to burn with multi-hued Warpfire, filling the room with an infernal smell. Then, with a sound like thunder, the impossible gateway opened. Its geometries were strange to say the least, impossible at worst. Omnius was aware of a dull pain in his eyes, but ignored it.

With three great strides, Omnius walked through the portal and into the heart of the German city of Berlin. His first thought was that he sensed so many blind, pathetic vermin around him. With his witch-sight, he saw the lights of their wretched, limited souls, in panic and terror. Some were bleeding from the eyes at the mere sight of the portal, but all were too terrified to fight back. Omnius sensed Bessarion come into position with his honour guard behind him.

Orders to fire, Brother? Bessarion communicated.

Fire at will, Omnius communicated back.

The Rubric Marines began their march, firing bolters at anything that moved. Omnius for his part, teleported to a building nearby, where he sensed a great quantity of vermin, who seemed to be leaders of some kind. They were many, working under a great glass dome. Judging by the flag on display, they too were eagle-worshippers, the faith seemed to be common on this planet. Omnius moved quickly, smashing the glass dome telekinetically before anyone could react. Shards of glass lacerated all beneath, yet bounced harmlessly off Omnius' armour without even making dents. Streams of warp-fire then struck the walls, making the very stone burn. Omnius teleported away, back to the portal.

The area was a field of corpses. Bessarion was not a believer in subtlety, some had been turned to stone or transparent glass. Others had been turned inside out, cremated with warp-lightning, or otherwise massacred. A surviving soldier charged Omnius, the bullets his autogun fired bouncing futilely off his sorcerous defences. The man was no threat. Omnius glanced and the man literally exploded in a shower of blood, reduced to red gore and shreds of flesh and bone.

Omnius teleported to Bessarion's location, ready to check if the fool was in some kind of peril. No, he was with his honour guard, surveying the devastation. Great sheets of warpflame burst from his hands, engulfing buildings and fleeing civilians. Omnius then teleported to the location of a band of soldiers, drawing his twin power-swords. He was a whirlwind of slaughter, and yet every blow was perfectly planned. Soon, there were no soldiers before him, only an assortment of lifeless bodies. There remained an 'armoured' vehicle, which was of no-

- Curses. It had fired a shell, and only a hastily muttered spell of protection had saved his life. He rose, and unleashed a storm of warp-lightning that made the tank explode, gone in a flash of fire, black smoke pouring from every hatch. He teleported back to Bessarion. He had changed position, and was in a different district of the city, The Thousand Sons were now burning everything in their path with Inferno bolts, Bessarion sending more and more blasts, sheets of burning warp-fire to destroy all in his path. The city was burning, more Thousand Sons had arrived to ensure that as few vermin as possible escaped.

Looking out on the devastation, Omnius laughed deeply, cackling like a madman. This would be but the first of many.

[Tandrax218]

god damn im hooked to this story ...

more!!!!!

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

Maybe he is Lady Gaga's online persona.

Not at all.

Regardless, keep writing, this is shaping up nicely. If ever you want a proof-reader, I'll gladly volunteer, I've got loads of time on my hands right now.

I don't need a proof-reader right now, but thanks for the offer.

Anyway, just to prove that madness never dies, UPDATE!

August 17

When he rises up, the mighty are terrified; they retreat before his thrashing.
The sword that reaches him has no effect, nor does the spear or the dart or the javelin.
Iron he treats like straw and bronze like rotten wood.
Arrows do not make him flee, slingstones are like chaff to him.
A club seems to him but a piece of straw, he laughs at the rattling of the lance.
Job 41:25-29

Deep beneath the South Pacific, it slumbered. Millions of years ago, it had flown down to this planet on the stellar winds, wounded after a great battle, and since then had slumbered under the depths of the ocean. Description of the thing was impossible in mere mortal terms, for when it moved, it was as if a mountain walked. It had been worshipped and feared in many an era, as the god Dagon, as Scylla, as the great whirlpool Charybdis, as Leviathan. king over the children of pride, as the great Kraken, as the world-serpent Jormugandr. Its blood was venom, its flesh was riddled with foul cancers and ever-twisting mutations and the nestings of its foul spawn. It had inspired horrors, twisting itself into the nightmares of men, as Great Cthulhu of Lovecraft's stories, as Tennyson's Kraken, as every horrible thing under the sea found in stories and myths.

It needed no name, for it was the Great Beast, Destroyer of Worlds. A force of destruction that could not be reasoned with or made to stop until it or all that stood before it was destroyed. And it dreamed strange dreams, impossible for the human mind to comprehend. Yet in comparison to its Master Tzeentch, it was only a pet. A favoured pet, but a pet nonetheless. 14 years ago, it had stirred in its slumber, making a noise that had baffled all who had heard it. And then slowly, its vast form sprawled on the ocean floor, indistinguishable in the dark from rock and sediment, one of its eyes opened and a single tendril moved, fitfully waving. It was awakening...

===

They called it U'Zuhl. Khorne's Favoured Executioner, the Slayer of Kings, the Skulltaker. It bore a blazing blade sharpened with raw malice, with daemon-curses and words of abomination.There was none upon this world who could best it in a duel, it knew that. The city was a rotten hell, a place of war, of battle between criminal gangs. Not that the Skulltaker cared. Any opponent was good. The gang-battle took place in an area of the city where the police dared not go. Then, at the climax of the fight, the Warp opened up, and the Skulltaker strode imperiously through, its leather cloak of hellfire-bleached skulls catching on the ground. They never stood a chance.

----

They called him Pandemicus, Chosen of the God of Despair. The African village had been struck by many plagues in its past, but none was as supernaturally efficacious as the plague that struck in its last moments. As the last survivor died, infected blood pouring from eyes and mouth, the Terminator Armour-clad form of Pandemicus appeared. Pandemicus let forth a gurgling, disease-riden cackle, then spoke a single word. The dead of the village rose to spread the most terrible of Nurgle's Plagues - the Plague of ultimate despair.

----

The teenagers partied through the night, partaking in sex and drugs and alcohol. All their excess praised She Who Thirsts, and so she sent Her champion through to the site. So caught up were they in their excesses that they barely noticed the figure appear amongst them. Eleaxus the Flawless, the Imperium called him. He cast his helmet aside, and he was beautiful and terrible as the dawn, for his hair was of woven gold and he was handsome, and his eyes were startling blue. Yet his heart was black as the Truest Void, and thus he slaughtered them. Sucking the blood of his victims with his exquisite fangs, he summoned his allies, who were too servants of the Dark Prince, lascivious Daemonettes, each brought into existence by one of the unfortunate souls he had sent screaming into the maw of the Immaterium.

----

They called the daemon Nehe'moth, the Dragon that Speaks Blasphemies - and that moniker was well-chosen. Nine heads it had, each spitting forth Warp-fire, speaking forth countless blasphemies and worshipping Tzeentch. It was the greatest of Tzeentch's daemon-beasts, possessing a frightful intelligence. It burst into the Materium in the ruins of Berlin, then angry that no souls remained in the city to consume, took to the skies on great wings, searching for prey.

===

The Emperor finished signing the letter, writing the capital letter 'I' in lieu of his name, for names have power over the named, and the names of powerful beings moreso. His true name was secret - it could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. It was such a frustration that he had to use such...mundane means of communications, but the Ruinous Powers were looking closely at this world, and to use psychic or any form of electronic communication over such a long distance would easily invite attack or interception. Valdor put the letter and the tarot card that came with it into the envelope, and sealed it.

The Emperor would ensure that his letter would reach its intended recipient. That he could do, at least. Then the Emperor looked to Valdor. Valdor's eyes showed understanding, and Valdor, the Emperor, and the letter itself vanished. Their respective destinations were quite different...

[Tandrax218]

nice bit with the BLOOP fenomenon in the "Cthulhu" part...

.....

[astrospace2020]

very good story, interesting the Emperor will save earth and then lead mankind against Caos Gods