We Bear His Word (40K/Stargate)

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

This is something of a rewrite of my aborted Star Wars/40K crossover The Word of Lorgar, which was aborted, as with almost all my stories, because I didn't have the slightest clue which direction I was going in (the other choice was a 40K story dealing with the return of one of the missing Primarchs/Legions). But who cares? Let the madness, the sick cruelty and utter insanity, BEGIN!

For the Stargate universe, it's sometime near the beginning of the second season of Stargate SG-1.

PART 1: BEARERS OF THE WORD

CHAPTER ONE: THE RING OF SACRIFICE

Ahma looked on at the metal ring. It was iron, not the strange metal of the Chappa’ai, that sent the warriors of the Gods to this world. He was an old man; he remembered the times, long ago, that the Gods sent their warriors to this world. They had brought fire and death to all who resisted and taken many as slaves, and in a matter of weeks they would return. But Ahma knew, from his dreams, that there might be a force equal to, perhaps even greater than the Gods. Great sky warriors armoured in crimson and silver, with great horned helms and weapons that spat death.

There were twelve sacrifices planned for the ritual that would bring the sky warriors here. Four stood before him, eight behind him. The great iron ring loomed menacingly over them all, large enough to fly one of the Gods’ death-gliders through. It was set into the stone wall of the cave, eight spikes driving out from it. It hurt Ahma’s eyes to look upon the great ring, but he knew it would be their salvation. The first sacrifice was a warrior, eyes given over to bloodlust. Where he came from even Ahma didn’t know. The second was a diseased figure, dripping with pus and foul ichor, his eyes covered in cataracts, weeping foulness. The third was a young woman, naked and beautiful, exquisite in every way. Terror showed in her young eyes as she struggled against the restraints set into the rock pillar.

The fourth was a young man, full of hope and desire for change. He would do excellently. Ahma began to chant, words in a language he didn’t understand, a menacing tongue that sounded like broken bells tolling. He raised the knife over the throat of the first sacrifice, and cut. Blood exploded from the wound in great torrents, more blood than a mortal body could possibly contain. It began to fill the basin at the bottom of the chamber, and a red light flickered within the steel ring. He then moved to the second sacrifice, cutting the throat again. Pus poured from the body in torrents, mixing with the blood in the basin.

He then moved to the girl, cutting her throat. The smell of a thick, heady animal musk, smelling exquisitely of the promise of pleasure, filled the chamber, as the blood continued to pour. There was more blood than Ahma had thought possible, swirling around his feet. Finally, he cut the fourth figure’s throat. Instead of blood, liquid fire poured out. The blood began to swirl in unnatural ways, to boil, to burn with multi-coloured flame and rise into the air. Now the time had come for the Eight. They lifted themselves onto the spikes extruding from the iron ring, where they were unwilling others ‘assisted’ them, forcing them on, impaling them on the iron spikes. The ring was baptised in blood. Ahma continued to chant, unnatural words spinning from his mouth. The iron ring glared red, and then a bright red light shone within.

‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘YES! YES!’

Then the blood swirling around him struck. Tendrils of floating blood ripped him apart, but he did not scream, in the contrary there was a beatific expression on his face, as the last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the armoured bulk of a sky warrior walking through the portal he had just created.

~*~

Eliphas the Inheritor looked on at the pathetic attempt at a summoning ritual. The powers the cult-leader had channelled had claimed his life – he had lost control of the power he was channelling at the last moment. The rest of the cult were an unruly gaggle of feudal-worlders, primitive fabrics adorning them. But it had worked, and with ease too. The portal was stable enough to bring troops through, all 666 men of Eliphas’ Host, added to which were the 64 Khorne Berzerkers and 5 Obliterators.

He looked on at the cultists. A test of loyalty would do for now.

‘What is your name?’ he asked.

A babble of answers followed.

He fired his bolt pistol at the nearest cultist, watching his head burst like a ripe melon with complete and utter detachment. His First Acolyte, Lord Virgilius in his Terminator Armour, and his Sorcerer, Lord Tartaron, levelled weapons as well.

‘You. Are. Dogs.’

Some of the smarter cultists began to prostrate themselves.

‘Yes, we are dogs, my Lord,’ they said.

‘Then act like them.’

‘We shall.’

‘Good.’

~*~

Isfret, minor Goa’uld servant to Apophis, laughed. This new body was most exquisite, was it not? A young female body with hair of gold, captured in a recent slave-raid, it was beautiful, made even more delightful because she wore barely anything, and what she wore only served to show off, not conceal or hide shamefully the perfection of her naked body. A hand device glimmered on her right hand. Yes, this carnal envelope was more than fitting for a true Goddess – it was wondrous. The Chappa’ai shone open before her, leading to a world that served Apophis and was overdue for inspection by His servants.

She strode elegantly through, her Jaffa following their Goddess.

~*~

Eliphas had heard enough of this heathen planet’s primitive superstitions. They said the device in the centre of this agrarian village – the “Chappa’ai” – was a portal to the land of the gods. Like Eliphas believed that nonsense. The metal ring, under observation from Eliphas and his troops, suddenly flared into life, and a figure emerged from it. She was female, most certainly, her clothes and adornments shamelessly showing off her feminity. Was this their goddess?

‘Who are you, interlopers?’ she demanded in uttermost arrogance.

‘The name is immaterial,’ said Eliphas, skimming knowledge of her language from the mind.

Men in armour, wielding ungainly clubs, followed. Their leader was a swarthy man, a strange symbol tattooed in gold on his forehead. They levelled the clubs.

The local goddess said something that Eliphas couldn’t hear to the swarthy figure.

‘Jaffa KREE!’ he yelled.

The warriors attacked, charging straight into combat, firing their staff-weapons as they advanced. Eliphas let them get close – he wanted to see what they could do in close combat. He raised high his Accursed Crozius, bringing it down on the head of a warrior, watching with glee as the head disintegrated into pink mist. Another he shot point-blank in the chest and abdomen with his bolt-pistol, satisfied as the man’s torso literally exploded, spraying him with blood. A Word Bearer nearby had run another through with his combat knife. The actinic smell of plasma filled Eliphas’ nostrils as a nearby warrior was reduced to atoms by a plasma-blast. The strange warriors were getting massacred, nowhere near the strength or the speed of an Astartes.

A chainsword gutted the last remaining one like a fish, his intestines pouring out of the wound. The goddess they had been protecting remained, an expression of utter horror and surprise on her face. Her eyes glowed, and she unleashed a kinetic pulse from her right hand that sent a Word Bearer flying. He got up and fired his bolter at the female, noting the shots ricocheting, as if off an invisible wall. Eliphas knew what to do – he charged the figure, and brought down his Crozius. The female’s chest ceased to exist, her bones ground to paste, her flesh ripped to shreds in seconds. The self-proclaimed Goddess Isfret tried desperately to leave its host, breaking out of the mouth. It was then that Eliphas noted the xenos worm crawling out of its host’s mouth. He raised his leg, and stamped. Isfret was no more.

[the atom]

Excellent start! Can't wait to read more.