The Coffee Break. 6 November 2013
Thought I would bring you some Warhammer 40,000 fan fiction today. This piece is something I wrote as a sort of “comment” to a picture on the Imperial Guard group page on Facebook. Looking at the story after finishing it, I decided to put my work here, seeing as how I spent a fair bit of time putting it together, it is only fitting it gets a place here on Thoughts and Topics.
This piece is titled “Slaughter”: enjoy.
They say somewhere in the Ghoul Stars rests the graves of a thousand five hundred guardsmen who went with a Inquisitor and Lord Commissar into the depths of space in pursuit of a heretic and his personal warband, only to be slaughtered by unseen forces once they made landfall.
The story goes a glory-hungry Lord Commissar led his one thousand five hundred men on a mission in service of an Inquisitor into the Ghoul Stars region of space. When they made landfall, they discovered the remains of the heretic’s warband scattered amongst the red sands of this uncharted planet. The Inquisitor – as brash and arrogant as they come – ordered the Lord Commissar to advance the entire force into the red wastes in search of the one heretic, hoping to capture him alive.
Three days passed and not a sign of life until they stumbled upon a series of ancient ruins protracting out from the red wastes. The Lord Commissar – fearful of what may lie ahead – sent a scouting party from the attached Penal Legionnaires into investigate the ruins. Seventeen hours passed and not a word until a lone Legionnaire emerged from the ruins, wounded and half insane. The soldier spoke of horrors within the ruins; of torture chambers so vast it could fit an entire hive city’s population within its cells; of ghostly figures that haunted the empty corridors, and of the horrors that took his comrades one, by one, by one, until he was left.
The man in question bore a freshly branded icon on his face that was not of Imperial origin, nor was it of chaos, or even the vile Necrons or Dark Eldar. The symbol shifted and pulsated as he spoke, causing the Lord Commissar to open fire on the man, despite his doubts.
The force was ordered to withdraw with due haste; seeing the ruins as a threat, the Inquisitor ordered his ship in orbit to open fire on the ruins, burying whatever was in there beneath a hail of ordinance and red sand. When the force returned to their landing zone, they found the crew members of the transport ships all dead in the sand, neatly lined up in rows with their heads removed from their bodies. Before the Lord Commissar could utter his next words, weapons fire came from the ships themselves, and then the very sands began to shift as figures appeared: cloaked in a sort of fabric, firing whatever contraption they had in their hands.
The forces formed defensive circles wherever they could; firing wildly in all directions while the Inquisitor frantically called for help from orbit, but to no avail. Communications had been jammed, and the men were left planet-side with only the ammo on their belts and the water on their webbing.
The last transmission received before the ships left the system was a garbled message: “do-nt return here! This is Inquisitor Cortez Draxton; I am issuing executive order 650-21. This planet is hereby declared hostile to Imperial forces, and is not to be explored, not even by the Inquisition! I say again, this is – no…NO! Get away! By the might of the Emperor foul xenos, STEP BACK OR I’LL…”
Reports from the warship that returned to Imperial space show figures butchering the last of the survivors; their bodies bound to poles, their organs slowly harvested from their bodies, their cries of pain and agony echoing through the red wastes. Whatever slept on that world, only the dead would know – only the dead ever saw what was down there.
Missed the last coffee break?