Chapter 32: Tales from the Ullanor Crusade (2) |
Chapter 32: Tales from the Ullanor Crusade
Part 2
The Shadow of Judgement
Though none but the Beast of Beasts truly knew the extent of his efforts, Snagritt Secretsteela could not help but smirk as he looked at the various datastreams in front of him. All of the power of Ullanor at his fingertips, and he danced the players before him like the puppets they were.
The gretchin knew he was special. While all of his former snotling gang had been eaten by their Warboss, Snagritt had saved their hide by telling the boss all the secrets he could think of about all the boss' enemies. The brute had taken an interest to him, and after promptly killing the would-be rival in a vicious duel, told the little Grot that the newly named Secretsteela had a special place in their little horde: tell him all the goings on around and about their warcamp.
Dressed like any other Gretchin slave, Snagritt kept an ear (or two if he could manage) open. When there were no juicy bits to tell the boss, Snagritt became quite skilled at making up facts all on his own. Soon, rivals for the boss' attention always seemed to be getting close to him to put a shiv in his back. Only Snagritt could keep them away, and the boss soon relied on the Secretsteela's advice alone to plan everything save for actual battle strategies.
The relationship went on like that, until the boss lost a vicious fight against the biggest Ork that Snagritt had ever seen. Urg Mag Uruk Thraka, they called him, and he was death itself. He was uniting all of the boyz into the biggest WAAAAAAGH!!! the galaxy had ever seen, and simple bosses like Snagritt's former plaything deserved no part in it. But the little grot thought that perhaps there was a spot for him though, because he knew that he was special just like this Warlord was. A quick conversation later, and Urg Mag saw how to use the Secretsteela better than he ever had been used before.
Eliminating rivals was fine and good, but it did little to improve the WAAAAAAGH!!!. The more time he spent around the Warlord, the more that Snagritt saw Thraka's way of thinking. In fact, the more time he spent around the Warlord, the smarter he felt. Ideas and strategies to get information kept appearing in his head, and he started taking the initiative more to implement the Beast of Beasts will. If the boss killed a rival, those Orks were leaderless for a while until they found a new Ork to lead them. But if you took a rival, and directed his attention away from Uruk Thraka and towards another rival for the Warlord's power, then you helped the WAAAAAAGH grow, and the rivals were content with fighting each other instead of upsetting the balance of power.
Though he had centuries of examples to choose from, Snagritt's favorite example had to be when he sent a fearsome Warboss named Grunhag da Flaya off on a wild squig chase into the center of the galaxy. Da Flaya was becoming a problem for Urg Mag, and his refusal to evolve with the rest of the Ullanor Orks was a massive issue that couldn't easily be solved by simply killing the brute. His lieutenants would simply pick up where Grunhag left off, and the WAAAAAAGH!!! would be stuck repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Instead of trying to thuggishly kill Grunhag, the Beast of Beasts merely had Snagritt drop bits and pieces of vital information that 'Da Flaya' would overhear. "Dere are Squatties in da middle of the galaxy", a well-placed Mekboy would say. "Lotsa treasure and lotsa good krumpin!" The stupid oaf took the bait, and left Ullanor with all of his barbaric boyz. That left the remaining Orks in Ullanor well under the control of the Beasts. Their empire flourished, and Snagritt was watching over it all. Brutally cunning indeed!
Then the heavily armored 'humies' came. There had been reports out of Golgotha, but at first they were merely one enemy to fight. There were others that deserved just as much malice. Then Maga da Zapboss had been killed by one of the humies' baddest warbosses. And the Secretsteela barely knew anything about him. These new humies that called themselves 'the Imperium' were sweeping over the Golgothan Wastes like an unstoppable tide, and Snagritt hadn't seen them coming. The punishment he received from the other beasts had been brutal, but he'd survived, convinced them that he was still valuable, and went immediately back to work.
Snagritt Secretsteela proved his worth and then some when he went back to work. Building a secret base in the permanent shadow of a moon whose rotation ensured that one side was permanently covered in darkness. With no heat signature escaping the base, an empire's worth of data streaming to the various monitors in his main lair, and a whole company of Warboyz, he had one of the most secure locations in the empire outside of Ullanor itself. It was from this location that he delayed the Imperium as much as he could. False data where it would be accepted, deceptive strikes when he couldn't find a receptive audience, and above all he tried to make the campaign to Ullanor itself as slow and bloody as he could. So far, the Beast Grot had been successful beyond any but the Beasts' wildest dreams.
And so here he was, staring at the date screens and observing several theaters of war, trying as hard as he could to delay the humies and steer any potential rival to the Beast of Beasts into their hands. Killing two enemies with the same blade.
Suddenly, one of his data screens stopped transmitting. Static hissed and no amount of smacking it seemed to restore vision. Then another screen went dark, but that one was light years away from the other location. That was impossible. If one had fallen to the Imperium, then how could they…
Wait, no. That was silly. Snagga chided himself for his typical paranoia. This was simple mechanical failure. Ever since Maga da Zapboss had been killed, the Mekboyz that had been sent to aid the Secretsteela had been declining in quality. Some day, the Grot feared the only thing keeping them in line was the threat of a beating from the Big 'Uns that Snagritt had guarding him at all times.
"Hey! What are you Mekboyz doing down there!" Snagritt screamed into a nearby receiver. "You lot messing with my engines again?"
"Not us boss!" he heard one of them chime in. "All working down 'ere! Somefing we can 'help with?"
"Well my screens are down, so what are you doing to fix it?" the spymaster snapped back.
Silence was his only answer.
"Boyz?"
No response. No sound at all coming from their end. But there wasn't any damage to any of their equipment. It was as if they just refused to talk anymore. Or something had stopped them.
Something made Snagritt feel a cold pit forming in his stomach, and he looked back at his monitors, only to find that all of them were down, static hissing noises piling up on top of one another. That… that was impossible. The receiver to the Mekboyz was still active, and he would have at least heard the alert noises if there was a technical failure on this level. There was nothing wrong with his base.
That meant his information sources had been eliminated. All of them. At the same time. They were light years away from one another, though. Some of those warbosses were on completely different sides of the Ullanor Sector. Somehow, the Imperium had discovered his sources, effectively infiltrated their defenses, successfully eliminated them, and did so within minutes of one another while accounting for time dilation differences.
Something primal and formerly repressed was stirring within Snagritt Secretsteela. Fear was an emotion he thought had been purged from his being long ago, but faced with the dread understanding that he held the attention of an alpha predator that was so far above him he could not comprehend all of its danger had undone much of what the Gretchin had built himself up to be. Suddenly, he felt very alone and underprotected.
"Oi! You lot get ready!" he screamed as the Big 'Uns that were guarding him. "Some humie soldier is 'ere and we gotta-"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he saw two lightning claws burst through the front of the biggest Big 'Un in front of him. As the poor creature looked down, uncomprehending at the new wound in its gut, another lightning claw removed the ork's head from its body. A human warrior had seemingly appeared out of thin air, looking at the Spymaster of Ullanor through an avian helm that promised death to all enemies who saw it.
"The judgment of humanity has come, Secretstealer!" it thundered. "Witness the wrath of the Imperium made manifest!"
The rest of Snagritt's bodyguards tried to attack the intruder who had killed their commander, but the Secretsteela could clearly see that it was a losing battle. The human warrior was massive, easily more than two and a half meters tall, yet it moved with a grace that the Grot hadn't thought possible. Aiding it in its movements was the suit it wore. This was no massive warplate, for this was a slender thing, liquid black metal encompassing its entire body, with avian wings making the figure look like some great bird of prey. The suit also seemed to blend into the surroundings of Snagritt's base, and this aided the assassin in seeming to move quicker than he actually was.
A nanofiber feather from the suit's wings shot forward, taking another bodyguard straight between the eyes. Before the ork's body even hit the floor, two more were dead as the lightning claws pierced through their chests and slammed them into the floor so hard that small craters appeared. One last ork remained, at it decided that protecting some puny grotling wasn't worth its life. Screaming for its life, the ork ran for the door as fast as its stubby legs could carry it. Its efforts were in vain, as Snagritt knew they would be, for one of its dead companion's chain axes soared through the air, planting itself firmly into the fleeing coward's back, with another nanofiber feather finding its mark at the base of the skull.
Snagritt didn't even pay them any attention. He was grateful the ork had decided to flee, even. For that had turned his would-be killer's attention away from him, and he was willing to take a risk that the fancy suit it wore could not go invisible again so soon after flinging its ranged weapons at his guards. He spun around and slammed a button on the console, hearing the power generators underneath the floor scream in protest.
Snagritt was a paranoid little creature, who had long planned out contingencies about what would happen if someone had tried to kill him. Granted, he'd thought that it would be a rival Ork who would try to do him in, but his traps would work nonetheless. The one whose button he pressed was a stasis field generator. Normally, it would have locked someone in time, forever stationary until Snagritt was able to safely leave the room and set up remote sentry guns. The intruder's attack had damaged the stasis generators in the floor, but it hadn't been enough to destroy them outright. It wouldn't lock the assassin down, but it would slow them, moving at a pace that would look comically slow to someone outside the field. Besides, the stasis field would lock down the electronics in the suit, if the humie had any. No more sneaking around for him!
"That armor a good 'un, humie!" Snagrit cackled, as he turned around to look at the assassin again. "But you isn't fast enough!"
But as he primed a pistol and aimed it at the spot the figure had been at moments before, he saw nothing. There was no human in dark, foreboding armor. Just a humming stasis field, with nothing inside of it.
The Secretsteela peered around, firing his gun at the area to the right and left of the stasis plate in a vain attempt to find a hidden target. He hit nothing. The rounds impacted harmlessly on the floor and ricocheted off. Where was this humie? No, this was no mere Imperium war weapon. This was some ancient predator of the night. And he could feel its gaze upon him, even if he couldn't look back.
He went right up to the edge of the field, staring at it to see if there was some optical illusion that prevented him from gazing inside. The search was fruitless, and he was at a loss for where his foe was. The ceiling? No. Under the floor grid? No. There was only one other place left…
He turned around, his back to the field, and looked back at the hissing data screens. Was he somewhere behind them? Had he moved so fast that he'd someone passed right by Snagritt, almost under his very nose?
Then, in a painfully recreation of before, two massive wounds opened up in Snagritt's torso, and the spymaster felt himself lifted up in the air. As he looked down, there were no lightning claws sticking out of him. The blades themselves appeared to be invisible, with his blood seeming to coat two invisible spaces where the blades should have been. Suddenly, they were there, as if they had always been there. There hadn't been a shimmering effect as if a cloak had been deactivated, it had just appeared as if it had been there all along.
"My armor isn't the only advantage I have, you filth." he heard a voice growl right in his ear. "The very Warp itself bends to my will. I can make myself seen and unseen as I see fit."
With a sinking feeling, the Spymaster Beast finally understood what had happened. His stasis field had done exactly what it was supposed to do, and had trapped his enemy inside. But the cruel human had psychically made itself invisible as it moved forward at a glacial pace. The grot had placed himself right in the path of the invisible, charging predator, and had paid the price when its lightning claw had finally escaped the confines of the poor creature's last trap.
"My brothers will kill your 'Beast of Beasts' upon Ullanor soon." it continued, "and we will not tolerate your influence propping up a successor to torment the Imperium in the future milennia. Your dreams of an empire end upon Ullanor, and whatever pathetic dreams you yourself conjured end now."
Snagritt Secretsteela, the Spymaster Beast, the Hidden Dagger of Ullanor, and the Great Gretchin, died before the scream ever escaped his mouth.
Endurance
The Ullanor Crusade has been arduous. The Imperium of Man has been tested sorely in this war, and millions of our species have died trying to bring the despicable Ork xenos to heel. But time and time again who has Horus Lupercali, Warmaster of the Ullanor Crusade, chosen to be his vanguard? Chosen to be first into the breach?
THE DRAGON-FORGED!
And so it is, my brothers, that the Warmaster told us to go to the world of Khasis, a place the Orks conquered when the horrors of mankind's own creations mingled with the denizens of the Immaterium to destroy all humanity had made. The Greenskins have made themselves at home there, turning it into a repository for their knowledge and machinations. We needed those plans, to make our attack upon Ullanor itself more successful, and so Crusader Fleet XVIII was sent to take the planet.
We crushed them, oh how we crushed them with our terrible might. The Orks could not stand before our might, and retreated into the subterranean hovels like the scum that they are. But they are not foolish. Stupid, mayhaps, but they have a cruel cunning that knows how to inflict pain upon others. Using weapons that doubtless took the lives of the ones who wielded it, they ignited the atmosphere of their world. Fire spread across the world's skies, and they burn until this day. It is a hellscape, make no mistake, but the data was still in need of recovery. Who, I wonder, could have been chosen for such a task?
THE DRAGON-FORGED!
One hundred and eighty Astartes made planetfall, their landing craft almost disintegrating upon landing. But they were not dismayed. Their armor was damaged trying to make their way through the caustic air, but it did not matter. They were alive, and they could accomplish their duty. Twenty soldiers of the XVIIIth Legion died waiting for the doors to their lair to break, but it did fall. And so they went inside, ready to exterminate the xeno and do their duty to humanity.
The Orks that hadn't perished in the inferno were ready for them, opening fire immediately when the doors open and one hundred and sixty Astartes rushed inside. The Orks weapons were many, but the resolve of the Imperium is greater. No matter how many rounds they took the members of the legion kept advancing, and the more Orks they killed, the easier it became to move, for their only strength came in numbers. But the journey to the center of this underground fortress was a brutal one. Occasionally fatigue gripped a legionary, or perhaps a lucky shot or stab from one of their enemies. The exact reason may have changed, but the end result of a dead Astartes never did. Their numbers dwindled even further as the Orks became more and more desperate, unleashing horrors that only their foul minds could concoct. Flamethrowers were brought out, to try and clease the invaders with fire, but still the legionaries advanced, for they would not be denied. As they marched, the Orks grew fearful, for they saw an enemy that would not retreat, would not yield, and could handle the hottest temperatures they could conjure. Who was it that instilled such fear?
THE DRAGON-FORGED!
And so they fought them, with melta and bolter, sword and fist, mind and will. Back and back the Orks were pushed, with most of them retreating to the very deepest levels of their home, hoping to avoid the punishing fury of the XVIII Legiones Astartes. The creatures had made a mistake, though, they had left their most important spaces unguarded. Streams and streams of data were collected and stored, and a statue to their foul twin-headed god that had been emboldening them was utterly ruined. Curses rained down upon them, but they did not care. Duty was all that mattered.
But while the Orks were no longer as strong and as unified, they were furious. Rabidly enraged at what we had taken from them, and what we were about to do. We had to distract them, to delay their attack and give a chosen few the precious time they needed to escape. A hundred of us remained, and all of us demanded to stay behind and hold the line with our captain. Ninety were chosen, and I was among the ten with the honor and the shame of retreating back to the surface, to place Warp teleportation beacons and hope that our companions could do pick us up in time. The ten of us left the other ninety behind. We never saw a single one again.
The fires of the surface chewed through us as we made our way outside. Not a single word was spoken as we all silently suffered in our duty. Then one of us fell, and we took his data and waited. Then another. Then another. Eventually, I was all that was left. Two of my lungs and one of my hearts was gone, but still I endured. My Primarch demanded our success, and I would not be found wanting. One hundred and seventy nine better brothers than myself had died for the completion of this mission, and though every second I spent conscious was agony, but I endured. As the Emperor would have wanted, as Vulkan would have wanted, as my brothers would have wanted.
And now, my brothers, the data has been recovered. The best minds in the Imperium have spent years deciphering them, and we know what is awaiting us as we now go to the very heart of the Ullanor System itself. There will be no traps, there will be no surprises, and there will be no mercy for any Orks that we find there!
The Orks of Khasis spread our names far and wide. Fear has been driven into their hearts by one hundred and eighty Astartes of the mighty XVIIIth Legion. Imagine fear striking their hearts when eighteen thousand, at the side of the Lunar Templars and the Emperor himself arrive at Ullanor Prime. And when that day comes, my brothers, who is it that the Orks shall fear?
THE DRAGON-FORGED! THE DRAGON-FORGED! THE DRAGON-FORGED!!!