Vorr nudged a loose plate into place as he made his way through the many gangways that led to the colony’s command deck. Alarms blared, and the rhythmic flashes of emergency lighting was all that lit the darkened corridors of his besieged home. It seemed another Kerr’var fleet had found its way to their moon, the dull thumps of plasmavore fire shaking the half flesh half metal walls and platforms surrounding him. His living symbiont armor growled in complaint and dug its hundreds of hooked legs deep into his spine. The pain was immediate, mitigated only by a beeping device on his chest that sent minute surges of energy through his veins, suppressing the creature’s protestations. It was unlike his armor to rebel in this way, a bad omen.
The narrow tunnels opened up to a large room with a massive window overlooking the black void beyond. What he saw nearly made both his hearts stop: dreadnoughts, frigates, gunships and carriers spread wide across the star riddled sky. Thousands of them.
This wasn’t the usual expeditionary fleet. The Kerr’var had sent an armada.
“I don’t care how hot they’re getting! Tell Ke'vatch and his men to keep those beasts firing or by the ancients I’ll come down there and whip them with their corpses!” Blared Tetrarch Vishra amidst the rows of flickering screens and panels manned by her lesser auspex-bearing brood kin. Vorr approached cautiously, up until Vishra turned to him with a scarred grin. “Lord Archon.”
“Tetrarch.” Vorr said before turning to the besieging flotilla. “So. The Kerr’var have finally found the nerve to bring more than their typical proddings.”
“Hmph. The solari fleet makes good prey for the plasmavores…” Vishra scoffed. “But they've brought their full might upon us this time, my lord. The creatures tire with every moment. We won’t keep them up there for much longer, they’ll make planetfall soon.”
“A storied battle it is, then.” Vorr interjected.
“Aye,” Vishra pressed a series of buttons on her wrist revealing a holo-map with red dots riddled on its grids. “The Kerr’var are concentrating their forces to the north side of the moon. The aspirant regiments have begun to fortify the approach. If they want to destroy us, they’ll have to get through them first.”
“Good. And what of the slayers?”
“The slayer warbands have been mustered and will mobilize to each of the fronts as a vanguard to slow the advance. I shall make my way to oversee their deployments personally.”
“A strategy as good as any.” Vorr turned back to the countless fleet hovering over their moon. “Speak to me plainly now, Vishra. How bad is it?”
The Tetrarch’s lip curled, and her arms slumped forward into the railing of her pedestal. Vorr had fought with Vishra on many battlefields since they were hatchlings. She was a proud member of the warrior caste, never faltering before any foe, her prowess tempered by the forges of their never ending battle for survival against the Kerr’var. But Vorr knew that despite her pride, she was never blind to a battle they could not win. It was for this wisdom that he chose her as Tetrarch.
“My warriors shall fight for clan and kin till their dying breaths. I’ve no doubt of that.”
“I see…” Vorr replied with a resigned sigh.
“I’ve ordered the evacuation of the lesser castes,” Vishra stomped down from her platform and clasped a clawed hand on Vorr’s shoulder. “I will do all I can to save our people, my lord. But if they are going to make it off this rock, we need the titan, and we need it now.”
“You have your duty, old friend. Now I shall do mine. Send the acolytes to the Luminaria, I shall meet them there.”
“Vorr…” The concern in Vishra’s voice gave him pause. There was a hint of sadness there, a hushed murmur of what could have been, shaping its tone. “Vegira Selarikon.”
“Walk the path, old friend.” Vorr replied before stepping away.
General comms crackled above him and Vishra’s voice returned to its resolute firmness.
This is Tetrarch Vishra. Emergency protocols have been initiated. We are now under threat level 5. All slayers to battle stations! Repeat! All slayers to battle stations!
It was unlike Vishra to use the ancient tongue, but he was glad to know that at least some still remembered it. If the ancients were merciful, perhaps victory could still be within reach, but if not, the memory of his people shall fall in a tempest of wrath and fire.
###
A thousand blades for the five hundred worlds! A thousand blades for the millions slain!
Brekar heard his people's battlesong ring through every corner of his mind, even as the sounds of distant battle echoed through the very walls of the lift. Every word was repeated in cycles, a mantra of violence that made his armor click and growl. It had only been a few hours since the arms masters had hastily fitted his late seedbearer’s symbiont on to him and its bioplates writhed in protest as it conformed to his less worthy form. The creature proved to be as irate as its previous owner, a trait he would need to learn to temper just as his father had.
“Run diagnostics and re-initialize awakening ritual.”
Command received. User identified. Slayer Brekar. Actuators online. Neural interface online. Life support systems online. Mutagen scanners online. All systems are primed. Symbiont safety protocols disabled.
The ancient armor let out a groan and the creature on his back roused once more, its hundreds of tiny legs sliding across his spine before slipping deep into his skin. Brekar could feel its power course through his body, causing muscles to thicken, and skin to harden into plates. Then a beeping device on his chest whirred to life, sending ripples of energy through his veins, keeping the growths and mutations of his armor to an acceptable minimum. Minute calculations were being made, the latency between host and symbiont narrowing with every step, every breath, every thought. Harmony of purpose was the key in using relics such as these, and though he was thankful for the biocybernetic apparatus that kept the armor from devouring his flesh, he was awed at how the ancients who wore this armor controlled their symbionts through sheer will. He would do well to honor them by bleeding his enemies well this day.
Arriving at launch bay four. Hangar status threat level 5. All slayers to battle stations. Happy hunting.
Brekar walked through the lift doors onto a large hangar. It smelt of bile, and the breaths from the hopper bioships lingered in the air with a thick mist that filled his lungs. Most of the slayer war parties within it were mustered and preparing their biomorphs. Acid-throwers, flame casters, spore launchers, and spike rifles were common mutations in a slayer's arsenal, but those few warriors that carried wraithforged weapons caught his attention. These hallowed relics were made from the souls of the greatest slayers among the warrior caste, refined, crystalized, and forged into an extension of their previous host’s bloodlust. Only the finest Executors and storied slayers carried such weapons. He would do well to serve under one worthy enough to wield one.
“Brekar! Brekar here!”
A voice called to him from within the crowds of warriors, and out strode a female decked in fiery red chitin and a beaten helm blazoned with claw stripes. A name danced on the tip of his mandibles, before slithering its way to his tongue.
“Farka.”
“It has been a long time. Glad to see your memory hasn’t failed you, ke’san.” She lifted her face plate with slender claws, and gave Brekar a sharp fanged smile. “It pleases me to see you amongst the ranks of the worthy.”
“Worthy indeed.” An elder slayer carrying a wraith forge hammer caught his eye. “I thought you were out raiding the Kerr’var outposts on the fringe?”
“Aye I was. I had just returned home when the fleet appeared out of nowhere."
“So you saw it then? Is it truly as mighty as the others say?”
Farka nodded, her chin dipping slightly. “I haven’t seen anything like it. This will be a battle worth a saga or two!” Her eyes drifted from his face down to his armor. “Speaking of sagas… Your symbiont…”
“My father’s…" Brekar said.
Farka's eyes widened. "You bear Executor Torvo's armor?"
Brekar felt a snarl crawl up his throat at the name. It was not his choice to be fitted with his seedbearer’s symbiont. "The symbiont meant for my own ascension had not yet emerged from its shell, the armorers thought this the most fitting replacement."
Farka looked poised to rebut but held her tongue. “I am sorry, ke’san. His loss must still be heavy on your mind. I-”
Just then, a loud roar called her attention to one of the other lifts. Out came an honor guard, all armed with wraithblades and shields flanking none other than Tetrarch Vishra herself.
"The Tetrarch…" Farka gasped. “Come! We have to see this!
Brekar moved carefully through the crowd that steadily formed around the honored warmaster, following closely behind Farka. An expanding feeling brewed in his chest as glimpses of her form peeked through the warriors he waded through. She was broad for a female, and her more ancient symbiont had taken full advantage of her form. It wrapped every inch of her body in thick chitin, and formed a cowl around her head in the shape of a snekdragon’s jaws. Through luck or perseverance, he had pushed himself to the front where the Executors presented themselves to her on bent knees. The tallest among them caught his eye. He was a flesh braided warrior armored in azure chitin, honor marks riddled his pauldrons, a wraithblade hung from his hip, and the name Gravis was branded on his chestplate.
The Tetrarch returned the greeting with a nod, and turned to the crowd, her amber eyes drifting past Brekar, filling him with dread and awe in equal measure. “Honored Slayers! You have been summoned here to answer the call of Jaal’meth! The Kerr’var are upon us! They hide behind their ships, steel, and guns hoping this will save them! I tell you, clan-kin! Even now, the ancient of war stirs from its slumber Onwards to battle! Suffer not the human to live!”
And with one last rousing warcry the crowds dispersed, gathering amongst their warbands and into the thrumming bioships. One by one the hoppers filled with warriors hungry for battle, before leaping into the air and out into the din of distant battle.
“Well, ke’san. It seems the others have found bands to fight with. Perhaps we should do the same.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Brekar focused on the figure of the azure warrior addressing his warband closeby. “That is where we must go.”
“Executor Gravis’ warband?” Farka shook her head. “Only the finest slayers go with him. There’s no way he would take us on. Come on, we should head to the nearest hopper before we’re left behind..”
“No. You may settle for less if you wish. If this were to be the final battle I fight, I wish to serve under one worthy enough to die for.”
“No, Brekar wait!”
Brekar walked over to Executor Gravis’ hopper, despite Farka’s pleading. There were three warriors in total, the Executor included. The largest among them eyed him as he approached, and blocked his path.
“Wrong warband, scrubs. Get lost.” he said
“Are you Executor Gravis?” Brekar said, his eyes locked squarely on the warrior’s.
“No.”
“Then that’s not for you to decide.” Brekar stepped forwards only to have a fat hand slap onto his breastplate.
“I said, get lost.”
Brekar bared his teeth and his symbiont naturally tightened the plates around his arms and legs. “Much blood will be spilled this day. I expected to taste human blood first, but yours will suffice.”
“Enough, Dromon! Let me have a look at him.” Gravis called out, the ridges on his brow speaking tales of age. He approached with heavy steps, and took a whiff of the air around Brekar. “You let the blood dry off your armor, hatchling? Smells new.”
“It was my seedbearer’s. I cleansed it to stain it anew and replace his triumphs with my own.”
“Quite the day for it…” said the male sitting cross legged atop one of the weapon caches, his multi bored biomorph purring happily on his lap.
“That’s if he doesn't die first,” said Dromon..
“Hmm. We don’t take any bloodless in Gravis squad. Find another warmaster to take you on. There are plenty others to bleed with.” Gravis turned away and walked back towards the ship.
“I do not wish to fight with just any other warmaster. I strive to serve only the best.”
Gravis stopped in place and turned with a scowl. “Your flattery will get you nowhere, hatchling. You are right to say that my warband is the best, but as such, we only take the best. Begone from my sight, before I have Dromon rip you in half.”
Farka pulled on Brekar’s shoulder. “Ke’san… Let us go. Please.”
“My name is Brekar, son of Torvo.” His seedbearer’s name caught Gravis’ attention, and it annoyed him to have to use it. Nevertheless, Brekar stood steadfast and pointed to the blade on Gravis’ hip. “You hold a relic on your belt, that makes you a warmaster worth following. I will not disrespect his legacy by serving under a warmaster unworthy of the wraithmark.”
“Hmm… Torvo’s brood eh? A worthy heritage, though I expected one of his to be… Taller…” Gravis rubbed his chin with the edge of his claw. “You want to die so badly, bloodless? Fine.” The Executor looked back at his other warriors then back to Brekar. “Dromon, mark the hatchlings' armor so everyone knows they’re one of us, and Vardok, get him prepped and briefed. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
On Gravis’ word the behemoth clambered over to one of the boxes, while the other approached Brekar and Farka with a grin and a chip in hand.
“I admire the persistence,” he said. “Here, slip these into your helmets.”
Brekar took the chip and inserted it into his symbiont’s neural interface. His visor lit up with coordinates and tracers for each of the warband’s members.
“Now you see as all of us do. I’m Vardock, and I believe you’ve met Dromon.”
Farka scanned through the mission parameters, sifting through milestone after milestone. “We’re to be part of the vanguard? First claws on the ground?”
“Aye. Tip of the spear. That going to be a problem, hatchling?”
Brekar felt a smile creep up the corner of his lip. “Not at all.”
###
The Luminaria was every bit as beautiful as Vorr remembered. It felt like ages had passed since he had entered its hallowed sanctum, filled with memories, graves, and relics from his people’s homeworld, surrounding him as a reminder of what once was: a congruous amalgamation of life and technology unfettered by the limitations either possessed. It was once their vision as a race to become the harbingers of this mission, to thrive in eternal bliss, to make for themselves a paradise of steel and flesh. Balanced, harmonious, perfect.
Such noble goals… What has become of us now? Vorr thought. It was easy to blame the humans and their purgings as most of the Archons before him had done. They provided a just cause for his people’s suffering, a means through which they could strengthen themselves and fight, a world where the path of strength was the supreme arbiter of decision making whilst other paths remained lesser, inferior. But what is strength in this place? What use would a warrior’s might bring to a world where peace reigned firmly?
It is right that they leave us here. Slayers have no place in paradise. Vorr thought, his head dipped in shame. Though there was no more time to waste on sentimentality, muted crashes and shaking walls from artillery fire shook him back into focus.
Vorr made his way across a short bridgeway and sat cross-legged within the central alcove where the life sphere lay dormant, the collective consciousness of all those who have come before. Never had an Archon summoned such great power to himself, and his hand shook as he pressed his palm unto the orb. Flashes of collective memories blazed through his mind, visions of his people’s glories and defeats. He searched the chronicles for guidance, perhaps, some other way to save what remained of his people.
Vorr focused his mind listening closely to the voices that once were until finally something replied from the beyond.
Lavair paliam… Archon… Why have you summoned us?
Vorr shuddered, the collective rumble of a million voices smashing into him like waves on a rocky shore. “Great ancestors… Our people are suffering, the Kerr’var have come to destroy us. Our warriors bleed for you today, for all our people.”
The world turns, what once was will never be again… Ishpiem ulerant zaineth…
“No. There is still time. Many have begun to leave, to seek shelter in the far stars. But they will not make it off-world. I need to summon the ancient of war.”
Esha’irr Jaal’meth! The ruin of worlds… We cannot allow it…
Vorr’s heart sank to his stomach. “But… This is our only hope! Our people will die this day without him!”
The sword of Jaal’meth cuts both ways… Aa’ann pikam zaineth… Much has been done to contain his wrath… We cannot allow it…
“I have given my life to your service! All of us have! We are the last of our people! Do you not understand?! We face annihilation!” Vorr’s claws curled into his palm, purple ichor dripping from it and onto the altar’s floor.
You do not know what you ask…
“I do. I would stake my life, my very soul as tribute. I am aware of the cost of summoning him. I am prepared for what is to come…”
The voices seemed to confer with one another, breaking the unity of their tone. After what felt like an eternity, they coalesced once more.
Aiduin man asha… The cost is too great… We forbid it…
“Then damn you and your consent!” His symbiont groaned, stretching tendrils from his arm, and with a snarl, Vorr ripped the orb from its slot. The million voices shrieked and screamed, nearly driving his mind to madness. All around him began to rot, the stench of decay filled his lungs, and a great chasm began to form where the orb once laid. Vorr ran back to the bridgeway, watching as everything their people had built fell apart before his very eyes, never to be beautiful again. In its place rose a dark form, menacing, horned and bathed in umbral gloom.
“Ancients, forgive me. There is no other way.” Vorr muttered under laboured breaths, the glowing life sphere hovering over his hand. “I shall not let this sacrifice be in vain. By my life, the rage of Jaal’meth shall see our people’s enemies to their knees.”
###
Brekar lunged forward, acid flowing up his throat as his hands clasped on a nearby rail. Their hopper took a nosedive between a pair of rock spires, narrowly avoiding the hail of anti aircraft fire from the Kerr’var below. Thankfully, their colony’s plasmavores chugged along and kept the larger vessels at bay, leaving transports and small gunships as the only major arial hurdles for the hoppers to manage. Despite this however, the humans had still been able to land in force, with countless hordes of men and warmachines bearing the sigil of an eight rayed sun assembling all around the dust covered plains.
Brekar stifled a heave and Vardock let out a chuckle. “Looks like our new friend here isn’t a fan of flying! What’s wrong, bloodless?! Not giving up already, are you?!”
“I don’t blame ‘im. I think I’m going to hurl too…” Dromon said before sending a torrent of his last meal zipping by Farka’s head and out the hopper’s breathing vents.
Ugh! Keep your helmet on if you decide to do that again!” Farka said between bursts of fire from her spike thrower.”
“Enough chatter! We’re nearing the landing zone!” Executor Gravis yelled over the continuous thrum of the hopper’s wings. “We’ll be dropping in on the northeastern front!”
Finally… Brekar thought. The sooner he was off the hopper, the better. “I don’t understand why we’re dropping so far from the front?!”
“The Tetrarch wants us to link up with the aspirant regiments holding the area!” Vardock replied. “Human armor and infantry deployments have been detected on all sectors north of the colony! They’re trying to establish a defensive line for their artillery!”
“Artillery?! Did I hear artillery?! You mean the Kerr’var brought hypervelocity guns?!” Farka barked, letting her finger off the trigger of her biomorph for the first time since they took off.
“A full regiment's worth! The Tetrarch has identified them as our primary target, so we drop in hard, drive a wedge through their front, and silence those guns!”
Brekar noticed Gravis standing near the rear of the hopper, head scanning the killing fields below. “Tell me something, is the Executor always this quiet before battle?!”
“Aye! That he is! The old tyran’s been through enough of this to know when to speak and when not to!”
“Slag incoming!” Gravis screamed moments before a molten shell whizzed towards their hopper, exploded into a thousand pieces and shredded the creature’s wings. Some of the shrapnel clinked off of Brekar’s pauldrons while a white hot shard smashed into Vardock’s helmet. His screams lasted a good second or two before turning into a trickling gurgle.
“Vardock, no!” Dromon screamed.
“Lock your armor, slayers! Brace for impact! Brace!” Gravis roared.
Brekar called to his symbiont and felt every joint in his body stiffen as the hopper spiraled downwards. The creature shrieked in pain, flailing about as it tried to stabilize itself. It hurtled hard into a nearby spire, sending the lifeless Vardock tearing through its gill in a spray of green viscera before finally smashing into the red earth below and breathing its last.
Brekar crawled from the hopper’s innards and disengaged the locks on his armor. Vardock’s body was nowhere to be found, but the blurred forms of Dromon and Farka emerged from a pile of rubble nearby. He looked up to see Executor Gravis already standing atop the transport beast’s carcass, his symbiont wrapping his form in pulsing azure brilliance.
“On your feet, Slayers!” Gravis took his relic in hand, wraithfire erupted from its hilt and took the form of a double edged blade. The weapon let out a satisfied hum, spitting out forks of blue lightning that crackled around its edges, and illuminating texts on its face with all the names of its previous masters. “We’ve got humans to kill!”
Brekar felt the ground shake beneath his hands and pushed himself up. He could feel it through his boots now, a ripple steadily turning into a quake that mangled his recovering sense of balance. He limped past the hopper’s corpse and saw an entire battalion of tanks and men advancing towards them, their thunderous battlesong roaring across the sandy red plains.
“For Vardock!” Dromon roared, the armor along his hand morphing into a massive plasma spitter.
“Ancients protect us…” Farka said, her biomorph’s mouths spinning hot.
The first salvos from the enemy’s cannons spat bursts of molten slag rounds towards them, scorching the very air. Gravis reached upwards into the sky and the blue fibers on his armor extended forming a protective web. The shells bounced off it, rupturing the landscape around them. Tonnes of earth and rock were hurtled into the sky before bathing all in a maelstrom of white hot flame. Gravis lowered his arm as the plumes of smoke settled and the shield returned to him, leaving everything within its sphere unscathed.
Brekar breathed in the shuddering air and let out a long fanged smile. The Kerr’var battalion had ceased fire, frozen in shock. He could smell their fear, every man and woman, every soul on the other side of the plain reeked of it. His father’s symbiont felt it too, forming a small spike thrower on his shoulder before curling around his arms and mutating into two large serrated blades under his fists, all while its legs dug even deeper into his spine.
Brekar felt alive, every muscle tensed and taut, every tendon itching and ready to spring forwards in a wild charge. Gravis motioned for everyone to hold as green trails from acid spores flew above them and into the humans below, bathing the enemy in a salvo that melted bone, steel, and flesh. As the humans' screams filled the air, reinforcements from the aspirant warparties formed up behind them, bio-behemoths thumped forward followed by scores upon scores of warrior aspirants eager to charge into the fray.
“A thousand blades for the five hundred worlds!” Gravis hefted his weapon into the air.
Brekar boomed with a roar of his own. “A thousand blades for the millions slain!!”