Lost and Found (Warhammer 40k SI)

POV: Nicole

Despite seizing the initiative, the wave of Purestrain Genestealers still makes it into melee range with the outer squad in our formation, mainly composed of Skitarii. I feel five of them fall despite taking twice as many enemies with them.

I can feel a surge of wrath as Delta-A3 Raptor kicks his talons through the skull of a Ymgarl-strain while blasting another with his Thermal Lance, and his bladed wings shearing two arms off another foe, harassing one of his Skitarii.

Lt. Wist, Bolt pistol in one hand, Xenophase blade in the other, leaps fully into the melee, cutting down two foes. Despite our devastating opening salvo, it’s not enough to put them all down, and Sister Alanon falls as her armour fails to block the vicious rending claws of a Genestealer and her life signs wink out.

Baldos smashes another Genestealer into paste with his claw; I can admit that, without the wave of fire he spewed seconds earlier, things would have been worse as we began retreating back towards the ramp.

I fire the third shot from my Inferno pistol, immolating another skull before the gun clicks empty. I swap it for my Plasma pistol; swapping is faster than reloading. I get two more shots off; neither is a kill shot, but the hits let my allies finish off the two Genestealers. A shot from my Ballistic Dendrite saves Sergeant Su from losing a limb as he whips around and fires an Assault Shotgun loaded with modified Bolter shells into the creature on semi-auto at point-blank range; the enemy explodes spectacularly, showering Su and a few adjacent skitarii in gore.

AME uses her integrated Digital laser eye on one Genestealer that gets a little too close for comfort; my bladed dendrites whip around, holding it at bay for just long enough for her to fry its brain.

In a matter of seconds, the fighting abruptly cuts off; forty Genestealers lie dead along with six of our own.

I feel a tingle of warning from my Psyniscience, and my head snaps upwards. I channel my will into my Axe as I counter whatever psychic power the enemy Magus was attempting.

“Enemy Magus! One hundred five meters!” I point upwards, and Baldos pivots, blasting upwards with his Lascannons. The attack burns through two levels worth of metal and rockcrete, interrupting but ultimately missing the Magus.

Thankfully she doesn’t try it again.

“Enemy movement! Above and below!” I call out as we continue our retreat. I take the few seconds of respite before the first wave of enemy reinforcements arrives to reload my Inferno Pistol.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Bladed Cog Biophagus Zygor Gravox

Zygor frowned as he watched the protective detail through the security feed. The little Magos had somehow managed to detect the ambush specimens despite the fact that they were nestled into blind spots and coated with a costly, neutralizing paint. It had to be some manner of Archeotech either on her person or within that peculiar psyber familiar.

A shame too; had they gone up one more level, they would have been perfectly positioned to be dealt with succinctly.

“Unfortunate,” he muttered, and glanced at his sister who was also frowning.

He walked over to the wall and pulled down the massive lever with a faint shower of sparks as the circuit completed. Knowing some of the girl’s abilities, they had prepared a number of hardwired contingencies. The fortress itself turned into a Faraday cage to prevent any pesky Noospheric or Vox messages from getting out – not that it stopped the glorious Broodmind. It also turned off all the overhead lights in the facility, leaving only the physical light sources intact.

Gravox gritted his teeth in frustration. The Dreadnought had already gotten a signal through the jamming and the storm, which was quite problematic.

Flipping the switch also signaled that his hidden troops could move in. He reached out through the broodmind, mentally prodding his sibling with a single command. "Send them."

The Genestealers had inflicted casualties, but fewer than he had hoped. The little group was proving unusually well armed, their resistance far more stubborn than anticipated.

His sibling raised her hand; at the gesture, the Lictors dropped from their perches. They landed with barely a sound before their chameleonic forms rippled and vanished into the surroundings. A moment later, there was nothing to mark their presence save the faintest disturbance as they scurried away, off to hunt their targets.

“The girl and the saint, Father wants them either captured or dead,” he said, spurring his forces into action over the Broodmind. The supposedly broken lifts rumbled to life, ferrying squads of his enhanced troops to swarm the lower levels.

He could sense the displeasure of the Patriarch at having to act earlier than he had planned, but there was little they could do now.

He felt his sister gather her power with the intent of targeting the girl. Only to watch through the camera as she raised her Axe and did… something? His sister’s head snapped back, and she recoiled, the power unspooling as she stood there shocked. A quick calculation revealed the girl was pointing directly at the two of them despite over a hundred meters and two floors separating them.

He felt his danger sense prickle, and he frowned, stepping to the side and pulling his sister along as a laser emerged from the floor where they had just stood.

“We must go, Brother. The Patriarch is sending Alphus Rook and Kelermorph Bishop to handle the capture. The targets have proven more dangerous than anticipated, and we are too valuable to risk.” She hissed as she glared down at the floor.

He nodded but maintained his secure connection to the facility, as it would let him gather additional data on the performance of his creations. “We shall retreat and trust Rook and his hybrids to handle things. I leave the forces present at his disposal.” He could feel Rook rapidly approaching as he and thousands more emerged from the tunnels beneath the facility.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nicole

“Negative hits on the Magus and Gravox… he must be a Biophagus,” I mutter before shaking my head. “It looks like they are retreating, but we have Abominants and… Lictors?! Coming from above, roughly one minute to contact at their current pace. Hybrids from below, a lot of them, mostly Neophytes, but I see some Metamorphs and Cultists. They’re setting up weapon emplacements along our only escape route. Lovely.” I growl with obvious irritation.

“Heavy Bolters, ammunition check,” Brother Silverwalker calls out, “I’m at sixty-eight percent.”

“Seventy-two.” “Seventy.” “Sixty-nine.” Three of the Sisters reply.

One of my Scyllax Automata got mauled pretty badly; it's only barely functional, and I need to spend a moment repairing it with Technomancy to avoid losing the unit.

“Silver linings: I don’t see any more Purestrain Genetealers for the moment, and we didn’t walk into the floor filled with hidden explosives. Additionally, we only need to hold out for roughly twenty to thirty minutes thanks to Baldos’s emergency beacon.” I shoot the Venerable a suspicious, squinty-eyed look, but he ignores me as he vents the excess heat from his weapons. “We’re totally jammed in at least three different ways: no Vox, no Noosphere. Even Auspex is confined to the inside of the Fortress, and most of the tech they’re using for the jamming doesn’t have a Machine Spirit I can sense or manipulate.”

“There are eleven levels between us and the floor we initially came from, which is rapidly filling with enemies who are swiftly moving upwards. We can either hunker down here or go through the enemy and try to find an advantageous defensible location. Our ammunition supply is somewhat limited,” I say, gesturing back the way we came before I ask openly. “So who’s got an opinion?”

“There is an old cloning vat system on level 6-1-6-7; the area would have required extensive structural reinforcement to hold the large containers. The chamber appeared more defensible than most to my senses. If we could get to that position and hold it, we would have an advantage,” Delta-A3 Raptor suggests.

“Based on the age and location of this facility, there should be an armory or vault chamber on level 6-1-6-0; however, it would require us to get that far through enemy-controlled territory,” Victoria mentions as she reloads her Archeotech Hellpistol. “It’s also clear they’re after you and Saint Lael, my lady. The Genestealers targeted both of you excessively.”

“We should strike at the Xenos before they have time to overwhelm us with sheer numbers,” Baldos suggests eagerly.

“Alright, let's shoot for the vat system. Baldos, you will take the lead; you don't care about small arms. Everyone should prioritize the heavy weapons teams,” I say, glancing around sharply. “I would highly prefer we not lose anyone else. So what I am about to do stays between us,” I say as I grasp my Tesseract Vault.

I summon my Necron cloak and my Canoptek Wraith. The Wraith smoothly uncoils itself, and several of my retinue flinch as its glowing green optic focuses on me.

I point upwards. “Kill,” I say out loud while transmitting its actual orders: to use strike-and-fade tactics to kill and delay the Abominants. My Wraith immediately floats upwards and phases straight through the ceiling.

Several individuals in my retinue are now staring at me strangely. “The Ordo Xenos and the Mechanicus are aware of my Necron toys and have approved of me retaining them,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Among them, Victoria is looking at me, her eyes wide with excitement. “You can hack and control Xenos constructs?” She whispers excitedly. “Teach me!”

“Another time perhaps, Vicky. We have Xenos to purge,” I say, gesturing at the ramp. “Baldos? If you don’t mind?”

“With pleasure.” Baldos blares his warhorn as he starts to charge down the ramp. “Xenos! Tonight you have the honor of dying for the Emperor! Prepare yourselves!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Navy Auspex and Flight Control Technician, Krell Pingman

Rotating to air traffic control around Cypra Mundi had been an interesting experience. The Forge World had thousands of aircraft moving at any one time, but while the volume was much higher than in his other position, his job as a monitor was much simpler.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his lukewarm recaff as he stared out the viewport at the planet below.

His console beeped a warning he hadn’t heard before. He leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Unauthorized Drop Pod launch detected?”

He frowned; the pod itself was transmitting friendly tags, Astartes tags. He blinked owlishly at the designation. There was an active Astartes Dreadnought in that drop pod. “Sir!” He flagged down his commanding officer across the room. “Sir, we may have an issue!”

Officer Dagmar frowned and walked over briskly. “What is it, Krell?” The man had an uncomfortable tendency to loom over Krell’s shoulder.

“An Astartes Drop Pod just launched. Sensors and ident tags confirm there’s a Dreadnought inside,” Krell explained hastily.

“Where’s it headed?” His superior leaned closer to peer at the screen. “Hail the Strike Cruiser it came from.”

“Its current trajectory puts it… Southern continent. Forge City Ferrus-9. Primary spire, Sir,” Krell replied as his screen tracked the Drop Pod's trajectory in real time.

“Let’s hail them, Krell. There should be a good reason for…” Dagmar froze as Krell’s screen lit up with additional notifications, as without warning one drop pod became ten, each launched from different ships, then ten Drop Pods became a hundred. Two dozen Thunderhawks launched a moment later, burning hard after the Drop Pods.

“Cypra Mundi Control, this is the Rending Vow, Brazen Claws Battlebarge. We have received a priority Omega-One emergency call from a Mechanicus asset. Forge City Ferrus-9 has been designated an active and hostile warzone. All air defenses that attempt to engage the en route Astartes will be terminated with prejudice. All non-essential air traffic over the southern continent is to be diverted and grounded immediately. Authorization and override codes transmitting now.” The console chimed as the codes flooded across the display.

Krell turned to stare at Dagmar; the man had gone sheet white, and as Krell’s console cleared the codes, Dagmar sprinted back to his station to send a priority message to his own superior Magos Portum Lathrix-7.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Fabricator Locum Archmagos, Rhydan Korr

Korr was loitering in the Noosphere with the avatars of the High Council. Physically, he was in his personal forge, sitting behind his desk. They were all waiting for the Noospheric connection to Nicole’s Biologis exam to come online. His emotional regulator alerted him to what he already knew; he was growing annoyed.

A Tech Priest had transmitted that they were having connection issues. On his Forge world, a Forge city was having connection issues.

“This does not reflect well on Magos Gravox’s capabilities if his Forge is struggling in its capacity to maintain a mere Noospheric connection,” Explorator-General Bulbor stated critically.

“Indeed,” Korr replied as he probed the connection and discovered that it was not just the Forge temple; the entire Forge city had gone dark. He narrowed his eyes; that was unusual, though not unheard of during particularly bad ionic storms; however, the storm above Ferrus-9 was fairly mild by all measurements; he felt that something was amiss.

Abruptly, the avatars of both Magos Dominus Ryex-Epsilon and Archmagos Croft simultaneously stiffened and dimmed as their attention was pulled elsewhere. Korr observed a high-intensity stream of data from the orbital ring flowing directly into both of them.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Moments later, Korr himself received a high-priority message from Magos Portum Lathrix-7 that drew his attention.

He processed the message, then did a double-take as he read it again, this time with his full attention.

Unscheduled drop pod deployment. The Astartes still in orbit from numerous chapters had mobilized for rapid insertion. Then he decrypted the original message, and his avatar froze for a moment.

Magos Gravox was a Genestealer.

His mind processed the implications. Gravox’s entire faction and everyone he had ever operated on were potentially compromised. That was several million individuals. A Genestealer had gotten to the upper ranks of the Middle Council; that meant there were likely more, many more.

Even worse, he had engineered his examination as a trap and now threatened Magos Cavalerio and the new Imperial Saint!

The local Noosphere shuddered around him: “This. Is. Unacceptable.” He growled; the waves of intense fury emanating from his avatar were palpable to everyone nearby. His avatar’s eyes burned as his thoughts roiled tumultuously.

The rest of the High Council flinched and turned to face him.

“Ryex-Epsilon. Full mobilization. I. Want. Ferrus-9. Purged,” he snarled, his physical cybernetic hand clenched down hard enough around the armrest that the steel groaned and began to deform. “Reinforce the Astartes. The loss of Magos-Princeps Cavalerio is unacceptable. The loss of an entire Forge city is intolerable.”

“It will be done at once, Fabricator Locum.” Ryex-Epsilon’s avatar vanished as he rushed to comply.

His avatar flickered. “Everyone consolidate your holdings, mobilize your defenses. This cannot be an isolated incident. If we work quickly, we can contain the situation before the Fabricator General…” Korr trailed off as red priority notifications poured in from across Cypra Mundi, one after another.

Armories were under attack. Vehicle depots were being raided. Riots in the Manufactoria. Xenos abominations attacking Skitarii patrols. Bombings. Assassinations.

One notification in particular hung in front of him ominously.

Aptimos Mundi Phi<0.05, Status: Do Not Disturb.

Status Updated.

Aptimos Mundi Phi<0.05, Status: Disturbed.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Abominant Rock-Gnaw

Rock-Gnaw lumbered forward excitedly, his massive maul clasped tightly in his gargantuan mutant hands; big sister and big brother Gravox said he could smash enemies as much as he wanted in the name of big daddy.

Gravox didn’t like it when he called the pa… patri… big daddy, big daddy… but he was big daddy?

He was the biggest and the strongest of his creche, so he got to go first. Not Gravel, and not Mulch. Rock-Gnaw was also the smartest; Gravox said he was twice as smart as an Ogryn! Which was double as good!

The hidy stabby leapers had gone; they were funny lookin' but would also smash the enemy… no wait, they were stabby, stab the enemy.

He had already gone down a whole level and was moving quickly towards the next ramp. His kindred followed behind when the world suddenly tilted, and he slammed face-first into the floor and slid forward a few meters. The rest of his kin skidded to a stop; they looked just as confused as he was.

“Huh?” He grunted and looked back.

His feet and the lower half of his shins were standing there in the middle of the hallway. Cut so cleanly that the wounds had just now started bleeding.

Rock-Gnaw was confused; those were his feet. He knew his feet – why were they over there? They should be over here! He looked down at his bleeding legs and furrowed his brow.

While he was thinking, Mulch cried out and fell over his legs, leaving them standing upright in the hall. Rock-Gnaw saw it that time! A funny pair of silver claws had come out of the floor and cut them! Then they went back into the floor!?

Rock-Gnaw punched the floor experimentally; his hand stung a little afterward. No, the floor was still floor.

“Bad thing in the floor! Smash it!” He bellowed as he swung his maul down. His kin followed his lead as they tried to squish the strange metal sneaky stabby!

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Genestealer Cultist, Galt Forgetender

Galt was a fourth-generation Genestealer. He had toiled as his parents had toiled for the Great Father in the name of the Clawed Omnissiah. Now he had the honor of witnessing Ascension Day with his own eyes.

He was honored to be part of the first wave sent to subdue the two VIPs so the kiss of the Great Father could bless them – or remove them if that was not possible. They had been imprinted with knowledge of the two targets' appearance via the Broodmind.

All weapons were in high demand; the cult had brought over a billion individuals into the blessed arms of the Great Father. Even with majority control of the southern continent and active procurement of arms through various means, some of their troops were merely outfitted with archaic las-locks and other second-hand firearms or jailbroken mining equipment.

Galt certainly felt lucky; they had prepared extensively, emptying armouries from under the nose of the false Mechanicus Skitarii and the stockpiles of the Astra Militarum. Galt was one of the lucky few who had been given the honor of carrying a plasma weapon. Most heavy ordnance went to the bulkier hybrids who could better handle its weight, while the lesser Neophytes were loaded with simple autoguns and basic solid-projectile arms; higher-ranked Acolytes like himself were given higher-end looted las, radium, bolt, and even plasma weapons. His time infiltrating and training with the PDF made him one of the few individuals knowledgeable enough to use the volatile plasma gun.

The Mezoa-pattern plasma gun felt warm in his hands; it pulsed with blue light almost in time with his steps as he ran. Some of his kin stayed behind to set up weapon emplacements, but his place was at the fore!

He was running along the right wall with his brethren; that is what saved him.

A metallic blue behemoth lumbered down the ramp at incredible speed. “Die, Xenos!” It bellowed and obliterated the forward line of Genestealer Hybrids in a hail of las-fire before charging into and through their ranks.

Behind the giant came the rest of the enemy. The moment his squad leader began to bellow orders, a terrifying winged Skitarii struck from above; metal talons eviscerated the man mid-order.

Galt’s eyes were frantic as he saw various armoured figures charging towards them in formation, opening up with bolt and las-weapons. Time seemed to slow as he spotted the small figure of the primary target. Galt felt a surge of elation; this was his moment. He pulled the plasma gun to his shoulder, taking careful aim even as his brothers died around him.

Galt squeezed the trigger and… click… The burst of heat and ball of plasma he expected never came. Confusion and panic shook him to his very bones. He had test-fired the weapon; he had checked it extensively and performed all the rites… Why?! That was the last thought in his head as he watched the small figure lift her own Plasma pistol, moments before the glowing barrel flashed and then he knew no more.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Fabricator General Aptimos Mundi Phi<0.05

Aptimos Mundi Phi<0.05 was focused on the task at hand, optimizing the production facilities for the Void Abaci and Archeotech genetic scanners. It was a puzzle he relished; each percentile of improvement was a battle won in his favor.

The fabricator facility was well disguised near the outskirts of the capital. Unfortunately, his colossal presence was not so easily disguised. He had detected certain biological signatures trailing him, but he had deduced they were of no importance or consequence.

He had nearly reprogrammed the tertiary fabricator lathe to reduce deviation in the high-tensile fasteners by two micrometers when the facility shook. His auditory monitors immediately identified the sound: artillery fire from a Basilisk, Vanaheim Pattern, Mark-IV high-explosive shells.

Aptimos did not look up from his work, not until the eastern wall blew in from an application of crude mining explosives.

He lifted his head slowly and blinked once as the dust settled. Dozens of large mutants and armed hybrids poured in. A quick check confirmed the guardian units he had left at the entrance were already engaged.

One of the figures near the rear of the horde was yelling into a portable Vox unit and aiming a laser designator at him. Aptimos was mildly curious about what they intended to accomplish with that.

He tilted his head as he peered down at the interlopers. The troops had brought a number of plasma and melta weapons, as well as man-portable melta charges. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked them.

“Today is the day you die, Spider! For the Clawed Omnissiah!” Screamed what Aptimos designated as the leader unit and identified as a Genestealer Primus.

His Auspex picked up a fast-moving vehicle a few seconds before the aircar loaded with plastic explosives hurtled through the facility’s roof, aimed straight at him. Aptimos didn’t move; he merely closed his eyes as the vehicle impacted him and detonated. The massive explosion ruined hours of careful fine-tuning.

The interlopers cheered. Aptimos allowed himself to feel curious as to why they felt the need to do so. “Negative,” he spoke as he activated the industrial fans within the facility to blow away the dust and smoke, revealing that Aptimos still stood; all they had achieved with such an attack was a faint ashen smudge on his torso.

The crowd went silent, and a ripple of confusion passed through their ranks. The Primus began screaming for the heavy weapons teams to open fire.

“Such a primitive attack. What was that meant to accomplish? Chance of damaging Field Braced Adamantine: negligible. Congratulations, you have earned my attention. Your crimes and interruption have been logged. Verdict compiled: Guilty. Punishment: Death.” Aptimos activated his personal shields and the power fields around his massive bladed legs.

He activated his combat protocols, and just before he began his extermination, he calmly updated his Noospheric status from Do Not Disturb to Disturbed.

A portion of his focus was taking stock as attacks began simultaneously across his Forge World. The Forges of the High Council were all under siege. The capital was rapidly turning into a war zone, and Aptimos began plotting a route back to his citadel even as his two forelimbs flicked out and bisected a pair of Abominants vertically, and his numerous armed Mechadendrites deployed.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Venerable Dreadnought Baldos of the Star Dragons

Baldos was having a glorious day. His faith both in the Emperor and in trouble finding the littlest one had been rewarded. All it had taken was a bit of patience, and one thing he had picked up over the millennia was how to be patient and enjoy the little things, like how a Xenos skull scrunches and pulps within his combat claw, or how their bones snap and shatter under the immense weight of his feet.

They had a plan. This plan involved repeatedly letting him charge headfirst into a massive horde of their enemies. He loved this plan.

Unlike the initial ambush of Purestrain Genestealers, which had been a legitimate threat even to him in close quarters, the follow-up surge of cultists and hybrids who, for the most part, were wielding conventional weaponry was not.

His bulk plowed through their ranks like a plow tilling soft earth. His twin-linked lascannon sang its song of glorious death as he targeted the few who wielded weapons capable of damaging his chassis.

His judicious use of his heavy flamer had to be toned down when he dipped below a quarter of fuel remaining, but that just gave him an excuse to fight them in melee.

The sound of enemy rounds and bolts plinking harmlessly off his hull reminded him of rain. He kept a portion of his Auspex trained behind him, mostly so he got to watch as the others covered the rear of their formation as they charged in right behind him.

He was glad he did, as it allowed him to record the moment a Throne-damned Lictor leaped down; unfortunately for the foul Xenos, it had targeted Apothecary Sevrian Icefang, who had the honor of wielding one of Nicole’s Xenophase blades. While Sevrian was a passable shot, the boy was a menace in close-quarters combat; how he ended up as an Apothecary Baldos was not certain. The Lictor scored a deep gash across Sevrian's right pauldron, but Sevrian took its leading talon in exchange. Before the beast could retreat, the abhuman, Captain Felixis, slammed into it from the side, raking it furiously with a power claw, which distracted and held it in place long enough for Sevrian to decapitate it.

It was not the only amusing thing he recorded in their wanton slaughter; one of the stupid Xenos tried to shoot a plasma weapon at the littlest one. The look on their face as the weapon failed to fire was priceless.

He backhanded a pickaxe-wielding Abberant, killing the thing instantly and sending a massive arc of Xenos blood across the corridor. Two frag grenades flew past him into the throng, detonating amongst their foes with spectacular results; limbs were sent flying, and one particularly unlucky Xenos had their own bandolier of grenades cook off, killing their entire squad.

Baldos rarely got to enjoy such a slaughter, but it looked like the Genestealer cultists intended to keep ferrying troops for him to kill. How generous of them; he looked forward to sharing this bounty with his Venerable Brothers. However, the large numbers of enemies did highlight how imperative it was to get the littlest one and the others into a defensible position.

“Forward! For the Emperor!” He bellowed; they were halfway to the designated vat location.

A stationary Autocannon round deflected off his pauldron, but he ignored it; one of the Skitarii had already put a plasma bolt through the skull of the operator before they could continue firing.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV: Nicole

My protective detail operates like a well-oiled machine. The skill and efficiency on display as we push towards the vats behind Baldos’s charging bulk is nothing short of astounding.

Despite our success, I find myself irritated with the sheer number of foes we have to fight through. Ammunition is becoming a problem for me; two of my pistols have fairly small shot capacity, and while my Ballistic Mechadendrite theoretically has unlimited ammo, in reality I have to pace taking shots with it lest I overheat or wear out the las emitter. My Needle pistol is out of ammo entirely – even after only using it for headshots – my Inferno pistol has three shots left, and my Plasma pistol is down to its last five.

This ambush has revealed a weakness in my preparations; in hindsight, I should have stockpiled ammunition in my Tesseract Vault or brought more of my arsenal with me. I am keeping an eye out for enemies wielding similar weapons to pilfer their ammunition, but so far there have not been many, and the plasma flasks that I do find are of a lower grade than I would prefer.

What I do find in decent supply are Frag and a few Krak grenades.

As we reach the level containing the vats, I elect to use my remaining ammo on any enemy elites. I run out in less than a minute and have to put my pistols away. I rely on my Ballistic Mechadendrite and utilize some minor acts of Telekinesis to launch the looted grenades precisely into packs of cultists.

The quality of the attackers is a mixed bag; the Lictor was a surprise and confirms my fears after seeing the Ymgarl strain. The Genestealers have actual Tyranids stashed away somewhere on the planet, from what looks to be Hive Fleet Bahemoth. That, more than anything else, is the most unsettling thing to me.

Ahead of me, Baldos pivots out of the main corridor, and after a quick sprint we finally skid to a halt inside the vat chamber. The floor and walls are reinforced; the large steel vats sit empty. We quickly set up a perimeter facing the main corridor, and AME helps me scan the chamber for any back door entrances or large vents.

“We’re clear. Baldos, move that container over here; we can use it as cover. It’s a good two inches of steel on both sides. Ammunition check? I’m out of my primary sidearms.” I call out as I look around for anything else we can use to make a barricade quickly.

“Sixty percent. As are the rest of the unit.” Delta-A3 Raptor responds immediately. The Skitarii under him have fairly deep ammo stores, which says a lot about how many cultists we just blew through.

“Forty-five percent.” Brother Silverwalker grunts as he wipes a considerable amount of blood off his Heavy Bolter.

The sisters all report in. They have around the same amount as Brother Silverwalker.

“My Flamer is down to eight percent,” Baldos admits as he drops the chunk of metal that will serve as cover for most of the squad.

My Auspex pings; the next wave is on its way.

I click my tongue. “Baldos, there is a shard of bone lodged in your lower focusing lens. I’m going to have AME fix that before it damages the weapon. Everyone else, check your gear and reload.” I say, tapping the haft of my Axe as I step forward, my other hand pulling out my Tesseract Labyrinth.

While there is no ammo in there for my current weapons, there is one thing inside that could be of use.

My Omnissian Axe vanishes into the Tesseract, and in its place is a weapon I have not dared experiment with publicly – my Staff of the Void Dragon. I suppress a shiver as my hand closes around it and the innate connection snaps into place; the weapon thrums, and it feels comfortable in my hand. Whatever the Void Dragon did to upgrade it and attune it to me makes it feel just as much a part of me as my Omnissian Axe, and I have spent countless hours using my Axe as both a weapon and a psychic focus.

The staff itself looks like a Staff of Light, but the typical Necron green color has shifted towards a turquoise, the same turquoise from the void Dragon’s wings.

“I will handle this next wave,” I say as I stop in the middle of the corridor; my cloak ripples around me in the gloom. I can hear the enemy forces approaching.

I set my second hand on the haft of the Staff and shift my grip, raising it as if I were holding a rifle.

The first hybrid rounds the corner, weapon raised. “Behold the breath of a Dragon,” I whisper as I squeeze the handle.

A dark orb of energy flickers into being at the tip of the staff, and a moment later a black beam of light lances forth. It reminds me, vaguely, of a Drukhari Dark Lance, and it goes through the first hybrid, and then the next, and the next. The beam holds, and I slowly sweep it back and forth. I nudge the Staff with a mental command, and it switches firing modes from a single beam to short bursts that are just as effective.

As the last Genestealer in this wave falls, the Staff thrums happily in my grasp; its internal energy core not depleted in the slightest. Silence reigns around me as I turn back to face the room. “Alright, break time is over. More are coming; take your positions everyone.”

“What the Frak was that!?” exclaims Sergeant Su, agog.

“Necron directed energy weapon. The nature of which is restricted and forbidden information.” I say, leaning the perfectly cool staff against my shoulder.

Baldos lumbers to take the position I just vacated. “Bah! I can do that too with the right loadout!”

Moments later, a cacophonous BOOM sounded from above, the floors shaking violently for a brief moment.

Baldos began uproariously cackling, “They’ve come.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!