The Multiverse Project: Warhammer 40,000

"I love the smell of bad idea in the morning," Henry groaned. "Smells like suicide."

"Have some faith yo, this plan is totally fucking amazing," Damien beamed.

"It's ballsy, I'll give you that," Tangmo watched the hologram of the Cheongug Wangjwa manufactorum rotate slowly on the round table dominating the command tent. Outside the actual manufactorum, a hulking monstrosity of blackened steel fused into a mountain, loomed just twenty kilometers away. "But Henry's right, this shit is suicide."

"What? You think I can't pull it off?" Damien challenged them.

"You want to land your Thunderhawk on the thirtieth floor and fight your way up to the fiftieth, with no outside support," Henry zoomed in on the hologram so that the main characters can see how batshit crazy Damien's plan was. "Then, if you manage to extract the STC and are still alive somehow, you'll be fighting your way back down to the landing pad and, against all odds, make your escape?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Damien grinned.

"Dude, help me out here," Henry looked at Tangmo pleadingly.

"Well, isn't this the kind of situation Space Marines are specifically made for?" Tangmo said. "It won't be a walk in the park, sure, but they can probably pull it off."

"Seriously dude, don't worry," Damien's tone softened. "I've been in worst scraps than this homie, so chill, I'll be fine."

"There's no stopping you, is there?" Henry said lowly.

"Nope," Damien shook his head.

"Then don't get your ass killed," Henry finally relented with a chuckle. "That's an order!"

"Yes sir!" Damien gave a mock salute.

"Why are we suddenly accelerating the STC retrieval?" Krillen asked.

"Because of this," Tangmo zoomed out of the hologram and highlighted the southern section of the manufactorum, the thermal reading blooming white hot and growing in size by the seconds. "Glorious leader Kim Jor Urrk is preparing to sally forth."

"I see," Krillen stroke his chin thoughtfully. "We will stand, as always, but I'm more concern about our Buxiunese and Kuronese allies. The orks know a weak link when they see one."

Tangmo nodded with a grunt, for the last few days the orks have be mercilessly menacing the expeditionary force, using hit and run tactics to terrible effectiveness, casualty rose while morale plummeted. The Buxiunese and Kuronese were brave and disciplined, unfortunately their high command was comprised of nothing but a bunch of pencil pushing retards with no experience or instinct in warfare. They were dragons being led by worms.

"What the fuck is Feng and Minoru doing right now?" Tangmo asked.

"The generals have forsaken all teachings of war and confine only in the sooth saying of Syrathel," Lingxin seethed.

"Many guardsmen were reassigned to help with the construction of a…bell," Kenshin shook his head. "The gaijin witch claimed that it would be instrumental to victory."

"It's being constructed inside the Yu Sok monastery, about three kilometers east of the staging area," colonel Sun added. "My ancestors believed that the threshold between the living and the dead is the thinnest there. Many in the past have taken pilgrimage in search of ancestral wisdom, until the Ecclesiarchy put a stop to it."

"That doesn't sound good," Tangmo grimaced, that could only mean the monastery was spewing out Warp energy.

"What's the progress on the construction?" Henry spoke up.

"It's completed sir," Sun said. "They're hurling it up the pagoda tower as we speak."

"Fuck," Henry sighed. "There's nothing we can do about that now, the orks still take precedence. But I'll put admiral Yi on standby, in case we need to bomb the place."

"What's the overall condition of the battlegroup?" Tangmo brought the planning back on track.

"We are ready," Evangeline said confidently. "The men are heartened by our continuous success, many are sure that victory is within reach."

"Welp, let's not pop the champagne just yet," Henry turned to Damien. "Is your Thunderhawk ready?"

"Just waiting for the pilot to arrive," and on cue, the tent flap swooshed open and strode in Coreth, aka Septimus, Talos Valcoran's right hand man from the Night Lords books. Accompanying him was an outraged looking Victoria, an aloof Tyra, and strangely enough, father Joseph and Zuhra.

"You called for me sir?" Coreth saluted.

"What do want with my father?!" Victoria cut in harshly before Damien can speak

"I apologize for dragging you all the way out here, Mr. Coreth," Damien went on pleasantly. "But I'm in dire need of a top class pilot."

"I see," Coreth betrayed no emotion.

"I'm still impressed by your performance back on Kolasi," Damien continued. "You seriously saved our asses back there."

"Thank you sir," Coreth said.

"Are you familiar with an Adeptus Astartes Thunderhawk?" Damien asked the rhetorical question, knowing full well that Coreth had flown numerous sorties for the Night Lords.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Coreth kept it cool.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Damien said smoothly. "I want you to fly our Thunderhawk and drop us off at the Cheongug Wangjwa manufactorum."

"Brother Sergeant I must object," Gallus cut in. "Astartes war machine are not designed to be used by mortal men."

"We need everyone in our squad for the assault," Damien said. "And since the Thunderhawk doesn't have an autopilot function, we need someone to land the ship then take off back into high orbit to wait for our extraction."

"I must insist on my objection, Brother Damien," Gallus pressed on. "The nature of this mission itself requires a pilot with years of experience in navigating through hostile fly zone, something I doubt chief mechanic Coreth have."

"Yeah, but I have a good feeling about him," Damien went on nonchalantly. The Space Marine's friendly, nonthreatening demeanor was actually making Coreth uncomfortable. "What do you say Mr. Coreth? Are you up to proving Brother Gallus wrong?"

"If it is your direct command Brother Sergeant, then I cannot refuse," Coreth said diplomatically.

"Then I'm ordering you to fly the Thunderhawk," Damien said.

Sighing, Coreth nodded, his mechanical eye twitching as he said, "then I shall do my best, Brother Sergeant."

"No!" Victoria shouted, her pleading eyes swept over the trio. "Please! My father isn't a war pilot, he'll be killed! Please!"

"He'll be fine," Henry waved off Victoria's concern then turned to father Joseph and Zuhra. "So what brings you guys here?"

"It's about the drink you wanted analyze sir," Zuhra spoke up. "Sorry it took so long."

"What did you find?" Henry asked.

"The concoction is a very potent depressant narcotic," Zuhra said. "It dampens neurotransmission throughout the body, while also inhibiting motor functions and putting the drinker into a deeply relax state of mind."

"So it makes you high?" Henry made an incredulous face.

"In layman terms, aye," father Joseph spoke up. "When I heard Zuhra was checking on some poison the expeditionary force's top brasses were drinking, I decided to help. Now I wished I hadn't." The priest shook his head gravely before continuing. "I was only a sergeant when I first ran into something like this. The Grey Watch was assigned to clear out a Chaos cult on some backwater world, your standard Imperial Guards affair. Amongst the tool used by their dark priests was a drink like the one you found. It puts the mind into a meditative trance, opening it up to greater manipulation from the Ruinous power. Those that dropped the shield of their mind can be possessed, mutated or leeched to the daemon of the Warp."

"And you just found this out now?!" Henry's jaw dropped to the floor.

"I'm sorry general, but my duty to the injured comes first," Zuhra said sternly, but apologetically.

"Way to keep it cool Henry," Tangmo gave his friend a condescending pat on the shoulder.

"There's no need to worry, lord general," father Joseph went on. "None of us ingested the poison, so we are not at risk from any corruption. And, as commissar Tangmo had instructed, I have sanctified the ground around our camp and gave a mass of holy protection to the men. In matters of faith and spirituality, we are well fortified."

"Yeah, but Feng, Minoru and Syrathel are still at large," Henry was not calming down.

"One problem at a time my dude," Damien said. "When we destroy the orks, we can turn our guns on those assholes."

"Father Joseph, I want you to perform one more service for the men," Tangmo told the priest, "then I want you and your congregation off this planet." He turned to Tyra. "Make sure they get back safely to the Immortal Spirit."

"Yes sir," Tyra saluted.

"Right, okay, I guess that's all we can do at the moment," Henry sighed. "So let's make ready and…"

"General Henry," one of the communication staff spoke up. "We're getting an incoming astropathic message sir."

"From where?" Henry asked.

"…The Immortal Spirit sir," the man leaned in closer to his monitor, "its Navigator Eurydice."

"Shit."

The word had barely left Damien's mouth when the hologram of the map dissolved then reformed into the image of Eurydice staring down at them like an angry goddess, the high resolution projection only made her incensed gaze that much more terrifying. Victoria was smiling devilishly now that her mother has entered the fray.

"Why are you down there Coreth?" Eurydice glared at her husband.

"I was summoned for an assignment, Eurydice," Coreth countered calmly, not backing down from his wife.

Frowning, Eurydice whipped her head at Tangmo, the speed and suddenness causing him to jump with a squeal.

"Why have you summoned my husband to the frontline?" She demanded.

"I didn't summon him!" Tangmo stabbed his finger at Damien. "It's the Space Marine! He did this! It's his fault!"

Eurydice shifted her glare to Damien, "what do you want with my husband?"

"I need someone to pilot the Thunderhawk for an attack run on the manufactorum," Damien brave façade faltered with every word he spoke. "I remember your husband impressive flying back on Kolasi and decided to enlist him."

"I deserve a little warning before such decision was made, Brother Sergeant," Eurydice pressed on fearlessly. After facing down the Night Lords, Ultramarines were not scary by comparison. "Coreth's job on the Immortal Spirit is invaluable, I demand that he be brought back."

"I already gave my word Eurydice," Coreth cut in.

"Don't you dare do this to me again!" Eurydice raised her voice.

"I have my duty and you have yours," Coreth's countenance was unshakable and Eurydice knew she couldn't make him budge.

"Damn you…" Eurydice seethed, her boiling malice trained on the trio. "Damn all of you."

With that, the transmission ended, leaving everyone in the tent, beside a very pleased looking Victoria, dumbstruck, both shocked and scared by the Navigator's audacity and fury.

"You know what? How about we all get the hell out of here and do our job before anymore interruption happens?"

Quick agreeing nods answered Tangmo as the trio and the main characters hurried out of the tent.

The path to the underground lake was clean and well maintained, the stairs of carved rock was cool and smooth on Syrathel's bare feet, every footfall soundless. Gone was the hunch posture of shyness and supplication. Now she stood tall and proud, a queen marching into battle. And no more smile, finally, her cheeks were starting to strain from the constant need for niceity. The descent soon leveled and Syrathel stepped onto a craggy cavern, complete darkness enveloped her. She could feel the intoxicating flow of the Warp here, the power penetrating her flesh, diving down to caress the very essence of her soul, so sweet was the touch that she wanted nothing more than to fall into its loving embrace.

But alas, business before pleasure.

With a snap of her fingers, ethereal lights bled across the awing cavern, rippling illumination of watery blue and smoky jade danced across the ceiling and wall, revealing an undisturbed lake with a moss covered hokora shrine rising out of the center. After all these time, the great gift of the Immaterium flowed unhindered. No wonder the people of Jigugeum thought this place was a gateway to the underworld.

Kneeling before the pool, Syrathel placed her palm on the cool surface and watched as riotous color seeped into the lake, sending sinuous ripple across the water. A hunched shape clad in tattered grey robe scuttled out of the dark, its steps jittery, hisses and sniffs emanated from a cowl draped over an elongated head, a poor imitation of the human language. Syrathel ignored the creature coming toward her as moaning rumble reverberated across the cavern. Swiping dust off her white robe, Syrathel watched an orb of light shimmered to life inside the little hokora shrine. Slowly the eldritch illumination grew, pulling the shrine inward until the moss covered frame broke and snapped like brittle bones. When the pulsing orb encompassed half the lake, now boiling and lapping against Syrathel's feet, it cracked open into an ephemeral gateway of sweet pink.

Syrathel's joy at seeing a Warp portal was soured when a great armored figure strode forward, causing the little grey creature beside her to shuffle nervously where it stood.

"Lord Mykrion, to what do I owe the displeasure?" Syrathel said flatly.

"Watch your tone, witch," Mykrion growled, the ancient Astartes helm amplifying his voice. "The other matriarchs are getting impatient."

"And they sent you to convey their displeasure?" Syrathel giggled. "A once mighty sorcerer reduced to a lowly errand boy, fate is so unkind."

Roaring, Mykrion slammed the butt of his staff into the lake, water boiled and parted as slithering tendril of Warp energy darted toward the unmoving Syrathel, the grey robed thing squeaked and scurried off to the far corner of the cavern.

"Spare me your tantrum Mykrion," Syrathel let a hint of annoyance crept into her voice as she daintily flicked her wrist. The snapping tentacles disintegrated into dust and drifted back into the portal. "Why are you here exactly?"

"The matriarchs had sent me to help you complete your mission," Mykrion growled.

"How thoughtful," Syrathel raised her palm at the Chaos Astartes. "And help me you shall."

"What are you – argh!" Mykrion crumbled to his knees, the mighty staff of iron slipping from his meaty fingers to clatter and disappeared beneath the waves. He croaked, a dry raspy thing, words turning to ash in his throat as flakes of golden light bled from the crevices of his armor and flew toward Syrathel.

"Do you know the difference between you and me, Mykrion?" Syrathel addressed the convulsing Astartes. "Men are so hellbent on control, to dominate, to enslave, to make all things into their image. But women, oh, we know that true control never come from coercion. No, for we learn that to truly claim something in totality we must first be willing to submit ourselves to its whim. You force the Warp to do your bidding, a crude barbaric illusion of control, while I become one with it. You are nothing but driftwood lost in the sea, while I am the storm raging above." Mykrion went still, his frame sagging, and Syrathel giggled. "Don't feel bad little boy, you were never meant for greatness."

Lowering her hand, Mykrion's empty armor collapsed in a hollow heap, no trace of the warrior within remained. Inhaling deeply, Syrathel allowed herself a moment to indulge in the delicacy that was Mykrion's soul, the restless spirit coursed through her body, one last act of defiance before fading and becoming another spectrum of energy that now belonged to her. The aftershock of pleasure was so intense that Syrathel couldn't stop her knees from wobbling.

"Nice to see you enjoying yourself, mistress."

Syrathel glared at the woman striding out of the portal, her armor immaculate and alluring, every trace of the Carrion God's revolting effigy has been erased from the gleaming surface. Syrathel quickly straightened herself as the woman knelt down, picked up the staff she had lend to Mykrion and tossed it to her. Syrathel caught it midair, the familiar chill of polished metal felt good on her palm.

"You are early, Amanon," Syrathel said as more women entered the cave.

"I know how you like to take your time dressing up milady," the dark hair woman giggled huskily, her inhumanly long serpentine tongue wetting her lips. "And I've always liked the way you look."

"I'm sure you do," Syrathel shrugged off her flimsy robe and Amanon moaned in delight. How annoying, to have her divine body leered over by a scion of Slaanesh. Stepping demurely passed the distracted Amanon, a group of hooded girls approached, all of them bearing pieces of Syrathel's power armor. After slipping on the body glove, her breastplate, vambrace, pauldrons and gauntlets were slowly, reverently fastened to her body.

"It is time then," Amanon said.

"Not yet," Syrathel beckoned the hunched creature forward. "Are you packs ready?"

"Yes-yes, pack ready, we do-do womanthing bidding," a pathetic attempt at supplication, but good enough for Syrathel.

"Listen to the thirteen toll of the bell," Syrathel commanded. "That will be your signal to strike."

"We obey bell-bell," the creature coughed a laugh. "We ready."

"Told you this was a good idea!" Damien led his squad into the manufactorum proper, the bangs of exploding anti-aircraft shells and unceasing rattle of red tracer rounds raked the sky above them.

"That you did, Brother Sergeant," Gallus agreed begrudgingly as the Thunderhawk veered smoothly away from the landing pad, expertly dodging every projectile coming its way before shooting up into high orbit.

"I'm more surprised there wasn't an ork welcoming party waiting for us," punching a panel beside the sliding iron entrance, Damien and Sidonius pulled the two partitions easily apart.

"Kim Jor Urrk's attention is fortunately elsewhere," Gallus swept his bolter over the wide, demolished corridor. "There should only be a skeleton crew guarding the manufactorum."

"Yeah, hopefully," Damien took the lead. "Stay frosty guys, orks are stupid but they're still pretty good in a fight."

Getting into a double column, the Space Marines hurried down the manufactorum empty hallway, the fighting outside was a dull reverberating hum echoing off the metallic confines. After about ten minutes the squad came upon a large antechamber occupied by a couple of dozen orks Boyz, big bastards but small by Green Skin standard, newbies by the looks of them, arguing in low guttural grunts. At the far end of the hexagonal room was a wide flight of stairs leading to the upper level.

"This look simple enough," Damien peaked over the wall, the orks were too busy shouting at each other to notice them. "I count thirty, a walk in the park wouldn't you say my dudes?"

"What are your orders?" Gallus asked.

"Manaus, you're coming with me and Gallus," Damien got into a crouch, "we'll concentrate fire on the center while the others spread out and flank them."

At his men nodding acknowledgement, Damien took a deep breath and dashed into the antechamber. An ork was turning in their direction when Damien turned his head inside out with a well-aimed shot, this was followed by a savage barrage as Gallus and Manaus added their firepower to the mix. Sidonius and Galerius sprinted to the left while Helvius and Aurius took the right, completing the firing line. It was a magnificent seven seconds of unadulterated one sided brutality.

"Cease fire," Damien held up his fist and strode easily over the bloody green corpses. "Save your ammo, we got a drop on them this time, can't say we'll get lucky again."

"Sir, contact imminent," well shit, thanks a lot Sidonius. The tactical marine was staring intently at the data-slate built into his right armguard, "converging on us from the northeastern, southwestern, southern and eastern passageway."

"Prepare to repel," Damien bellowed as his squad took cover behind pile of debris and fallen iron columns, not much in terms of defenses but good enough given the situation. And hey, they were Space Marines, for all intent and purposes, a walking tank.

It wasn't half a minute later that the first group of orks barreled into the antechamber, shoving and stomping each other as they lowered their shootas and peppered the Marine's positions. Those stupid green morons managed to hit everything besides the Astartes, taking them out was an easy, but gratifying, affair. Then the melee fighters entered the fray, these lots led by huge, augmented Nobs wielding axes and morning stars.

"Courage and honor brothers! For the Emperor!" Damien vaulted over his flimsy cover and fired from the hip, rupturing the orkish vanguard into a shower of gore. When the magazine clicked empty Damien, in one smooth motion, smacked it back onto his thigh and drew his chainsword, cleaving two orks open with a single stroke. Parry and strike, parry and strike, parry and strike, Damien soon lost himself in the bloody rhythm of krabi-krabong that Tangmo had taught him. But goddamn, the orks weren't giving up. If anything the crazy bastards were doubling their assault. A nasty smack on the pauldron threw Damien off momentum, his chainsaw slashing empty air as he went down to one knee, the orks closing in around him. They exploded into brilliant pieces of crimson, entrails and limbs drenched his awesome ultramarine blue armor.

"Thanks dude!" Damien was giving Manaus a thumbs up when a Nob appeared above him and brought a human sized axe screaming down on his head. Damien deflected the blow with his chainsword, but the impact destroyed the weapon. The Nob's mocking chuckle ended when Damien threw a solid hook into its jaw, teeth and fangs flying loose from dislocated mandible. He quickly followed up with a Muay Thai flying knee, the skull caving in with a satisfying crunch. The Nob fell to its knees, and Damien finished him off with a Seth Rollins curb stomp, brain and eyeballs flying from beneath his boot.

No time to reach for his bolter, Damien barreled into the mass of orks, taking down three consecutive Boyz with a Mike Tyson haymaker, before decapitated another with a Clothesline From Hell. Another ork rushed him but Damien countered with a Goldberg spear, he could hear the spine snapping from the impact. Springing back up, he grabbed the nearest Green Skin and brought him down with an earth shattering Spinebuster. An eager Boyz managed to leap onto his back as he was getting up, so Damien held the ork's snarling head over his shoulder and broke the Green Skin's neck with a Stone Cold Stunner. Another Nob charged him with a raised club, Damien dodged the blow, got the green mofo into a head clinched, kneed him several times in the gut before obliterating him with a spectacularly executed Canadian Destroyer, staining the floor pink with orkish brain.

"Brother Sergeant, more orks are en route," Gallus voice broke through the lessening din. "We must make for the objective lest we get bog down."

"Right! Sorry about that!" Damien chokeslam an ork and drew his bolter, swiftly slamming in a new magazine. "Head for the stairs and prepare the krak grenades!"

Shooting as he went, Damien stalled the ork's advance long enough for his squad to make it up the stairs.

"Use the kraks now!" Damien shouted the moment he leapt up the first landing, the pineapple looking explosives arching above his head and landing amidst the pursuing orks. The powerful detonation threw Damien flat on his face, the entire building shook so badly that he thought the manufactorum was about to collapse.

"Are you alright Brother Sergeant?" Galerius helped him up.

"Holy fuck, did we do that?!" Damien pointed at the gigantic hole in the ground, orkish remains splattered across the destroyed antechamber.

"We did," there was a hint of amusement in Gallus's voice. "Shall we, Brother Sergeant?"

"Right on dude," Damien chuckled and led his squad up the stairs. They were halfway up the spiraling staircase when an unnaturally loud gong ruptured through the manufactorum, the sickening reverberation violating every fabric of his being.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!" Damien staggered to one knee and pulled off his awesome Space Marine helmet, a violent vertigo threatening to empty his stomach. Around him, his squad was similarly afflicted, all of them trying and failing to rise, stumbling into walls or bracing themselves on the ascending stairs. Damien roared, trying to mute the abhorrent resonance, but the revolting chime just grew louder and louder.

Okay, breathe, fucking breathe, push the bile down, push it down. Poking his head above the trench rim, Tangmo sucked in the rust tinged air, the foul stench actually steadying him against the acoustic intrusion. But through the hellish din, Tangmo maintained enough wit to count the tolling bell. Please stop at twelve, please for the love of God. The bell tolled the thirteenth time, the revolting cacophony bored into his skull like a white hot knife. Across the no man's land, the orks wailed and swiped their weapons blindly across the air, as stricken as the Imperial Guards.

"Holy fuck, are you okay?!" Tangmo helped Lingxin up.

"I'm fine," the Buxiunese colonel leaned against the trench wall, breathing heavily.

"What in the God Emperor's name was that?!" Meko staggered forward, a dazed Orhul draped over his shoulder.

"It's the bell," Kenshin groaned. "It's the fucking bell."

"No shit it's the bell!" Sun snapped.

"Leilatha!" Tangmo tapped his earbud. "Leilatha, you there?! Are you okay?!"

"I'm…I'm alright," Leilatha's voice quivered with pain. "I just need a moment to…"

"Prepare to engage," Tangmo said. "I repeat, prepare to engage. I don't know what that bell did, but I'm pretty sure something bad is about to happen."

"Copy that," Leilatha inhaled deeply before passing her command to Krillen.

"Eyes open people, get up!" Tangmo bellowed across the trench, the guardsmen stirring slowly. "Shits about to go down for real, make ready!"

"What are our targets, Herr commissar?" Hildebrandt came to stand beside him, the Korpsmen looked minutely affected by the bell.

"I don't know, but keep your eyes peeled," Tangmo swept his Zetton lasgun over the orks, but the Green Skins were too groggy to be of any threat. He caught a glimpse of Kim Jor Urrk barking and beating his Boyz back into position.

"What are we doing?" Orhul asked when the earth started to shake, softly at first before increasing in magnitude to that of an earthquake.

A shape burst from the trench wall to Tangmo's right, latching itself on to a Cadian guardswoman. She went down screaming, a writhing mass of furs and claws tearing at her flak armor and helmet. Tangmo shot the thing and the guardswoman kicked a twitching rat humanoid off her, wet crisscrossing red marred her face. The trench floor and walls around them bulged, enlarging like bubbles before popping, and pouring forth was a verminous tide of ratmen, shrieking for blood. Skaven in 40k. Fuck.

"Everybody get out of the trench!" Tangmo fired at the twisting mass of skaven crawling out of the ground, the lasfire doing little to stem the flood. Ejecting the empty clip, Tangmo was slamming a new one home when grating sparks exploded across the carapace protecting his calf. Glancing down, Tangmo saw a small, naked clan slave darting passed his legs, its rusty dagger weaving a scarlet trail across the trench, hamstringing guardsmen with quick cuts and stabs. Tangmo was taking aim at the sneaky little bastard when a solid slug slammed into his breastplate like a fucking sledgehammer. Careening to ground, his torso aflame with pain, Tangmo was trying to rise when a black furred skaven stabbed the barrel of its shotgun at his face.

"Die-die manthing!" The skaven demented cackling ended when Meko rammed his bayonet into its neck, twisting the blade and yanking the damnable thing aside.

"Thanks dude," Tangmo gasped as Meko hurled him to his feet.

"Don't mention it…"

"Look out!"

Shouldering Meko aside, Tangmo fired his lasgun at a group of skaven rushing for them. The full auto barrage was joined by Meko and the ratmen broken like surf upon a shore. Taking a second to gather his wit and get a bearing on his surrounding, Tangmo found himself at the center of a hellish pandemonium. The skaven were quick, vicious, precise and brutal. The first wave of clan slaves, carrying only melee weapons, were send in to soften up the guardsmen for the warriors armed with crude lasguns and stubber guns following in their wake. Many went down in the wild, but scarily accurate salvo, while those incapacitated or simply too slow to flee fell prey to the devouring swarm, many disappearing beneath rending claws, stabbing knives and chomping teeth that sheared skin from bones. Some were dragged screaming into the holes the skaven emerged from, their cries blessedly short.

"Behind you!" Tangmo spun at Meko's warning to see a skaven leaping at him, a dagger reeled back over its head. The rat bastard flopped gracelessly to the ground, eviscerated intestines pooling between sundered torso and hip, a badass Hildebrandt standing above its corpse, his chainsword purring heroically.

"Permission to remain behind and cover the retreat sir," Hildebrandt said, the spinning blades of his chainsword honed on the rats around them.

"Fuck that, you're falling back with us!" Tangmo grabbed Hildebrandt great coat and began pulling him out of the trench. "That's an order colonel! You and your men are not dying here!"

Hildebrandt stared blankly at Tangmo, the dusty lenses of his gasmask revealing no emotion. Just when he thought the colonel was going to disobey him, the Korpsman nodded firmly, "jawohl Herr commissar."

"Thank you!" Tangmo hurriedly lead them toward the exit ladders, "everybody up! Go, go, go!"

Climbing out of the trench, his chest hurting like a motherfucker, Tangmo trained his lasgun down on the earthen corridor and took pot shots at the pursing skaven warriors, Meko, Hildebrandt and other guardsmen joining in with a vengeance.

"Orhul!" Tangmo grabbed the captain's arm and pulled him up, the man look dazed but was otherwise okay. "Holy hell, thank Big E you're alive!"

"Big E?" Orhul glanced at Tangmo quizzically.

"The Emperor," Tangmo gave him a goofy grin.

"Don't let an inquisitor hear that sir," Orhul managed a laugh.

"No guarantee dude," Tangmo stabbed his thumb backward. "Set up a defensive line at the second trench, we'll make our stand there."

"Is it safe though?" Orhul swung his M60 rapid-las over the trench and grinded a group of clan slave into minced meat with a savage barrage.

"Anywhere is better than here!" Tangmo shivered in disgust as more skaven poured into the trench like a sewer bursting open, a squeaking, churning vermin tide. Wasn't there a game called exactly that?

"Time to go!" Tangmo reached for a frag grenade at his belt. "But let's give them a little parting gift first!"

Taking cue from Tangmo, the guardsmen covering the retreat all grabbed their grenades, the clink of safety clips and pins flying loose twinkled down the line.

"Fire in the hole!" Tangmo lopped the grenade and hauled ass back to the second trench with his men. The rolling boom behind them was tinged with pained ratty shrieks, guts and bloods drizzled from the sky.

"Suck it you rat pieces of shit!" Tangmo gave the skaven a DX crotch chop before jumping into the trench after his men. Thankfully, the place was clear of any rats, big or small.

"Everybody check your fucking ammos and prepare for contact!" Tangmo yelled and peeked above the parapet. Welp, at least the ork won't be a problem now, the skaven were raising an equal amount of hell on the Green Skin. And it looks like the ratmen were bringing more of their weapons to bear. Hulking human size skaven, the storm vermin, armed with competent looking lasgun that fired sickly green bolt, lined the rampant and were trading shot with the guardsmen. Behind them crude heavy weapons that looked like Gatling gun were being set up with frightening proficiency, the revolving barrels turned on the orks.

"Sir, what do we do?" Orhul asked with naked urgency.

"Have Vakon blow those rat fuckers straight to hell," Tangmo said.

"The artillery battalions are under attack sir," Meko went on. "All personnel are being diverted to defend the position. Gaston and Pollius are leading the reserves back to reinforce them."

"Fuck, we're on our own then. Okay, let see who's in the trench with us," Tangmo glanced around, seeing a ragtag mix of Cadian, Whiteshields, Krieg, Jigurean and Kuronese, all of them failing to hide their rising fear. "Meko, Orhul, oh hey Ovin didn't see you there, Hildebrandt, Moltke, Min Jae, Sun, Kenshin…where the hell is Lingxin?"

"Wasn't she and the Buxiunese right behind us?" Orhul asked.

"They were!" Kenshin actually sounded worried as he craned his neck above the trench. Beside a few stranglers fleeing across the killing field, and getting gunned down by the skaven, there were no sign of Lingxin and the Dragon Blood, "that stupid woman!"

"She's in the Emperor's hand now," Tangmo grabbed Kenshin's armored shoulder. "We'll mourn her after we won, okay?"

Gritting his teeth, Kenshin nodded harshly when the tolling bell chimed again, the sound knocking everyone off their feet.

"Motherfuck!" Tangmo pushed himself upright and braced for another gong. None came. Instead the skaven let out an ecstatic war cry and charged across the blasted field of blackened mud and corpses.

"Shit! Fuck! Everybody get up!" Tangmo pulled Meko upright then tapped his earbud. "Leilatha! You there?! Come in!"

"Someone need to destroy that bell," Leilatha said heavily.

"I'm more concern about surviving the next minutes," Tangmo glanced up and down the trench. "Where are you?"

"A fortified hill in the northern sector," Leilatha said, "you?"

"I haven't a – JESUS CHRIST!" Tangmo threw himself flat on the ground, narrowly dodging a plasma ball that incinerated the section of the trench he had been standing on a second ago. The fucking rats have plasma?! What the fuck?!

"Here they come!" Orhul yelled over the din and fired a continuous burst across no man's land, all the while rockets and plasma bombarded their position. Around them guardsmen died, some got blown to pieces, others melted into horrific sizzling blobs. Leaping on to the fire step, Tangmo empty his magazine on the skaven horde. At first glance, the ratmen tactical capability seemed to be on the same level as the orks, with heavy emphasis on human wave tactic. The skaven vanguard were comprised of clan slaves and mutated fuck huge rat wolf thing, with the warrirors and storm vermin following not far behind, the tidal wave of claws and furs hardly slowing to the Imperial Guards heavy return fire. Then the rats started shooting, and unlike the orks the skaven can actually aim worth a damn, almost on par with your average PDF. The heavy suppressing fire took out a lot of guardsmen, bodies flopped and tumbled to the trench floor, the pile rising by the seconds, heads missing or eyes scorched hollowed. Worse was that some of the guardsmen were bailing, leaping for the far wall and scrambling out of the trench.

"Stand and fight you fucking pussy!" Tangmo saw Kuronese guardsmen making a beeline for safety. First a trickle, then a torrent, like a dam yielding the Dawn Blade infantries were pushing pass allies in a desperate stampede to escape the oncoming skaven. Tangmo wanted to shoot them, but the ratmen were gaining more grounds by the seconds, and lasbolts were better used on the more pressing problem. And judging by the badly maintained uniforms and outdated lasguns, those men and women belong to the expeditionary force. Even then, the sight of fleeing comrades will seriously fuck with morale.

"Banda no sakura ka eri no iro!"

What the fuck, was that Kenshin? Head whipping left and right, Tangmo found the Kuronese colonel standing on the fire step, his bloody katana waving high in the air, head turned toward his countrymen.

"Banda no sakura ka eri no iro!" Kenshin shouted the phrase again and it took Tangmo a moment to recognize it.

"Banda no sakura ka eri no iro! (Our badges are the color of blooming sakura!)" The Kuronese around them raised their voices in answer, the loud and melodic timbre freezing those trying to flee on the spot.

"Hana wa Yoshino ni arashi fuku!" Kenshin belted out the next verse.

"Hana wa Yoshino ni arashi fuku! (Blossoming on the stormy peak of Mount Yoshino!)" His men responded.

"Yamato onoko to umaretewa!" Kenshin cleaved a rat hound that leapt at him in half.

"Yamato onoko to umaretewa! (If you were born of Yamato!)" The Kuronese Dawn Blades were firing at the advancing skaven with increasing vindictiveness now, even the rats seem to be noticing the change in temperament.

"Sanpeisen no hana to chire!" Kenshin raised his laspistol at the skaven horde and opened fire.

"Sanpeisen no hana to chire! (Your destiny is to fall on the frontline!)" The Kuronese roared, the powerful resonance eclipsing the skaven's skittish chattering as volleys of lasfire returned tenfold, the rat tide slowing before the staunch resistance. Those that had fled suddenly ran screaming back into the trench, tears of shame streamed down their faces as they leapt back into position and fired at the skaven, voices raised in a hearty song.

"Shaku-yo no tsutsu wa buki narazu, sun-yo no tsurugi nanika sen. Shirazuya koko ni nisen-nen, kitae kitaeshi yamatodama! (Our rifles alone cannot achieve victory, neither will our bayonets. But we carry a sprit venerated for two thousand years. This spirit is the Yamato-dama!)"

Unlike the orks who laughed and cheered the reaper, the skaven did not share such fortitude in the face of annihilation. Afflicted with the same sense of self-preservation as humanity, the skaven started to baulk at the horrific casualty they were suffering at the hands of the emboldened Imperial Guardsmen. The clan slaves slowed, unwilling to take another step toward the flashing jaws of death, not even when the clan warriors and storm vermin barked them forward and gunned down all that disobeyed. Soon the tide started to recede, claws and fangs now turned upon each other in a frantic struggle to flee. The Kuronese sang louder to the accompanying cheers of other regiments.

"Gunki o mamoru mononofu wa, subete sono kazu nijyuman. Hachijyu yokasho ni tamuro shite, busou wa tokaji yume ni damo! (The brave samurais that defended their banners are worth more than ten thousand foes. Even when stationed in eighty different places, the brave samurais will never dream of surrender!)"

The Kuronese was about to sing another verse when explosions erupted all along the trench, cries of agony replacing the epic song from before. The blast threw Kenshin into Tangmo, sending them both crashing to the ground.

"Holy shit dude, you okay?!" Tangmo helped the Kuronese up, he was dazed but unharmed.

"What happened?" Kenshin climbed back up the fire step with Tangmo. The clan warriors and storm vermin were advancing again, and amongst them marched the poisoned-wind globadiers, pelting their position with bombs that burst into green hellish fire.

"Hold your ground!" Tangmo shouted over the screaming din, around him guardsmen wreathed in flame cavorted across the trench in a pitiful dance before expiring, while those still alive were dragged away by equally stricken comrades. The storm vermin shrieked triumphantly and charged the disarrayed defenders.

"Oh shit!" Tangmo drew his broadsword. "Prepare to repel! Bring it you motherfuckers!"

The storm vermin were about to make the final sprint when a hail of lasbolt tore into them, the scything barrage coming from the side. Then another song erupted, rousing and powerful.

"Zhun bei hao liao ma, shi bing di men, dang na yi tian zhe de lai lin! Fang xin ba zu guo, fang xin ba qin ren, wei liao sheng li wo yao yong gan qing jin! (Are you ready? Brothers, soliders! When that day at last come! Rest well motherland, rest well my love ones! I will march bravely toward victory!)"

Lingxin and the Buxiunese Dragon Blood emerged from the cloud of dust, firing from the hip as they jumped into the trench to join their brothers and sisters in arms. Tangmo was pleasantly surprised to see the Buxiunese helping the injured Kuronese to safety and taking their places at the heavy gun emplacements and pillboxes.

"Lingxin! Dude, you're alive!" Tangmo waved the Buxiunese colonel over.

"Good to see you too sir," Lingxin joined him at the fire step, wiping blood from her smiling face.

"What happened when the rats showed up?" Tangmo asked. "You guys just fucking disappeared."

"We got lost in the chaos and found ourselves separated from the rest of the battlegroup," Lingxin stabbed her thumb at Kenshin. "Then we heard the Kuronese howling their dreadful song and followed it back to the trenches."

"Nice one colonel," Tangmo took down a storm vermin then elbowed Kenshin in the side. "You can stop worrying now dude, she's okay."

"Excuses me?!" Lingxin stared at Kenshin, looking extremely offended.

"It's not like I was worried about you or anything!" Kenshin spluttered quickly. "Buxiunese are cowards, I just thought you ran away with your men."

"How dare you?!" Lingxin fumed. "You'll be dead if it wasn't for us!"

"We got everything under control," Kenshin countered lamely.

"I should've let the rats finished you off!" Lingxin sneered then shouted at her men. "Come brothers and sisters, let us show these Kuronese ingrates how we win our battles! Sing loud, sing proud brothers and sisters!"

"Kan na jun qin fei wu de fang xiang, qing jin zhe zhan che jian dui he ji qun! Shang mian ye piao yang zhe wo men de ming zi, nian qing de shi bing ke wang jian li gong xun! (See our banners flying high, leading mighty tanks, warships and air fleets! Upon it was carved our names, young soliders seeking glories!)"

Bugles sounding across the trench, the Buxiunese rose above the trench and unleashed a devastating barrage on the wavering skaven line, the ratmen falling before the onslaught like wintery leaves caught in a powerful gale, baleful howls of the dead and dying drowned out by the Dragon Blood's rousing choir.

"Zhun bei hao liao ma, shi bing di men, dang na yi tian zhe de lai lin! Fang xin ba zu guo, fang xin ba qin ren, wei liao sheng li wo yao yong gan qing jin! (Are you ready? Brothers, soliders! When that day at last come! Rest well motherland, rest well my love ones! I will march bravely toward victory!)"

"They're falling back!" Meko slammed in a new magazine.

"Fix bayonets!" Tangmo raised his broadsword. "We're taking the trench back from those rat fucks, prepare to charge!"

"At your command, Herr commissar," Hildebrandt held his chainsword at the ready, the bloody blades purring eagerly.

"Sustain volley, thirty seconds, make ready!" Tangmo trained his laspistol at a group of storm vermin trying to rally the clan warriors and clan slaves. Around him the guardsmen braced their lasguns on the parapet.

"Open fire!" Searing light erupted across the trench and the skaven's rank collapsed like puppets with their strings cut, smoke rose from twitching corpses, the stench of cooked meat and ionized air hung heavy in the air. Half a minute later most of the storm vermin lay dead, while those that survived were running away as fast as their little rat feet could carry them.

"Alright, let's fucking do this!" Tangmo holstered his laspistol and climbed out of the trench, broadsword blazing. "Forward! To victory and glory!"

With an all-conquering roar, the guardsmen charged across no man's land. No mercy was shown to the skaven abomination, they screeched as the guardsmen gored them with bayonets, clubbed them with iron rimmed rifle butts, and gunned them down at point blank.

"Tennoheika banzai!"

"Wu huang wansui! Wansui wanwansui!"

"In the name of the Emperor let none survive!"

All around Tangmo the guardsmen raised their voices to the sky, exalting the Immortal God Emperor as they struck down the skaven with pious fury. His sword a whirlwind of crimson death, Tangmo hacked and slashed his way through the mass of ratmen, the blade sang its gleeful song, ichor and gore fountained at his passing, drenching his awesome commissar coat in red. Beside him Lingxin and Kenshin were also making short work of the rats with their dao and katana. The three of them plowed after the fleeing skaven until at last they recaptured the first trench; styles and grace forgotten in the fervor of battle, the masters of Muay Thai, Kung Fu and Karate swung their swords like clubs at every skaven they found.

"Yeah! That's what's up you motherfuckers!" Tangmo drove his sword into a dying clan warrior, nailing it to the ground, then reached for his canteen and drank deeply, the rusty lukewarm water was heavenly.

"Here," Tangmo handed the drink to an equally winded Kenshin.

"Thank you," Kenshin took two big gulps and was about to pour the content over his head when he noticed Lingxin leaning heavily on her dripping red dao, taking deep labored breath. Without saying a word, he held the half full canteen toward her.

"You look thirsty," Kenshin said.

"I'm fine," Lingxin snapped.

"Are you sure?" Kenshin persistence was met with Lingxin's annoyed frowned. When it was clear that his offer was nonnegotiable, Lingxin snatched the canteen from Kenshin.

"I'm not even that thirsty anyway," Lingxin finished the drink in seconds despite her declaration.

"Hey dude, does the term tsundere mean anything here?" Tangmo grinned.

"Of course lord commissar," Kenshin laughed and Lingxin threw the empty canteen at his head.

"Remember colonel, that term works both way," Tangmo devious wink shut Kenshin up, and Lingxin was about to question his meaning when Orhul, Meko, Hildebrandt, Min Jae, Sun and the rest of the guardsmen leapt back into the trench.

"Another fine showing sir," Orhul smiled and clasped hand with Tangmo.

"Not as crazy as Kidemonas, but memorable nonetheless," Meko fist bump him.

"I always strive to outdo myself," Tangmo pulled his broadsword free from the skaven's corpse and point it at the holes the rats emerged from. "Throw some kraks down there."

"Already on it," Min Jae gestured to the guardsmen, who then dropped explosives down the earthen chutes, deep jarring quakes followed a few seconds later.

"The ratmen seems to be switching target, Herr commissar," Hildebrandt peered over the parapet. "What remains of their number seems to be converging on the manufactorum."

"What about the orks?" Tangmo joined Hildebrandt on the fire step, beyond the field littered with green and furry corpses the manufactorum was ablaze, the concussive pounding of heavy ordnances and rattling firearms constant in its rhythm.

"I believe the rats…"

"Skaven, colonel Hildebrandt," Tangmo interrupted the Korpsman. "They're called skaven, after the ancient scripture of ancient Terra."

"Pardon me Herr commissar, the skaven appears to have push the orks back into the manufactorum itself. I believe the ratmen are trying to wrest control of the place from the Green Skin."

"What would they want with the manufactorum?" Lingxin asked.

"The STC," Meko glanced at Tangmo, who nodded his confirmation.

"And we totally can't have that," Tangmo climbed out of the trench and adjusted his awesome commissar coat. "Orhul, Min Jae, Sun, you guys hold this position while the rest of us advance on the manufactorum." Tangmo turned to Meko, "what's the situation with Vakon, or Henry?"

"Vakon had managed to repel the attack, but many of the artillery pieces were damaged, it will take them some time to get the batteries back online," Meko tapped his earbud. "As for the general, he said he's busy plowing through the skaven."

"Alrighty then," Tangmo swept his gaze over the battered guardsmen under his command. Although exhausted, sharp determination gleamed in their eyes. "Into the fray once more, follow me!"

Setting a slow, cautious pace, dual wielding broadsword and laspistol, Tangmo made his way toward the manufactorum. Matching steps with him on his right was Meko and Hildebrandt, Lingxin and Kenshin to the left, and behind them marched the guardsmen, lasguns lowered and pointed forward, aquila and regimental banners fluttering high above them like line infantry from the Napoleonic era.

Then the fucking gong came again.

Tangmo's knees folded beneath him and this time he wasn't able to hold back his puke. Retching acidic bile and heaving deep painful breath, Tangmo wanted to curl up and cry, the resonating assault robbing him of energy and willpower. Gritting his teeth, Tangmo stabbed his sword down and braced on it, finding a tangible anchor in a world ripped apart by the horrid toll of the bell. After what seemed like hours, the chime ceased and reality begin its painful reassertion. Shivering, it took Tangmo a few seconds to realize someone was shouting into his ear.

"Tangmo?! Tangmo come in!"

"Oh hey Leilatha, sorry I just threw up and the world wouldn't stop spinning dude, give me a sec," Tangmo got up, hands tight on the grip of his sword.

"The rats are retreating," Leilatha pressed on urgently. "They were on the verge of overwhelming us, and they just disengage. What's the situation on your front? What are the enemies…?"

"Yeah, Leilatha, I think I'm gonna have to call you back. There's like, five fuck huge evil Chaos portals in front of me. They just fucking popped out of nowhere."

"…What?!"

"Gotta go, bye!" Cutting off his transmission, Tangmo sheathed his broadsword and drew his other laspistol. "Prepare for contact! Get ready!"

Around him the guardsmen stood, knelt or lay prone on the ground, their lasguns trained on the swirling eldritch portal, vague wispy silhouettes moved across the translucent otherworldly barriers like sharks about to break surface. Its daemon, gotta be. Those twisted Satan looking motherfuckers were going to charge them. The shapes stopped moving, and Tangmo held his breath. Bolts shot forth from the veil of unreality, the explosive bullets tore mercilessly into the guardsmen, rupturing the frontline into a mess of blood and gore.

"Fuck!" Tangmo wiped his face and ducked low, his moment of relief at seeing the main characters still in one piece was short lived when lithe feminine figures strolled casually into the material world, the barrels of their bolter white hot and steaming. They were clad in form fitting armors that beautifully accented their bodies, in shades of red, black and violet.

"Forward sisters!" A crimson haired woman clad in carmine armor pointed her sadistic looking curved sword at them, "blood for the Blood God!"

"Back to the trench! Everybody back to the fucking trench!" Tangmo's command was drowned out by the thunderous reports of bolter fire.