Intro: I got this idea for a Warhammer 40K story and threw together a piece of flash fiction which neatly sets up the tale. What do you think of the story? Are you intrigued? Do you want to read more?
“Today will be the worst day of your lives, neophytes,” Sword Brethren Sigfried Kilmer had said before they dropped into the hijacked Aeldari transport, his voice like angry rocks feuding.
Every day seemed worse than the last to Aelmar – war was brutal – so today was not going to be any different as far as he was concerned.
Until it was.
His leg was, well, somewhere and his stump was sparking into the blackness of the creaking bay he lay in. His chainsword was nearby, probably, as were the dead members of his scout squad. In his head just static from the comms. And the sound of a host of souls screaming as they were tortured in the warp.
Did anybody make it? Does anybody ever make it?
He turned his head to look down the length of the long, empty bay. A deep purple spiralling light shone through the force barrier from outside.
In the Webway. Damnit. Ah well, not going home this time. Didn’t think it’d end like this though. So much for just a recon mission. In and out. Grab and go. Intel was screwed on this one. At least the secret will die with me.
He gingerly attached the container retrieved from the control room onto a spare slot on his belt, every movement sending spikes of pain along every nerve in his battered body. Necrons sure packed a punch.
“Expect the unexpected,” Kilmer had said.
Just my luck. Last thing I see is the sphincter of Tzeentch.
The purple hues outlined hideous gargantuan shapes moving through the force barrier, casting looming shadows reaching out for his soul through the darkness, searching, aware, urgent and eager to take him before he was gone forever. And for what? A thought bore into his skull like a C’tan Phase Sword.
His eyes widened as he saw his own silent screaming face rent between his writhing ribbon limbs cocooned in a blood red mist.
Doorways. Home. Nemesis.
His stump sparked, a figure frozen in the flash. His mind snapped back to the here-and-now. Something more urgent than going mad had his attention.
Not. My. Day.
The stump sparked again and a soulless Necron was leaning over him, its particle caster extended towards his head, shadows from the Webway casting ghastly images.
He held back a retch.
Is it scanning me? Why not just shoot? They never hesitate.
The Necron leaned towards his torso, towards the container, and a dull blue light briefly illuminated their little corner of the transport bay. He saw it look over its shoulder at the creatures in the distance. And he saw his chainsword glint.
Whatever those things are have got this abomination worried.
He reached slowly for his sword while the Necron was distracted, but his headgear erupted with piercing whistles and beeps. “You’re not alone soldier. We’re inbound. Just hang in there. Nobody gets left behind.” The familiar rocky voice assaulted his ears.
But when they did arrive Neophyte Aelmar Walden was gone.