Veiled Faces- a 500 word sample text for a BL short story competition

Inquisitor Alabel stood in her command pulpit, staring out of the glassteel windows, waiting for the sign that would spring the trap. She was on the bridge of her Inquisitorial ship, Santo’s Sin, a Lunar-class cruiser that has been with her through countless battles, prevailing against the raging tide that often consumed the lesser willed.

Further ahead, Erebus’s Battle Barge, Destiny’s Hand, remained motionless. Coated in blood red, the ship occupied nearly a third of the viewing screen, enormous barrels and massive pivoting turrets clearly visible. Terrifying effigies of deformed daemons sprouted along its hull, occasional gouts of incandescent energy spouting along vents on the hull of the ship.

A shimmer of light and a hint of movement beyond the Chaos ship signaled the Eldar making their move. Powerful energy lances speared into the Chaos warship, chunks of metal and flailing figures spiraling into space as the Eldar craftworld revealed its presence.

Taking the cue, the Imperial Ships moved into action. Lamentus maneuvered into position, bringing its massive broadside to bear on the Chaos ship. Its powerful armaments and ordnances began pounding Destiny’s Hand.

Torpedoes, shimmering white lances and Fury interceptor squads streaked to their target.

“Shields to full. Reserve gangs on standby. Dispatch Furies. Starhawks to flight-ready.” Inquisitor Alabel commanded.

Santo’s Sin shuddered into motion beneath Alabel’s feet, its powerful plasma engines pushing the grand cruiser towards the target, to exact the Emperor’s justice.

Destiny’s Hand, once a legendary ship that sailed through the stars spreading the Emperor’s holy word- now, it was reduced to a raving, slave driven ship where blood was its fuel and fear its weapon.

Well aware of its vulnerable position, the Chaos warship dispatched streams of ships out of gaping holes beneath the ship. A sickly pulsating shield simmered as projectiles from the surrounding Imperial and Eldar ships struck it, the volleys growing ever stronger.

Even from where she stood, Alabel felt shockwaves of detonations rippling across space, where armaments on the Chaos ship destroyed incoming torpedoes. The blinding light from exploding plasma balls made her squint.

A warning klaxon sounded somewhere in the bridge.

“Status?” Inquisitor Alabel asked her helmsman.

“Escalating energy presence detected in Destiny Hand’s prow,” came the reply.

Alabel nodded in acknowledgement as she took in the scene.

Scores of fury squads and Chaos fighters danced around, some trailing debris from damage components whilst others letting loose lascannons and anti-starfighter missiles. The Dark Angels cruisers Maul of Faith and Spirit of Vengeance had sped on ahead, a wall of wreckage and criss-crossing torpedoes and lances between them and Destiny’s Hand.

“Boarding ships dispatched,” A monotonous tone of a servitor sounded.

Alabel’s attention shifted to a growing opening at the armoured prow of Destiny’s Hand. She frowned as she magnified the viewing screens. A massive barrel appeared; its muzzle glowing bright as the cannon charged to full capacity.

More klaxons sounded around the bridge, shrill with warnings of escalating energy readouts.

Alabel cursed. A Nova Cannon was aimed at her ship.

Fighting With Faith- 48^th

The command room was in a bustle. Various other messengers, commanders and Imperial officials ran along the outer perimeter of the circular room, handling various data slates and notes. Several were deep in conversation, every gesture enforced with purpose and power.

Tactician Abjax of the Asat Guard prowled through the shifting throng, glancing up occasionally to sight a servo skull buzzing by, recording and monitoring the ongoing operations.

For once, Abjax felt momentarily relived, the heavy burden of offering assistance to the Commissar on the overall running of the battle was demanding. What he wanted now was just a quiet, purposeful stroll around the bunker, resting and soothing his tired mind.

The bunker shook again, sprinkling dust and flecks off wall onto the crowd beneath. The Basilisks were still not letting up, constantly pounding the surroundings of the warehouse, providing adequate cover for the returning Chimera transports.

The air smelled of sweet incense, thick and heavy. The noon shift had just started, and the priests had just applied their daily dose of oil and unguents.

“Abjax! Come and see this…” a wide eyed messenger whom Abjax knew as Frolmin scurried towards him.

Sensing his urgency, Abjax quickly made his way over to the centre of the bunker, where a huge hololith dominated the circular platform. Green and red blips flashed continuously, revealing friendly and hostile units. Fortunately, the outer perimeter of the warehouse seemed secure enough. However the mass concentration of red dots in the Upper levels of the warehouse was distressing.

“There…” Frolmin whispered, pointing towards the brightest spot of red.

Abjax took it all in a glance. He easily spotted where Leetol was, along with the bulk of the assaulting units, in the central chamber that dominated the first floor of the warehouse. He also recognised additional friendly units entering from doorways 7 to 9.

“They’re crawling through the ducts and vents. Tyranids, definitely.” Abjax thought out aloud. “This must be relayed to them. Their short range scanners will be unable to pick them out; it’s too compact and hot in there.”

“Aye Tactia. So be it.” Frolmin replied and raised his wrist to his mouth. “All units, advised on mass Tyranid contacts entering from above. Repeat, mass enemy contact from above. Operations out.”

Done with his work, Frolmin glanced at Abjax helplessly. Both knew what each other was thinking.

After a long, agonising silence that seemed to last an eternity, Abjax sighed and spoke, “Just pray for them, Frolmin, the Emperor’s grace is needed here…”

“Benlian!” radio operator Palton of Bel Squad yelled from behind a fallen platform.

Benlian wrenched his combat knife out of the rib cage of a screaming cultist and turned around, dashing towards Palton.

Squad Bel had stalked through the wreckage of the Generatorium and finally emerged at the backlines of the Tyranid force. Several squads were already reinforcing the position and they were raking a bloody hole in the enemy forces from behind.

“Status.” Benlian said.

“Operations have just advised a mass of assumed Tyranid organisms coming down from above.” Palton said, one hand holding the mouth piece of the vox caster, the other clutching fearfully at his lasgun, obviously shaking hard.

“Shit.” Benlian cursed.

“What’s going on?” Kennil said as he dropped by, stooping low to avoid being seen.

“Mass enemy units dropping from top.” Benlian said curtly.

Kennil, momentarily surprised, raised an eyebrow to Palton.

“Which means we either pull back, or get ready for them to drop on us.” Benlian said impatiently, glancing warily at the looming, darkened ceiling. Sporadic gunfire and explosions lit the edges of the roof, and Benlian wasn’t sure if what he saw was merely an illusion or a shadow of something far more sinister.

“Throne…” Kennil moaned, nursing a bruised wrist of his as he contemplated the situation.

Benlian was about to give the call to fall back and regroup with the main force, but was stop short as hundreds of shrieking, clawing horrors leapt down from above.

“OPEN FIRE! ENEMY FROM ABOVE!” was all Benlian could say.

Fighting With Faith- Forty-Seventh Entry

The battle was at its height now; there was no doubt about it. Starut could feel, see and taste the battle lust and rage all around him now. Unrecognisable limbs lay gored and twisted in obscene angles on the ground. Some were cleanly cleaved off; whilst others were still attached to its dying owner in tattered shreds. A mixture of blood; black, red and the colours in between pooled the ground.

Stuart nearly slipped on the slick ground as he scrambled through the bloody melee, hacking and sawing relentlessly. Everywhere he turned, a head was there to be sliced off.

Starut roared in jubilation as he made his tenth kill, firing his pistol at point blank range into the mouth of a Guardsman. The poor fool didn’t have time to react; even as the lifeless corpse hit the ground, his head was in a thousand bloody fragments.

Above the din, a voice, vaguely familiar, roared, “MEN OF ASAT- KILL THEM ALL!”

Starut looked up, momentarily hesitating as he located the source of the battle shout.

There, fifty metres away, Commissar Leetol stood side by side with the Asat Guardsman, killing and maiming all that stood in his path. His eyes were two orbs of fiery wrath, as though wherever his gaze fell, an enemy would crumble to ashes.

In response, the Guardsmen chorused in a raucous, ragged cheer that echoed off the distant walls. That nearly made Starut stall in surprise for not the bloodbath around him.

A Power Sword buzzed to his right. Instinctively, Starut leapt aside. He snarled as he drew his ornately crafted bone scabbard, shaped and molded from slain Tyranids’ carapaces. It was purple in colour; slick in blood.

The enemy, a lanky Repentant that seemed too frail to be wielding such a powerful weapon, stood defiantly in his way, towering over Starut. His mouth was frothing, and self inflicted scars decorated his scantily clad body. His bald head glistened in the gloomy light, slick with sweat and blood.

The Repentant roared, muttering an undecipherable oath as he lunged forward, nearly cleaving Starut in two for not a Tyranid Genestealer scuttling past. The buzzing razors bit into the sides of the creature, causing a howl of agony.

With inhumane speed, the creature leapt around, facing the Repentant directly.

With another furious howl, the Repentant leapt forward, bringing his Power Sword into an arc that was aimed at cutting the Genestealer’s head off.

However, millennia’s of evolution was not stopping the creature.

With barely a shuffle, the Tyranid sidestepped the flailing human and appeared behind him. With barely a shriek, the Tyranid leapt onto his back, its arms in a flurry as it tore skin, ripped muscle and severed arteries. Blood splattered the Tyranid and surroundings as the Repentant fell onto his knees, unwilling to die.

His eyes now wide with anger and agony, the Repentant shrieked in maniacal terror.

Starut gazed apathetically at the dying man as the Genestealer appeared through his chest.

With a low moan and heavy sigh, the Repentant died.

Starut sneered as he leapt back into the swirling melee, risking a look around. More Asat Guardsmen were still pouring into the Generatorium as the last few ranks of Tyranid forces crashed into the battle. Several groups of Guardsmen were making desperate sprints through zigzagging silos and fallen machinery. A few had already made it to the other side of the chamber, regrouping behind wrecks of machinery.

Starut cursed, watching helplessly as the rear Tyranid forces were slaughtered in the initial surprise rear and flank attack. Red gore splashed the walls as cultists, unaware of the threat from behind, were mowed mercilessly down.

“WITH ME!” Starut roared as he fell back, dodging swinging blades and flying projectiles.

Foolish Imperials, fancy such a petty tactic? Let’s see what else you have in mind…Starut thought to himself as he stalked the field of death.

Fighting With Faith- Forty-sixth Entry

The tapping came again. Then stopped. It came again suddenly, and stopped as sudden. It came and went. It appeared to be part of the buzzing background at first, but soon became an irritant.

“Will you stop that?” snapped Commissar Alphaues Leetol as he turned away from a pile of blueprints of the warehouse and glanced vehemently at the source of the irritation. It was his second in command, Staff Sergeant Loughe.

Snapped out his trance, Staff Sergeant Loughe knew better then to stop.

Loughe stood up, straightening his posture and uniform. He cleared his throat as sweat beaded his face.

“My apologies Commissar. I must have drifted into a ponderous moment as I waited for the response from the assault elements and Titan Azrael. Both have not hailed our call.” Loughe replied, concern etched into every inch of his face.

Commissar Leetol, dressed in his peak-toped cap and attire, sat as silent as a tomb as he contemplated the odds. Abjax, who was several metres away in the corner of the room reviewing reports, sensed the Commissar’s silence and strode to his side.

“Abjax, what are the latest of the companies that are to assault the Generatorium? From what I hear, the other insertion groups aren’t holding up that well. The Generatorium insertion group must get their job done now.” Leetol urged impatiently, glancing at his aide.

“Commissar, we have lost twelve percent of our overall force in the assault’s initial phase, however it is to note that twenty-two companies of the Generatorium’s insertion group have entered the Generatorium and have reported sightings of enemy elements.” Abjax replied, calm and coherent.

Leetol nodded, settling back into his seat and leaned over to Loughe.

“Commissar, there are confirmed sightings of Master Cultist Barnel and Kaweit in the Generatorium. The enemy forces there are tripled of what we expected.” Loughe coughed out, barely containing his horror at the finding.

Leetol stood up, clearing his throat, drawing the attention of everyone else in the command centre.

“Men of Asat, the moment of victory is at hand. The enemy offers us a blade to their head. We are to seize it. Mobolise the reserve companies- I go to battle.”




==============================================

Three hundred metres…

Benlian gulped, forcing down the lump in his throat. He shivered involuntarily at the sight of the leaping Tyranid creatures. The mutants that followed were no better.

Although feeling the rising urge to turn and run, Benlian knew he had been trained for this. Looking across his squad mates and the rest of the company, Benlian suddenly felt a spark of pride. These were his friends, his men, his soldiers. They had went through perilous trials together and emerged united.

Already nearly all twenty-five pre-designated companies were present, which Benlian was grateful for.

Let them come, and let us smite them. Benlian intoned a silent prayer to himself.

“Target!” Benlian yelled to his squad. There was no use whispering now: The shambling mutants were howling in a chorus of depraved voices for fresh meat to eat and the Tyranids were shrieking at intolerable decibels that resounded off the distant Generatorium ceiling.

At the order, nineteen lasguns were armed and loaded. The sound of nineteen clicking metallic reloads was assuring.

Two hundred metres…

“Heavy weapons, open fire!”

The sound of deep thumping filled the air as shells fired from heavy machine guns were pumped inexorably into the wave of oncoming creatures. Several booms sounded and rockets arched towards the swarm, trailing smoke and ionised air in its wake.

Hundreds of creatures were blown apart, leaving bloody chunks in the gap where it used to be- only to be replaced by two hundred more.

Zeralton gasped. “Emperor help us…”

Benlian glared at him, causing the cowering soldier to offer an apologetic smile and glance warily back into the teeming wave.

One hundred metres…

“Take aim…FIRE!” Benlian commanded as the line of Asat Guardsmen exploded in a flurry of las shots. Beams crossed the air, stitching the Genestealers and Hormagaunts that were dying by the hundreds. The smaller, luckier creatures sprinted, eager in the commencement of the slaughtering.

Fifty metres…

“Flamers!” Benlian bellowed.

Superheated air bathed the Guardsmen as they huddled in their cover. A gush of flame swept over the rockrete ground, as wild as it was bright. It burned and consumed everything in its path. The first elements of the Tyranids force were immediately reduced to charred remains, unrecognisable lumps in the trampling claws and hooves.

Benlian could make out the vile aliens’ leering faces, snapping claws and glistening carapaces.

“Bayonets!” The voice of another squad captain somewhere down the line called out.

Bloodied and razor sharp blades were shoved into place as they were raised ostentatiously towards the enemy.

A soldier from another company screamed, insanity taking a hold of him as he bolted out of his cover and ran head on into the swarm. Benlian stood transfixed as the soldier was reduced to bloody scraps of flesh within seconds.

It is not possible. Benlian thought in horror. His heart now pounded in his chest, threatening to break out of his ribs.

They were upon them.

Immediately Benlian’s vision was much more obscured, only to be replaced by a wall of shifting limbs, snapping claws and hungry mandibles.

Within seconds, all hell broke loose. Benlian looked around.

A blade lashed out, causing blood to spurt from a ruptured artery as a soldier fell to the floor choking on his own blood.

Several tiny creatures no more the size of rats bit at their ankles. Poisonous teeth sank into fresh flesh.

Bayonets batted off carapaces uselessly as the creatures turned angrily to the soldiers, fork tongues licking the air, tasting the fear of the men.

Benlian took aim at a pulsating organism roughly the size of a head, latched onto the back of a Genestealer and fired. It exploded in a rain of black slime and pungent odour, coating Benlian.

The Genestealer turned, nostrils flaring as it closed in on Benlian.

It charged towards Benlian, knocking him off his feet.

Benlian landed on the ground, nearly blackening out as he struggled to get back up on his feet. His vision clearing, Benlian opened his eyes to see the face of the Genestealer right in front of him.

Trying all he could against the awesome weight and might of the creature, Benlian still could not sit upright. He was pinned down; a prey to be feasted upon.

Benlian cried out in absolute terror, glancing about to look for help. All around, Benlian could see death and wanton carnage.

Heads rolled on the floor; eyes still wide open in pure terror. Limbs lay mangled on the ground, its owners writhing in agony beside it.

Blood showered the scene.

Suddenly, powerful shells slammed into the Genestealer above him. It shuddered, shrieking in agony as it tried to stay upright and sought the source of the bullets. A shell soon found its way to its head and blew it up, bathing Benlian in alien goo.

“MEN OF ASAT- KILL THEM ALL!” A voice boomed.

Benlian got to his feet, stumbling and turning around shocked to see Commissar Alphaues Leetol.

The Commissar emerged from a doorway, flanked by soldiers as they joined the bloody fray.

Benlian watched in joy as the Commissar holstered his pistol and held his scabbard high. The Commissar effortlessly sliced a Termagaunt’s head clean off, followed by firing shells into another.

With renewed vigour, the Guardsmen fought on.

Fighting with Faith- Forty-fifth Entry

As briefed in the brief but harrowing journey in the Chimera Transport, Benlian immediately recognised the place he was in. It looked bigger then he thought, a circular chamber, stretching to unseen corners. Squad Bel entered from doorway 8. To their right and left, doorways 7 to 9 lined the circular walls. Both doorways nearer to Squad Bel were opened, ushering similar squads cautious of Asat Guardsmen through.

High, elongated walls arched overhead, ending in a focal point on the ceiling where a pillar of glassteel extended downwards, ending in a buttressed and crenellated base. The pillar had a viscous, unknown liquid flowing through it, shifting and sifting through unidentifiable objects within.

Wait, or are the object not mere objects- but organisms? Benlian thought to himself.

A howl emanated from behind, snapping Benlian out of his ponderous moment.

More howls ensued, followed by a detonation that swallowed the cries of the Carnifexes and shook the walls about them.

“Consider them obsolete.” Kennil mused from behind, casting his eyes around the eerily empty Generatorium. Save for the light green hue that was cast all over the chamber from within the swirling pillar, the only light sources were control panels that dotted the various levels of the base of the pillar.

Suddenly, the lights of the control panels went out.

Benlian felt a moment of dispositional discomfort; as though he was falling through empty space as his gaze fell upon the only light source that was the enigmatic looking pillar. The contents within it swirled and dance, nearly coaxing Benlian to move his limbs in response.

Nearly.

“Visors shut. Night-vision tuned to zero point five setting. Seek cover behind the silos ahead.” Benlian immediately blurted out, studying his surroundings as he sought cover behind the silos and hurried after his squad. His vision, slightly enhanced now, could make out the other side of the chamber.

Was it figures running along the walls- or mere flickering of shadows?

Damn, Benlian thought as he leaned against a silo. The cool surface of it licked his skin, but was ignored by a sudden booming knock coming from behind. It vibrated the hull of the silo he was leaning on, its echo seemingly excessively loud in the silent darkness.

“Sorry.” murmured Arthelp as he stooped down beside Benlian. “Just checking for those organisms.”

No one answered, both glad and saddened at the same time. Glad, knowing that Arthelp had risked his life to secure everyone’s safety by knocking on the silo.

Saddened, by recalling how Marcum had been slain.

Benlian glanced around, sighting more squads of Guardsmen trickling into the chamber. They took positions around the chamber, behind silos and above platforms.

Squad Captains were hand signaling each other, confirming sightings of enemy units at the opposite side of the chamber. Heavy support units lumbered into position, similar to Lent and his counterpart as they deployed their heavy machine gun, covering a particular field with another squad’s heavy weapons team several metres away.

Suddenly, as though at the commencement of a great show in a great theater, the pillars disappeared. Or at least, the green, luminescent liquid lost its radiance as it turned black.

Fortunately, for the Guardsmen, their visors served its purpose well. Although made to shield their eyes from over radiation, it also served as a night-vision, optical enhancer tool.

To their dismay, a wall of black figures swarmed their vision of green through their visors.

Benlian could see scuttling creatures, leaping on limbs that bore immeasurable strength and agility. Robed and hooded cultists milled about, whilst shambling hordes of mutants streamed into the chamber.

“Holy Emperor of Terra…” Arthelp whispered beside Benlian.

Two lithe figures strode through the seething throng beneath them. Indeed, there were beneath them in every aspect. The Hive Mind had seen to testify that fact.

Master Cultist Barnel took a moment to admire his army. At least a few hundreds of cultists had made it, along with nearly all of their assigned broods. Cultist bowed their heads in awe as they shuffled wordlessly pass, paving a way through the crowd.

Praise the Hive Mind.

The mutants, despicable even in his sight, gaped idiotically at Barnel rudely, their simple rotted brains not able to comprehend respect as Barnel glared back at them.

Never mind, Barnel thought, more cannon fodder for the slaughter.

The duo reached the control panel which regulated lighting within the chamber.

“Masssterr...” Kaweit had reconciled with him before. “Do we strike from the veil of darkness or in the light?”

Barnel had considered this long before hand. “Kaweit, the Hive Mind has been known to drive a human insane and full of fear simply by revealing her forces to him. They fear us. They call us abominations. Creatures of their worse nightmare. Monsters. That is what we shall be.”

Kaweit had absorbed his wise master’s words in silence, nodding his head in reverent respect as he deciphered the answer.

Kaweit flicked the switch, bathing the chamber in white, dazzling light as both his and the enemy’s forces flinched at the sudden intrusion of light rays into their weak retinas.

Weak, incompetent beings. Barnel mused to himself as he eyed the arrayed Guardsmen before him hungrily.

They will still serve the Hive Mind well… he thought again, lifting his head high to let loose a wild laughter, echoing off even from the distant chamber walls.

Several hundred metres away from Barnel and Kaweit, in complete darkness, Starut sat perched atop a Biovore. He liked this particular one; tame yet strong. Starut decided to name it Tob.

Starut was eager for the fight to start. He knew it was part of the plan, but was not ready for the waiting.

Tob gurgled and looked up, along with many others as the lights flickered back on.

Starut cursed to himself as he shielded his eyes in time to avoid the worse of the glare.

“Master’s balls.” Shaolsen cursed as he was not quick enough. He sat down, rubbing his palms over his tortured eyelids as the Biovores and Starut watched on emphatically.

A Biovore belched, as though giving a light chuckle.

Starut hopped off Tob and squinted, looking across the Generatorium.

Wonder if Bel Squad is amongst them… Starut thought.

Would be good. I would like to skin them alive.

As though sensing his thoughts, a wild, raucous laughter drifted from afar. It was unmistakably Master Barnel’s. Starut’s spirit lifted, glad that the leader was here amongst them.

Yet again goaded by an unseen force, the Biovores lumbered off, heading behind the cover of a massive collapsed beam. Tyranid forces and mutant bands began advancing as well, thousands of creatures scuttling off to the Guardsmen lines, eager to kill.

Cultists followed calmly in their wake, well aware of the fate of many of them.

Starut’s face broke into a smile.

Now’s the time.

Fighting With Faith- Forty-Fourth Entry

Master Cultist Barnel watched in disposed sympathy as his adjutant slumped to the floor. His head lolled awkwardly to one side, blood pooling out the other.

The reason for his death was simple: The supposedly strategic deployment of the Carnifexes had failed- a whole company of Asat Guardsmen now rampages the Generatorium!

How incompetent! How foolish! Barnel snapped to himself after his third execution within the hour. He sighed inwardly, casting his gaze across the sea of swarming figures. Running, scuttling, hobbling about. The battle had turned for the worse.

Yes, that damn Titan may be down and out, but its demise was not brought in good time. It had taken down along with it at least a third of the walls, along with many other artillery and ammunition emplacements. Cultist squads, Tyranid broods and mutant bands now fought aimlessly through blasted corridors and overrun hangers. Still, those Chimeras kept coming; disgorging troops by the hundreds and pummeling through fortified and barricaded positions by its own means.

Damn those Imperials! To hell and back!

“Massster…” Barnel’s trusted assistant, Kaweit, hissed from behind.

Barnel turned, to be confronted with his brood-kin.

“Enemies in the Generatorium must be denied entry…we must do sssomething…” Kaweit added, before turning his attention to a cultist.

Barnel hesitated. Never once in his glorious life had he been faced with such dire consequences! What if he failed? No, he will not- he must not fail! The Hive Mind overwhelms all eventually.

Finally regaining his thoughts, Barnel commanded, “Alert all available forces within a two hundred metre radius to fall back to the Generatorium. Including whatsoever available Biovore or Carnifex broods. We shall counterattack from the Generatorium.”

Kaweit nodded obediently and strode away, efficiently relaying the orders to the rest of the forces on the battlefield to his lesser adjutants.

“Kaweit…” Barnel called.

The grim face of his brood-kin stared back, expression well tuned to the tense atmosphere.

“We go into battle once more in the name of the Hive Mind.”

“Covering fire down the hallway!” An unknown person yelled down the cramped and debris strewn corridor, of which Starut still recognised as a fellow cultist.

Reacting from training and experience, Starut leaned out of the doorway, along with the rest of his squad as they took positions along the lengths of the corridor and trained their weapons on the stairwell door.

Glow globes hung suspended on shuddering ceilings, oscillating wildly about its position, casting erratic hues of dim and wild, bright light in the corridor.

From where Starut was, through the shifting haze of yellowish glow globe lights, he could vaguely make out several figures of Asat Guardsmen and cultists engaged in brutal close combat. Other figures emerged from doorways along the corridor, similarly training their weapons at the mêlée unfolding at the stairwell.

Upon seeing backup, a cultist yelled for his squad to fall back from the mêlée, snake crawling over corpses and rubble as bullets and lasbeams whizzed above them.

Starut began to open fire, gesturing for the rest of his surviving squad to do the same. Within the first minute, at least a dozen of the unfortunately exposed Asat Guardsmen were shot down; bullets and needles impacting against their feeble body armour, blowing thick chunks of flesh and muscle off their bodies.

Blood spurted onto walls, floor, and even onto the Tyranid horrors that leapt onto them from behind, through some unseen vent that they were crawling through for an ambush.

Seeing that this minor skirmish was won, Starut leaned back into the room and studied the Biovores that were still obediently firing load after load of Spore Mines into the dwindling enemy convoys. It was then he realised how badly wounded they were.

Numerous cuts, gashes and even bullet holes were visible on their hides and carapaces. Try as he might, Starut couldn’t bear to ignore such pain and agony the Biovores must be enduring at the very moment while they dedicatedly carried out their orders

As though answering his plea, Shaolsen’s radio crackled to life. Starut leaned forward, eager to hear whatever was about to be broadcast.

At first, unmistakable static permeated the radio broadcast. Starut grimaced, giving Shaolsen a frown before turning his attention swiftly back to the radio as a voice came through the static.

“…to the Generatorium immediately. Repeat, all units within two hundred metres of the Generatorium are to fall back to the Generatorium through chamber one to six. Units assigned with broods are to take extreme caution to ensure the minimum, if not nil causality of their brood. Life unto the Hive Mind.”

As though in response, a massive detonation blasted down the corridor, sending bodies, rubble and shards of deadly shrapnel flying through the air. Several bits ricocheted off walls, spinning haphazardly into the tight confines of the room Starut was in.

A thin, unnoticeable blade whizzed past Starut, drawing a thin line of blood out of his right cheek even before he could react to the pain.

As though on cue, a mighty war cry rose down the corridor, echoed by hundreds of others throughout the warehouse, and on the blasted landscape around the warehouse.

Starut listened intently, his throbbing eardrums still trying to recover from the blast.

A minute passed, then two. His hearing now returned to normal, Starut recoiled in horror at what he heard.

The Guardsmen were storming the warehouse, and they were coming for him.

Fighting With Faith- Forty-Third Entry

Benlian lay on his stomach as he snake-crawled his way through the musky and dark interiors of the conduit. Queer, alien smelling ichor dripped its way through unseen vents and holes on the surrounding walls, giving off uneasy splashing sounds as it landed into puddles on the base.

The conduits had shrunk from standing height, to doubling over, to crawling level as they progressed through the network of bizarre tunnels. Tiny organisms scuttled past every few steps, along with mild reverberations of the ongoing battle beyond the tunnel.

No one had spoken since they begun crawling. They were concentrating on their arduous trek and the surroundings. Sweat trickled down Benlian’s face as he turned to acknowledge a tug on his sleeve from Arthelp. The torch on the barrel of Benlian’s lasgun illuminated Arthelp’s similarly strained face. Black ichor and grime shone off his face as he said spoke.

“Ben, one of the scouts of Kennil’s voicing his concern over the rising heat signatures detected on his…uh, detector.”

Wiping the sweat and slime off his sweat slicked face, Benlian said, “Is it coming from up ahead?”

Benlian thought as he waited for Arthelp to pass the message down the line of crouched soldiers. These tunnels they were in were abandoned maintenance tunnels; the route they’re on now being servitor-accessible passages. Aside from the tiny, harmless organisms scuttling about them, what else could have been emitting heat?

“Ben,” Arthelp’s voice snapped him out of his pondering. “He says… it’s coming from beyond these walls.” he said, he himself also surprised at the answer.

Benlian’s mind raced. What monstrous entity must be around them now to emit that much heat, even detectable through the thick walls of the conduits?

Suddenly, before being able to give an answer, a section several metres in front of Benlian was ripped open. Bright, blinding light poured into the gloom of the tunnel. Gasps of astonishment and surprises came from the soldiers as they sought to shield their eyes from the dazzling light.

A mighty, bestial roar ensued the screeching of metal as the hole was tore wider. Several similar roars followed the first as soon as the tunnel was tipped forward, sending the soldiers of Bel Company spiraling down and out of the tunnel, into a sea of snapping claws and whipping tails.

Benlian landed on his back on his backpack, glad that training instincts had taken a hold on him as he fell through the air flailing. Several others fell similarly, with minimal injury from the short fall. Stratile landed beside him, gasping from shock.

Benlian got up and looked wildly at his surroundings. It was nothing he had seen before. The stench, the sight and the aura that pervaded the chamber they were in was repulsive in the most extreme.

Carcasses of an assortment of human, animal and even Tyranid lay strewn about the gore splattered circular chamber. Several still writhed and pulsed, unwilling to face death.

A soldier behind Benlian vomited as he witnessed the scene.

Large shadows loomed over Benlian and his splayed squad, causing them to look up.

On first sight, the things appeared apologetic, tilting its head to a side and sniffing the new visitors through its thin and slimy nose slits. They was huge, nearly three metres tall and heavily muscled and plated with chitin armour. Long and deadly looking blades grew from their limbs, coated thick with blood. They then turned away and faced each other, as though communicating in an unseen manner before raising their heads to roar in unison, shaking the very bones of the soldiers.

Yes, the monsters were communicating, but they were not going to kill in unison. They were hungry.

“GET COVER!” Benlian yelled as the monsters began charging at them, head- butting each other to get to their prey first. He managed to jump out of the way of one as it barreled past him, mouth wide open.

Benlian was running for his life to notice the slightest stench of the horrible smell that came from its mouth.

Screams, shrieks and roars ensued the monsters’ charge as it smashed into the ragged line of Asat Guardsmen. Several had fired upon the monsters, with little effect. Small chunks of flesh tore off from the thick hides of the monsters.

“BENLIAN! OVER HERE!” Kennil bellowed as Benlian leapt away just in time to avoid being smashed to pulp by another Carnifex.

Benlian turned, seeing Kennil and several other soldiers huddled against a wall. Kennil was looking at Benlian earnestly, beckoning him over.

Benlian began to sprint; jumping over corpses and carcasses, there was no difference. A Carnifex shrieked past him, a limb sliced neatly off as blood pooled out of it. The ragged sound of lasguns firing had increased in volume as the soldiers had taken up defensive positions, forming a firebase behind two massive pillars where Kennil was.

“Ben, take a look at this.” Kennil said as Benlian came close enough to hear.

Benlian leaned forward, studying a panel. It was caked in dried blood. Upon closer inspection, Benlian could make out several words above the panel, along with obscured lights beneath the veil of dried blood. It was a control panel.

“What’s it say?” Kennil asked urgently.

“Gen...Gene...Generatorium. Generatorium!” Benlian exclaimed as he immediately began prying the layer of dried blood off, to Kennil’s extreme distaste as he himself helped.

A rune glowed, which Benlian absent mindedly punched. A klaxon rang throughout the chamber, causing even the Carnifexes to pause and glare around in fury.

A door along the wall to the right of the panel grinded open, rising from the floor to reveal an even larger chamber, its ends unseen, beyond. Large, hydraulic pistons and machinery clanked and toiled around the chamber, with an eerie hue of green cast over it.

“MEN- GET THROUGH THAT!” Benlian bellowed as the Carnifexes regained their composure and charged straight to their fleeing prey.