Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 35
"So..." Argall began, arms crossed over his chest, a single brow raised, and a look of disdain about him. The thing before him was hardly superhuman, because it could hardly be called human at all. Its genes were so horrifically altered and broken that it was now both sterile and alien. The only human thing about it now was its physical form, but – even then – only when one squinted. Even its mind was mostly gone, Argall mused, likely due to the... Neuro-Interactive Nails that'd been jammed right through its skull, causing an excess in the production of the hormones that induce violence and rage. In short, the thing that was strapped on the table before him, screaming and frothing and struggling against its binds, was nothing more than a rabid animal, bereft of humanity. Perhaps, Argall mused, there was a time when it was human as, even with all the... augmentations in its body, it should have retained its memories from before the transformation, which meant that, genetics aside, it could've functioned about as well as any other human.
But what was the point of a mindless superhuman? At a certain point, a machine would've better sufficed. The human mind was a human's greatest weapon – logic, rationality, creativity, and empathy. Take the mind away and one was better served by a mindless robot. It didn't matter how strong or fast this creature was, a machine would simply be more efficient – durable and easy to produce.
So, that begged the question of why the Imperium of Mankind bothered to create such a thing. What was there to gain from such a creature? From where Argall stood, this frothing barbarian was about as useful as a gun without a handle – or a loading mechanism. Essentially useless. Even its Power Armor was primitive – about as powerful as the stuff the old Scrappers used to wear; still quite powerful, no doubt, but nowhere near as powerful or as durable as the stuff worn by the construction workers of the Hyperborean Nation – or the Hyperborean Collective as the new government suggested, just to ensure that any new peoples they adopted wouldn't feel as though they were simply subsumed by a much larger entity. Argall sighed and flicked the frothing barbarian on the forehead, knocking the... thing unconscious. "This is an Astartes? This is the creature that brought down your republic? Well, I'm glad to know that they're... pitifully ordinary. I'd expected a much greater, grander foe."
"You'd do well not to underestimate them, Supreme Chancellor," Admiral Jadan, who retained her rank even through the transition of the Volimar Republic and its citizens into the arms of the Hyperborean Nation, said. And, if nothing else, Argall respected her opinion; after all, she'd seen what this sort of enemy could do, fought against it. Argall had not yet done the same. "They'll be accompanied by legions and legions of men, fighting in their billions. And these... Astartes know no fear – no hesitation. They're stronger than they look."
"Yes, but that's assuming we're dumb enough to engage them in open warfare on the ground," Argall shrugged as he turned away and sat down next to Syreen, who'd chosen to stay quiet while he examined the creature on the table.
Surprisingly, despite the tracker that they found on one of Jadan's ships, it took almost a year before the Imperium actually got anywhere close to their region of space. To Argall, that meant two distinct possibilities: one possibility was that they simply weren't bothering with their pursuit of the Volimar Remnants and were taking their time to do other things. Or, it was entirely possible that their means of Faster Than Light travel was, in fact, primitive. According to one of the Volimari Scientists, their last recorded jump, prior to their encounter with one of Argall's probes, had been from a system that was over a hundred light years away. Either they weren't taking the chase seriously or their tech was inferior; as with most things, the likeliest answer was that it was probably a combination of both.
"That's right," Syreen suddenly said, her eyes – aged, but vibrant – widening. His sister was getting old. And, still, the idiot refused to take any form of rejuvenation treatment. "The best way to deal with a numerically-superior foe is to engage them outside of their comfort zones. These Astartes thrive on ground combat. So, we attack them in space; that way, we won't have to deal with them or their numbers at all, just their navy."
Argall nodded. "We don't have the numbers to deal with a ground invasion, despite our technological superiority. And, quite frankly, the weapons I've designed work better in void combat. Our ships are far superior as we've already displayed – and so are our weapons and shields. We've got them outmatched in space."
Numerical superiority in void combat did not count for much, especially when his technology granted them nearly full control over the battlefield. Their ships were faster and far more maneuverable. Their shields were stronger and their weapons hit harder. Sure, the Imperium of Mankind likely had more vessels, but that hardly mattered if none of those vessels could even fire a single one of their weapons. The tracker had already been removed and relocated, placed on a barren almost five systems away so that the Imperium of Mankind would waste their efforts there. Were there other trackers that Argall might've remained ignorant of? Maybe, but unlikely. He'd scanned every little inch of their ships and found nothing more.
But, to discount such a possibility was folly, which was why he had the Volimar Ships moved to another system, alongside an army of Builder Drones to upgrade and repair their systems. He wasn't taking any chances. If the Imperium of Mankind actually found the Hyperborean Homeworld, then things were going to get really ugly, because that meant the Phaeron Khoteph would awaken with his lords and take to the field – or, at least, they will if the Imperium actually landed any of their ground forces on the planet.
And if the Necrons got involved, then... well... it wasn't going to end well for the Imperium or for any of them, really. Khoteph might've been friendly, mostly because of his human mind, but by his own admission, the other Necron Lords did not share his view of humanity. The only thing that'd protect the Hyperboreans was the fact that Khoteph recognized them as a protectorate. But the bottom line was that he could not, unless in the utmost of need, get the Necrons involved at all.
Though, to be entirely fair, based on the lone ship that they destroyed and the random Astartes survivor they just happened to find drifting in the void afterwards, there didn't seem to be a lot to be afraid of. Jadan painted a brutal picture, but if this was all the Imperium could send after them, then there really wasn't much to even consider. Their ships were... weak. Oh, they were lumbering behemoths, to be certain, but they were inefficient – poorly designed and built even more poorly. It took two shots to take down such a ship – one to overload and disable the shield, and the other to pierce the hull and disable the core, which promptly caused the whole vessel to explode.
How this one guy somehow survived all of that was honestly quite the mystery.
"Let's just hope the Iron Men don't wake up and join," Syreen said, mirroring his thoughts.
"You're absolutely certain, Supreme Chancellor, that that which you speak of are not the Men of Iron?" Jadan asked, eyes wide with concern. She'd asked the same question when Argall first mentioned the Necrons and, honestly, Khoteph would've been offended by the comparison; for hidden within the Scrapyards of Hyperborea were traces of these Men of Iron, machines that possessed a highly advanced form of artificial intelligence, but were otherwise trapped within primitive metal frames. There were different designs, of course, and some were more suited for war than others, but the general aesthetic was distinctly human. Highly advanced, but nowhere near the arcane science of the Necrons.
"I am absolutely certain that the Necrons are not the Men of Iron." Argall smiled. He then brought up several more screens, each one displaying statistical data and predictions. Specifically, he was trying to chart the movement of the Imperium vessels to try and predict when and where they'll appear. "Moving on. Based on the time of arrival of that Astartes vessel, I predict that the next one – or the next wave – should arrive within a week, at least, and a month at most. The tracker's leading them to a barren moon – perfect for ambush tactics. I would've loved to try and reason with them, see if they're open to diplomacy; but I see now, seeing as they make use of such barbaric warriors to fight their wars for them, that it might just be impossible to open a diplomatic channel with the Imperium of Mankind."
"So, I'm going to blow up their ships and wait and see if they notice anything." Argall smiled, feeling a euphoric rush surging through him, something he stomped down immediately. His father taught him better. He had to be better, no matter how exciting the prospect of a good war felt to him – no matter how natural it felt. War and death and pain were things that no living creature deserved. His father taught him, many times, that he had no enemies, that there was no one in the universe upon whom he had to be cruel towards, which was why Argall had to keep that side of him from ever seeing the light – keep it chained and hidden, locked away somewhere no one will every find it. Syreen sent him an odd look and Argall cleared his throat. "What I meant to say was that I'm going to attack them as they draw towards the tracker and see how long it takes them to realize that this was all just a trap."
Jadan nodded. "I approve of your plan, Supreme Chancellor. And... errr... Lady Syreen. From what I know of the Imperium of Mankind and, I'll admit, I do not know much of them or their ways, but it seems to me that they do, in fact, favor open warfare and shock and awe tactics upon civilians. They will struggle, I believe, if forced to fight solely in the void, where their ground elements are of no use."
Argall nodded. That was exactly what he'd expected. And wanted. Bring the Imperium of Mankind somewhere beyond their comfort zone and watch the great and lumbering beast flail around, unable to bite or claw at the enemy that it could not see. And, ironically, he was pretty certain of the fact that their ships – at least, most of their ships – were incapable of detecting Hyperborean Vessels when they were cloaked. Honestly, Argall did not expect a long or troubled war; it would be swift and bloody, but then he could not claim to be capable of seeing the future either.
"How goes your training of our navy, Admiral Jadan?" Syreen suddenly asked.
"I'm doing my best to impart all that I know to all of our pilots and prospecting admirals; they learn quickly and do not allow such a petty thing as pride to get in the way of their education. Soon, perhaps, I may no longer be needed for this position, save for no other reason than my experience." Admiral Jadan answered smoothly, as if she'd been preparing for this question for quite some time. But, all things considered, her assessment of herself and the pilots and her fellow admirals was on point. They learned quickly and all of them were eager to learn from someone with actual naval expertise. And so, they fell in line quickly. Argall was proud of them for that. The ability to learn and adapt would always be humanity's greatest strength.
"That is good to hear, Admiral Jadan," Argall nodded, smiling. He then turned to the Astartes on the table, who was very slowly stirring awake. An idea struck him, right then and there. "Perhaps, we may be able to extract some information from this creature if I was able to remove the devices on his head. It'll be difficult, but I think it's certainly possible."
AN: Chapter 37 is out on (Pat)reon!
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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 36
Removing the devices from the Space Marine's head proved to be a far greater challenge than Argall had first anticipated. The nail-shaped devices weren't just lodged through the skull and into the brain, whereupon they released the signals and hormones that triggered an everlasting rage. No, the device was growing into the brain, joining with it and outright taking over entire sections entirely. And so it was safe to say that the nails were in fact a part of the Space Marine's brain, having taken over and replaced numerous vital areas that, if removed, would result in a sudden and certain death. And corpses really weren't capable of answering questions, as far as Argall was aware.
And so, therein lay the challenge. How exactly as he supposed to remove this device, without killing the person it was attached to? Of course, yanking it out was the worst possible thing he could do. If nothing else, Argall found that, despite everything, this was an honestly fun challenge, especially since he was doing it alone, with no one to disturb him. Or ask stupid questions. It was just him, his technology, and a very interesting problem.
Of course, if they truly needed him for whatever reason, then his people were more than welcome to call on him. But they wouldn't do that, Argall mused. He'd guided them enough by now that they were becoming more and more independent of his direct guidance. Soon enough, they wouldn't need him at all and he can finally divert his full attention to his true passion: invention. At heart, Argall was a scientist and an inventor, not a leader or a warlord, no matter how good he actually was being both of those things. He wanted to create and experiment, to see just how far he could push science and see what lay on the other end of it. All this business of war and death, while exciting in their own way, paled in comparison to the rush that came with creating something no one had ever seen before.
At the moment, his people were doing fine by themselves – preparing for the inevitable war that was, sooner or later, going to come knocking on their doorstep. A direct war was impossible. The Imperium of Mankind was too large and boasted too many resources. They had to fight smart. They had to be tricky and crafty so that no Imperial Vessel would ever find Hyperborea. The plan was quite simple: drag the Imperium of Mankind into a hopelessly grueling meatgrinder of a war until they realized their folly and backed off, or else risk crippling their navy and military for a war that held no real significance.
At least, that was the plan. But he, of all people, knew that plans had a tendency of blowing up in one's face at the least expected moment, which was precisely where Argall came in. When things inevitably blew up and they almost certainly will, then he'd take the field and join in on the fun.
Argall turned his attention back to the Space Marine on the table. No doubt, the Imperium of Mankind very likely did not possess the technology to remove the nails. Argall frowned. The first thing he considered was its purpose. Why build a device as crude as these, at all? Chemical injections into the brain can and would replicate the rage effect without harming the brain – at least, not as quickly or as severely. And the effects, depending on the chemicals used, could be temporary. Argall couldn't fathom why someone would want to be angry all the time. Assuming, however, that the Astartes was, in fact, a willing subject for the insertion of the nails, then... huh... this was just pure stupidity. Not to mention the fact that the nails also constantly stimulated the nerve receptors, causing immense pain all the time.
Angry and in pain forever. What was even the point of this? Was it religious? Was it a punishment of some kind? Argall didn't know. And, quite honestly, it hardly made sense either way.
There were far more efficient ways for the creation of shock troops and none of them involved partial lobotomy. At this point, the Imperium would've been better off with just robots.
Moving on. The simplest method that Argall could think of was to simply keep the nails in place and, instead, install yet another device into the subject's brain to mimic and ultimately counter the effects of the nails, stabilizing the subject's mind long enough for Argall to ask questions and hopefully receive some answers. Truth Serums weren't difficult to create; in fact, he had a collection of the stuff ready to be used for when he figured out a way to remove the nails. No doubt, these Astartes were trained to resist interrogation and Argall honestly did not have the stomach or the patience for torture.
Argall stared at the device that would, in theory, counter the nails by flooding the brain with chemicals that suppressed anger and pain, and, instead, brought out happiness and pleasure. The two devices should balance and cancel each other out, in theory.
The other method he'd concocted was far more complex, but ultimately did not require yet another device to be lodged inside the brain of the Astartes. Quite simply, Argall would recalibrate the nails, one by one, so that they stopped generating anger and pain and would, instead, function as the parts of the brain they'd already replaced. Truly, Argall wasn't too sure about this one as he'd have to recalibrate the nails while they were still embedded within the skull of the Astartes. Even before that, he'd have to scan and study them, another endeavor that was hampered by the fact that, once again, the nails were still attached to the brain. Difficult, but ultimately not impossible. He had all the necessary equipment for the task, anyway.
The third option, which was the most challenging and exciting, was to very slowly remove the device, while simultaneously recreating and repairing the various parts of the brain that it'd previously occupied and taken over. To recreate the brain, Argall would need to make use of his bio-nano bots, which he'd modeled after the extensive usage of nano-technology by the Necrons, something that boggled him even now. Phaeron Khoteph and the Necrons, in general, made use of technological marvels that made his inventions seem puny in comparison. But, if nothing else, that knowledge only made Argall want to achieve even more. What he'd created as a sort of imitation were the bio-nano bots, capable of turning themselves into any biological material, including brain matter, by fusing together and forming mechanical strands that perfectly mimicked any biological process, including that of protein receptors. Of course, unlike typical biological materials, anything that was comprised of his bio-nano bots could very quickly abandon the shape they'd taken and become a swarm of nanomachines once more. The only reason Argall did not consider this option immediately was the fact that the bio-nano bots had never once been used to recreate a brain; it only ever saw service in the medical sector to replace severed limbs or muscles and a few organs – never the brain.
Essentially, the plan was to use the bio-nano bots to fix up the Astartes' ruined brain – at least, temporarily. Long enough for Argall to ask some questions and hopefully receive some answers. So, which method was best?
Well, none of them, because – ideally – he wouldn't have to do this at all. The idea of messing with someone's – or anyone's – brain, really, did not sit right with him. The very idea of treating a human being, no matter how much of a frothing barbarian they might've been, left a bitter taste on his tongue. Not that he was averse to bitterness, however. And Argall's analytical mind won over any emotion he might've had. The most effective method – the quickest, safest, and most efficient, was the first. All he had to do was jam yet another device into a brain that was already broken. The Astartes' life expectancy wouldn't be particularly high afterwards, but then who cared? Certainly not the Imperium.
Shrugging, Argall began the procedure. Cables and wires and mechanical limbs whirred to life as the Astartes was hoisted high into the air, its limbs spread outwards and all its horrific implants and scars laid bare. Truly, Argall mused, this creature was made through the most barbaric means possible – artificial organs and implants jammed into its body with barely a care. Its creation must've been excruciating. The marks of torture were there, alongside some form of self-harm. Whatever or whoever this creature used to be no longer mattered; for it was now less than human, less than a beast, even – just a mad dog that had to be put down for the great good of all.
It was unconscious now, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.
Argall watched as mechanical tendrils wrapped around the device and slowly, but surely, inserted it into the subject's cranium, boring a hole through the skull and piercing the brain. Almost immediately, smaller tendrils, from the device itself, began spreading outwards, like the roots of a tree, overtaking more and more of the Astartes' mind until it synchronized with the nails, producing an equal amount of the chemicals and hormones produced by the crude device, until the effects of the nails were canceled out entirely. Harmony, Argall mused. There was now a measure of harmony within the brain of the Astartes – neither happiness nor anger, pain nor pleasure. He wondered, briefly, if the Astartes would've felt some form of gratitude for this or if the man would, instead, just be angry over Argall's tampering of the device in his head.
"Wake him up," Argall commanded.
The Astartes let loose an agonizingly cry the moment its eyes snapped open – blood streamed from its eyes, nose, and mouth. And the scream soon turned into gurgling noises as it choked on its own blood. Argall raised a brow and figured that this was very likely a side effect of what he'd done just now. After all, no one could possibly walk away unscathed after having a surgical device inserted into their brain. After a moment, the Astartes composed himself, spitting out a globule of partially solidified blood – a feature that, Argall noted, was present in their physiology, blood that curdled and hardened almost immediately once exposed to oxygen. It was an inferior form of the natural regeneration possessed by the average Hyperborean.
"I know you can hear me, Astartes," Argall began, hands at his back as he stared at the coughing Astartes, behind whom the mechanical limbs and tendrils were primed to inject the Truth Serums, in case the creature did not cooperate. He'd also painstakingly learned the tongue of the Imperium of Man, based solely on the scant battlefield data that Jadan had recovered, in which several conversations and cries were recorded. Cross-referencing with the existing human languages Argall already knew about from the databanks he'd recovered from the Scrapyards, it was relatively simple, if not annoying, to piece together the strange tongue that was spoken by the Imperials. "Would you be so kind as to tell me your name?"
The Astartes did not speak, instead, it continued coughing and sputtering, blood pouring from its nose and mouth. After a moment, the creature paused and locked eyes with Argall. "There, does it feel better? Now, tell me your name."
"I... am... Teleron... Teleron of the War Hounds." Argall did not miss the venom with which the last two words were spoken. Interesting. But also irrelevant. Teleron's eyes snapped to him, widening. There was... something there, something close to recognition. As for why this creature would recognize him, Argall didn't know. And so, he raised a brow. "W-w-who... are you?"
"I am Argall, Supreme Chancellor of the Hyperborean Collective. And you will answer my questions – willingly or otherwise. Do you understand this, Astartes?" Argall asked and Teleron nodded. That was easy. "Tell me everything you know about the Imperium."
AN: Chapter 38 is out on (Pat)reon!
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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 37
"I was born and raised on Tera, beneath the golden shadow of the Emperor and his transhuman warriors," The Astartes said, eyes unfocused. "I fought and lived fiercely and, in time, I was recruited into the War Hounds Legion. We were sent out to conquer world after world, in campaigns that spanned hundreds of solar systems. You will forgive me, Lord Primarch, if I know little of how the Imperium is run or its history; I can tell you, however, how it conducts its wars. I was a warrior – a butcher, a killer. Nothing more."
Argall's eyes narrowed. The Astartes referred to him as a 'Lord Primarch'. He had no idea what that title meant or why the creature thought it belonged to him. They'd certainly never met before. And the title... Argall had never heard of it before – not once in all the history books he'd seen, read, and collected from the Scrapyards. The addition of the word 'Lord' meant that the title was important, even within the Imperium or, at the very least, within the ranks of this creature's legion. Very interesting. Argall knew that he wasn't entirely human and that, more than likely, he'd been bio-engineered for some great purpose that he was not yet aware of. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts appearing, a thousand branching possibilities considered, until he arrived at a single conclusion about a moment later.
And his eyes widened.
A Primarch was a general of some kind, meant to lead a legion of Astartes. Angron, the leader of these creatures, was a Primarch. Because, despite what Admiral Jadan might believe, no insane brute, no matter how strong, could possible lead and organize an entire Empire, especially an interstellar one. Therefore, this Angron fellow was likely just a leader, a very important figure, perhaps, but was not the leader of the Imperium, likely not even a governor of anything. So, his best guess was that Primarchs were, in essence, generals.
Interesting. He wasn't entirely sure what to feel about that, honestly. But it made the most sense. A quick review of the Astartes' genetic makeup, a piece of information that was already within Argall's mind, confirmed his suspicions. Though very distant, it appeared that tiny parts of them were, in fact, related, which meant the means with which an Astartes was created was through some form of genetic implantation, using the genes of a Primarch. In this case, Teleron's Primarch was Angron and many of his genes likely came from Angron.
"Tell me more about Angron," Argall said. "Tell me how your legion conducts its wars."
Teleron huffed and almost chuckled. "There is no grant strategy, no planning – nothing. That wild beast sends us down and we conduct slaughter. We raze and kill entire worlds, killing every last member of the population before moving on. Our rabid animal of a Primarch joins us in these butcheries. Many of my brothers, including Angron himself, prefer the usage of melee instruments in war. There is not much to say, in truth, Lord Primarch. Angron is a rabid dog and acts like one; he forced these nails into our heads to force us to act like him, stripped of reason and mercy, stripped of all that made us human. My brothers became little more than feral animals. My memories of what came after the surgery are... hazy and I've forgotten many of the things that happened before."
Argall nodded. That the World Eaters preferred melee was not too surprising; all the anger, surging through their system couldn't possibly contribute to shooting accurately. "Yeah, that aligns well with the reports I've received. You don't remember anything. Alas, you're useless. But, I must know; what exactly is a Primarch? You call me Lord Primarch as though that is a title that belongs to me. I can only make conjectures, but no more than that."
Teleron gave him an odd look, before shrugging. "I know little, in truth. But, I know that a Primarch is a son of the Emperor, gene-forged to perfection, meant to lead a legion of Astartes to conquer the stars in his name. But, for one reason or another, the Primarchs were scattered across the cosmos, deposited in random worlds. The Emperor seeks them out... he seeks you out."
Argall raised a brow. "How incredibly dramatic."
Teleron's expression hardened. "You jest, but it is true. The Emperor's gaze is vast and unyielding. If you are a Primarch, he will find you. He will demand your loyalty, and he will use you to further his conquests. Resistance is... futile."
Argall smirked. "We'll see about that. Now, tell me more about the Imperium's military structure. I need details, Teleron, not vague allusions to an omnipotent Emperor."
It was nice, Argall mused, to find that his captive seemed all too willing to talk.
Teleron's eyes flickered with curiosity. There was no defiance in his gaze. It seemed that, Argall mused, the Astartes held no real loyalty for the Imperium. And, based on Teleron's story, the lack of loyalty was quite understandable, really. In fact, Argall would be surprised if Teleron held any sort of loyalty towards the Imperium at all, considering all he'd suffered for in their name. "Like I said, Lord Primarch; I know little. And, even then, all I know comes from my time as a War Hound, before Angron. And that was... almost a lifetime ago. The number of legionnaires and ships will have been altered, alongside secret codes and protocols."
"Outdated," Argall nodded. It was entirely possible that, given the degeneration of his mind, Teleron would have absolutely no idea what was going on around him before the effects of the nails were canceled out. What a poor fellow. Already, Argall no longer saw the Astartes as just a creature, but a broken man, who once fought for something he believed in, before his leader twisted him into something monstrous, something rabid and bloodthirsty, turning him into little more than an animal. And he did become an animal. Before Argall countered the effects of the nails, Teleron was about as lucid as a rabid rodent. "I suppose that makes sense. All that you know now would essentially be outdated by now. What can you tell me, then, Teleron."
"They will offer you no quarter – no mercy. No terms will be given. They expect full and complete subservience and assimilation. Offer them, then, no mercy and no quarter, in turn. Do not hesitate. Do not bother with such pleasantries as honor. The World Eaters will wage total war upon your... nation. You must be ready, Lord Primarch, to make use of all that you have if you wish to remain independent." Teleron's eyes dimmed. Argall figured the combination of the nails and the counter-device were frying up the Astartes' neurons, gradually shutting down his brain. "And, if you can... please, kill Angron. That wild beast deserves nothing but death. So many worlds... so many lives lost... because of him."
The Astartes' eyes darkened and his features drooped and loosened, skin becoming deathly pale and dry. Teleron's brain had shut down entirely, Argall noted, having sustained too much damage. If he tried – if he wanted to – he could've probably come up with a way to save the Astartes' life. But, honestly, he didn't care enough to do that. And, if his understanding of the... man was even remotely close to the truth, then Teleron wished for death more than anything else. To force him to live seemed like the crueler option, honestly. Besides, Argall had taken all that he could from Teleron anyway. The man was useless.
Sighing, Argall gave a mental command to have the Astartes dissected and thoroughly studied. If the genes of one of his apparent siblings, something Argall found oddly exciting, was to be found within the flesh of Teleron, then it was only right that his cadaver be carved open and examined in its entirety, in and out. Besides, by definition, Teleron was superhuman and many of the organs he possessed were entirely different from what Argall himself had concocted for his Enhanced Soldiers – of course, the ordinary citizenry had no need for redundant organs. But the differences in development and design were interesting enough to warrant a closer look. Of course, his machines would do that for him; the World Eaters would notice, soon enough, that they lost one of their ships.
War was looming over the horizon.
With a sigh, Argall turned and walked away. This little interrogation bore little fruit – at least, no fruit that'd aid their war effort. He knew now that he apparently had siblings and if Teleron's warning was any indication, he would have to kill one of them as quickly as possible. That was an interesting thing. No, not siblings, but mere biological relatives. The only sibling he had was Syreen, that old bitch who still refused to take rejuvenation treatment and was rapidly aging into a giant brown grasshopper like an idiot. His watch started beeping. Frowning, Argall looked down.
"Ah," He'd almost forgotten about his lunch date with said fool and her grandchildren. He thought of it for a moment and figured two hours of family time wouldn't hurt. After all, if he did not attend to his personal life every now and then, then there really wasn't anything worth fighting for in the end; his father taught him that. And, ultimately, he trusted his people well enough to manage things by themselves – at least, for now, when the war was just at its skirmishing stage. They had a plan and it was a good plan: lure the Imperium into dead space and engage in asymmetrical warfare, keeping them from ever using their gargantuan, lumbering vessels and preventing their massive, infantry-based armies from ever making a difference. His people did not need his direct guidance for such a simple plan. "I wonder what I should cook for lunch..."
Some secrets, Jadan seethed, were better left buried and forgotten – dark deeds done from the greater good. She understood that well enough, actually. The Volimar Republic was a democracy, but she could never have made the claim that her beloved former-government had not engaged in clandestine operations, committed grievous crimes, for the good of the people, for the sake of peace. Things that were done for the sake of the greater good. She understood that and she accepted it. Jadan herself had done... many things she'd rather forget about, things that would've been considered crimes if brought before the Volimari Court of Law, but were necessary acts regardless.
Some secrets had to remain buried.
The supposed cure that'd been administered to the Volimari People, her people, in the beginning of their assimilation into the Hyperborean Nation, now the Hyperborean Collective to honor the presence of the Volimari Culture, hadn't been just that. Lord Chancellor Argall claimed that it was a cure for all diseases, genetic or otherwise and he'd been telling the truth. Her people were now immune to disease – immune to cancer, to viruses. They could live full and healthy lives and never have to worry about pathogens ever again.
What Argall did not tell anyone, something she discovered only now, was that the supposed cure had a secondary function.
Hyperboreans were not... entirely human – not quite. In the simplest of terms, they were better – stronger, faster, more resilient, barely aging, and smarter. They were more resistant to radiation, possessed nigh-indestructible bones, and near-infinite stamina. And these were just civilians, ordinary people who lived relatively ordinary lives, possessing physical and genetic enhancements that placed them firmly above an Astartes in terms of biological complexity and efficiency. Quite literally, a Hyperborean's physiology was so freakishly robust that they could survive for a whole month without sustenance for as long as there was water. And all these traits were coded into their very genetics, ensuring that their offspring would be born superhuman.
And Argall etched all these genetic enhancements into her people, without their knowledge, without their consent. When the new generation of Volimari were eventually born, they would be physically identical to the Hyperboreans – a new race of humans, far better than their ancestors. Jadan only found out about this because, quite literally, being an admiral granted her access to pretty much every single classified document, one of which detailed the very same plans that led to the forced evolution of the Volimari.
A part of her was appalled, of course, as – for better or for worse – people, human beings, should retain the final word on what was to be done with their bodies, their genetics. But then, from a more logical, rational, and pragmatic perspective, Jadan couldn't really see a single downside to this. Because, no matter how much she tried to come up with a counter-argument, the tangible benefits of Argall's actions far outweighed the ethical costs. And, ultimately, her people would never know until it far far in the future when it simply no longer mattered. Some secrets, indeed, needed to remain buried.
Breathing in, Jadan stepped forward and was ushered into the Hyperborean War Council by a soldier in Power Armor. "Announcing the presence of Reserve Admiral Jadan Nkash!"
Now, it was time to wage war. Now, it was time for vengeance
AN: Chapter 39 is out on (Pat)reon!
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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 38
Nareena's eyes snapped open. And all before her was an endless, swirling landscape of twisting shapes and colors and sprites of bright flames and roaring faces. She blinked and rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up. Nah, she didn't recognize this place. And she definitely didn't remember taking anything funny before going to bed. Plus, she'd stopped with the psychedelics decades ago, before Syreen was even born. So, she definitely wasn't high as a kite when she slipped into bed a few hours ago. So, how the hell did she get here? "What the shit? Where am I?"
The ground at her feet kind of felt like dirt, but then it also kind of felt like flesh too. The sky was crimson, like blood, and flashed with silvery bolts of lightning every now and then – black clouds looming overhead. Hideous trees sprouted from the odd soil, branches like limbs and haunted faces upon the bark. What the hell was this place? Thunder roared from the sky and the flashes of lightning briefly illuminated the tall, black mountains in the distance. The air smelled faintly of something like cinnamon and brimstone, but also petrichor.
Nareena's eyes narrowed, but, first things first, she had to check herself.
Clothes? Gone. Fair enough. She'd been nude when she slept. Arms and legs? Still attached. Skin was otherwise fine. No wounds or blemishes. She didn't have any of her weapons with her, but that was to be expected. Tsk, the lack of any weapon made her feel more naked than the lack of clothes, honestly. She'd been in hundreds of life or death situations before and she was completely naked in more than a few of them, usually with Thragg by her side and usually because something attacked while she was sleeping naked.
Nareena glanced around her, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. The first rule of being a Scrapper? If you didn't have your weapon with you at all times, then you may as well commit suicide by running into a Dragon's mouth and roasting yourself to death. Shrugging, Nareena walked up to one of the nearby trees and tore off a branch, about six feet in length, which then began bleeding and screaming profusely – both the tree and the branch. Still, she didnt care too much. She found a rock of some sort, this one shimmering like the surface of a mirror, and used it to sharpen the edge of the branch she'd gotten, which only seemed to scream more and more as she shaved off parts of it to form a spear.
Fascinating. She couldn't even tell where the screaming was coming from as the branch itself had no mouths or faces, unlike the tree from which she'd torn it from. Still, all the noise was becoming annoying; broadcasting her location to the things that lived in this place was the last thing she wanted or needed. Luckily, nothing came for her or attacked her. In fact, she'd hadn't seen a single creature in this place – not even a single fly or worm. The ground, for all its fleshy texture, seemed entirely barren. Once the tip of her spear was pointy enough for her liking, Nareena set off into the unknown.
She had no idea what she was looking for, she realized quickly enough. Though, a few clues as to where she was and how she got here would be appreciated. That said, her basic Scrapper training kicked in quickly enough and Nareena knew to look for some high ground, from where she might survey the surroundings, figure out what was going on and stuff like that, if there were other people here and not just her, if this place was as dangerous as it was alien. She'd known of other worlds for a long time. High level Scrappers, like herself, were given access to a bunch of information that the Council deemed too dangerous for the common populace, stuff about the history of Mankind, for instance, and how her race used to be some sort of interstellar civilization. So, there were trillions of other worlds, many of them likely teeming with life; it was entirely possible that, somehow, she'd been transported into one such world.
The most likely culprit? Eh, probably Argall. Her son could throw together an interstellar portal if she gave him a bunch of sticks, some glue, and some tape. He created a spear for her, after all, one that spat out bolts of lightning and had a blade with its own power-field to cut through just about anything. Argall and Thragg frequently visited the Scrapyards to search for... whatever struck the boy's fancy, honestly. Nareena would not at all be shocked if Argall accidentally sent her here with one of his new toys. Then again, such a thing also seemed unlikely. Her son was a genius inventor, true, but he was also kind and considerate; not once had he tested any of his weapons and gadgets anywhere close to their home, specifically in the hopes of avoiding an accident that might endanger the lives of his parents... well, probably not Thragg, but it's not as though the boy was aware of his father's true nature.
That said, Argall was still the most likely culprit that she could think of.
Surely, she didn't just die in her sleep and this was, in fact, the afterlife? What a silly notion.
After several minutes of walking, Nareena came to a startling conclusion: the landscape itself was changing around her. Eight minutes and eight seconds ago, there wasn't a boulder behind her, but now there was. Where did it come from? She had no idea. It probably sprouted from the ground or something. The hills and forests had changed shape, too. Where there had once been screams from the trees, Nareena could now only hear the sound of bleating. In contrast, she preferred the screams; they were far more familiar as opposed to whatever the hell she was listening to now. Still, no creatures attacked her and it seemed like the distant mountains were something of an exception to the shifting landscape, hopefully.
After a while, Nareena noticed one other peculiar thing about this place. The ground was bleeding. And she knew the odor of blood rather intimately, the metallic scent of it. She'd smelled it herself so many times now that it become something rather familiar. Blood oozed from the ground with every step she took, coating her feet. Nareena's eyes narrowed. Now... that was more than just a little odd. And it was human blood, too. "What the fuck?"
But, there was nothing more for it and Nareena moved on quickly enough, shaking her head as she trudged on. This was a very freaky planet and not in a good way.
An hour later, amidst the dark and whimpering woods, Nareena's ears perked up. There was something here, she knew, and it was following her. The footsteps told her that the creature was bipedal and it either had legs that were longer than average or it walked really slowly. And it definitely was a hoofed creature. However, the trees were clustered and dense and attempting to engage something in such an environment was a death sentence. So, she bolted forward, running as fast as her feet could carry her. One advantage to the bloody, fleshy ground was that it was soft. And, because of that, her feet wouldn't tire as quickly as opposed to harder terrain. Still, whatever creature was stalking her kept up, following her as she ran. Eventually, Nareena found some high ground in the form of a hill at the center of a dark clearing, flowing around it was a river of blood – actual blood, viscous and smelling of copper, its surface glimmering softly. The ground was slick and wet.
Nareena climbed to the top of the hill, which overlooked a good portion of the wailing woods around her.
If there truly was a hell, then this place was getting pretty close to it.
She held her spear close and tight. She wasn't the best in the use of polearms, but she knew how they worked – same as any other weapon: stick the enemy with the pointy end and hope for the best. Something tall and red came marching out of the trees. Nareena's eyes narrowed at the creature. Its body was of the same color as blood, its torso heavily muscled. It stood about eight feet tall, though it might've been taller if it wasn't hunching. Its head was... odd, its cranium elongated into a sharp point and two jagged horns sprouted from both sides of its skill, curving downwards. Its face was vaguely humanoid, but ugly and hellish, lacking a nose or lips. Its eyes blazed with an infernal fire. Its long legs ended in cloven hooves. Around its neck was a choker of some kind, made from something that looked like brass. And it carried a burning black sword, which it raised and pointed right at her, its eyes aflame. "Who dares intrude upon the Blood Garden of Khorne?"
"Who the hell is Khorne?!" Nareena shot back. Alright. That thing most definitely was not friendly. And it most definitely was going to try and kill her. So, the only way out of this was to fight. She couldn't outrun that creature forever and, if its words were anything to go by, it knew the shifting terrain far better than her. Good. Nareena hated running away from things. She'd slain and hunted the most terrifying beasts that roamed her world, including a Dragon of the Scrapyards, whose green flames reduced men and machine to ashes in mere moments. This... creature wasn't anything new – nothing she hadn't already killed before.
Or it might just kill her. But that didn't matter. Death came for everyone at some point. It was the same thing she always told Thragg. She loved him and their children dearly, but she wasn't about to let herself die of old age on a bed, rotting away till death crept upon her. No. She was going to die epic and historic against something that earned her death.
Nareena grinned. All she had for a weapon was a wooden spear. Tsk, a metal one would've been better to have, but that was neither here nor there. Didn't matter. She was going to give it all she had. "You looking for a fight?"
The entity began cackling and howling in laughter, its voice like the breaking and grinding of coarse boulders – or an avalanche of stone. Annoying. Grating. She didn't like listening to its laughter. So, Nareena hoisted up her spear and hurled it at the creature as hard as she could. The spear whistled and screamed as it surged across the open air, spinning as it did. The entity's blazing eyes narrowed and its laughter ceased immediately as it stepped aside, just barely avoiding the spear before it could pierce right through its chest. Instead, the projectile merely grazed its shoulder, scorching it black. The spear continued and skewered right through a screaming tree. Nareena smiled. Tsk, why couldn't he have behaved and just stood there? "Oops?"
Something began to burn and hiss at the back of her neck, but Nareena ignored it. Her enemy was fast; she could tell that much from the way the entity avoided her spear. It also probably knew how to use that wicked-looking sword in its grasp. Not good. With the benefit of hindsight, throwing her only weapon for a chance to end the battle as quickly as possible might not have been the smart choice.
She raised her fists and smiled. Eh, not much of a spear gal anyway.
The entity huffed before it hurled its sword right at her, the weapon traveling faster than most humans could blink. Nareena's eyes widened, every survival instinct in her body screaming as she stepped aside just in the nick of time. The sword grazed her right shoulder, cutting open her skin and a tiny bit of muscle, though it drew no blood as the wound was immediately cauterized. A dull ache was all she felt. Nareena grinned. "No weapons, then?"
The demonic-looking entity grinned right back at her. "No weapons."
"Good," She said, walking forward, fists raised. "Much better that way."
"I can see now why Khorne allowed you entry into his garden, mortal."
AN: Chapter 40 is out on (Pat)reon!
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Just InCommunityForumMoreThe Shattering by wulfenheim Warhammer & Invincible Xover Rated: M, English, Words: 152k+, Favs: 724, Follows: 822, Published: Dec 14, 2023 Updated: Apr 20 223Chapter 39
Okay, she definitely had no idea where she was, but that wasn't going to matter in a moment.
"RAAAAAAAAAGH!" Nareena reared back her right fist and threw the hardest punch she'd ever thrown. She was under no illusion that her opponent was soft or weak, however. That said, given its humanoid form, despite lacking genitals, it did possess weak points and spots, places that'd hurt more than others. So, she targeted those, instead. As she weaved underneath the demonic creature's wild haymaker – a blow that probably would've cracked her skull open if she got hit - Nareena threw her counter.
Her knuckles connected with the entity's ribcage, aiming for where its liver should have been. The impact was like striking a wall of stone, but the demon grunted, its fiery eyes flaring with surprise and anger. Not wasting a second, Nareena followed up with a rapid series of punches to its midsection, each hit met with a resistance that sent jolts of pain up her arms. Still, she persisted, aiming for joints and softer tissue.
The creature retaliated with a backhanded swing; Nareena's eyes widened as she raised both forearms to defend her head. The blow rattled her bones, sending her sprawling across the bloody ground. She rolled with the impact, quickly regaining her footing despite the sting of the blow. Blood from the ground smeared her body, but she ignored it, focusing entirely on the battle at hand. She hissed, her forearms pulsating with pain. If the blow had been any stronger, then her bones would've just cracked entirely.
"You've got some fight in you, mortal," the demon growled, its voice a low rumble that resonated in the pit of her stomach. It flexed its claws, each digit ending in a wickedly sharp talon. Getting hit by those would surely end their little fight, but Nareena had a feeling that the demon wouldn't, simply because Nareena herself didn't possess any talons of her own. It seemed to actually respect the concept of a fair fight. All she had were her fists and her legs to fight with and the demon responded in kind."But it won't be enough."
Nareena smirked, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip. Tch, even with her defense, the force from the blow cut open her lips. Still, this was fun. She'd never had this much fun before. Most of the things she'd killed were mindless beasts or raging monsters. But this demon actually knew martial arts. It knew how to fight. It had control and discipline. If nothing else, it was a worthy foe. If it killed her, she'd be fine with it, though dying sounded like it would actively suck. "I've faced worse."
"You're amusing," The demon chuckled. "And, for that, I grant you my name. I am Gorthal, Exalted Bloodletter of Khorne, and I shall be your doom."
"I am Nareena – Scrapper extraordinaire and I'm about to fuck yo shit up with these hands." She grinned, raising her hands and forming fists once more. This was shaping up to be a terribly difficult battle, probably even moreso than the Scrapyard Dragon. But it'd be fun. "Or you kill me. Either way, I have fun."
They both grinned and charged each other. The Demon, Gorthal, threw a barrage of punches and kicks, each one possessing enough power to crush bones and rip flesh apart. Nareena gritted her teeth as she ducked and bobbed and weaved underneath or over each one, pushing her martial skill to the very brink of their capacity. She'd never been tested like this before. Her blood simmered within her veins, her muscles burning, and her skin turning crimson. She ignored all of it, however, keeping her mind fixed on the battle at hand. Fire blazed from her eyes. She wasn't sure how or why, but Gorthal almost seemed to be slowing down with every passing moment, until the demon now moved with about the same speed as an excellently-trained human being – still freakishly fast, but no longer blindingly so.
She wasn't sure what happened or what was happening, but Nareena didn't care. Grinning, she stepped forward, passing right under a straight haymaker, before throwing an overhand right. Her fist crashed right into Gorthal's face and Nareena felt flesh and bone give way, just before the demon's head snapped back, blood and fire pouring from its mouth and nose, its eyes wide in shock. Nareena surged forward, taking the initiative; this should've been impossible, but she had no time to ask questions in a life or death battle. So, she bobbed and weaved, left and right, throwing hooks into Gorthal's torso. This time, when her knuckles made contact, it no longer felt as though she was punching concrete. The demon buckled, Nareena's barrage of punches damaging its ribs and muscles.
"RAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Gorthal roared and surged forward, ignoring the withering blows it'd received, flaming blood flowing from its maws. Nareena's eyes widened as a knee was delivered straight into her abdomen, drawing blood from her lips right before it sent her flying away. Nareena spun mid-air and landed on her feet. That did not hurt nearly as much as she thought. Her stomach burned, muscles pulsating underneath her skin and she was pretty sure that it was going to hurt real bad in a few hours. She glanced down, briefly, noting the angry-red tone that'd overtaken much of her skin, likely from all the blood on the ground, and the blackened imprint of a fist right on the center of her stomach.
Gorthal charged forward. Nareena gritted her teeth and charged right back. Their roars melded together as a hundred punches and kicks were exchanged in a matter of moments, their crimson forms blurring as they clashed all over and across the Bloody Garden of Khorne, leaving scorching and burning marks wherever they landed. At some point during the exchange, Nareena realized that she should've died about eighty or so punches ago. Gorthal's attacks were, each, powerful enough to crush rocks and splinter trees and yet, she still lived; in fact, their exchange of blows was equalizing, when the demon should've been far stronger than her. A single punch should've cracked her skull apart. And yet, she'd taken close to a hundred knuckles to the face now and her head was still intact. Additionally, her attacks were doing damage to Gorthal – not a lot of it, or as much as she'd prefer, but enough that the demon was now visibly injured, just like herself.
But, just like herself, Gorthal was healing – slowly, at first, but the rate of healing seemed to increase as their battle grew more and more violent. Something very unnatural was going on. And it didn't help that, even now, as they exchanged punches and kicks like there was no tomorrow, Nareena noted the glaringly obvious changes that were happening to her body, like the new pigment of her skin, for instance, because the crimson definitely wasn't just coming from blood anymore. Or the fact that her feet had turned to hissing, blackened hooves. Or that her fingernails had lengthened into outright claws and were now as black as the gap between the stars themselves. She was changing. Something here was changing her.
And she'd been wrong, earlier. Gorthal wasn't getting weaker or slower; she was simply becoming stronger and faster, until they both became somewhat equal.
Eh, whatever. She wasn't about to complain. Hooves were more efficient than actual feet and having claws would just make her kill things better; and who was dumb enough to say no more strength and speed? Well, definitely not her. Infinite stamina? Thragg better watch out when she got back.
Nareena just hoped she wouldn't end up ugly, like Gorthal. She liked her face. Thragg also liked her face. She was proud of her face. But, at the rate that she was eating punches, she might not have a face when this was over.
Lightning and thunder raged from the sky, flashing and bathing the land around her in an angry crimson color. She was going to end this. She had to end this. She'd wasted enough time having fun just wailing on the demon. Nareena's eyes narrowed as she ducked and weaved underneath a punch, forcing Gorthal to overextend. She then pivoted and tackled the blazing demon from behind, wrapping her forearms around the entity's throat, and locking its neck in a tight grip, choking Gorthal. She then wrapped her legs around the demon's arms and torso.
Her grip tightened as the demon raged and ran through trees and boulders, injuring the both of them in the process. Nareena held on tightly. It was now, more than anything, a battle of attrition. Gorthal's biggest mistake was thinking she'd just continue exchanging kicks and punches openly; sure, it was fun, but it also wasn't going to end with either of them winning. And, despite everything, Nareena wanted to win. She needed to win and go back home to her family – to her son, her daughter, and her husband.
And so, Nareena roared and squeezed and squeezed until her shoulders burned and all the world turned quiet. It took an hour for Gorthal to cease moving, but she kept on squeezing until the demon's head popped right from its neck, at which point Nareena grabbed its horns and ripped its bloody head right off its shoulders. Steam and smoke arose from her body. Her eyes blazed with infernal flames. "Heh, I win."
Gorthal's body disappeared in a flash of fire and ashes, the demonic creature fading into the wind, save for the head that she still held by a horn.
And then, the world around her shifted, and great and towering mountains of skulls and bones, and rushing rivers of flaming blood appeared around her. And a great citadel of brass appeared in a burst of fire, followed by legions and legions of... more of the same creatures as Gorthal, but also other things – massive misshapen hounds, and gigantic winged creatures with red skin. There were... well... far more than just thousands. There were millions of them – a rough estimate off the top of her head, but Nareena was pretty sure she wasn't far off with that estimate.
Nareena breathed in, dropped Gorthal's head to the bloody ground, and raised her fists, idly noting how her knuckles now had little black spikes on them – very cool. Dark gray and black scales encased her fists, all the way up to her elbows, which now also had spikes sticking out of them.
Yeah, she was most definitely going to die here, however. Gorthal was hard enough to kill and now there were more – far more than she could deal with on her own. She didn't even have a weapon. But, all things considered, she wasn't about to die without a fight, even if she wouldn't be able to give much of it. She was a Scrapper, after all, and she'd be damned if she didn't scrap a few of them before they killed her. "Come on! I don't have all day!"
Her eyes narrowed as she snarled, steam and smoke rising from her lips. Nareena felt something unfurling from her back, but she ignored it. She kept her eyes on the enemies, which was honestly an impossibility, given their numbers; so, instead, she kept her eyes on the ones who were closest to her. The closest, by her estimation, was a whip-wielding giant with wings and horns, wreathed in fire and covered in brass armor. Tsk, killing that thing would take a lot of effort.
None of them were moving, however. Instead, they all just stood and loomed over her, watching and waiting in silence.
"I was right," Nareena's eyes widened as she glanced down. Upon the ground, Gorthal's severed head spoke. Now, that was definitely unnatural. But also not the strangest thing she'd ever seen if she was being honest. The demon smiled at her and, oddly, the smile held no malice. Instead, there was something akin to respect and acceptance. How or why, Nareena did not know. "You were chosen... Nareena... first of the Valkyrie..."
"Man, shut up," She said, right before kicking the demon's head into the air.
AN: Chapter 41 is out on (Pat)reon!
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