The roar of the Thunderhawk gunship's engines was deafening in the thin atmosphere. The hull jolted violently against the turbulence, looking like a steel raptor navigating a raging storm.
Inside the compartment, the dim red tactical lights flickered, illuminating three starkly different figures.
Sitting in the primary seat was an Astartes clad in silver-and-blue power armor. A veteran of the Astral Claws named Kaelen, he was meticulously checking his boltgun, his expression solemn and focused.
Seated across from him was a literal mountain of flesh—an Ogryn player whose username read "Harkismond." Clad in thick, blast-resistant heavy armor, he carried no gun. Instead, he gripped an alloy tower shield large enough to double as a door, while his other hand held a massive club. He was swinging his legs like a hyperactive child.
Squeezed rather precariously between the two was a mortal player named "Slacker King," looking exceptionally small. Wearing the standard carapace armor of the Penal Legion, he cradled a lasgun that felt laughably meager in his arms. He stared blankly at the sky, looking entirely resigned to his fate as he glanced at the Ogryn occupying two full seats opposite him.
"Allow me to reiterate the parameters of this operation," Kaelen said, looking up. His gaze bypassed the mortal and settled primarily on the Ogryn. Given the presence of an Ogryn—a species notorious for limited intellect—the Space Marine was clearly taking no chances, deliberately slowing his speech.
"Chapter Master Huron is currently leading our main elements to engage the Chaos traitor warband on the surface and in orbit, drawing the full measure of the enemy's attention. Our objective is to infiltrate their rear, penetrate the heretic-occupied monastery, and dismantle their dark ritual. By severing their connection to the Warp's malignant energies, we will alleviate the pressure on the primary front."
Kaelen paused, sweeping a critical gaze over both of them. "Are there any questions?"
To the Space Marine's surprise, the query did not come from the simple-looking Ogryn, but rather from the mortal who had been trying to shrink into the corner.
"Uh, sir—" Slacker raised a weak hand, breaking the silence. "Can I just ask... why did you two choose to bring me along for a deployment like this?"
He pointed at Kaelen's ceramite power armor, then at Harkismond's heavy plating, which looked thicker than a main battle tank's hull. Finally, he waved his lasgun with an expression of sheer helplessness. "One of you is a transhuman demigod, the other is a walking tank. And me? I've just got a standard-issue lasgun—not even a grenade launcher attachment. What am I supposed to achieve out there? Secure the first-blood asset for a Chaos Space Marine?"
Kaelen hesitated for a moment, seemingly weighing the protocols of classified intelligence. After a beat, he spoke slowly. "There is no longer a practical need for secrecy. Before deployment, the Chapter Codicier conducted a divination. The psychic currents revealed that this operation must be executed by a very specific confluence of elements: a stalwart, a warrior, and a brave heart."
Kaelen pointed to Harkismond, then to himself, and finally fixed his gaze on Slacker. "While the full depth of the Lexicanum's foresight eludes me, it is clear that you are the indispensable 'warrior'."
Slacker's eye twitched as he muttered, "So, sir, what you're saying is you have absolutely no idea what I'm actually here to do either? I'm literally just filling a slot to trigger some superstitious space-wizard prophecy?"
"Hey, don't be so pessimistic, little guy," Harkismond grinned broadly, revealing two rows of massive white teeth. He nudged the mortal with an elbow thicker than the human's thigh, nearly sending him flying out of his harness.
"You can't look at it like that. When the fighting starts, big bro Kaelen and I will hold the line and tear things apart up front. You can just hang back and go pew, pew, pew with your little laser. Think of yourself as the hype man! Even at a concert, you need people waving glowsticks, right? Besides, the game literally won't let us launch the instance without you!"
"Hype man my ass! I joined a war game to fight, not to be a cheerleader!"
"Dammit, you think being big means you can say whatever you want?!" Infuriated, Slacker hoisted his lasgun and slammed the buttstock hard against Harkismond's dense shoulder.
A dull thud echoed through the compartment.
Harkismond didn't even flinch; if anything, he looked like he found the tickle mildly amusing and let out a goofy chuckle. Slacker, conversely, shook his numbed wrist, his face contorted in pain.
Observing the ridiculous display, a flicker of exasperation crossed Kaelen's otherwise austere features. He shook his head and turned to the viewport, watching their insertion point draw near. "Check your seals. We are entering the drop zone. Prophecy or otherwise, ensure you survive, mortal."
Shortly thereafter, following a low, muffled rumble from its thrusters, the Thunderhawk gunship climbed rapidly back into the upper atmosphere. The three-man squad utilized the cover of night and surrounding debris to advance toward the coordinates in absolute silence.
The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and stagnant blood. The closer they drew to the desecrated monastery, the more nauseating the miasma became. They halted behind a stretch of ruined wall several hundred meters from the target, observing the perimeter through a fractured gap in the masonry.
The visual data before them was grim.
The once-grand Imperial monastery was now defaced with profane Chaos iconography, a faint, malevolent crimson luminescence pulsing along the structure's walls. Compounding the issue, the defensive garrison was far denser than intelligence had suggested. Cultists in tattered vestments patrolled the ramparts with autogun weapons, renegade soldiers occupied every elevated vantage point, and several Sentinel walkers walked the perimeter on standard patrol routes.
It was an ironclad defensive grid, with sentries posted at every critical juncture, leaving virtually zero blind spots.
Kaelen's brow furrowed beneath his helm. As a veteran Astartes, a defense of this caliber was problematic, but certainly not insurmountable. His tactical instincts immediately began formulating a vector for a direct breach.
However, just as he was about to articulate the assault vector, the Codicier's voice echoed in his memory once more: 'All three shall exert an equal measure of influence upon the outcome of this deployment.'
'An equal measure...' Kaelen contemplated the phrasing. If he simply dictated terms and utilized them as mere auxiliary elements or screens, he might invalidate the parameters of the divination.
Suppressing his initial command, he turned his glowing optical lenses toward his companions. "State your assessments. How do you propose we proceed?"
Harkismond scratched his massive head, barely glancing at the enemy deployment grid before offering a tentative suggestion: "We run out there and punch every single one of them in the face?"
"..."
Beside him, Slacker rolled his eyes. "Look, man, your character stats say your intelligence is within normal human parameters. Why are you still thinking like a standard NPC Ogryn? With that volume of overlapping fire, you'd be reduced to a colander within two seconds of leaving cover."
Harkismond remained unfazed. He puffed out his chest, swung his massive club through the air with a loud whistle, and argued with absolute conviction, "My superior intellect dictates that it is time to deploy superior strength. You must understand a fundamental rule of logic: if a problem cannot be resolved with force, it simply means you aren't using enough of it! If I flatten every single one of them, then technically, nobody alive will be able to detect our infiltration! That's Ogryn stealth 101!"
Listening to this display of "superior intellect"—which sounded suspiciously like Ork logic—Kaelen felt a sharp headache forming behind his temples.
He took a slow, measured breath, deeply regretting his decision to solicit tactical input from either of them. To expect viable operational strategy from an Ogryn and a penal conscript suggested his own cogitators were being degraded by Warp interference.
"Enough," Kaelen interrupted coldly, cutting off the impending argument with the authoritative tone of a line commander. "Since you lack viable tactical insight, you will follow my lead."
He indicated a patch of deep shadow near the flank of the monastery, where several shattered statues intersected with the perimeter wall. "My observations confirm a fifteen-second variance in the enemy patrol routes. Furthermore, that specific sector sits within the depression angle blind spot of the twin-linked lascannon turret. It is a dead zone in their surveillance grid."
Kaelen raised his boltgun, shifting his weight forward into a low sprint stance. "Maintain formation. Do not fall behind."