Cao the Exiled
Grijs
Enzayne
MarshalSolgriev
Lord Zee
Frettzo
DracoLunaris
Vec//Vion 5
The crack of knuckles against skulls, grunts of men and women locked in brutal fist-fights, the clang of metallic training weapons rang against each other. Many would think that these were hardened warriors training with each other. They would be wrong. Many that were sparring, often breaking each other's bones or striking with such force that it would render the other unconscious, were nothing more than children - no more than fourteen years of age. These teenagers were those taken by the Bastion-Lord, Maris, who took his tax in manpower offered by the men and women who lived beneath him. It was a brutal affair as none wished to hold back, especially when the lord himself watched over the trainees from a high up booth.
Usriel, for his part, had reigned in these fighting pits long since Maris had stolen him from the loving arms of his parents. Neigh untouched by his peers save for a select few who descended from great warriors such as Augustus, Alexen, or Savage Nine-Omega, many of who were lords in their own rights. Yet, Usriel had been a challenger to their birthright as officers as he would often beat those beneath them - even in the mock war games that Maria would order their companies, no more than three hundred strong, to perform. But now was not the time for games, now was the time for proving as Usriel faced down three who had been ordered to mob him. He knew these three well, rivals who sought to dethrone him and take up the manner of Kompchef themselves.
One sprinted at Usriel from the right while another charged his front, wielding a blunt staff of steel. The Angelus saw each attack coming before the others closed the distance - a quirk which he kept to himself and even allowed him his abnormal deftness in combat. Stepping to the side, he sent a fist into the other's gut, knocking the wind of him. Swiftly, Usriel grabbed the fist of the teenager coming at him from the side and pulled her forwards and threw her into the third, having come into Usriel’s blind side. It was a quick bout as Usriel ensured they would stay down, delivering swift blows to the sides of their heads and rendering them unconscious. He never did have the savagery that many of his peers had, many having grown up fighting for scraps and whatever they needed to survive.
He hated what Maris forced them to do, each day he had dreamt of returning to his home, back to a life far from the daily grind that was the lord’s training regimen. Still, Usriel had little choice and he had proven himself as Kompchef all the same. He looked up to the booth and saw Maris’ singular optic staring right back at him, Usriel could only stare back with a defiant glare, having grown strong under his tutelage.
Then he felt it, the head of a weapon buried itself through his chest and hoisted him into the air and blood pooled in his mouth as his deep blue eyes rolled into the back of his head. Sucking in air, Usriel quickly rolled to the side as the vision passed, one of the guards had attempted to kill him while he was off guard. It was unexpected, but his gift saved him. Quickly, he readied his fists as the man, likely sent by Maris to either kill the upstart or for Usriel to prove himself, charged him with a halberd. Usriel ran forwards, knowing he’d have to get inside the weapon’s effective range. The head of the halberd swung low and cut off his legs - no, Usriel jumped before the head struck, leaping forwards and tackling the man to the ground. He let loose a flurry of blows into the man’s head, but the soldier was made of sterner stuff.
Kicking Usriel off with superior strength, the man brought up a pistol that glowed a cobalt and aimed it at the teenager. He went to fire but the weapon plasma refused to exit the weapon - luck seemed to be on Usriel’s side. The Angelus grabbed the halberd and brought it to the man’s neck, but he did not drive it through, and instead met the man’s eyes. Usriel was no killer, even in the simulations he never would completely destroy his enemy as many of the others would. With a sigh, Usriel let out his anger and cleared his mind as he had been taught to do by his mother - emotion clouded judgment and judgment must remain unimpaired as was the Machine God’s whim. He threw the weapon to the side and held out a hand to the man who just tried to murder him, knowing that Maris had told the man to do so as a test. Without a second thought, the man reached up and took Usriel’s hand and hoisted himself up.
With that the test was over, and Usriel looked up to the booth to see that Maris had disappeared, likely satisfied with whatever it was that he was looking for. Usriel turned and noticed that many of the others had watched the failed attempt on his life, many of his company having been concerned for their commander’s life. He looked to them before he spoke, his voice carrying a tone of command only the ‘Greats’ had, “Sparring is over! Take the rest of the day to yourselves, comrades!”
With those words, many of the teenagers let out a cheer and Usriel smiled at their apparent happiness, knowing that they deserved a decent break. Those under him always brought happiness to him whenever they could unwind and not think about their position, desiring nothing more than to feel like kids again. Usriel turned and walked towards a weapons rack where a singular weapon stood - the half-machine skull beckoned to him. The Omnissian Axe was something that the boy was never seen without, both for practical and sentimental reasons. It was the only thing he had that reminded him of his mother, and the only tool to which he had to defend himself from rivals and Maris’ occasional assassin.
Yet, he held into it just as closely as he would his mother, imagining that she watched over him through the axe. Usriel exited the vast training room into the tight halls of the Great Bastion’s underground, being forced to walk single-file on one side of the walkway lest he be in the way of passing soldiery or passing squad that saluted him as he passed by. A servoskull hovered in front of him, a vox attached where the lower jaw would be. It spouted a string of jargle information at him, “Maris. Request. Meet.”
Letting out a sigh, Usriel gave the skull a nod of affirmation and allowed it to fly off, leaving the Angelus to make his way through the halls and barracks of the under-fortress. He had to ride a mag-rail to get to the elevator to take him to the central spire that Maris’ ruled from. Though, Usriel did not ascend into the sky where many of the commanders and sensors and relays were - no, Maris truly ruled from beneath, seeing the spire as too vulnerable to rule from for there would be no escape should the lower fortress be taken by his rivals. As he exited the underground, Usriel had to keep his wits about him, not trusting many of the soldiers and overseers that he passed, knowing of the horrors they inflicted upon the commoners and lesser soldiers that served under him.
Nonetheless, he made it to Maris’ command room unaccosted and there he would prostrate himself to the Bastion-Lord, getting onto both his knees and lowering his head. Usriel would speak before Maris gave him the permission to, a clear sign of arrogance against the cyborg, “You summoned me, Lord?”
Maris did not dignify Usriel’s social breach, leaning back in his chair as a mindless servant was fashioning a new augment to his body. The lord spoke harshly, but his voice lacked the same anger as it normally did, “Usriel. I have received reports of a Mechanicum expedition crossing the eastern border. They are making their way to the Kremin Pass and are clearly trying to establish a conclave within my territory.”
Usriel was surprised that he had not been chided by his lord, looking to Maris with a sign of confusion. Maris had never divulged tactical or strategic information with him before and so Usriel had no response other than to raise himself to his feet. Thoughts raced through his mind, none of them were about the information and it was only about why he had received this information. He concluded that the lord was to perhaps be giving him his first command, a great honor that would solidify his role as an officer within the bastion, not that he truly desired it. The man in front of him only affirmed his conclusion by speaking further, “You are to take your forces, along with the 32nd and the 65th companies to force them to turn back. Additionally, I will provide you with the dreaded Landsknecht to supplement your forces.”
The Angelus eyes widened, the Landsknecht were amongst the most elite fighters available to Maris and to entrust them with Usriel was a great sign of either respect or to keep a watchful eye upon him. His bewilderment lasted only as long as it took him to take breath, responding to the lord’s desires, “As you wish, my lord. I shall see to it that the expedition is dealt with.”
“Those blasted iron worshippers must be taught that the Bastion is only for the Vionese, they have no place here,” Maris croaked, his free arm raising for a hologram of the planet to illuminate the room. There was a moment before the territories of those loyal to the Cult Mechanicum tinged almost half the world in a deep red glow, he knew of how far they had spread but he suspected that his lord had other ideas. It was a fact Usriel was more than aware of, but the Angelus was always known for being partial to the Cult and so he could only guess why Maris would want him to lead this expedition. The lord spoke in more hatred that Usriel cared not to listen to - blasphemous words for someone whose machine spirits never worked for.
The Star Child turned on his heels and asked Maris, “Shall I engage in diplomacy on your behalf, Lord? Wasting manpower and resources on a fight against the Cult Mechanicum is scarecely one that we can afford - especially now that the Bastion is on a skeleton crew.” These words were a trap for Maris, knowing that to deny Usriel was to invite war upon his people and to accept was to give Usriel yet more power to operate on Maris’ behalf. Whatever the old lord had been speaking of no longer became a thought in his mind and all Usriel did was burn an azure glare into the One-Eyed man. There had been truth in Usriel’s words as the boy never lied, people of the Great Bastion fled outside its walls daily, hemorrhaging manpower that could be used to ensure their safety. Now, there were scarcely enough to keep the hydroponic fields running - and the industrial capacity of the hives was neutered by the lack of men and women to work them.
“Aye, you shall drive them off through words, if you can, boy. But, should they need to be killed - spare none! Set their bodies as a gruesome tale so as to not cross Maris the Indomitable!” the Bastion-Lord ordered, earning another bow from the Kompchef who swiftly rose without prompt. Usriel would turn once more, stepping towards the door but would be stopped by further words from his overseer, a cruel tone falling upon the room, “I mean it, Usriel Andreadth, your pitiful idealism will have no place under MY rule. If I see a report of any being spared then I’ll have your head, boy.”
The Angelus remained frozen in his place for the briefest of moments, not wanting Maris’ words to find purchase under his skin - but there was no stopping it. He forced himself forwards, not wanting to hear anything else from the aging lord. Usriel did not want to become a murderer, it was not in his blood to kill others and there was nothing more heinous that Usriel could even think of doing in his life. In silence, the boy stalked out of the room.
//FOUR HOURS LATER
The column had taken the old underground maglev about half-way to their destination, they would have gone further had saboteurs to Maris not blown part of the rail line. They had stopped at a supply depot, long since ransacked by warlords long before Maris had taken his reign, during the Long Night. Usriel stalked through the wastes, leading the column from the front, alongside those that made up what was his command staff. He was adorned with a light outer layer of plasteel, forged together by a light weave of bullet-resistant fabric - forged together in the style that much of the more advanced thralls of the mechanicum would wear into battle. It was an armor forged by his own hands as Maris often refused to armor the younger of his ranks - expendable, but cost effective when there was such a large number of them. In his right hand, he held his Omnissian Axe - a weapon more deadly than many that his force wielded.
“Kompchef, it is unlikely that we will make it to our position by nightfall - I suggest we make camp,” a stern voice came from his right, Greshet, his appointed quartermaster. Usriel’s head turned slightly in acknowledgement as they continued their pace, taking a moment to consider his options.
“Horus, pull the map, I would rather not rest in the open,” the Angelus spoke, his voice ringing softly to his second-in-command. He turned to face the other lad, one clad in a mess of scrapped together metal and leather - an armor far less elegant than that of Usriel. Wordlessly, Horus knelt and flipped his pack to retrieve a small device before placing it on the ground. The device lit up and revealed a map of the area.
“The wreckage of Tower 4-80b lay only 10 kilometers away, but it would be dead of night by the time we made camp,” Horus spoke, his accent belonging to those gangers that roved far beneath the fortress. He pointed to another location, a dried ravine, “This ravine could provide cover.”
“Perhaps,” Usriel said, looking over the map before running a hand along the edges of his chin as he contemplated what to do. To him, hours passed as he thought, but to others he would make his decision in mere moments. His voice came with a sigh, “Send our scouting element along with three squads of sappers to make haste to the pass. I will be sending specifications to the defenses I want made for our arrival.”
“As you wish,” Horus stated, echoing Usriel’s order to a few of the squads over vox. Yet, the Angelus’s mind was twisting and turning over various placements of defensive works. A thought entered his brain.
“Horus, take command of the column. I shall depart for the Kremin Pass, myself,” Usriel said, who went to speak before his second-in-command could object, “I must ensure that these works are to my precise specifications. We cannot afford to fight the Mechanicum with any flaw in our defense. It must be perfect.”
There was no word from Horus other than a simple grunt of agreement and that would be all else on the subject as he began walking forwards, using his axe almost as a staff to walk along with. Departing with the sappers and scouts, they made hasty progress towards their destination - still walking much throughout the night. Usriel did not grow tired, he hardly ever did with such trivial activities and the sight of their Kompchef moving so quickly without rest or thought spurred his subordinates onwards. It wouldn’t be until before dawn the next day that they arrived at their location, and Usriel had finalized his plans in the moment that he laid eyes upon their potential battlefield.
Tall, weathered walls formed a gate that forced a tight and awkward path stood in front of them. It was wide enough for three vehicle lines to comfortably move down. Many parts of it lay ruined, with rubble and clear damage having forced openings from battles long since passed. Even still, there would be little cover as whatever evidence of battles that had long since passed have been picked cleaned by scavengers. Should a battle be fought from here they’d be able to rain death on the Mechanicum from near every angle. Nearly. For the tight and narrow passage would have made his artillery, even though they were mere mortars, about useless as the walls of ancient alloy provided enough cover from above. He would curse at it in his minds eye, but at the very least the Landskencht would be able to fight unabated in the confines of the gate while the lesser disciplined of his ranks could fire from above.
All that would need to be done would be to fortify what was left. Unfortunately, the rad weapons of the Mechanicum would be something Usriel would be hard pressed to think of a counter to - they simply didn’t have the equipment necessary for that. Diplomacy was by and far the best option, but he had his orders to not be merciful and should he wish to see another day. The boy did have the option of forcing the Mechanicum to flee from the field, but mindlocked battle-slaves would not break unless their masters did and so he’d have to target those who were masters of technology. Endless stratagem and counter-play looped through his head and he knew not what truly to do.
Usriel sighed and looked at the remains of the great fortress network around him and decided on the best course of action in a fraction of a moment. He looked upon his scout force and stated, “Contact Horus. Instruct him that we shall entrench behind the gates. The pass may be in ruins but we may still use it, our ancestors still provide us with the tools to defy destruction.”
By the time that Horus and the rest of the column had arrived, Usriel had already pre-sighted the battlefield - relaying information for his mortars for the optimal range that they should engage at. Indeed there was little that Usriel had left up for interpretation for his officers as he gave exact and precise orders for them to dig a small network of trenches around the exit to the pass, intertwining them with natural hills that had built up as the derelict structure had rotted. His men busied themselves and the Angelus contented himself for a moment to merely overlook the toil that he had envisioned. A smile crept across his face unknowingly.
“Do I spy a smile on that ever-stoic face,” came the voice of Horus from the side of him, forcing the boy to look over.
A small nod came from the Kompchef, silently looking back to his men. His scouts had positioned themselves at the front of the pass in the ruins of the rotting structure, keeping a vigil over the plains past this place. They would surely see the Mechanicum forces long before they would approach, but the vox chatter from them was light and consistent was reports that nothing was sighted - a light worry but it afforded them more time to entrench so that would not be able to be dislodged without great difficulty. Usriel spoke softly, “We stand on the precipice of becoming men, and yet, I fear that many of these folk may not see past our battle. The Mechanicum is a foe that will exact a heavy price from us.”
“Indeed,” Horus spoke with a confidence that was greater than Usriel’s own, but solemn words continued, “The path to Glory is paved with sacrifice.”
Usriel let out a sigh, he wished that none of them would die once the battle came; he hoped that the Mechanicum servants would see his men and flee for their lives, flee so that there would be no gruesome fight - his thoughts were interrupted as Horus spoke into the vox next to him. Was it already time for a report from the scouts? Surely, they would have little to report about the status of the plains that laid bare ahead of the pass. He hardly listened as he let out a silent prayer to the Machine God, just as his mother would have.
“Usriel!” The Angelus snapped back to attention, looking at Horus, “I cannot reach the scouts. Shall I dispatch an away team?”
Usriel’s mind raced, was it malfunctioning equipment or espionage against him? He could not be certain and the paranoia was enough to consume any one of them save the Angelus, whose mind found a response immediately. His order came without pause, as he hefted his Omnissian Axe over his shoulder, “Assemble the bravest with me. We shall investigate this.”
Thirty of them would move into the pass, weapons raised and awaiting any sign of combat - Usriel moved faster than any of them as he passed through the ruins with a swiftness unseen. His eyes scanned the wreckage as his men did their best to keep up with him, they held up las and bayonets, eyes peeled for the scouting team. Yet, there was very little sign of them, - no movement of someone coming back to manually report what they had seen and no one to note how it grew darker and darker with each passing step. Dread built in them. Breathing quickened. Nervous shuttered against the unknown. It was only Usriel’s presence that kept them moving forth moving through chamber after chamber - tracing the path of the scouts.
Yet, as they drew closer to the previous position, the air grew thick with an anguished howl that sounded of horrid feedback. The noise was deafening and it came from all around them. Usriel looked to the others and saw their eyes were watering and red - he did not understand what was happening to them. He did not know that their ears rang with cruel tinnitus and the taste of burnt metal filled their mouths. Eventually all they could do was clutch their ears and fall to their knees screaming in pain as blood came from their ears. The sight horrified Usriel who questioned them, but they were lost - unable to speak to their leader. He would realize soon that this was a sensory assault of neurostatic that left him unnaffected.
Then, as he held one of his men as they writhed in pain, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head - no, a vision. The Angelus twisted and brought up his pistol to see a being clad in red with a domed helmet and jutting antennae. There was a moment of hesitation as the boy contemplated firing the pistol, instead diving to the side in time for round of a stubcarbine to whiz past him. Usriel knew these were Mechanicum agents, but he had no basis beyond that.
A stream of bullets ripped by and Usriel dived to the ground, two more had come to the room clearly meant to aid the one who struggled against a boy. Cursing, he brought his pistol up and fired, a blue bolt streaming through the air and impacting the mechanical legs of an assassin. The force of the subsequent blast was enough to blow both off and a binaric squawk emitted from it. More bullets - less time to dodge. Countless deaths and brutality surged into his mind and he knew not how to process it all. One or two visions were easy enough to handle but the multitude that numbered into the tens was too much for the boy. Usriel felt a stray bullet rip through his leg, narrowly missing an artery and bone.
For a boy his age, it would be more than enough to subdue him as his leg collapsed - muscle shredded and exhausted from a forced march even despite the Angelus’ gift. Tears welled up in his eyes. Usriel looked and saw as one of the agents strode forth executing his comrades one by one in front him, easy prey as their sonic song rendered them helpless.
He had failed to protect them - to lead them. This had been a death march and Usriel began to sob knowing he was the cause of their deaths.
Crack.
How foolish he’d been.
Crack. Crack
How vain he’d been.
Crack.
“One-One!” Usriel cried out, wishing his mother was there to comfort him.
Silence.
As the boy sobbed covering his head and awaiting his inevitable death, there was silence and no sonic song filling the air. A pair of footsteps approached them and he instinctively curled up, waiting, calling out again, “Mama!”
It took many moments for him to realize that he did not die in those haunting seconds, and slowly and shakily he brought his head up and there they stood. The three mechanicum agents gathered around him, merely staring at the Angelus in silence. Usriel was too terrified to speak, too horrified to do anything but wait in vaunted silence. Then, one of them spoke in a clear binaric that he was able to understand, calling him a name that he’d never thought he’d hear from anything else that his mother - the only name she’d lovingly refer to him as.
“Her Angelus. The Angelus.”
Darkness.
The crack of knuckles against skulls, grunts of men and women locked in brutal fist-fights, the clang of metallic training weapons rang against each other. Many would think that these were hardened warriors training with each other. They would be wrong. Many that were sparring, often breaking each other's bones or striking with such force that it would render the other unconscious, were nothing more than children - no more than fourteen years of age. These teenagers were those taken by the Bastion-Lord, Maris, who took his tax in manpower offered by the men and women who lived beneath him. It was a brutal affair as none wished to hold back, especially when the lord himself watched over the trainees from a high up booth.
Usriel, for his part, had reigned in these fighting pits long since Maris had stolen him from the loving arms of his parents. Neigh untouched by his peers save for a select few who descended from great warriors such as Augustus, Alexen, or Savage Nine-Omega, many of who were lords in their own rights. Yet, Usriel had been a challenger to their birthright as officers as he would often beat those beneath them - even in the mock war games that Maria would order their companies, no more than three hundred strong, to perform. But now was not the time for games, now was the time for proving as Usriel faced down three who had been ordered to mob him. He knew these three well, rivals who sought to dethrone him and take up the manner of Kompchef themselves.
One sprinted at Usriel from the right while another charged his front, wielding a blunt staff of steel. The Angelus saw each attack coming before the others closed the distance - a quirk which he kept to himself and even allowed him his abnormal deftness in combat. Stepping to the side, he sent a fist into the other's gut, knocking the wind of him. Swiftly, Usriel grabbed the fist of the teenager coming at him from the side and pulled her forwards and threw her into the third, having come into Usriel’s blind side. It was a quick bout as Usriel ensured they would stay down, delivering swift blows to the sides of their heads and rendering them unconscious. He never did have the savagery that many of his peers had, many having grown up fighting for scraps and whatever they needed to survive.
He hated what Maris forced them to do, each day he had dreamt of returning to his home, back to a life far from the daily grind that was the lord’s training regimen. Still, Usriel had little choice and he had proven himself as Kompchef all the same. He looked up to the booth and saw Maris’ singular optic staring right back at him, Usriel could only stare back with a defiant glare, having grown strong under his tutelage.
Then he felt it, the head of a weapon buried itself through his chest and hoisted him into the air and blood pooled in his mouth as his deep blue eyes rolled into the back of his head. Sucking in air, Usriel quickly rolled to the side as the vision passed, one of the guards had attempted to kill him while he was off guard. It was unexpected, but his gift saved him. Quickly, he readied his fists as the man, likely sent by Maris to either kill the upstart or for Usriel to prove himself, charged him with a halberd. Usriel ran forwards, knowing he’d have to get inside the weapon’s effective range. The head of the halberd swung low and cut off his legs - no, Usriel jumped before the head struck, leaping forwards and tackling the man to the ground. He let loose a flurry of blows into the man’s head, but the soldier was made of sterner stuff.
Kicking Usriel off with superior strength, the man brought up a pistol that glowed a cobalt and aimed it at the teenager. He went to fire but the weapon plasma refused to exit the weapon - luck seemed to be on Usriel’s side. The Angelus grabbed the halberd and brought it to the man’s neck, but he did not drive it through, and instead met the man’s eyes. Usriel was no killer, even in the simulations he never would completely destroy his enemy as many of the others would. With a sigh, Usriel let out his anger and cleared his mind as he had been taught to do by his mother - emotion clouded judgment and judgment must remain unimpaired as was the Machine God’s whim. He threw the weapon to the side and held out a hand to the man who just tried to murder him, knowing that Maris had told the man to do so as a test. Without a second thought, the man reached up and took Usriel’s hand and hoisted himself up.
With that the test was over, and Usriel looked up to the booth to see that Maris had disappeared, likely satisfied with whatever it was that he was looking for. Usriel turned and noticed that many of the others had watched the failed attempt on his life, many of his company having been concerned for their commander’s life. He looked to them before he spoke, his voice carrying a tone of command only the ‘Greats’ had, “Sparring is over! Take the rest of the day to yourselves, comrades!”
With those words, many of the teenagers let out a cheer and Usriel smiled at their apparent happiness, knowing that they deserved a decent break. Those under him always brought happiness to him whenever they could unwind and not think about their position, desiring nothing more than to feel like kids again. Usriel turned and walked towards a weapons rack where a singular weapon stood - the half-machine skull beckoned to him. The Omnissian Axe was something that the boy was never seen without, both for practical and sentimental reasons. It was the only thing he had that reminded him of his mother, and the only tool to which he had to defend himself from rivals and Maris’ occasional assassin.
Yet, he held into it just as closely as he would his mother, imagining that she watched over him through the axe. Usriel exited the vast training room into the tight halls of the Great Bastion’s underground, being forced to walk single-file on one side of the walkway lest he be in the way of passing soldiery or passing squad that saluted him as he passed by. A servoskull hovered in front of him, a vox attached where the lower jaw would be. It spouted a string of jargle information at him, “Maris. Request. Meet.”
Letting out a sigh, Usriel gave the skull a nod of affirmation and allowed it to fly off, leaving the Angelus to make his way through the halls and barracks of the under-fortress. He had to ride a mag-rail to get to the elevator to take him to the central spire that Maris’ ruled from. Though, Usriel did not ascend into the sky where many of the commanders and sensors and relays were - no, Maris truly ruled from beneath, seeing the spire as too vulnerable to rule from for there would be no escape should the lower fortress be taken by his rivals. As he exited the underground, Usriel had to keep his wits about him, not trusting many of the soldiers and overseers that he passed, knowing of the horrors they inflicted upon the commoners and lesser soldiers that served under him.
Nonetheless, he made it to Maris’ command room unaccosted and there he would prostrate himself to the Bastion-Lord, getting onto both his knees and lowering his head. Usriel would speak before Maris gave him the permission to, a clear sign of arrogance against the cyborg, “You summoned me, Lord?”
Maris did not dignify Usriel’s social breach, leaning back in his chair as a mindless servant was fashioning a new augment to his body. The lord spoke harshly, but his voice lacked the same anger as it normally did, “Usriel. I have received reports of a Mechanicum expedition crossing the eastern border. They are making their way to the Kremin Pass and are clearly trying to establish a conclave within my territory.”
Usriel was surprised that he had not been chided by his lord, looking to Maris with a sign of confusion. Maris had never divulged tactical or strategic information with him before and so Usriel had no response other than to raise himself to his feet. Thoughts raced through his mind, none of them were about the information and it was only about why he had received this information. He concluded that the lord was to perhaps be giving him his first command, a great honor that would solidify his role as an officer within the bastion, not that he truly desired it. The man in front of him only affirmed his conclusion by speaking further, “You are to take your forces, along with the 32nd and the 65th companies to force them to turn back. Additionally, I will provide you with the dreaded Landsknecht to supplement your forces.”
The Angelus eyes widened, the Landsknecht were amongst the most elite fighters available to Maris and to entrust them with Usriel was a great sign of either respect or to keep a watchful eye upon him. His bewilderment lasted only as long as it took him to take breath, responding to the lord’s desires, “As you wish, my lord. I shall see to it that the expedition is dealt with.”
“Those blasted iron worshippers must be taught that the Bastion is only for the Vionese, they have no place here,” Maris croaked, his free arm raising for a hologram of the planet to illuminate the room. There was a moment before the territories of those loyal to the Cult Mechanicum tinged almost half the world in a deep red glow, he knew of how far they had spread but he suspected that his lord had other ideas. It was a fact Usriel was more than aware of, but the Angelus was always known for being partial to the Cult and so he could only guess why Maris would want him to lead this expedition. The lord spoke in more hatred that Usriel cared not to listen to - blasphemous words for someone whose machine spirits never worked for.
The Star Child turned on his heels and asked Maris, “Shall I engage in diplomacy on your behalf, Lord? Wasting manpower and resources on a fight against the Cult Mechanicum is scarecely one that we can afford - especially now that the Bastion is on a skeleton crew.” These words were a trap for Maris, knowing that to deny Usriel was to invite war upon his people and to accept was to give Usriel yet more power to operate on Maris’ behalf. Whatever the old lord had been speaking of no longer became a thought in his mind and all Usriel did was burn an azure glare into the One-Eyed man. There had been truth in Usriel’s words as the boy never lied, people of the Great Bastion fled outside its walls daily, hemorrhaging manpower that could be used to ensure their safety. Now, there were scarcely enough to keep the hydroponic fields running - and the industrial capacity of the hives was neutered by the lack of men and women to work them.
“Aye, you shall drive them off through words, if you can, boy. But, should they need to be killed - spare none! Set their bodies as a gruesome tale so as to not cross Maris the Indomitable!” the Bastion-Lord ordered, earning another bow from the Kompchef who swiftly rose without prompt. Usriel would turn once more, stepping towards the door but would be stopped by further words from his overseer, a cruel tone falling upon the room, “I mean it, Usriel Andreadth, your pitiful idealism will have no place under MY rule. If I see a report of any being spared then I’ll have your head, boy.”
The Angelus remained frozen in his place for the briefest of moments, not wanting Maris’ words to find purchase under his skin - but there was no stopping it. He forced himself forwards, not wanting to hear anything else from the aging lord. Usriel did not want to become a murderer, it was not in his blood to kill others and there was nothing more heinous that Usriel could even think of doing in his life. In silence, the boy stalked out of the room.
//FOUR HOURS LATER
The column had taken the old underground maglev about half-way to their destination, they would have gone further had saboteurs to Maris not blown part of the rail line. They had stopped at a supply depot, long since ransacked by warlords long before Maris had taken his reign, during the Long Night. Usriel stalked through the wastes, leading the column from the front, alongside those that made up what was his command staff. He was adorned with a light outer layer of plasteel, forged together by a light weave of bullet-resistant fabric - forged together in the style that much of the more advanced thralls of the mechanicum would wear into battle. It was an armor forged by his own hands as Maris often refused to armor the younger of his ranks - expendable, but cost effective when there was such a large number of them. In his right hand, he held his Omnissian Axe - a weapon more deadly than many that his force wielded.
“Kompchef, it is unlikely that we will make it to our position by nightfall - I suggest we make camp,” a stern voice came from his right, Greshet, his appointed quartermaster. Usriel’s head turned slightly in acknowledgement as they continued their pace, taking a moment to consider his options.
“Horus, pull the map, I would rather not rest in the open,” the Angelus spoke, his voice ringing softly to his second-in-command. He turned to face the other lad, one clad in a mess of scrapped together metal and leather - an armor far less elegant than that of Usriel. Wordlessly, Horus knelt and flipped his pack to retrieve a small device before placing it on the ground. The device lit up and revealed a map of the area.
“The wreckage of Tower 4-80b lay only 10 kilometers away, but it would be dead of night by the time we made camp,” Horus spoke, his accent belonging to those gangers that roved far beneath the fortress. He pointed to another location, a dried ravine, “This ravine could provide cover.”
“Perhaps,” Usriel said, looking over the map before running a hand along the edges of his chin as he contemplated what to do. To him, hours passed as he thought, but to others he would make his decision in mere moments. His voice came with a sigh, “Send our scouting element along with three squads of sappers to make haste to the pass. I will be sending specifications to the defenses I want made for our arrival.”
“As you wish,” Horus stated, echoing Usriel’s order to a few of the squads over vox. Yet, the Angelus’s mind was twisting and turning over various placements of defensive works. A thought entered his brain.
“Horus, take command of the column. I shall depart for the Kremin Pass, myself,” Usriel said, who went to speak before his second-in-command could object, “I must ensure that these works are to my precise specifications. We cannot afford to fight the Mechanicum with any flaw in our defense. It must be perfect.”
There was no word from Horus other than a simple grunt of agreement and that would be all else on the subject as he began walking forwards, using his axe almost as a staff to walk along with. Departing with the sappers and scouts, they made hasty progress towards their destination - still walking much throughout the night. Usriel did not grow tired, he hardly ever did with such trivial activities and the sight of their Kompchef moving so quickly without rest or thought spurred his subordinates onwards. It wouldn’t be until before dawn the next day that they arrived at their location, and Usriel had finalized his plans in the moment that he laid eyes upon their potential battlefield.
Tall, weathered walls formed a gate that forced a tight and awkward path stood in front of them. It was wide enough for three vehicle lines to comfortably move down. Many parts of it lay ruined, with rubble and clear damage having forced openings from battles long since passed. Even still, there would be little cover as whatever evidence of battles that had long since passed have been picked cleaned by scavengers. Should a battle be fought from here they’d be able to rain death on the Mechanicum from near every angle. Nearly. For the tight and narrow passage would have made his artillery, even though they were mere mortars, about useless as the walls of ancient alloy provided enough cover from above. He would curse at it in his minds eye, but at the very least the Landskencht would be able to fight unabated in the confines of the gate while the lesser disciplined of his ranks could fire from above.
All that would need to be done would be to fortify what was left. Unfortunately, the rad weapons of the Mechanicum would be something Usriel would be hard pressed to think of a counter to - they simply didn’t have the equipment necessary for that. Diplomacy was by and far the best option, but he had his orders to not be merciful and should he wish to see another day. The boy did have the option of forcing the Mechanicum to flee from the field, but mindlocked battle-slaves would not break unless their masters did and so he’d have to target those who were masters of technology. Endless stratagem and counter-play looped through his head and he knew not what truly to do.
Usriel sighed and looked at the remains of the great fortress network around him and decided on the best course of action in a fraction of a moment. He looked upon his scout force and stated, “Contact Horus. Instruct him that we shall entrench behind the gates. The pass may be in ruins but we may still use it, our ancestors still provide us with the tools to defy destruction.”
By the time that Horus and the rest of the column had arrived, Usriel had already pre-sighted the battlefield - relaying information for his mortars for the optimal range that they should engage at. Indeed there was little that Usriel had left up for interpretation for his officers as he gave exact and precise orders for them to dig a small network of trenches around the exit to the pass, intertwining them with natural hills that had built up as the derelict structure had rotted. His men busied themselves and the Angelus contented himself for a moment to merely overlook the toil that he had envisioned. A smile crept across his face unknowingly.
“Do I spy a smile on that ever-stoic face,” came the voice of Horus from the side of him, forcing the boy to look over.
A small nod came from the Kompchef, silently looking back to his men. His scouts had positioned themselves at the front of the pass in the ruins of the rotting structure, keeping a vigil over the plains past this place. They would surely see the Mechanicum forces long before they would approach, but the vox chatter from them was light and consistent was reports that nothing was sighted - a light worry but it afforded them more time to entrench so that would not be able to be dislodged without great difficulty. Usriel spoke softly, “We stand on the precipice of becoming men, and yet, I fear that many of these folk may not see past our battle. The Mechanicum is a foe that will exact a heavy price from us.”
“Indeed,” Horus spoke with a confidence that was greater than Usriel’s own, but solemn words continued, “The path to Glory is paved with sacrifice.”
Usriel let out a sigh, he wished that none of them would die once the battle came; he hoped that the Mechanicum servants would see his men and flee for their lives, flee so that there would be no gruesome fight - his thoughts were interrupted as Horus spoke into the vox next to him. Was it already time for a report from the scouts? Surely, they would have little to report about the status of the plains that laid bare ahead of the pass. He hardly listened as he let out a silent prayer to the Machine God, just as his mother would have.
“Usriel!” The Angelus snapped back to attention, looking at Horus, “I cannot reach the scouts. Shall I dispatch an away team?”
Usriel’s mind raced, was it malfunctioning equipment or espionage against him? He could not be certain and the paranoia was enough to consume any one of them save the Angelus, whose mind found a response immediately. His order came without pause, as he hefted his Omnissian Axe over his shoulder, “Assemble the bravest with me. We shall investigate this.”
Thirty of them would move into the pass, weapons raised and awaiting any sign of combat - Usriel moved faster than any of them as he passed through the ruins with a swiftness unseen. His eyes scanned the wreckage as his men did their best to keep up with him, they held up las and bayonets, eyes peeled for the scouting team. Yet, there was very little sign of them, - no movement of someone coming back to manually report what they had seen and no one to note how it grew darker and darker with each passing step. Dread built in them. Breathing quickened. Nervous shuttered against the unknown. It was only Usriel’s presence that kept them moving forth moving through chamber after chamber - tracing the path of the scouts.
Yet, as they drew closer to the previous position, the air grew thick with an anguished howl that sounded of horrid feedback. The noise was deafening and it came from all around them. Usriel looked to the others and saw their eyes were watering and red - he did not understand what was happening to them. He did not know that their ears rang with cruel tinnitus and the taste of burnt metal filled their mouths. Eventually all they could do was clutch their ears and fall to their knees screaming in pain as blood came from their ears. The sight horrified Usriel who questioned them, but they were lost - unable to speak to their leader. He would realize soon that this was a sensory assault of neurostatic that left him unnaffected.
Then, as he held one of his men as they writhed in pain, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head - no, a vision. The Angelus twisted and brought up his pistol to see a being clad in red with a domed helmet and jutting antennae. There was a moment of hesitation as the boy contemplated firing the pistol, instead diving to the side in time for round of a stubcarbine to whiz past him. Usriel knew these were Mechanicum agents, but he had no basis beyond that.
A stream of bullets ripped by and Usriel dived to the ground, two more had come to the room clearly meant to aid the one who struggled against a boy. Cursing, he brought his pistol up and fired, a blue bolt streaming through the air and impacting the mechanical legs of an assassin. The force of the subsequent blast was enough to blow both off and a binaric squawk emitted from it. More bullets - less time to dodge. Countless deaths and brutality surged into his mind and he knew not how to process it all. One or two visions were easy enough to handle but the multitude that numbered into the tens was too much for the boy. Usriel felt a stray bullet rip through his leg, narrowly missing an artery and bone.
For a boy his age, it would be more than enough to subdue him as his leg collapsed - muscle shredded and exhausted from a forced march even despite the Angelus’ gift. Tears welled up in his eyes. Usriel looked and saw as one of the agents strode forth executing his comrades one by one in front him, easy prey as their sonic song rendered them helpless.
He had failed to protect them - to lead them. This had been a death march and Usriel began to sob knowing he was the cause of their deaths.
Crack.
How foolish he’d been.
Crack. Crack
How vain he’d been.
Crack.
“One-One!” Usriel cried out, wishing his mother was there to comfort him.
Silence.
As the boy sobbed covering his head and awaiting his inevitable death, there was silence and no sonic song filling the air. A pair of footsteps approached them and he instinctively curled up, waiting, calling out again, “Mama!”
It took many moments for him to realize that he did not die in those haunting seconds, and slowly and shakily he brought his head up and there they stood. The three mechanicum agents gathered around him, merely staring at the Angelus in silence. Usriel was too terrified to speak, too horrified to do anything but wait in vaunted silence. Then, one of them spoke in a clear binaric that he was able to understand, calling him a name that he’d never thought he’d hear from anything else that his mother - the only name she’d lovingly refer to him as.
“Her Angelus. The Angelus.”
Darkness.
