#hd writes

“Contact.” Tactical announced even as the alarms blared thought the bridge, “Five Hive carriers and thirteen accompanying cruisers just left the shadow of the gas giant, entering range of port missile tubes in seventy seconds.”

“Confirmed.” Sensors called out as Ra stalked thought the bulkhead towards his throne, “Carriers are launching interceptors. Identifying Legion. Ships identified as loyal to Umun Arath. Standing by to being combat record.”

Ra-1 leaned back into his command throne, a group of combat technical and Specialists connecting the writhing mass of cable that hung from his machine skull to the throne allowing him to assume control of his vessel. “Begin combat recording, signal wolf packs to continue their hunts, there will be more vermin hiding in the shadows.” Claw sharp hands twitched upon the armrests as sensory feedback began.

“Aye sir.” Comms acknowledged their orders, raising a hand to their headset as they spoke to the armada hunting ground the gas giant.

The Executive Officer standing at Ra’s side placed a hand to his headset. “This is the XO, All Hands to Action Stations. Set condition one thought out the ship.”

“Tactical.” Ra felt his awareness of his exo body slipping, “Launch five wings of interceptors and two of bombers, you have their reins.”

“Aye sir.”

***

The Ira Terra had already begun a slow turn towards its prey when Ra began to bind his consciousness to his ship. Sensors/Eyes focused on the approaching fleet and the swarms of fighter craft buzzing around it, a deep and awful hunger held in ever mind and heart that advanced upon the human warship.

Ra-1/Ira bore the weight of their foes strange sensors and targeting software in silence, his/her own software already picking potential targets and weak points. Ra-1/Ira felt their hull/flesh move as vast hanger bays opened depositing scores of star fighters into the void. With approval the mind controlling the titanic war machine observed that most of the craft leaving his/her launch bays where frame or drone controlled. Life was not wasted easily among the Broken Lance.

Their attention was brought back to the foe as two dozen large box like craft detached from one carrier and began to burn thought the void. The “Seeders” would normally have begun a planetary invasion or been the core of a Hive stronghold but now it was used as a crude boarding craft the Cabal warriors within willing to give their live for their gods to hurt the Tyrants hand.

Despite their great size mortal eyes would have missed them in the great expanse of the void between the gas giant and the Ira Terra. But he/she did not see with mortal eyes, targeting sensors capable of identifying their foes from trillions of kilometers picked up each Seeder as it dropped from the body of the carrier. Light railguns hummed to life -hundreds of bright sparks of light flashing along his/her body/hull- before spitting bolts of metal cold death into the void. A single volley butchering the Hive craft even before their thrusters had even brought them to their maximum acceleration.

Sailing thought the wreckage of their improvised boarding craft the Hive cruisers began to unleash their ruinous solar canons and a void missiles.

Mighty shields flashing and glowing gold under the bombardment Ra/Ira turned his/her face/bow to the enemy. “All primary batteries charged and locked.” Ra’s snarling voice echoed thought the bridge of his ship from his unmoving Exo body and the speakers around the bridge. “Firing Hellbore one.”

From one if Ra’s/Ira’s wings there was a brief pulse of light as an antimatter round the size of a skiff launches at a fraction of the speed of light. At this distance he/she cannot miss. The shields on the targeted cruiser do not even have a chance to register the impact before they are blow away by pure kinetic force. When the antimatter charge detonates nano seconds later the cruiser is already dead, the power of the blast blowing out the shields of three other cruisers and scaring another with debris.

Ra/Ira smiles savagely as his/her eyes/sensors drink in the starship’s death. The host of fighters gathered a round him/her swarm like a wave as they wait for the word to strike like a thousand bloody daggers. “Ship Kill.” Tactical calls out on the bridge, a grim smile in her voice, “Hellbore one reloading.”

Blood is in the water now, the remaining twelve cruisers charge, melting their engines to close to Ra/Ira and leave the deadly gave of his/her face/bow. “Firing Hellbores two thought six.” The words are poisoned honey, sweet with murder.

Five flashes against the dark hull. Five bright detonations in the void. Seven ships were ruined in the volley thought only five had been hit, the devastating antimatter explosions stripping the shields and hulls of two ships. There are now an equal number of carriers and cruisers, both ship types burning their engines hard to close with Ra/Ira to flee the killing power of the Hellbore meteor canons.

Ra/Ira greets them by bring his/her by bring his Arora Knives online, hyper-matter blades of unlight melting against Hive shields, cutting deep into hulls and spilling Cabal of all kinds into the merciless vacuum.

The fighters buzzing around Ra/Ira leap forwards like a thousand raptor birds; missiles, machine guns, railguns, fusion beams and smart bombs scatter along the cruisers. A death by a thousand cuts.

The carriers push thought the ruin of their less kin, their greater hulls and shields shrugging of the light railgun fire Ra/Ira peppers them with. Heavy solar canon charge and fire, bolts of burning hate and beams of star stolen fire splashing against his/her shields.

Warning blaze thought Ra’s mind as his/her shields absorb the damage, the shield emitter wine in protest before other take their place strengthening any weakness. Ra/Ira allows the Hive a brief rest; lowering the number of target locks, lessening the number of guns firing. He/she allows them a moment of cruel hope, a moment of false peace.

And then silos slid open along his/her body/hull, plasma mortars hum to life, railguns retarget, and the remaining Arora Knives come online.

The void is alight with fire. Ra/Ira pours forth enough fury and fire to turn a continent to glass or shatter a moon. Missiles the sizes of tanks tear chunks of hull and armour form Hive carriers as Arora Knives carve them to a bloody ruin.

It ends as quickly as it began, shattered and broken hulls drifting past Ra/Ira as the ships drives power it onwards. Ra begins to disengage himself from the Ira, content that his ship as done her bloody work when something flashes into realspace 10 kilometers from the Iras starboard side. Ra “sees” it for only a second before his standard disconnection procedure cuts his access to the ship’s sensors. But he still has access to the hull sensors, those that replace his nervous system when he joins the Ira. He still has those sensors, which is why he screamed as something slams into the Ira Terra at sub-light speed.

***

“REPORT!” Ra bellowed falling forwards from his throne as his bridge crew were rocked in their safety harnesses, he reached back slamming his hand onto the emergency release his wire and cable “hair” dropping to his back. “What hit us?” His voice rasped, vision dancing with light.

Tactical Officer Eliza Rush wiped blood from her face as she read her screen. “Fuck, something rammed us. Jumped inside the Gas Giants gravity well and rammed us. Didn’t even slow down.”

“We’ve been boarded.” Cal called out form the comms station. “Corvette sized craft, rammed straight into the primary starboard hanger. We’ve got multiple fires and hull breaches.” Cal placed a hand against his headset, then turned pale truing to Ra. “Sir… We have been boarded by the Cult of Bray.”

“Myra. How many?” The XO called out a bridge security frame supporting him as he struggled to stand.

“Internal sensors at least a battalion level force, I’m seeing companies scattering from the breach point.” The Sensor officer reported her screen flashing with information as she worked. “I am coordinating with Security, but these bastards are moving fast.”

Hecker the XO was at her shoulder in seconds blood dripping down his face, “Aye, I see two groups heading for main engineering. Your orders sir?” Hecker asked looking over his bloody shoulder at Ra.

“Wake my pets. Find me the closest group of traitors.”

Hesitating only a moment Hecker and Myra nodded. “Aye sir.” Myra turned back to her works station hands moving swiftly as Hecker walked to a console mounted by Ra’s command throne. Hecker punched in a code with ichor slicked fingers as Ra began to rise from where he had knelt on the floor. “This is the XO. The Cats are out of the bag. Repeat the Cats are out of the bag.”

Ra stalked towards the bulkhead leading out of the bridge. “XO you have the bridge. Seal it behind me.”

Hecker saluted grimly “Aye Aye Sir. Good hunting.”

***

Corporal Kes Brooks prayed to no gods. Gods she had found were not worth the trouble. But right now, pinned down by heavy machine gun fire behind a maintenance hatch in in hanger seven, she felt she could use some divine intervention. Her platoon was scattered around the hanger all keeping their heads down to avoid being shoot or frozen by the dark powers the Bray cultists seemed to be wielding.

She risked a glance before dropping back down, a freezing projectile made of impossibly black ice missing her head by inches. “They’re on the catwalks!” She yelled over the din. “Someone call a Warlord down here, we can’t push up.”

Then the bulkhead door to the hanger began to grind open. And Ra-1 storms into the hanger. He looks up directly at the Bray cultists gathered in the hanger, on catwalks, pouring thought doors.

(Edited Extract Starts here)

Ra roars a challenge to them. He condemns them to death. He condemns their master to a worse fate.

He hurls himself at them.

The Warlord is, of course, their greatest asset, Kes realises. Not because of his physical superiority, though that is hard to overestimate.

It is because he is Ra-1. Because he is The Tyrants Hand. Because he is simply one of the greatest warriors of humanity. How many beings could measure favourably against him? Honestly? Perhaps seventeen of his contemporaries? No not even seventeen. Nothing like seventeen. Four or five at best. At best.

The Bray cultists on the upper structures see him coming. They are two company strength at least, a sizable detachment of a battalion. At least a proportion of them are Clovis vaunted Anointed elite.

But they see him coming, and they know what that means. It doesn’t matter what cosmic dementia has corrupted their minds and souls. It doesn’t matter what eternal promises Clovis Bray is whispering in their ears. It doesn’t matter what inflated courage the Darkness has poured into their veins along with madness.

Ra-1, The Tyrants Hand is coming right at them. To kill them. To kill them all.

Even though they stand a chance of hurting him, they waste it. They baulk. For a second, their twisted hearts know fear. Real fear.

And then he has them.

And then he is killing them.

(Edited Extract from Know No Fear by Dan Abnett ends here.)

Arc lighting dances along his clawed hands as he dives among them. Ripping and tearing at limbs, throats, hearts. A dozen die in a heartbeat, the violence of the Warlords attack shocking his foes.

One brave Anointed gathers the power of the darkness around his fist, ice forming into a gauntlet, but Ra’s crimson gaze finds him. The Exo’s jaw unhinges and the whole mouth splitting open, there is a spark in the depths of his throat before with a roar Ra breaths fire. His cable hair whips around his skull like a host of engaged serpents as the flames swallow whole squads.

Shocked and blooded the cultists are wide open for Kes and her platoon to take the vengeance, they charge from their cover mirroring their Warlord with a roar of hate and fury. Trapped between an engaged Warlord and the vengeful security forces the Bray cultists turn to flee.

Their path is blood by a crimson monsters. Larger than any big cat of old earth had ever been Ra’s pets lower their SIVA build bodies to the floor before pouncing forwards claws gleaming, jaws wide with teeth.

When at last the fighting as died down Kes stagger before to her knees before Ra. “Hanger secured my Lord.”

“Stand.” He growls, eight feet of black steel and crimson towering over the mortal. “You did well.” Ra observes with the detached air of any commander praising his troops. A great metal cat came to his side, purring deeply as blood dripped from its face. “Perhaps you deserve a premotion.” Ra mused as Kes forced herself to her feet.

A hand came across her chest, her platoon mirroring her. “We live to serve the Tyrants Hand.” They intoned, Kes panting a little.

Ra nodded as the PA system came to life. “This is the XO. The Ira Terra is cleared of hostiles, good job everyone.”

“We have a chance to slay the Tyrants Hand.” Skilvin spoke to the assembly of Guardians and Kells gathered around him. “We have a chance to slay a monster that has hounded our people for centuries. Our allies among the humans have shared a once in a century opportunity with us.” Skilvin gestured for his ghost to being the projection.

The Light born drone projected the image of the far north of the planet, far far away from the city to the great arctic wastelands of Riis. “The Warlord walks the surface. His army digs though our ancient ruins and desecrate the resting places of countless Eliksni, and he walks among them. For the first time in decades he has left the shelter of his iron chariot, he is vulnerable.”

The gathered Guardians muttered softly at the news, old Craask seeming more pleased than many others, he was speaking quietly and quickly with a Champion at his side. The House of Kings had lost several Ketches to the Broken Lance, the Warlords army of frames, exos and lesser human warlords. Skilvin pushed onwards. “His ship sits anchored off our moon, a threat against us to turn our eyes away from his plots. But by placing it so far from the region he prowls he forces himself to rely upon dropships instead of transmat.”

His Kell; Chelchis, Kell of Stone -and if one listen to the rumours Kell of Kells as well- was the first to see Skilvins plan, “You wish to shoot down his dropship?” The Hero asked, if upper arms crossed while his lower arms allowed him to lean upon the table. “To drag him from the skies as he seeks to leave our world.” Chelchis Ghost hovered at his shoulder.

“Aye my Kell.” Skilvin waved for his Ghost to show another projection. “His forces are currently digging though a Golden Age observatory; my estimates suggest they have perhaps two days before a major storm prevents them from leaving the site.” The projection changed, showing the weather patterns and predictions of Riis article circle. “Given our study of past Broken Lance digs on our other worlds we know the enemy will wait till the last possible moment to withdraw.”

Craask spoke up his old voice a clicking rasp. “To strike during a storm would greatly improve the odds of any raids success.” He threaded his fingers together. “And great chance for him to escape.”

Skilvin interjected quickly. “Not a raid noble Kell of Kings. A strike, a raid team would draw to much attention and be harder to hide from the enemies’ eyes. But a fire team of willing guardians could be able to preform this task.”

Once more Chelchis spoke, “I agree, a strike has far greater chance for success.” There was a murmur as the gathering came to agreement. “Skilvin and two others will target the Warlord while three other teams draw the attention of his army. Dividing his attention and providing a greater window of opportunity.”

Virixas Kell of Weavers drew attention to himself with a low hum of thought. “The two others who join in this endeavour must be skilled and sure.” More muttering of agreement. “But further support may be needed. I propose that two additional strike teams be deployed as a harassment force.”

“Wise council Virixas.” Craask mused with a dry chuckle that morphed into a hissing cough. “I offer a champion of my House. Tavkis Longeye.” The Kell placed his hand upon one of the shoulders of the guardian next to him. “He is a skilled sniper and will bring the Great Machines wrath crashing from the heavens.” Arc light ran along Tavkis lower arms as he bowed his head.

Solkis the Devils Kell spoke next, “I offer a priest of my House, Brinsk Stormsong. The magics of Riss are strong with her and the Light shines from her like a star.” Behind him a grim-faced guardian bowed her head, her four eyes glowing pits of void light.

“Then we have our strike team.” Chelchis declared. “By the authority of the Vanguard, I declare the Strike, Chariots Fall a go.”

***

“Nighthawk railgun. A prize from a slain foe.” The weapon vanished in a flash of blue transmat light. “I only have one shot so make sure the bastard is in the open.” A beautiful wire rifle materialised in his hands. “This will do this I need to make the shot.”

Brinsk growled behind them, “He nears,” Her ghost bobbed at her shoulder “The other teams will being their attacks soon, let us be ready.”

   “What is that?” Skilvin had never seen a weapon like the one Tavkis cradled in his lower arms, the massive rifle bore human markings yet was like nothing the striker leader had laid eyes on.

The three guardians moved silently to though the rough cold terrain around them, clearing empty ruins and marking fall back points as they went. Ascending up a tall ruined home they gained a view over their planned ambush point.

A shallow valley with little cover, broken only by a thin stream that cut thought a low hill to the east, to the north a shear cliff face that their targets shuttle would travel over before lowering into the valley to avoid any guardian aircraft. An easy mark.

Brinsks Ghost dipped, “The other teams have begun their assaults. The Tyrants hand flees.” The three guardians shared grim smiles of satisfaction. Soon.

Skilvin and Brinsk shouldered heavy rocket launchers, aiming at the cliff face waiting for their prey. They did not have to wait long.

The human dropship was black like many of the vehicles in serves to the Tyrant and his Hand, the black broken up by windows, streeks of red paint and markings in the humans odd language. It cleared the cliff face and began to descend. “NOW!” Skilvin cried out, flipping a switch and engaging the target lock. The dropship lurched upwards as the polit realised they where being targeted but it was already to late.

The first missile slammed into the cockpit and detonated with solar energy, igniting the hull and raining molten metal down upon the valley. The second missile struck the passenger cabin with an arc warhead, shutting down any remaining electrical systems with a surge of power.

The flaming, sparking wreck had barely fallen a meter before Skilvin and Brinsk broke cover sprinting forwards as the crash began. A pair of gunships swept over the cliff and then overhead circling the failing craft. Tavkis wire rifle barked once, the cockpit of one gunship bursting even as both craft dropped a squad of frames to the ground below.

Eight war machines crashed into the frozen ground their weapons already roaring with death. Brinsk shields failed even as she thrust out her upper arms wreathed in void light; the shock wave broke three of the frames scattering their molecules to the wind. Sliding to cover a scatter gun in her hands she fired two shots sending a fourth frame to the ground its chest a smocking ruin.

Skilvin drew his four blades, one burned with solar light, one with the void, one howled with arc and the final was simply a killing edge. He was among the last four frames as the dropship crashed into the icy ground ahead of him. His blades sang as he slaughtered, think black oil and strange bright liquids dripping from his victim’s shells.

Brinsk advanced ahead as he cleaned his blades, allowing the priest the first look for their prey. Three sharp snaps of fire sent Brinsk screaming to the ground, her body racked with a sickly green glow. Before Skilvin could act the priest was thrown aside still screaming as the Tyrants Hand rose from the wreckage of his chariot.

He was ruined, damaged beyond anything a mortal body could have survived. Great gouts of flame raced up his left side as one armed and broken, Ra-1 rose to his feet. His metal skull had been pierced by a long shard of steel, shrapnel and other wreckage covered his ruined uniform, wire sparked, a single crimson eye glowed with murderous intent. A terrible handcanon was clucked tightly in his remaining hand. Another shot struck Brinsk and she screamed as her light withered and burnt to nothing. “The enemy make many useful tools.” The monster snarled in perfect Eliksni.

Skilvin dived for cover before that horrifying handcanon could be turned against him. A look to Brinsk confirmed his worst fears, her light was gone. She had died her final death. How? What dark and evil weapon had the Hand used.

“Skilvin. I don’t have a clear shot.” Tavkis murmured over the coms, his voice almost clam despite the scene taking place bellow.

The foot falls of the Hand drew closer.

Skilvins ghost appeared at his shoulder “I’ll contact the.”

The nighthawk sang.

The heavy ghost buster rail round struck Skilvins ghost directly in its eye as it spoke. The detonation of light threw Skilvin from his cover directly into the path of the Tyrants Hand.’

Skilvin reeled from the betrayal, he reeled from the loss of the light, he reeled from the death of his ghost. But he still saw, he saw the cloud of crimson mist that poured from the Hand, he saw it stripe the wreckage behind them, he witnessed the swarm devour Brinsks cooling corpse.

Tavkis watched dispassionately thought his scope as the Warlords body was remade with the ruin of the battlefield. His com buzzed. “Our thanks to the House of Kings.” Ra-1s voice snarled in his ears.

Tavkis only bowed his head as he watched the Warlord reach down with a newly forged arm and lift Skilvin high, he watched as the crimson mist of SIVA crawled along the dying guardian, seeping into his mouth, his eyes, his ears.

Tavkis listened and watched as Skilvin noble of the House of Stone died.

As he died Skilvin screamed. He screamed the name of the one who had trusted him. Who had believe they could finally end this monster. Such a foolish hope.