JARONE
Steel splinters shattered from the flank door. Three standing Guardsmen, including the once fearsome commissar, fell in bloody ribbons, a noise like seeping gas escaping from every newly made gap.
Jarone screamed in disbelief.
The God-Emperor of mankind was supposed to protect the strong willed. Why were they supposed to die here—die now? What grand design was this?
The entryway where the door was now showed a Chaos Daemon. The Warp-spawned monstrosity writhed and giggled, eyeing the terrified men and women of the Astra Militarum strapped into their seats. Some managed to escape the secure belts and backed themselves to a wall. Some ran for their lasguns, but the Daemon shot fiery spew at them, killing them where they stood.
Jarone turned his head to his side, looking out of the starboard window. He could see the Eye of Terror in its far-away spectacle. He tried to watch the stars around it instead, focusing on something—anything—other than his inevitable and excruciating death that would soon come.
A sound like two corpse-starch bars being twisted in a pair of clamps sounded from the monster.
People stopped yelping. Steady breathing replaced the yelps. Then horrific screams replaced all.
Jarone shot his head to the door and screamed as well.
The dark-filled entryway housed a new monster, lit only by a malfunctioning ceiling-mounted light.
The previous hell-thing was in two pieces, gore plastering the decking and walls. The hands that had done it looked strong enough to rip trees like tissue paper. They were giant, power-armoured hands filled with sloppy wet viscera. Brown tanned skin hung from the chest piece and shoulder pads like a grotesque cape. Some flaps were stitched together, hairs seemingly still growing in patches, brunette and blonde.
The huge figure stepped forward, scanning the room.
The screams died; whimpers started.
The Space Marine stood, slumped forward to avoid hitting the ceiling. His black and yellow armour was almost unnoticeable due to the swinging skin. The insignia on his shoulder pad wasn’t easily recognizable either, but it was in full view. It looked like a twisted hand reaching out.
The man removed his scuffed helmet and tucked it under his arm. His half bow turned to a full bow, his torso awkwardly going vertical. His impossibly long hair floated down majestically, close to the floor like spilling tar over a pale egg. His white skin was the opposite to Jarone’s.
“Greetings fellow warriors,” the man said in a luxurious voice; the accent of a White Scar. “My name is Tekk Sakhai. I am here under order from my chapter master to assist in your mission. The invasion of Drakassi will begin shortly. We have many enemies aboard. They will not pass me. If they try, I will add them to my collection,” Tekk Sakhai said as he looked up and smiled, blood running from his crazed eyes.
TEKK
The ship rattled as it passed into Drakassi’s orbit.
Many more Daemons tried and failed to enter the bow during the hours of anticipation. None got past Tekk.
The Guardsmen still alive gripped their rifles like babes to a breast. This small transport ship was made to haul a hundred soldiers and withstand orbit and planetary drops with ease. With outside damage however, it was struggling.
Hundreds of other transport ships flew alongside, some being shot down, straying too far from the squadron, or being overrun by enemy boarders. The hellish Chaos ships doing the boarding were fiery things of nightmares.
The ship was finally hit by a blast from an unknown weapon. Everyone braced in their seats, wide eyed and scared beyond belief.
Tekk scoffed and put his helmet back on, pulling his long black hair into a loose bun on top of his head. As soon as he did, the eyepiece’s protective gel encased his eyes, stopping the bleeding. Every Iron Talon experienced the same gene-seed defect. It didn’t hinder battle, just made the appearance of the Chapter seem cursed to outsiders.
A second blast hit the port side of the ship. Over half of the Guardsmen were ejected out into the red sky of Drakassi.
The ship’s metal plates began to tear away in molten globs. Those unlucky enough to be caught in its devastating path were either set on fire by the atmospheric entry burn, or encased in molten metal, fused to the interior of the ship, then pulled down into the golden glowing mass.
Tekk felt no fear.
He stomped toward a crying woman, yanked her from her seat, and held her like an ammo bag. Then, he picked up the next soldier. Then the next. Then the next.
A window exploded, shredding a man’s head into slices, like the core of a rare fruit.
The Astartes’s huge fingers were around a dark-skinned man’s seat buckle now, ripping the safety straps away, and plucking him up.
Tekk carried the soldiers to the opening of the ship, so close to the ground that within the next minute, the ship would be a stationary flaming wreck imbedded in the earth.
The next moment, Tekk jumped out of the ship, falling to the surface of Drakassi.