Love Can Bloom - The Complete Edition: A Warhammer 40K Heretical Fanfiction

Chapter II - 2

The video above is YouTube video inspired by the by the Fanfiction. Again, it is not my own work.

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Taldeer had to rely upon speed.

The only moment they were vulnerable, and even then just barely, was when they came out of the ground.

She might have had a chance before, but...

She feels her side. Blood warm, with stray strings of meat, snapped with her last exertion. And as if to remind her, pain shot through her body, sending her to her knees. She looks up, the Flayed One uncovered, emerging from the ground, performing what she logically knows to be status checks of their corporum, but what for the life of her seem to be the stretches and aches of predators reawakened. Cracks of stone lodged in their living metal echo across the valley. There was a tomb under here, there had to be.

One comes closer, cocking its head. Insanely enough, she wonders why it hadn't already struck. Was it checking the database against traps and ruses pulled millennia ago? Verifying her against accounts of age-old enemies reserved for torture or consumption?

Come on, she thought bitterly, gripping her spear. This one line of fate where I don't die needs you to-

Windspeed: 4km/hr. Distance: 1.6 km. Adjust 0.67 cm.

Suddenly a foreign thought. Male. Tasted like-

Necron. Acid rounds recommended. Shoot the joints.

She blinked, astonished, as the sun was blocked out by a raised hand. A kilometre and a half away, the slight sound that one could mistake for a finger snap is heard.

Taldeer raises a hand in front of her face as a bullet then rams into the centre most Necron's ribcage, shards of hypersonic shrapnel nudged by fate and her mind away from her. The metallic horror's spine, set at a one hundred and forty-five-degree angle, tilts, its claw flailing at where an Eldar used to be in its fevered program before the acid finishes what a near kilogram round couldn't, and it falls in half.

Three flayed ones look to the horizon, as another finger snap is heard.

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"Governor Militant." Lukas Alexander stayed where he was, overseeing the incineration of the Eldar corpses, the troopers clad in chem masks and biochemical armour. He turned his head, slightly, to see three men far apart from one another.

One was leaning on an ammo dump, having a smoke, the other carefully standing guard in front of an entirely unimportant building. The third was a man dressed in immaculate uniform who had conveniently forgotten any sort of identifier.

"Soldier," Alexander turned back to look in the pit, promethium lapping the sides. A weak hand raised, and one of the incinerators yelled, pointing down. All five turned their main jets on the offending motion.

"I need to brief you, sir," the soldier blinked carefully, "On the situation." Lukas nodded carefully, turning away from the bubbling hiss, "And your comr-"

The soldier stepped far too close to the governor in the space of a moment, placing a hand on his shoulder, his pinky sliding along to the Governor's carotid.

"My credentials are all in order and don't bear mentioning sire. Where and when would you like the briefing?" The pinky slid up to the base of the chin, following the line of the pulse.

There was much the Governor Militant would have said. He would have laughed at the false soldier, threatening with a finger. Lukas would have loved to tell the fake all that Lukas had done in service to the Emperor of Man. He would have struck the man, shot him, and ordered the other two executed.