Ashes in the mud

Deathmarks and Immortals

The night was thick and cold, and the fog seemed to wrap around everything, closing in tighter. Elara moved fast across the parapet, her laspistol still warm in her hand, her pulse pounding in her ears. The lull had been brief, just long enough for them to catch their breath. It wasn't going to be enough. What was coming would be worse.

Vorell's voice came through the vox, even and calm, but it held an edge. "Deathmarks. Multiple units. Elevated positions. Watch your heads."

Elara's stomach dropped. Deathmarks—Necron snipers. One clean shot, and that was it. She scanned the darkness, trying to catch the telltale green flicker of a scope. She could feel them out there, hidden. They were waiting.

Hedek's voice cut through the static, commanding. "Heavy bolters, on elevated points. Do not let them pick us apart."

Elara nodded to herself, though he couldn't see. They had to keep moving. Keep pushing. She spotted Harlok below, still deep in the melee, his sword flashing in the firelight.

"Harlok!" she shouted down. He looked up, his face streaked with grime, his eyes wide. "Get your men under cover! Deathmarks are here!"

He nodded and waved his men back. They moved quickly, keeping to the wall, their eyes scanning the shadows. The air felt tight. The snipers were out there. They wouldn't wait long.

A green flash cut through the night, sharp and quick. A soldier beside Elara dropped without a word, a neat hole burned through his chest. She clenched her teeth.

"Get down!" she yelled, dropping to one knee. Her eyes moved over the field, searching. They had to find those snipers before they wiped them out. She heard the calls of her men, frantic, the fear in their voices. It was starting.

The heavy bolter roared below, sending bursts of fire into the fog, aiming at the shadows. A green spark flickered, a hit. But it wasn't enough. The Deathmarks were too quick, too precise.

"Vorenn," Hedek snapped through the vox. "Get eyes on those snipers. They're thinning our lines."

Elara set her jaw and turned to Vorell. He was there beside her, his auspex glowing faintly in the dark. "Vorell," she said, her voice tight, "can you find them?"

He nodded, eyes on the device. "They're using the ruins. East tower." He adjusted the dials, pointed. "There. I see two."

Elara looked at the tower, barely visible in the fog, just a jagged shape against the sky. She knew what had to be done. She looked at Hedek's face in her mind—cold, weighing the cost.

"Hedek," she said into the vox, steady. "I'm taking a team to clear them out."

The line was silent, then Hedek's voice came back, cold as the night. "Take them out, Cadet. Or don't bother coming back."

Elara nodded, then turned to Harlok. "You're with me."

He looked up, his eyes narrowing, then nodded again, motioning to his men. They moved quickly, darting through the fog, heading for the tower.

The climb was brutal. The stairs were crumbling, each step a risk. Harlok led, his sword ready, his eyes sharp. Elara followed close, her laspistol tight in her grip. The air felt heavy, each breath harder than the last.

At the top, she saw it—a faint green glow, just beyond the wall. A Deathmark, watching, waiting. She didn't think. She fired.

The shot hit, the Deathmark sparking, falling back in a tangle of metal. But there was no time. Another moved from the shadows, its rifle aimed at Harlok.

"Harlok, down!" she yelled, diving forward. She slammed into him, and they hit the ground hard, a green bolt flashing past.

Harlok grunted, his sword clattering away. He looked up at her, surprised, maybe something like respect in his eyes. "Good timing, Cadet."

Elara gave a tight smile, her eyes moving back to the Deathmark. It was re-aiming. No time. She rolled off Harlok, raised her laspistol, fired. The shot hit the neck joint, severing the head in a shower of sparks. The rifle fell silent.

She got to her feet, her heart racing. Harlok stood too, grabbing his sword, nodding at her. "Let's get down. No point staying."

They moved quickly, back down the stairs. The bolter fire was still loud below, the battle raging. At the bottom, Elara took a deep breath, her hands shaking just slightly. It wasn't over yet.

"Hedek, this is Vorenn," she said into the vox, her voice steady now. "Deathmarks are down. Moving to the east."

Hedek's reply was rough. "Good work, Cadet. Get ready. The Immortals are coming."

Elara looked at her men, saw the exhaustion, the fire still in their eyes. They weren't done yet. Not even close.

A deep rumble echoed across the field. She turned, her eyes catching the shadows moving through the fog—heavy shapes, Necron Immortals, their gauss blasters already humming.

"Immortals! Moving in!" Vorell's voice came through, tense.

Elara turned to Harlok. "Get ready," she said, her voice low. "We hold here."

Harlok nodded, gripping his sword. "Until we can't anymore."

The Immortals advanced, their heavy feet shaking the ground. The defenders braced themselves, rifles ready, waiting. There was a moment of silence, the calm before the storm.

Then, all at once, the Immortals opened fire.