The Emperor's Champion (A Warhammer 40'000 Short Story)

I was chosen. In his name I was chosen. He came to me in my sleep. Gave me a vision of the future, what I had to do. I went to the Chaplains, told them what I had seen, confessed it all. They knew, they always know. They gave me the sacred armour of my position, The Armour of Faith. I put it on, knowing that this will be the last armour I will ever wear. The blade that goes with it, The Black sword, is presented to me. I take it, getting a feel for its weight. Then the Litanies begin, of hate and of war. I close my eyes, inviting the blessed light of The Emperor into my soul. I feel invigorated.

         Time passes, prayers and blessings are said. It is then down to me, to lead the Fighting company in the renewal of the vows. It is down to me to choose.

“O, Emperor, in wrath rejoicing

at bloody wars; fierce

and untamed’

Whose might power doth make

the strongest walls from their

foundations shake.

All-conquering Master of

Mankind,

Be pleased with this war’s

tumultuous roar.

Delight in swords and fists red

with alien blood, and the dire

ruin of savage battle.

Rejoice in furious challenge, and

Avenging strife, whose works with

woe embitter human life!”

Once it is over, we mount into our transports, Drop Pods. They will take us to the Enemies heart, for we can give them no time to react, no time to prepare. We must destroy them. The hated foe. The Arch enemy. Chaos. Those vile servants of those who wish only to destroy, consume and damn. This The Emperor told me, and for this reason I have been chosen. I must slay their leader, Karzdeth. For I am Rados, Emperors Champion, Slayer of leaders, bringer of their doom.

We are in place, my handpicked squad by my side, strapped in to the Pod. We hear the claxons warning of the imminent launch. I close my eyes; say one last prayer to the Emperor before we are released.

 There is the sound of the clamps letting go, and we fall. Fall for what seems like an eternity. Falling into whatever trap may have been laid down by the enemy. The Drop Pods systems come to life, lights flare on, inertia guidance system kicks in ensuring we do not stray off our chosen path. Another claxon sounds, we are close. Not long until we are there. I have only 3 accompanying squads with me on this day. The rest are drawing the enemies’ attention. Squad Alrus, Sword Brethren squad Dercis lead by Castellan Kern and Venerable Brother Torkin in his Holy Dreadnought armour. My squad, Serdon, have been outfitted with chain swords, bolt pistols and grenades only. We are on a suicide mission. Chances of survival are almost incomprehensible, but this mission must be performed.

I hear the Castellan over the vox, giving us up to date statistics of enemy on the ground. There are none. He tells us to be on our alert, for this could very well be a trap. I know, my brothers acknowledge him. The final, 5 seconds claxon sounds. I check my bolt pistol.

We slam into the ground like a meteor. The doors open, we spill out eager for a fight. There is nothing. The other Drop Pods have landed off course. One has crashed through a building, though I can’t tell which one.  

“Castellan to all troops, reports show the enemy has seen the drop pods and are en route to our location, stay alert and fire at will. May the Emperor protect.”