21st Experimental

Part three. The others are called "Exodus" and "Genesis"

21st Experimental â€“ Cruoris

They burst into the dark room, and after them came the orange light of the moon. The beings inside turned their glowing eyes toward Razakel. Not even human, he thought. Their blood had a distinct smell, a smell that Razakel loved. His chainsword rose and fell, his fists, knees and feet crushed bones. The stench of entrails flooded the room. Razakel felt himself being filled with power, throwing the feeble bodies of the mutated half-men into walls. There must have been at least twenty of them. He and his battle-brethren were five. The fight lasted only seconds, but felt like it was slowed down. Razakel laughed to himself, at the weak attempts of his enemies to harm him. Slowly they raised their guns, but he was quicker, chopping off limbs, disarming the monsters. His comrades were doing as well as he was. The man covered in fur was fighting with his hands. After the last enemy fell to the ground shaking, the short thin man in the black outfit walked in through the broken down door. He looked around the room, and inhaled soundly through his nose.

â€œYou are doing well. One can tell that this is not your first time fighting. Master was right, as always.â€

He walked deeper into the house, looking at the floor. Camouflaged with beautiful carpets was a small hatch, which was quickly removed. The guide told them to go down, and continue the massacre. As they continued down, they met more resistance. Their enemies were now more alert. They knew that Razakel and his troupe of killers were descending upon them. All their efforts were in vain, the crazed experiments of Magos Biologis ripped through their ranks, breaking bones and ripping flesh. Their enemies were now even less human. Their hands too deformed to hold firearms, so they were armed with knives and axes. Razakel only remembered the feeling of freedom, the screeching of the chainsword, and the smell ozone from the laspistol he fired.

They travelled in a downwards spiral, the concrete walls now being replaced by tunnels dug directly in the ground, lit electrically. The cult of alien-worshippers had created a stronghold for itself.

Located at the bottom of the spiral was a large chamber. Well lit, and even heated, it was created for breeding. Itâ€™s floor was covered in a mix of acids, slime and mucus. Pure water was falling from a crack in one of the walls. Mutated humans and aliens were walking around, tending the large being in the middle. It was a bloated piece of flesh, without appendages of any sort. It had a giant maw on top of its pyramidal-shaped body. The humans, mutants and aliens were pushing rotting dead bodies into it. The stench was choking. The band of killers from the surface was watching it all from a distance. Their guide whispered all he knew about the beings in the hall.

â€œObserve the alien worshippers. They have given into mindless slavery for something beyond evil. They no longer are human, since the monster controls their bodies and eats theirs souls. They will consume the whole planet if they are not stopped right away. It has gone far enough with them breeding here already. That thing in the middle is a womb. It gives birth to the foul mutants, heretics and aliens alike. All it wants is to consume, and it will stop at nothing.â€

The experimental marine with the elongated skull blinked nervously. Razakel sensed something else in the atmosphere, besides the smell. Their guide knew what that was too.

â€œWarp presence. These beings have no longer a soul of their own. They are merely parts of a bigger beast, and it is that beast you feel probing your mind now. It knows that we are here; it knew right away when you killed the first mutant. The cult is small, just under a 100 individuals, but you have only crippled it. For my master to be pleased, you have to eradicate them all.â€

Razakel no longer cared who this master was. There would be time for talk later. Now, it was a time for bloodshed. He looked at their master, who nodded back. It was alright to rush into the middle of the chamber, without care for his own life and take the lives of others. And so they did.

Pain came. And we turned to the source of it. The surface-dwellers found us. We screamed, and we died in dozens. Our efforts were only slowing them down. The newborn were no match for the killers. So we reached out with all our will, and called for the oldest of us. And we felt the reply come immediately. They came out of the ground, out of the walls, out of the shadows. Their fingers were knives, their mouths were dripping with acid, and their eyes were dim with anger. There were only three of them, we trusted their judgement.

Belphegor, the large man with pink skin kicked one more of the mutants away from him. He expected a new one to attack him, but instead a four-armed beast fell on him from the ceiling. They dropped down into the sticky liquid. Belphegor found himself underwater, not being able to breathe. The slime stung his eyes, his soft skin and almost made him panic. Suddenly pain surged through his entire body, and the pressure from the monster was gone. The claws gripping his neck let go, and he floated up to the surface, gasping for air. He coughed up some of the acidic mucus and spit it out. The fight had not ended yet. Two more monsters, same as the one that attacked him were harassing their small group. His attacker on the other hand, was floating in the air, yellow blood spraying out of his body in tiny drops. Its arms were flailing, trying to hit the thing that held him in the air. But there was nothing. Belphegor looked around and found his comrade, Furcas, the one with the large head staring at the floating monster. He had one of his hand stretched out, the air around it twisting with heat. It was worse for the alien beast, whose blood was literally boiling. Psyker, thought Belphegor. And he was correct.

Furcas knew he was somewhat different from the others, beyond their different appearances. He could sense their emotions, he knew already who the master was, and most importantly, he knew that they were about to be left alone. In his dreams he was told everything, how to use his willpower to command physical objects. The master taught him in his sleep, and for the first time, Furcas used his new abilities. He found pleasure in rendering the alien beast helpless. Its feet were trying to find ground, arms trying to kill the attacker. Furcas concentrated even more, and the monster turned into a fireball. It screamed with an almost human voice. Furcas closed his eyes with pleasure.

Razakel finally found himself a worthy opponent. His pistol was depleted a long time ago, so he fought with only the chainsword. The monster ducked easily, and evaded his attacks. Razakel felt the chainsword slowing him down, and threw it at the beast. The monster crossed its all four arms in protection, and the blade bounced off its armoured wrists, only causing a small wound. The alien lowered its defence, and Razakel saw his chance. His fist connected with the monsterâ€™s jaw. The sound of breaking bone made Razakel happy.

To the right of him, two of the feral ones were toying with the genestealer. They were leaping over it, hitting it in the unarmoured parts of itâ€™s body, and generally having a good time. The monster was taller than them, but they were faster. The reptilian character finally kicked the monster into its equivalent of the knee, and it dropped to the ground, on all six. The two marines fell down on it, locking its limbs. Then they feasted on its flesh.

The guide was watching from far away. He felt he had almost completed his task. Out of his pocket he extracted a tiny metal cylinder. He weighed it in his palm, and started walking towards the ending carnage.

Dead bodies of humans, aliens, and everything in between were floating around in the slime. He stepped over them and walked towards the heavily breathing battle brothers. They were calming down, from the battle, adrenaline leaving their blood.

â€œYou have done well, and master is pleased. My work is finished, and so am I. You will leave this place now. Further instructions will be forwarded to you by Furcas.â€

Furcas looked at his comrades, gestured them to follow him. They nodded, and started walking. The guide was left alone in the chamber, with the giant alien creature. He walked up to its mouth, now firmly closed in fear, and shoved the metal cylinder down, ripping the soft flesh.

Razakel, Furcas, Belpegor and the bestials were now outside the building. Furcas closed his eyes, and let the guide know that they were safe. The message was clearly understood, and the small man with the mutated chest and his hand down an alienâ€™s throat up to his shoulder compressed the small cylinder he was holding. The ground shook, and then it sank. The house collapsed down, crushing the chambers and passages dug by mutated men. Nobody would ever know what happened there. The townsfolk would only mourn the dwellers of the house. The band of marines went hurried back to their hotel, away from the people who had woken up and were now observing the rubble. The dead city came alive. People were screaming, running around, crying. After they realized that they could not do anything but fill the hole in the ground with dirt, they went to sleep.

Back in the hotel they had a long talk about what happened. Furcas explained that their guide was a daemon, constructed for only one purpose. His death was planned even before his creation. They were to set out on a journey, to save their master from loosing his footing. Razakel asked if they were to be disposed of, just like the demon guide. To that, Furcas had no answer. After a short debate about their future, they decided to find out more about their origin. Since nobody remembered anything about the laws of the Imperium, and even less about human rights, they decided to capture someone to pilot their spacecraft.

In the morning, they left the town for their spaceship. They left the hotel empty on edible material, and a pilot. Belphegor was carrying the knocked out human on his shoulder, wrapped in thick grey fabric. The other carried crates and bags of food. The hotel personnel opposed against the food being taken away, so Furcas and Belphegor killed them. Following the old motto of spacemarines they left the quite farming community in grief and disorder. No pity, no remorse, no fear.[/i]