Author Notes:
Kehum! Friendly announcement, thanks to my Mom advising me, I have decided that this Monthly Recruitment Drive will be a special Lunar New Year Recruitment Drive! This mean, once again, a 35% discount to all newcomer to support our Patreon and enjoy the early access benefits, and even potential cameos in the stories too!
So don't forget to grab it while it's hot! The Lunar New Year Recruitment Drive will runs from now to the 22nd of February. You also don't need to join as a Patron now, as Free Members on Patreon can also enjoy random discounts by Patreon's Gacha System as well (I legit has no idea how this one even work though).
Come and support the Imperium and the Belkan Reich, and help me put a smile on my Mom's face, pretty please!
Hahaha, that aside, Mom and I hope you enjoy this chapter of GSS, and we wish a happy February to all of you, and here's to a nice Lunar New Year!
https://www.patr-eon.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
Ein C8th 6: https://postimg.cc/p9T2fSZw
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A .75 caliber bolt round tears through not one but three other beastmen in a singular line, leaving chunks of blue flesh and alien blood splattering on everything nearby.
"Continuing this engagement is unsustainable." Sister Tsavorae warns as she watches Sergeant Tu'rok reload another magazine for his Bolt Rifle.
Having finished charging her sidearm, a Plasma Pistol, Tsavorae pokes over my head and shield to unleash a searing ball of superheated plasma that impacts and detonates in the middle of a group of Tzaangor, successfully killing or maiming a small Squad of them, while scorching a few others. Not even stopping to check the devastation she has caused, Tsavorae dives back into her cover to cool off her piping hot sidearm, trusting that I have her back.
My sister's trust isn't misplaced, as even before she can fully tuck herself back into safety, the shield in my hand moves and blocks a retaliation strafe from the opposition Heavy Stubber. Some large caliber bullets strike and spark against my shields, the force behind them makes me frown as I find myself skidding backward, even with one of my knees braced against the ground. The cultist manning the Heavy Stubber in the back line, not even caring for the friendly fire he's inflicting upon the Tzaangor and other cultists in front of him, suddenly finds the weapon in his hand melting and exploding.
"Arrgh!? What the fu-!" His head is evaporated before he can finish cursing.
"Language makes the man, pal..." I say under my breath as I tuck my Laspistol behind my Black Steel once more.
Reflected upon the backside of the shield right now is the flickering golden light of a Flamer being put to damn good use behind us by Johnson's unit, casting a veritable wall of purging flame that keeps the flanking Tzaangor at bay.
The enemy has deployed a surprising number of troops in an attempt to flank the main force, causing us considerable interruptions that ultimately slow our advance to a snail's pace. While it's a fortunate thing indeed for us to intercept the enemy flanking force at the very first checkpoint, we are all exasperated by the rate at which our munition expenditure keeps climbing up and up. Three times already have we initiated close-quarter combat to preserve our ammunition and equipment, times when we only needed to face a minimal amount of Tzaangor, and there were no cultists with ranged weapons. The blue blood on the bayonets of our Lasrifles is the result of these bouts of fisticuffs.
Fortunately for us all, we are not facing Tyrannids, or Orks for that matter.
"Their number is dwindling." Tu'rok comments, stowing away his Bolt Rifle in exchange for a smaller Bolt Pistol and a Power Sword, wielded one-handed each. "They lack the body mass they used to field, a good chance for a swift breakthrough."
"Good. I want to hit them with my sword." Tsavorae smirks, pulling out her Power Sword as well.
Noticing their eagerness, I dash to Weiss' and Scorpin's position. "Pack up, girls. Scorpin, get ready to do the thing."
Scorpin perks up, nodding at me with a big grin. "The thing? Gotcha!"
"The thing?" As Scorpin and her girlfriends fuss over their Heavy Stubber, Weiss speaks up in confusion as she reloads her Lasrifle. "What's the thing?"
I give her a little wink from our crouching position. "If we're lucky, or unlucky in this instance, you'll get to see it."
I then tap into the unit's Vox link rather than shouting through all the beastial grunts and warcries around us. "Hey, John! Start leaving behind some presents for our blue friends. We're setting off any moment now!"
"You want the big or the small gift boxes?" Johnson's question is aired on Vox.
Tu'rok, who has been keeping tabs on the channel and is quite familiar with how the 3rd Platoon conducts its business, interjects. "You brought anything big enough to collapse the avenue behind us?"
I take this opportunity to raise my hand. "If necessary, Johnson and I can fashion out something quick."
Tu'rok nods in my direction. "Good. Where we're going, there's no retreat."
"Do what you must, Ein." Tsavorae chimes in from the side, her hands gripping securely around her weapons." We'll cover you. Give us a signal when everything is ready. That will be the time we break this stalemate."
I grin before moving to reach into my backpack and pull out, you guessed it, a Dynamite bundle. As part of the benefits for the Borderline Justice Perk, I receive a special Melta bomb, the Dynamite, each day. Given that it's been a while in the other world, I am literally floating on enough Melta charges to cripple even a Lunar-class Frigate, and I am not afraid to use them. One Dynamite bundle is formed out of six smaller Dynamite sticks. A bundle alone should be more than enough to complete the task of collapsing the passage behind us, but it won't hurt to be safe and combine this with what Johnson's carrying.
With my mind set, I carefully dash back to Johnson's position. There, one of Scorpin's teammates continues to burn the infidels with his Flamer with a notable degree of experience. Believe it or not, he is quite adept at conserving Prometheum despite using what can only be described as a highly modified flamethrower. With that Flamer guy and the others covering us, Johnson and I each take one side of the hallway, planting our explosives on the structural supports that hold up the roof over our heads.
"Timers!?" Johnson inquires.
"40 seconds!" I shout back. "In 3... 2... 1!"
CLICK
"Bombs are armed!" Johnson barks, moving to slap the shoulder of the Flamer guy, signalling to unleash one last wall of fire. "Everyone, get the fuck back or else you're toasted!"
"That's our cue!" Tsavorae announces from ahead of us, leading Tu'rok to cry. "Brothers, strike them down with all your might!"
The three Salamanders surge forward, and behind them are the Tsavorae's Celestians. As their Power Swords and Chainswords cut down multiple Tzaangor and cultists alike, 3rd Platoon and the remaining Sisters of Battle dash behind them. As we are making our way out of the blast zone, Magos Hedagine pulls out what seems to be a specially crafted Frag Grenade. Using a Servo-arm as a delivery mechanism, she tosses it beyond the wall of flame behind us. The ensuing blast further deterred the Tzaangor from pursuing us from our now derelicted but booby-trapped rear position.
"That's a great idea, Magos!" I nod my head in the old Tech-priest's direction as I run past her to join the fray in the front.
Faintly, I can hear her acknowledging my compliment. "It's but logical that additional force is required to cover our advance."
I find myself smiling, feeling joyful despite all the gunning and carnage. After all, it's always good to wage combat with competent teammates, whether it's in a game or in real life.
By the time the Melta bombs explode and the whole thing behind us starts crumbling, causing a wave of dust to momentarily swallow our formation from behind, our Recon unit is well clear of the collapse zone. I don't have time to pay attention to the damage the Dynamite caused to the Tzaangor behind us, but I do know that being evaporated by a thermal blast or a slow death by being crushed isn't a pretty way to go.
Forming up with the frontliners, I notice that visibility is shockingly bad with all the dust kicked up by the prior explosion. You can barely see a couple of meters in front of you. As such, out of ingrained training and instinct, Weiss and the other Cadians have hunkered back with their helmet flashlight on. Only the Salamanders and Sisters of Battle, with their power armor's Auspex suites, can reliably detect and engage any enemy we come across. While this lack of visibility means that we Cadians can only provide limited support with our ranged weaponry, the same debuff also applies to the heretics. The diminishing incoming fire allows our entire unit to cover ground at breakneck speed, literally, as the Astartes can straight up bulldoze someone to a broken heap with their physical bulk without even faltering a single beat.
Still, such an advance doesn't necessarily come without a hiccup. In this chaotic maneuvering brawl, where the enemy can come from any direction, and we're limited in our ranged options, there are moments when stragglers slip past the curtain of swords and fists.
"Ein!" Tsavorae yells in warning as multiple Tzaangor and cultists maneuver around the Celestians, who are pinned by other threats.
"Got it!" I reply, sensing the incoming hostilities in the dense dust cloud. "Weiss, take care of Scorpin's back!"
"Ein, wait!" Even before Weiss can finish her sentence, I have already dashed forward.
As my shield leaves behind dusty trails in the air, I come to see my targets clearly: Just a few agile melee foes, nothing too serious that I can see or sense from them. Tzaangor is a credible enough threat due to their minor causality manipulation; however, I will have to be quite deliberate and creative with how I employ my Laspistol. One of the cultists is toting a Frag Grenade. I can quite easily blow that up alongside him and his pal, but the risk of stray fragmentations hitting the backs of my allies is very real. I will have to deal with these mortal enemies the old-fashioned way as well.
I raise my Lasrifle and Black Steel Carapace Shield in front of me. With my hands perfectly stable even though I am running full tilt, thanks to Hua's training, I pull the trigger repeatedly, unleashing scorching red beams that tear trails through the dust clouds. Rather than opting to engage the arguably more dangerous beastmen, I instead start picking off the more normal cultists at range, easily exploding their heads with nothing but heretical accessories on them. The collapsing bodies even manage to form a fleshy speed bump of sorts, causing a couple of snarling Tzaangor to trip and faceplant their beaks on the cold, hard floor, carving shallow groves. Thanks to my perfect vision, however, I manage to see the sight of another Tzaangor; rather than tripping, it instead stomps a cultist's corpse hard enough that the poor carcass caved in, the body being torn nearly in half, before continuing its charge, leaving behind bloody footprints. It goes to illustrate the force underneath the skin of these still quite disposable beastman servants of the Lord of Lies.
In the eyes of the Astartes or even Sisters of Battle, these Tzaangor may not look like much individually. Yet, for a normal Imperial Guard soldier, getting into a fist fight with one may not be the most ideal type of engagement, to say the least.
And I am running right up in front of their beaks...
Perhaps acting out of instinct, or that it somehow detects my approach due to its peculiar physical nature, the first Tzaangor I come across is already in the middle of performing a downward swing with its crude blade, intending to bisect me from top to bottom. Unfortunately, it targets me out of all people. Honed by Hua and Xuanyuan for a long time, and enhanced by Honkai energy, my perception has developed to a point where I can see the incoming attack in slow motion. And while I am not quite sure how a Tzaangor's physicality works, never really having a chance to dissect them, I get the sense that this particular one in front of me knows no martial art whatsoever, judging from its crooked center of gravity and the subpar way it grips its blade handle.
Tsk, how disappointing that you waste all of that musculature strength on a disgraceful form.
Very quickly, I swing my left hand, using Black Steel to parry the downward attack and completely disrupt the Tzaangor's stance, forcing it to keel over lower on one side and into the reach of my right hand. Because Tzaangor has been screaming a sort of battle cry or something, its peak remains open wide when it falls to my level. Casually, I jab the business end of my Laspistol in between the Tzaangor's beak, the muzzle of my sidearm pointing at where its birdbrain is. Much to my morbid glee, the once spirited Tzaangor realizes immediately just how badly it fucked up now that I have a finger on the trigger beneath its brain.
Very slowly, it moves its eyes away from where its sword now lies half-buried into the ground and stares into my eyes. From the way its eyes are quivering and opening widely, with cold sweats trickling down its head, I can gather enough of an idea what the Tzaagor is trying to say.
Parlay?
"Haha..." I chuckle dryly before replying. "Yeah, no."
I pull the trigger, and a red beam sears through the Tzaagor's brain and skull, disappearing into the ceiling above. As the blue beastman's body collapses, I comment aloud.
"Seems like whatever protection your Lord gave you didn't cover being shot from the inside. Good to know."
And with that, I rush forward to deal with the remaining Tzaangor. Can't have them all wreaking havoc in the middle of our formation, now, can I? The moment I come across the remaining Tzaangor, I raise my shield to meet their charge. As the enemies brandish their blades ever so closer, with all of their avian eyes directed at me, I readjust my grip on Black Steel's handle. Finding the trigger for the little nifty surprise I built into Black Steel for shit and giggles, I smirk before pulling on it.
From an unbespoke armored slit in the front face of Black Steel, a golden, electrifying light beam, formed out of multiple blessed ultra-high-powered projectors, is cast upon the Tzaangor's visages.