We were the Angels Revenant. Sons of Guilliman. Sword of the Emperor.
We would die on Libethra.
"Hold, brothers," my rallying cry suffocated under the roar of bolter fire, "do not let the standard fall!"
The earth beneath us shifted with alien technology, legions of jade-eyed automatons streaming forth from their derelict tombs.
When they'd first awoken, every piece of Imperium technology on the planet went haywire; servitors malfunctioned into madness, cogitators locked in terminal loops, and communications scrambled. It was only by the Emperor's will that our armor had not betrayed us.
My unit had fallen to 4 strong and stood alone against the encroaching swarm; we held no delusions of survival.
Angel Adept, Kastor, my second-in-command, collapsed, his face a mask of blood and smoke as he sacrificed himself to cover me. I knew what he wanted to say, but could not voice it. He looked at me for a final time, eyes filled with silent pleading as to say, 'Forgive me, brother.'
My own eyes burned with rage and hate, but my mouth spoke words of calm reason. "Ilos, do you still stand!"
He did not reply, though his hands twitched spasmodically where they gripped his twin bolters. His body was bathed in sweat, and his breathing ragged.
"If we fall here, we fall for nothing! Hold fast!"
A verdant bolt of lightning struck down through the middle of our formation, sizzling off the surface of my armor; Ilos had taken the brunt of the blast and was no more.
Now only two of us remained, my own munitions dwindling with the last magazine of my bolt pistol. Strike Sergeant Lordos, one of the finest sons of Guilliman I'd come to know, pressed against my back, "Brother, we are ready to die."
"For the Throne, Lordos; goodbye." I lamented, emptying my sidearm.
Lordos' head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise, as a bolt of green energy collided with his battleplate. A shimmering arc of force had volleyed from the Necrons' artillery line and struck the Veteran Sergeant square in the chest; his cobalt shell exploded in an instant, scattering pieces across the battlefield. Lordos' flesh was torn to shreds, organs ripped apart, and bones splintered.
Final moments drawing near, my eyes caught our plasma-scorched banner. Our chapter heraldry was the flaming skull, which now looked to me exclusively. 'Avenge us,' it whispered.
A white fury consumed me. Bolt pistol expended, the engine of my chainsword screamed to life in a two-handed embrace, "For the Emperor!"
I felt my body move on instinct, limbs flowing like liquid metal as I charged forward. My sword cut through the air, a crimson blur, striking down a Necron warrior where it stood. The alien machine reeled backwards, its head gave way to gnashing teeth of the weapon, and then another lunged for me. I parried with a sweep of my blade, the edge biting deep into the alien's shoulder. I followed through, pressing the attack until my foe's arm fell away, severed at the shoulder.
I spun around, sweeping the chainsword across the Necrons' flank, cutting them down like wheat; 'I'm coming, brothers.'
Then, darkness. A warrior's death came instantly and without warning; that was the nature of it.
Unfortunately, I was not dead.
Consciousness returned in hazy fragments, my genehanced adrenal glands and hyper-accelerated healing returning a fraction of my strength; it was no use. My bare flesh pressed against an obsidian slab, joints restricted by beryl bands of alien energy; my armor and chainsword were no more.
"You live," a voice laced with honey, yet modulating with some mechanical reverb, spoke from the surrounding darkness, "how tolerable."
A crackle of energy and an alien thrum as room sparked to life with streaks of emerald energy that traced its onyx walls, floor and ceiling in sweeping arches and intricate patterns; jade obelisk, etched with alien hieroglyphs, lined the perimeter.
The slab that held me flat shifted upright, My captor hovering laxly before me.
'She' was most certainly a Necron, though her chassis was distinctly feminine in its contours and curves. The Necron's skin was a shell, almost glassy black, and the plates of its headpiece adorned with several large gemstones that glowed with an eerie green light. It wore no armor, only a loose-fitting robe that clung to its form like oil on water.
"I hadn't expected such resistance from rats; an unexpected roadblock," she mocked, her voice sounding as if it had been filtered through a computer.
"Kill me, abomination. You have already robbed me of a warrior's death." My battle-brothers awaited me in the Emperor's presence, the delay laced my words with venom and bitterness.
"Giving directives, are we?" She floated forward, and the light from the gemstones above intensified, "I am Xun'bakyr, Mother of Oblivion, Phaerakh of the Maynarkh Dynasty." Polished orbs flashed with green fire, and a strange sensation of vertigo washed over me, "You will die when I will it, pest."
"I have no wish to be your plaything," I spat back, wrist burning against the crackling bonds.
Xun'bakyr reached out, caressing my scarred cheek with a single digit. "Oh, but you do, little mortal."
Her touch was electric, a faint energy racing through my body. I shuddered, and she smiled.
"I am curious; a rare phenomena. You 'humans' have changed so much since the Great Sleep. Your anatomy is unlike the multitudes of insects we've exterminated in the past," the scrape of a pointed, metal digit drew a thin line of blood across my chest. "It's robust." The sensuality of her innuendo was not lost upon me. Her other hand glided over the silvered curves of her hips, wandering towards a smooth, mound that mimicked the female sex; Xun'bakyr teased its synthetic folds with a pointed fingertip. The aura of her arousal was crushing. "I shall sample you, my newest pet. Certain - aspects - of this form require stimulation." Her metallic groin pressed against my own, manhood slickened with her oily discharge.