The twelve metre Questoris Pattern Chaos Knight towers over everything within the chamber. Thick, shell shaped armour covers its stooped shoulders, its head protruding in front of its chest as if the corrupted machine is weighed down by its millennia of strife. My search fails to turn up any data on what this specific variant is capable of, or what it is called, but I can identify the weapons.

  Bad Penny’s statue is fixed to its chest, like gaudy bling. Whenever it slips from my vision, the statue shifts slightly, as if it is trying to escape, but the runic chains hold it close and secure.

  Nine, three-eyed crows perch upon its shoulders, cackling madly as the ancient machine shifts, standing slightly straighter. Three metal whips, ending in crescent blades, hang from its left arm, twitching as purple lightning crackles along the whips. An Electroscourge, an exceptionally powerful power weapon, my database tells me.

  A tail protrudes from its rear, also ending in a large crescent blade, swings back and forth once before stilling: a unknown variant of a Balemace. From the right arm hangs a Volkite Combustor, its long ribbed barrel, tucked under the machine’s arm like a cavalry lance.

  Its oddest features are the mammoth-like tusks curling from its face and the chains holding down the pilot hatch, trapping the pilot inside. What really has me worried are the inquisitorial purity seals on the hatch that glow with a hint of tarnished gold.

  I’m not sure what the Inquisition sealed in there, or why they thought trapping something inside a Knight was a good idea, but I bet that there is a whole saga behind the tale. The tusked Knight’s organic features give me a distinct impression that we are dealing with a machine that is more alive than most, a bastion of chaotic sorcery, flesh, and iron.

  The unsecured vox connection to the tusked Knight taunts me with possibility, but I really don’t want to jump in there.

  Black clouds, billowing with warpfire, gather beneath the dome, above the head of the tusked Knight. Wild gusts snap through the air, tossing debris at random through the room, knocking over some of the gun dogs and auxiliary forces just as the Chaos Warhounds meet their counter charge.

  The Space Marines are quick to slip behind the melee, grasping the chance their supporting forces have given them to re-arm.

  The last of the injured Chaos Marines are struck down as the Space Marines who charged into the pit work in pairs to hack them apart. In their zeal to strike their most hated foe, the six surviving Space Marines leave themselves open to retaliatory strikes from the War Dog Huntsmen, who pulp them with quick, powerful strikes from their Ripper Chain Talons, the oversized chain swords cutting through hardened ceramite and adamantium with unnatural ease.

  Verlin is the only survivor, the Huntsman hacking at him stumbling slightly as an electrocoil in its knee joint sparks wildly for a short moment with no obvious cause. I wonder, for a moment, if Verlin is one of those storied marines for whom fate twists in their favour, then, as he is knocked back by a Ripper Chain Talon, he is sent on a sufficiently predictable trajectory for all three Daemonbreath Spears to track him. Sickly orange and blue light illuminates the pit, the weapons evaporating most of his body, leaving him with half a torso and his head.

  A squad of Devastator Marines reach the entrance to the chamber and kneel around a gun dog. Its twin mechadendrite tails swiftly replace the secondary plasma flasks, sticking out at an angle from the bottom of their backpack generators from the supplies hanging off its side. It then swaps out the hydrogen pellet reserve for the power armour’s micro-fusion reactor near the top of the generator and I realise that the marines have fired so many shots from their plasma cannons that they have completely depleted their ammo and power armour and were running on batteries.

  The gun dog connects to each of the generators in turn, giving them a boost and restarting the micro-fusion reactors, after which it lies down, completely spent.

  The marines take the last of the flasks from the gun dog, replacing the primary plasma flask just in front of the plasma cannon’s trigger, and add two more flasks to each of their belts. It might seem like a lot of ammo, but they won’t get more than a hundred shots out of all of that, though each blast is quite capable of destroying a Leman Russ tank, or making a three metre crater in a ferrocrete wall.

  Meanwhile, six other Space Marines also grab more heavy weapons, reloading their crusade era Proteus I Pattern Missile Launchers. They’re rather bulky and even the marines struggle a bit to lift them, the three round clip shoved into the top of the launchers making them awkward to shoulder.

  The Chaos Warhounds only last a few seconds against the Marines and their auxiliaries, buying even less time for the Chaos forces than the Space Marines manage against the Chaos Marines and Knights.

  Heavy weapons are turned upon the Knights, the Devastator Marines firing all five Plasma Cannons at a single Huntsman while the Proteus Missile Launchers are fired at the tusked Knight.

  The Huntsman’s Ion Shield deflects thirteen shots into the gathering clouds before failing. Five more shots slam into its hull and mind bending runes flare and ripple across its surface, leaving the machine unharmed. One of the Plasma Cannons flashes with purple runes and overheats, exploding spectacularly from a retaliatory curse, instantly vaporising the Space Marine, his equipment, and everyone else standing within six metres of him. Ironically, the plasma cannon survives unscathed.

  Fortunately for the Space Marines, or perhaps deliberately, the Devastators have spread out and they keep up their fire. Four follow up shots wash against the Huntsman, burning through its Cursed Runes of Fate, and thick armour, hollowing out the machine and immolating whatever corrupted creature inhabited its cockpit.

  As the tusked Knight ponderously turns to face the Space Marines, the nine crows upon its shoulders take flight, shadows trailing around their wings. They fly into the incoming missiles, detonating them, though nine more missiles still slip past the exploding balls of flame and feathers and break upon the tusked Knight’s Ion Shield.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The crows reform upon the Knight’s shoulders as the Space Marines reload their missile launchers once again. With the Chaos Hounds dead, some one hundred and thirty auxiliaries and fifteen Space Marines all fire their bolters at the tusked Knight but it doesn’t seem to do much.

  They spread out and circle the tusked Knight, trying to get around its Ion Shield and it fires its Volkite Combustor at the circling troops, sweeping a burst of violent blue energy over the Space Marines forces, turning a fifth of them to ash.

  Meanwhile, the two remaining Huntsmen leap out of the pit and charge the circling forces, moving their Ripper Chain Talons back and forth in wide arcs. They don’t have the space to get up to speed, so the Humans are able to stay clear of the talons, but they can’t do much about the Daemonbreath Spears, which cycle every three seconds, picking off the Devastator Marines one by one, though not before another Huntsman is destroyed by the potent Plasma Cannons.

  Surrounded by auxiliaries, the last Huntsman is chipped apart by over a thousand rounds in twenty seconds, its Ion Shield only able to defend from a single angle.

  Encircled, and with its supporting forces destroyed, the tusked Knight discharges the storm cloud overhead. Hundreds of bright, purple streaks rain upon the Space Marine forces, dragging the souls of the men from their bodies, like ghosts pulled from their chests, and setting them alight. As they burn, the souls twist and cry, their mighty discipline and engineered bodies defenceless against the tusked Knight’s magic.

  Others struck by the spell quickly mutate, their bodies bloating and splitting into pink tentacled monstrosities that immediately turn upon their ex-companions, bowling them over and repeatedly smashing them.

  Firing its Volkite Combustor, the tusked Knight incinerates another swathe of Humans. For a brief moment, the Space Marines hold the line, ignoring the Chaos Spawn tearing apart their forces, and fire upon the tusked Knight, only to find that it has an improved Ion Shield that protects the war walker from all angles.

  I don’t think the Space Marines can win this and they clearly agree as they scatter about the room, running for the multiple exits. Balor and the War Forged also retreat, closing the main door behind them. The auxiliary forces remain, fighting to the last, destroying most of the Chaos Spawn.

  In total, nine marines escape and I have no doubt the number is a message, a declaration of Tzeentch’s wit and generosity to those fortunate enough to gaze upon the might of his servants and experience the ecstasy of his ever changing plans.

  Having a Knight stuck in the middle of Dying Light isn’t ideal, but it can’t go anywhere as it is too big for the corridors. As I consider how we might obliterate it, the Knight takes control of the ritual running through the ship and I realise we are out of time.

  The boundary between the Materium and Immaterium weakens further and stronger demons push into realspace, pressing my forces further. Through my third eye I detect a Warp storm gathering, one that if we fail to halt will strand us in the system for decades, possibly centuries, likely with an open rift constantly reinforcing the Ruinous Powers if we do not take down the Knight in time.

  I glance at the open vox connection a second time and acknowledge that whoever came up with this scheme, likely the fellow sealed inside the tusked Knight, has utterly out manoeuvred us.

  I send a final telepathic message to Alpia and Bedwyr, informing them of what is going on, what they must do, and encouraging them not to falter. I also briefly reach out to Brigid, who is waiting on Red Knoll for her husband and children to return from what should have been a training mission.

  Last, I pray to the Machine God and the Emperor for their blessings, but there is no response.

  Gathering my courage, I fortify my mind and soul with Aeldari magics and ancient arcano-tech.

  “Once more unto the breach, E-SIM.”

  ++Aye, Aldrich. We face this abomination together. Hold fast, for the noosphere is corrupt and full of terrors.++

  I let out a grim chuckle and connect to the tusked Knight.

  I appear in a library of infinite books. The shelves are carved from sandstone and covered in pictograms, of which the Eye of Horus is the most prominent, appearing on the end of every shelf.

  Tzeentch’s mind bending symbols are everywhere, wiggling across the pale stonework, massing until they outline the form of Chaos Spawn and other demons, all with crescent eyes, claws, and scales. They constantly shift into new forms, each stronger than the last until they show a two headed, humanoid bird, then reset to a weaker form and push through the sequence a second time.

  The more I look at the bird, the more I am convinced it is the exact same avatar, or perhaps demon, that appeared over Marwolv.

  Huge, fluted columns hold up a roof that is too far away to see and crow headed dogs, carved from limestone, sit upright at the end of every row like sentinels.

  “Ah, it’s a mockery of the Library of Alexandria.”

  ++Possibly, but who can say for certain?++

  E-SIM’s grinding voice echoes through the library from behind me, rather than from all around and I jump slightly. I turn around and gape.

  Before me is a bronze knight, of an unknown pattern. Unlike the Imperial designs, its back is not stooped and its head sits firmly upon its shoulders, looking far more humanoid and upright than I am used to. Rather than weapons replacing its hands, this knight has actual hands. In one hand it holds a red and silver poleaxe. Upon its chest is a surcoat showing my heraldry, a silver warhammer inside a bronze cog on a blue, almost black background.

  “E-SIM? I didn’t know you could actually manifest yourself in the noosphere.”

  ++I said I would fight alongside you. What did you think I meant?++

  “Your programs, processing power, and skills.”

  ++You shall have them, but this is a binary realm of sorcery, not just the noosphere. Usually my presence is too large for you to perceive, but here, both allegory and logic reign in equal strength. Thus, I appear before you.++

  I check my constant diagnostics, scanning for corruption, but all my programs are running normally, so while this mixed realm of Warp and noosphere is unknown to me, the programs bequeathed to me by the bizarre science of the Dark Age of Technology have far more to them than I realised.

  ++In the Warp, shape and power is knowledge given form. Is it truly so strange that a place like this can exist?++

  My mind flashes through all I have learned and I smack my fist against my open palm, “This is all inside a data structure, like the inside of your ship.”

  ++That is the most likely possibility. It also means we are in the domain of a powerful demon. This will not be so simple as unleashing the Advanced E-War Systems and waiting for victory.++

  “So long as we don’t meet any orangutans, I have confidence we can win.”

  Warhammer 40k Lexicanum, , and . I've also enjoyed opinion pieces such as: , The via Gamespot, and . While not strictly 40k, they are good for inspiration and IRL explanations.