The cherub of Baal
07 Jan 2018Lion L Jonson X
The interment took five days. Five days spent in a place that is both secret and sacred to the commandos and all those who knew of the work being done. During that time our mechanic doctors didn't sleep. The slaves attended them the whole time -- approaching with what had become to the commandos sacred oils and leaving with dripping pans of blood.The forged machines thundered feedings from the vast reactors that power the entire complex, as well as keeping his life intact, while his body disassembled... rearranged... remade.
On the final day the slaves were banished. The lake of molten metal and magma burned hot as if in anticipation. Cables were withdrawn from blood cyclers -- forges shuttered into silence.
All of his brothers stood assembled among the steel columns. His sarcophagus stood before them completely free of the tubes that surrounded hm.
The weapon-arms had been attached during ceremonies the commandos had all but made into holy events. The body hatches had been sealed, the faceplate drilled closed and the generator linked to the servos and other subsystems. For all that, he was still inert.
No light flickered along his flanks -- no smoke coughed from the twin stacks on his back. The slab of metal was as inanimate as the mountain in which they resided.
“He lives brother?” a voice asks.
“I. do not know, brother. This is the moment the mind link unit is dormant. I knew you wanted to be here when it was activated.”
“DO IT” another voice says. The darkness in the chamber was pierced only by the dull red glow of the magma and metal. “Remember brother. It might kill him, as with the others, and this particular machine is temperamental.”
And with that point made, he pressed the button and the Tomb Walkers systems growled to life. The hiss of pistons gave way to the grind of servos, followed by the throaty utterance of its power plant queuing up.
Everyone watched carefully as all of their hearts beat strongly. Nothing else happened; a blank screen of white metal stared back at them, giving them no clue of the occupant’s condition within. The EKG flatlined -- it's alarm piercing even the constant tectonic noise.
“Is he?”
“Wait.” energy seemed to spark from within, and the magma and molten steel in the shafts began to move and boil. “Wait.”
He became aware of sudden pain hammering into his body. He opens his eyes -- the lids scraping over the whites. Except there were no eyes -- just the agony boiling through the few veins his body still possessed. He clenched his fist and something that was not his fist moved -- as heavy as bars of osmium.-- massive and disconnected.
A veil was lifted: colors, sensations, smells, and sounds all came rushing back at him. Barreling through nerves and spilling across him like supernovae.
“AaaaaaH!!” he screamed and the sound shocked him. It was a machine’s roar amplified, echoing and resounding like he was buried alive within it. He tried to move, to lift an arm to take a stride. ```
``` And the world seemed to wheel around heavy with inertia. He heard shouts in a language he knew. He wonders if he had died for real -- if this was now the afterlife where the ghosts of all dead souls go.
Then the colors resolved themselves in deep blacks and vibrant reds. Hundreds of men stood before him in the massive volcanic chamber. Are these each here to judge me for my crimes, and take me to serve for eternity? But, then they bowed to him -- all of them sinking to their knees. But as larger familiar shapes came into view, the horror began to assert itself.
He remembered the beast. The filthy Xenos, it's gnashing jaws, its acidic saliva, it's rancid stink, and the pain. One of the men stood up again, and he knew him. No longer a mere legionnaire, but wearing the rank of an adjunct, and said “You are returned to us Brother.” ```
``` Then he knew what had taken place. He flexed his muscles and felt pistons twitch, he turned his head and felt the weight of slabbed shoulders shift. His vision was a riot of color interjected with targeting systems for weapons that were now as much a part of him as his heart and lungs, and what was left of his flesh.
The chamber occupants around him burst into joyful exclamations, loud celebrations and chanting -- the chanting of a name and with that news came revelation.
“This... Is... Eternal. I can never leave.” His voice echoed as he felt the raw, unrivaled strength of the Tomb Walker course through him. More of his brothers were arriving now, offering their salutes and crying his titles. But one title stood above the rest.
“Cherubael! Cherubael! Cherubael!...” Baal the red watered planet.
“THIS… IS.. ETERNAL!” So, as they cheered their joy spilled out into the vaults of the dead. Joy filled the newly named Cherubael as he resigned himself to tradition and was filled with pride in the knowledge that his duty was not done. The man who had once been known as Franklin Barron lifted his vision-slit to the air, opened his new artificially amplified throat, threw open his new pneumatic claw and howled.
=================
DRInc’s local pirate, Emile Barron, had told Icarus Sterling not to enter into the cargo hold of the ship while transferring his cargo to the frontline.
But, Sterling paid no heed and entered anyway: “It was his ship damn it!,” and what he saw shocked him. The thing standing in the cargo hold was massive. A walking tank stood before more massive teardrop-shaped objects. The cargo had to be illegal;
“What the heck is that thing?” the voice of Zechariah Starkiller whispers.
Max Parrish began “Whatever it is.. It..won't….” as he and Hawk rounded the corner and saw what was actually there. Hawk just stood there dumbfounded. No one present had ever seen a machine like it. Sure they had seen walkers before, but not like this.
The sound of whirring servos filled the silent hold as the walker turned its torso to face them. While he considered himself a brave man, with the bone colored walker facing him and knowing that he was only armed with a laser pistol, Sterling felt the fear.
But then he saw movement beside the large thing. A small crimson robed figure, with mechanical tendrils and tools worked on the walker. As Sterling focused on the figure, he saw it was a little girl. What the hell was a little girl doing on his ship?
“Mortals...” a booming echoing mechanical voice said, it's deep baritone vibrating his chest.
“What the hell..” Hawk began taking a step back reaching for his weapon.“Stop you idiot!” responds Sterling, placing a firm hand over his compatriots hand.and keeping him from drawing his weapon. At the sound of his voice the small child practically jumped from her skin.
Her hood flew back to reveal snow white hair, pearl white almost translucent skin and pink eyes. She squeaked in fear and scampered behind the leg of the massive machine. “You... DARE…” the machine groweld, taking a thunderous step forward and thereby bathing itself in the light of the bay.
“Stay... behind me. Meryin,” it said.
It's arms clicked and whined, its claw-like hands seemed to glow with energy, and a small pilot flame ignited on its left hand. But then it stopped, it's massive form frozen like a statue, before it released a deep mechanical sigh. On its coffin-like centerpiece the symbol of the Blood Crows shined.
Lowering one of its hands and angling its torso to face us, it said:.“Ah… I am aware of your symbol… But you are not Blood Crows… Who are You...Mortals? Speak now or die… ” The massive claw-like appendage gently scooted the small child behind its bulk, aiming to use itself as a shield from any hostility. ```
Taking a small step forward, Sterling spoke in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I am Icarus Sterling, leader of Daily Routine Incorporated. This is Zechariah Starkiller, another of our leaders, as well as Max Parrish and Hawk, two of our commanders. I apologize for Hawk’s aggression .”
It seemed to process this information for a moment before taking a step back and returning to its original position. “Hmm… that is… acceptable. What is your…” it began before Hawk interrupted:
“What are you anyway -- some kind of mech?”
“You will speak when spoken to… child,” it boomed -- agitation clear in its voice. Sterling processed its response thinking, some kind of A.I? It’s possible, but I’ve never heard of a combat A.I with this kind of chassis.
“Whatever, like I have to do what you say,” .challenged Hawk. “ I don't take orders from some dumbass Blood Crow’s robot. And I'm not a child -- I'm in my twenties.” That seemed to get a response from Meryin.
“Hey don't talk about the Blood Crows like that you, assbutt!,” she said.
The little girl reemerged from behind the machine. Tentacle-like bionics sprouted from her back -- one ending in a rather sinister looking circular saw. “Language, little Cog. This… thing is not worth your ire,” said the machine in what appeared to be a chuckle with its bass tone reverberating.
“What's Ire?” the kid asked looking up at the thing.
“Anger.” Starkiller answers. His voice was calm, despite his obvious discomfort. Being one typically in charge of situations, this encounter was proving to be difficult, but he answered the kid kindly nevertheless.
“I... AM... NO MERE ROBOT… MORTAL.” It loomed over the group -- as movement off to the side drew their partial attention. Two skull shaped drones with tentacle-like manipulators floated over from one of the large teardrop shaped pods.
With a sharp voice full of anger, the machine screamed: “I...Am.. Cherubael! I... have served the federation for... over four hundred years! You... will show me... the RESPECT... I... am... due… CHILD.” The threat in its voice so blunt no one could miss it.
“Sorry…” mumurred Hawk.
“Wait, if you are Over four hundred then...” Starkiller began.
“My… Coffin… my sarcophagus, it keeps me alive... so I may never truly die. It is a privilege… so few of my Brothers... earn.” Cherubael explains, his large claw moving forward and plucking the curious child from her spot. Stopping her from staring at Zachariah.
“Wait, so you’re what, human? How is that a privilege?” asked Max Parrish.
“To be chosen... to serve in a holy Tomb Walker... is the greatest of honors. To continue living… to kill the alien… a greater pleasure.” Cherubael says -- pride evident in its voice. He even seemed to stand up straighter, if that was possible.
“A blessing,” he continued…”that allows we... who are beyond healing... to continue to fight… As well as teach our… Brothers.” Sterling thought It made sense -- it truly did considering Cherubael’s centuries of knowledge, combat experience, and expertise. Not to mention allowing veterans to continue to fight and live despite wounds that would kill them.
“Where are your parents kid?” Zacheriah asked Meryin kindly. The child in question was currently playing with one of the red eyed floating skulls, which also seemed to make a kind of sick sense. Service in death and all.
“Daddy’s over there.” She said pointing to a set of four cryopods. That would explain why Emile didn't want anyone to enter the bay. He didn't want the pods disturbed, and he left the appropriately named Tomb Walker to stand guard.
“Wait, is Emile your Dad?” Hawk asks, his voice now farther away than before. Looking over toward Hawk, Sterling saw the idiot had wiped some of the ice from the pods’ surface, revealing Emile’s face in all four pods.
“Hold the phone, Emile’s a clone?” Max asks
“Duh Genius,” didn't you ever wonder why daddy was able to be in more than one place at once?” the girl says while climbing on the armored form of the walker, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “To Disturb... the Sleep of My brothers is... Blasphemy. If you continue… It will Not go… unpunished.” threatened Cherubael.
“I'm sorry about him Cherubael.” Sterling quickly says, not wanting the walker to blow a hole in his ship. Then he remembered Cherubael’s list included “ to kill the alien? “That’s why you are going to the front to fight the goids.” he exclaimed!
“Probably the bigger ones, “ Starkiller added, “it would make sense.”
Cherubael responded, “Ah, yes… I am their Deaths… I am War... you are much more intelligent... than the other two. It would make sense... that you are the leaders.”
“Now… Be gone..I. must rest, but know this Mortals... Those beasts... are no more terrible than I.”
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What is your life?
My honour is my life.
What is your fate?
My duty is my fate.
What is your fear?
My fear is to fail.
What is your reward?
My salvation is my reward.
What is your craft?
My craft is death.
What is your pledge?
My pledge is eternal service.
What is your Duty?
My duty is War.
I land with a crash. Outside I can hear the noise of combat, the screams and shouts of pain and rage. The thudding footfalls of my fellow ancients fills me with vigor and blood lust. An icon flashing the DRInc logo flashes in the sky as four Commanders make attack runs.
The walls of my dropped crash down as the pod launches smoke In every direction. Instantly the stink of the Xenos meets me, and it fills me with rage as it mixes with the scent of human death. I take my first steps onto the world and as I see the color of the soil, memories of days passed rush through my mind.
I know this world. This is where I made my name when I was still trapped in the weakness of the flesh. This world is mine, I am the Cherub of Baal!
“I… AM... CHERUBAEL!” I shout over the din of combat. Nearby soldiers of an allied chapter known as the Prismatic Knights view me storming from my drop pod.
Using my momentum, I crash through some kind of structure and snatch a Thargoid soldier from its position. It squeals, and howls in pain as the extended drill bits in my palm chew it to pieces. “I… HAVE COME... TO DESTROY YOU!”
Blood and other filthy Xenos detritus flies in every direction as I snap my claw closed, crushing the alien. With a dark chuckle of ecstasy I throw the corpse to the side as I continue the blood letting.
The thudding steps of another tomb walker brings pause to my slaughter. The Nightmare of Rack, Nezrec: this walker is older than me and that gives me pause. But only for a fraction of a second -- there is killing to be done.
“Greetings… Brother Nomad.” my older brother says while turning so we may fight back to back. He turns his hydra pattern tomb walker to sweep the area with its right arm-mounted twin linked beam lasers.
Thargoids boiled in their positions -- their inferior sulfer based biology bursting under the heat. Thus forcing them to see the superiority of humanity. A larger breed of Thargoid attempts to attack our position as my brother’s weapon cools. But it is torn to shreds by his left arm mount a twin linked Frag Cannon. “Salutations... Brother Charubael... Be on your best.... this day... The Ancient… walks with us,” he says turning to leave.
A squad of Thargoids are bathed in napalm as I sweep my incinerator over them in one smooth motion.and say to myself, “Brother Barben… has been awakened?... By the template... to what... do we owe this honor?”
Yes indeed the Atlas pattern tomb walker walks among us. The symbol marking his ancient form hovers over the icons of the soldiers of the Celestial Light Brigade. Standing almost twice the height of we lesser tomb walkers, his ancient silver ornamented body moves with slow but deadly precision. In the place of one of his arms a large rotary cannon spits death upon his foes.
His other arm clutches a large banner. Embossed on that banner is the image of earth -- the birthplace of humanity and most hollowed of all ground. This banner has flown since the first days humanity has set out amongst the stars, and has never touched the ground. Truly it is our most holy relic.```
“Rejoice… Brothers… mortals! ...For to partake in our crusade... Is to be... immortal.” he broadcasts -- his booming voice echoing throughout the battlefield.
As I crush another Thargoid under my foot ped, I swell with pride as my mortal brothers charge a Thargoid encampment. Their flechettes burst and chew through flesh and their bolt rifle shells explode showering the area in gore. An alien attempts to flee my grasp and is torn asunder. “I... broke no quarter… Xeno.”
‘Enemy… Leader sighted’
Then an almighty explosion nearly blasts me from my feet. To my left the body of one of my immortal brothers falls to a knee. His right arm has been completely melted, and portions of his coffin are exposed.
“I… Can… still… Serve…” he says his voice reverberating and weak. But he is cut short as a massive Thargoid splatters his sarcophagus in acid. I know this Thargoid by its acidic stink, and gnashing fangs. My brothers form explodes as the alienI that had almost killed me hundreds of years ago stalks forth. As my brothers begin to focus in on the monster, it focuses on another Tomb walker.
It fires its weapon at my brother, spattering him with sickly green lasers. Forcing him to stagger back under the barrage, his shields flare and fail in a matter of seconds. “Da-mage... Criti-cal… all.. wea-pons… out… Life... support...dam-aged...lo-osing… life… su-pport,” he broadcasts.
He falls backwards as I finally manage to reach his position. With a howl of rage I spray down the alien as I barrell into it like a freight train. The force of the impact sends its weapon spiraling from its hand. But the tube connecting it to its body holds strong.
“I... have... returned! ...And No vengeance.can compare to.the vengeance of. the dead.” the massive beast roars blaring into my audio receptors. Screaming in pain I clamp one of my hands over its acid dripping face and clutch its weapons tube with my other. Sensing my intent, it flings me to the side but not before my drill bits manage to sever the weapon from its body.
The massive Thargoid moves to my prone form as I struggle to right myself, attempting to pin me to the spot. But a swift backhand with my claw sends it sprawling just before the form of The Ancient fills my vision. Looking at my arm I notice that the incinerator in my right arm has been melted -- no doubt covering me in burning napalm.
Flames lick at the Thargoid’s flesh as it then charges brother Barben.
“DIE… SCUM!” Brother Barben shouts spraying the alien down with a burst from his flechette gatling. This is soon joined by flames from my remaining incinerator. As well as the weapons of almost every Tomb Walker and mortal in the area. Reducing the abomination to nought but a quivering mass of smoldering meat.
With their leader dead the remaining Thargoids began retreating. The fight to form a beach head on the world of Baal became a rout. Fleeing aliens died by the hundreds as the grief of losing two of our centuries old brothers, gave way to boiling hot rage.
And as the last alien in the area died, its body burned by our cleansing flames, we gather to see our brother safely from this life and to the next.
“Have... we won... the day... brother Cherubeal?” Grasping his pneumatic claw with my own. I lie his walker down on its back, so his sarcophagus vision slit is facing the dawn.
“We have... indeed… Brother Terban… rest now. And join the progenitor’s retinue.”
“Then… my... ser-vice… is… honor-ab-ly… Dis-char-ged.” his pneumatic went limp after that. As his life support finally failed, the lights dimmed until they were blank. And and small streams of smoke emanating from the stacks on his back ceased altogether as his reactor shut down for the final time.