The once clear blue sky had turned blood red, the articulate cities and sprawling plains and forests reduced to piles of rubble and craters from sustained orbital bombardment. In orbit, massive fleets engaged one another, showing no mercy to anything caught in the path of their heavy guns. Every day two massive armies engaged one another, on one side the Symaarian Imperial Guard fighting valiantly to defend one of their many besieged colony worlds, on the other side, the Keresh Imperial Army, a ruthless fighting force bent on galactic domination, the two races have been at war for decades. This world in particular is known as Yortha Minor, once a paradise, years of fighting between the two forces have decimated the landscape. Nuclear fire scorches the soil, poison gas brings a painful death to anything left unprotected, anything left alive after that was fair game for the millions of soldiers stalking the world, hunting their foes in hopes of adding another notch to their belt...
From out of the darkness it came, the second the sentry lit a cigarette, destroying his night vision they had struck, the lead man plunging a knife into his kidney and throat in quick succession. The Guardsman didn't even have time to react or alert his comrades at the nearby camp before his life was cut short by a Keresh blade. One by one the Commandos of the elite 276th Infiltration Regiment, 3rd Company, The Outlaws as they were known, surrounded the camp, sighting in those soldiers still visible, waiting for the signal to move in. Then there was a faint click across their inter-squad comm link, the opened fire, single, precise shots, eliminating those Symaarians still awake, they were the lucky ones. Ten tents had been erected around the camp, situated in a crater left by orbital bombardment from years before, with no particular pattern to avoid having the whole unit killed off with a single burst of machine gun fire. The armor clad warriors made their way to the tents, setting them and the men asleep inside ablaze with wrist mounted flamethrowers, the quiet and calm of night broken by screams of pain and the popping and sizzling of the piles of burning debris where tents had once stood.
As quickly as they appeared the Commandos vanished into the darkness, leaving only death and destruction in their wake. Within a few minutes they reached their extraction point where three drop ships waited silently to take them back to friendly lines. They split up, a third of the squad going into each ship, to avoid having the whole unit killed off by some lucky Symaarian anti-aircraft gunner. The craft lifted off and headed out across the wasteland towards friendly territory.
An hour into their flight a Symaarian AA emplacement picked up the ships on his sensors, the guardsmen hurried into action, when the transports came into range the guns opened up, immediately the pilots took evasive action dodging the incoming rounds. They were almost out of range of the Symaarian guns when a high explosive round scored a direct hit on the last drop ships port side engine.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" The crew chief yelled to the men in the back as he strapped himself in, the transport spiraling out of control towards the ground. Moments later it hit the ground, bouncing several times then sliding several hundred yards before stopping.
Rage of a Shadow Warrior
He faded in an out of consciousness for several minutes, he heard voices, and the distinct shouting of Symaarian Commissars "Frak..." he whispered, trying his best to appear dead. From behind his visor he saw one of the pilots being dragged out by two guardsmen, moments later, lasgun fire was heard and an agonizing scream of pain.
A lone guardsman remained in the shuttle, his back to the Keresh Soldier, going through the pockets of the man across from him. Silently he undid the harness holding him to his seat, lunging forward, a razor sharp blade extending from his wrist and piercing the poor excuse for armor Symaarian Guardsmen wore. He placed a hand over the soldiers mouth to muffle any noise, he twisted the blade, causing the man to go limp. He silently laid the dead man on the deck of the ship and looked around, their was blood everywhere. He was the only survivor by the looks of it, several men's harnesses had broken and they'd been thrown out the troop bay door in the back. He shook his head. "What a waste" He moved to the opening in the rear, peering around the corner to see the small group of Symaarian Guardsman listening to one of those obnoxiously loud commissars. "Prick" raising his rifle and sighting him in through the scope, waiting till he was at the height of his speech.
The round flew true, hitting the large man in the forehead, blowing brains and blood out the back of his head. The Guardsmen immediately turned to assess the threat, seeing the still breathing Keresh commando they opened fire. The lone attacker ducked behind the ship, the reinforced hull plating taking the lasgun fire. Attempted the activate his jetpack only to discover it was missing. "Could this day get any better?" climbing on top of the ship, which rested at an angle, he pulled a long bladed knife and heavy pistol from their respective holster and sheath. Leaping over the top he fired two wrist rockets from his gauntlets and opened fire with the pistol, using the dual explosions to close the distance. Slashing and stabbing he went, eliminating more than a dozen of the guardsmen, several ad bunched together in a group so he leveled his flamethrower and lit them ablaze. Turning to the remaining men.
Four more Guardsmen went down. The lone survivor threw his Lasgun to the ground and ran. Ravek sighted him in and fired, catching him in the leg, he fell face first into the mud. Attempting to crawl away.
The lone Commando walked over, kicking in the side with an armored boot. Knocking him over onto his back, his eyes were wide with fear that suddenly vanished, replaced by pure hatred.
"You'll never win! We have numbers on our side. Lord Roxom will stop you all!
The armored soldier knelt down next to him,
"You Symaarians just don't get it do you? You saw what just happened, One Keresh Commando whipped out forty of you guardsmen in a matter of minutes."
The Guardsman laughed, coughing up a little blood, "There are hundreds of trillions of us, you don't have that much ammo"
"You'd be surprised..."
"Oh? no more smart remarks? Good"
He stood and looked at the bodies, at the wreckage of the dropship, and the broken bodies visible within. He went back inside, taking as much ammo as possible, an extra knife and a few extra grenades. Stepping into the cockpit he takes a seat in the empty pilots chair,after a moments he figures out the comms system and relays a message.
"This is Sergeant Ravek Val'Chan, 276th Infiltration Regiment, 3rd Company. My ship has been shot down behind Symaarian lines, I'm the only survivor, will attempt to make my way back to friendly territory"
Turning and walking out of the ship, looking out over the landscape. "Here goes nothing" chambering a round into his weapon and heading out...