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Echoes of War

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Summary: Buffy/W40k. Ethan Rayne had once been a geek. A sci-fi geek. A sci-fi geek that likes Warhammer 40.000.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Games > Fantasy > Warhammer 40,000WassersaeuferFR1828,7292266,34514 Apr 1122 Apr 11No

A night to remember

Still on a roll. Thank you for your reviews, that's the most I got for any story ever, so that made my day. I think you noticed that English is not my first language and yes I have a beta-reader, but, well, I make a lot of mistakes.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything of this stuff, except for the idea and the bad taste of course.

Echoes of war

Chapter 1: A night to remember

„AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!“ The scream was terrifying, it shook the most inner core of Spike and if he still had a soul, he would have felt pity and terror and fear. But he did not and so he was more or less just annoyed and a bit concerned about his love.

“Pet, what's wrong?”, he asked and stepped into the chamber in which his sire and lover had taken refugee. The only answer he got was another, shrill and fearful scream, high pitched and full of terror.


He tried to grab her but Drusilla jumped away from his touch and kicked at him frantically, fear and pure panic in her eyes. While she was still to weak to harm him in any way or to just fight him properly, he had no wish to harm her and so he was hesitant to act. She flew from him away into a corner where she wept and screamed and acted like a terrified child, including tears and frantic babbling.

Unable to make heads and tail out of her behavior he just stood there and watched. Normally she was borderline psychotic at best and totally bonkers at worst, but never like this. Even after she had lost her strength and the few last bits of common sense, she had never acted like this before, she had never been afraid of anything. Normally she was happy to embrace pain and terror, but now? He had no idea what he could do.

“Spike...”, she whispered and at first he wasn't sure if she spoken to him or just whispered some random word, but as she turned her head and looked at him directly, he understood that she was calling for him.

“I'm here luv... I'm here”, answered the peroxide blonde vampire and kneeled down in front of her. Immediately he was embraced and she held at him as if he was her solid rock in a flood of insanity and pure terror, whispering hushed words and bits of sentences.

He had no choice but to sit there and just hold her tight, while she babbled of hate, madness, blood, violence and about demons and promises of power and insanity. Whatever she had seen, it had shaken her to the core of her mad, vile essence. Spike was not sure if he wanted to know what it was.

He did not notice the small glow if her new pendant in form of an eight pointed star he had picked up by accident and given to her.

Inquisitor Buffy Summers looked at her assembled forces, if you could call them that. It wasn't much of a real force, but it was better than facing this strange situation alone. To make matters worse was the single Commissar eyed suspiciously by the two imperial soldiers, who tried to stay as far away as possible from him. Battle Sister Joyce shot Engineseer Rosenberg looks of pure hate and disdain but was ignored as if she was air, what only enraged her more.

Inquisitor Summers could see how the fingers of everyone twitched on their weapons and how nobody was about to let their weapons sink, they acted around each other as if they thought that they would betray and attack any second. Only the paladin stood in the middle of them and radiated an aura of calmness and smug superiority. Not hard when you're nearly 8 feet tall, walking around in a nearly impenetrable armor and wear a helmet that is hiding your facial features.

For a second Buffy hesitated, before she began speaking. “I'm Inquisitor Buffy Summers of the Ordo Hereticus. I hereby take command of any imperial forces in the area.”

No one spoke after that, just listening to her and watching each other, still not trusting each other fares as they could throw them. In case of the Space Marina was that a very impressive amount.

“Our first order of business is to find out where we are and then to cleanse this area of any daemonic forces. Move out!”

Larry the pirate was having the time of his, brutal and short, life. He had no idea where he was and how he got there, but there was no one hindering in his pillaging and looting, he could do what he want and how he want it. It wasn't as if he had any other interest, his whole life was all about said things and of course wenches and grog.

Yes, Larry the pirate was a walking stereotype, nothing more. It wasn't his fault of course, it was just the fact, that he lacked any sort of real personality and background, he didn't even have a real name, he was just “Larry the pirate”. He could also have been “Larry the Ninja” or “Larry the clown”, it would have made no real difference.

He grinned an evil grin as he saw a feisty wench in revealing, tight cloth coming his way and immediately he knew that his day had just become even better. With a way too loud “ARRR” he leapt into action and grabbed this fine specimen of woman. He would have a lot of fun with this one, he just knew it, the way she was screaming at him and kicking and hitting in fruitless attempts to break free.

“Hahahaha!”, he laughed heartily and kept on grinning while he began to explore her body, feeling her voluptuous curves and kissing her sensual neck. He forced her against the wall of the alley they were in and pressed his body against hers. Just as he was about to let down his pants he felt a heavy, a very heavy, hand on his shoulder.

With a brutal, sudden movement he was turned around and faced something right out of a nightmare. It was a mountain of a man, eight feet tall and four feet wide, clad in black, impressive armor and armed with something that seemed to be a cannon with handholds. Larry could not be sure of it, but he got the impression that this massive guy looked down on him with malice and a hint of amusement.

Then he was snipped away. Larry, not the behemoth.

The massive fist of the black clad man moved and with a simple snip of his finger, hit Larry square in the face, knocking him out.

For a moment, Paladin Xander of the Black Templars Space Marine Chapter only stared at his hand, before he mumbled: “I don't know why, but this felt oddly satisfying.”

In the next moment the two Cadian Kasrkin, the two veteran soldiers of the imperial guard, speed past him and began to kick the unconscious pirate. “Yeah, and this too!”, yelled the smaller one while kicking the chest of the lying man with glee.

“Knock it off Soldiers!”, yelled Commissar Giles from the end of the alley where he stood together with the others of their small group. “He had enough.”

While the two Cadians left the man behind, both with a last final kick, turned Xander around to face the quit woman who just barely escaped a terrible experience. She hugged herself and wanted to say something, but at first no sound left her open mouth. It was a strange dress she was wearing, a very revealing cat suit, including ears and tail.

“Are you okay miss?”, he asked and his voice rumbled like two stones grinding on each other, sounding even more sinister thanks to his helmet which made it sound a bit metallic and buzz.

Numbly she nodded and for a second she just stared, before she turned to him fully. “Yes, thank you, but I had it under control.” She did not really sound as if she meant it, but he couldn't care less. At least he knew that he shouldn't care, but somehow this tone fueled his anger, but he held it under control. For the moment.

“What is going on here?”

He did not answer, just turned around. “I wish farewell, we have to move on, I'm sorry.”

“Hey, don't turn away while I'm talking to you!”

He ignored her and walked back to his comrades for the time, his heavy feet creating miniature tremors with every step. As soon as he was back in his position the whole group began moving again, the two Kasrkin several yards ahead and scouting the immediate area, the others following them.

“Hey!” The young woman they had just saved ran after them, yelling at them. “Hey, I'm talking to you- BUFFY?!”

The Inquisitor whirled around, her sidearm aimed at the head of the strange woman. “How do you know my name, citizen?!”, she asked through clenched teeth and her eyes became slits, filled with an enraged blue glow.

“Pff, as if I'm intimidated by any of your weirdness any more”, said Cordelia deprecative. “I knew that you're a freak but this takes the cake.”

A millisecond after this words had left her mouth she was backhanded by a powerful fist wrapped in armored gauntlets, sending her stumbling back and spitting blood from her mouth as she bit on her tongue. Then the tip of a bolter, a massive gun bigger than her head and loaded with ammunition as big as her fists, was pressed under her chin while she was forced against the armored bulk of paladin Xander.

“You will speak to the honored Inquisitor with respect or I WILL blow your brain out of your skull, do you understand, citizen?”

Normally, Cordelia would have never thought that she could be intimidated by a middle aged woman who owes an art gallery. That changed as she took a look at the figure before her in all her armored, furious glory. She gulped and just nodded meekly.

The whole area was strange and littered with technology, but at the same time lacking any symbols of imperial face. Some backwater planet who had lost contact to the Imperium thousands of years ago perhaps? She wasn't sure and to be frank, she didn't even really care about such details. She was no scholar or preacher and it was not her place to care about such things. No, she was an Assassin and she had a job to do, that was way more important than any theories about the environment or the status of the faith to the Emperor. No, she just cared about her assignment, her target and the fact that she got no radio contact, except for the channel which was used by the inquisitor and her new followers. Why was she here?

Grunting Assassin Harmony landed in a crouch on the roof of another building and took a moment to look around, before she began running again. She had no idea why, but she felt like she had to move to find out what was going on and what her assignment was. There must be an assignment, mustn't it? She had no idea why she should be on this world otherwise. But what was that assignment?

She had forgotten. Perhaps had her target found out about her and captured her, erasing her memory before releasing her again. She knew that she could not have fought her way out of captivity, she still had all her equipment and, her ammunition and was unharmed, not even a single bruise on her body. There was just no way that she could have fought a single battle, even more so considering how she must have fought to flee from imprisonment.

So how could she have lost her memory? It was a riddle for her.

Suddenly she stopped, not even knowing why. She was standing on the roof of a two story building in the middle of the settlement she woke up in, the street lightened by primitive street lamps, some equally primitive combustion powered vehicles on the side of said street. Somehow she got the impression, that this was the right place, the location where she was supposed to be, like it was ordered to her.

It was a strange feeling, but it was the only clue she had. And even if it was a crazy one, it still was the only one she had. So she laid down on the edge of the roof, pressed with her whole body against the surface, and observed the area.

The signs and labelings were written in a strange way, somehow akin to high gothic and yet different. Perhaps a bastardized version? Some shops littered the area and besides a single group of miniature demons was the whole street abandoned. It seems that the whole disorder and anarchy which ruled the living area of the small settlement had not yet reached this area.

She had no idea what to do, she did not know if she could kill someone or just spy, so she decided to wait and decide later after she knew more. She had time.

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!” With a strength born out of insanity and utter madness Drusilla jumped over the table and clawed for the terrified flunky. Just barely was Spike able to hold her back, grabbing her by the ankle and stopping her.

She screamed and whined and kicked at him with a strength she wasn't supposed to have, hitting him in the head and drawing some blood.

“ARGH!!” Enraged he shifted into his game face, while his sire just sat there and stared at him, before she began to giggle madly and grinned like a small child.

“Hihihihi... Spikey-Dikey... hihihihi...”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP?!” In any normal situation, at least the most normal you can get when talking about an insane vampire and her blood-thirty mate, he would have never yelled at her like this. But this wasn't a normal situation, not at all. Even less than the time when she had kidnapped a child and tried to... well, that's another story.

No, this time it was madder, insaner and crazier than ever before. Or, to be frank, she was madder, insaner and crazier. For the whole night she had been screaming, weeping and babbling nonsense, before she began to spaz and act on any impulse. She kissed him and bit him and began to undress him, then kicked at him and screamed bloody murder, cooed over her puppets and sang sweet songs about pestilence and beautiful sickness, before she was reduced to nothing more than a giggling maniac.

It was like her insanity had kicked into overdrive and was taking her for rollercoaster-drive.

To say it bluntly, he was unnerved to no end. With an enraged snarl he leaped at her and pinned her to the table she was sitting on, his weight resting on her. “IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP RIGHT NOW I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKIN HEART OUT!!!”

Of course he wouldn't really do it, but at that moment he did not think about such things. He was just pissed off.

Thats when she kissed him hungrily and giggled against his mouth. “Spikey... make sweet, bloody love to me...”

Cordelia Chase was normally the sort of person that never loses her cool, always in control and had the sort of cool, collected and calm sort of pride and arrogance that said that she felt she owned the place. An aura of superiority some would call it, but not much people in her direct environment would use such kind of words. But as said, she was normally that sort of person. And this wasn't a normal situation.

“Get moving citizen!”, barked the guy who looked like Mister Giles but was way more unpleasant. At first she had thought that at least he would help her and recognize her, but the usually nice, stuffy and somewhat insecure librarian was a lot of things that night, but neither nice nor stuffy and clearly not insecure.

No, in his SS-getup he looked menacing and like he was just about to shoot her outright if she made even a single mistake, his sidearm always leveled at her head. A sidearm he had used to shoot some sort of monster with.

Hastily she jumped to her feet and from behind the car she used to hide and began to jog at the same speed the others used.

“We need a place to entrench ourselves”, said not-Buffy and looked at her, giving her the impression as if she thought of her as some sort of icky vermin. Just like Cordelia would look at geeks normally. “Were is a good place for that?”

For a moment she stuttered, before she answered: “Th-That house over there.”

She pointed to the single white, two story house, number 1630 Revello drive, across the street. Immediately the two armored guys with the masks and laser guns ran up to it, checking it for any traps and residents, while the rest of the group formed a protective circle around Cordelia, looking into every direction, moving in a way that indicated hard and long military training and experience. It was somewhat intimidating.

For a few moments it was silent, only filled with the distant sound of sirens, screaming and complete chaos, before the smaller of the two masked guys showed up again and nodded into their direction. The group acted as one and jogged over the street to the small building, up to the door and without even hesitating for a second the door was kicked open by the tower of a man.

The soldier said with a hint of amusement: “I just wanted to say that the back-door is open.”

For a second the giant of a man in the black armor looked at him and said nothing, then he just mumbled something incomprehensible and stepped into the house, the others following them, the not-Willow snickering slightly.

“Sit down.” Cordelia was shoved into the living room by not-Giles and onto the couch, manhandled like she was some sort of prisoner, the sidearm still leveled at her head and his twitchy finger on the pull-off.

“Engineseer Willow, Sword Brethren Xander, check the upper floor for open windows and possible residents. Sister Joyce, Kasrkins, set up a defensive perimeter around the house”, ordered the girl who looked like Buffy but wasn't really Buffy. No, the real Buffy may be a pain in the ass and totally weird, but not like this. This version was downright cruel. Whatever was going on, it had majorly messed with everyones heads.

Cordelia gulped nervous as not-Buffy stood in front of her and slowly took of her gauntlets. Very slowly. “Now to you, citizen”, she drawled and used the word citizen as if it was poison, spitting it out. “How do you know my name?”

Kasrkin Lieutenant Jonathan Levinson was a veteran of war, despite his young age. He did not get his rank for nothing, he had fought for as long as he could think, from the moment he could walk. The fortress world of Cadia was his home, the only one he ever knew and would ever know. He would have never thought that he would ever see another planet, even one as backwater as this one. But despite the fact that he was confused, lost and totally out of his depths, he enjoyed himself.

No Chaos-Fanatics to shoot, no air raid to hide from, no drills and hell, even the air smelled fresh here. A bit salty and of sun and grass and living trees. It was a nice chance to his home. Even if this world was crazy and dangerous, this was a better way to die than being hacked into pieces by some screaming maniacs.

“You should stop doing that”, mumbled his comrade to him over the vox units installed inside their helmets.

He nearly jumped, surprised by the sudden voice and just stopped himself before he whirled around. “I should stop doing what exactly?”, he hissed back, a bit angry.

Although he could not see it thanks to the breathing mask, he just knew that Andrew was grinning at him, like he always did. That damn wise-ass. He knew Andrew Wells for now nearly six years, from the moment they were part of the same infantry squadron. They were the only ones of the squadron who survived the battle of the southern Denicarr-Bridge, where their whole regiment was overrun by forces of the chaos. Six years later and they still served together, only in another troop unit.

”Looking at her ass.”

“I haven't looked at her ass. Although it is a rather nice one”, Jonathan hissed and shoved a dresser in front of a window to barricade it. “I would never look at the ass of an inquisitor. I'm crazy, not suicidal.”

”I'm not talking about the inquisitor, Jono.” The shit-eating grin could nearly be heard through the radio. Andrew pointed slightly into the direction of the kitchen, where Battle Sister Joyce was looking through the lower shelves for... they had no idea what she was looking for, but they did not really care. It was a nice view. Even through the armor.

“Oh, shut up. I'm just looking”, he mumbled while at the same time he turned over the desk together with Andrew. They shoved it in front of the front door, barricading it effectively.

”She is a battle sister of the emperor, a fanatic.”

“Oh, come on. Have you never asked yourself what under that armor is?”

”Nope. And you shouldn't also, she has sworn her life to the Emperor.”

“I don't mind sharing. And I would give her back.”

”But I think he would mind.”


”Idiot. I still don't understand how you became lieutenant.”

The two chuckled slightly about their usual banter and returned to their work. That was when the back-door was nearly ripped open and the intruder was immediately attacked by a fully armed, armored battle sister that screamed bloody murder.

Angel had lived through some very good Halloweens. This one was not one of them. No, this one was clearly the worst of them all, even worse than the one back in Chicago when this pack of Fryarl demons had played poker with him and later used him as... Well, back to topic.

Small monsters running around and making a big ruckus, attacking people at random and destroying property were they could, having fun and just all around acting like a pack of dire chinchillas on drugs. Real demons and vampire lurking the streets, using the chaos to have their own fun, draining people and torturing whomever they get their hands on. And worst of all, he couldn't find Buffy anywhere.

On the way to her house he found several corpses of demons, otherworldly beings an things he had no words for, all shred to pieces or littered with holes like some sort of very terrifying beast had been unleashed upon Sunnydale. Or a whole group of them, considering how far apart he found the bodies.

He even saw Drusilla how she ran through the streets of Sunnydale as naked as God, or Angelus to be precise, had created her, an angry Spike hot on her heels, her dress in his hands and trying to catch her.

Finally he had found his way to the Summer household and stepped into the kitchen through the back-door, finding himself face to face with Miss Summers. “Miss Summers, I'm happy to see you unharmed...”


In the next moment he was attacked, beaten to the ground by way to strong hits and kicks and pressed face first to the kitchen floor, a massive gun pressed onto the back of his head. Although she was not nearly as strong as he was, he was too surprised to defend himself properly and even if he weren't, there was no way that he would fight against Miss Summers.

Nope, definitely not his best Halloween.

Inquisitor Buffy Summers was someone who took her orders seriously. She had never messed up an assignment and had always gotten results. Although she wasn't as much of a hardliner like most of her colleagues and comrades, she was still considered rather fanatic and stern by almost anyone not part of the Ordo Hereticus. Still, she would not happily burn a thousand innocents just to make sure that one witcher and daemon-worshiper also dies. She would do it, sure, but she would send prayer upon prayer for every lost soul to the Emperor and shed streams of tears for every fire she ignites.

The story of the girl in front of her was a strange one, a clearly unbelievable one, most likely a trick by daemonic forces. But some things did not add up. It was clear that it was a deception, there was just no other way, but she could not feel any lies from the terrified girl, nor could she feel any daemonic auras anywhere in the area.

The things outside had to be Xenos, it wasn't possible for them to be Daemons, they lacked the aura of the warp. Speaking of the warp, it was calmer than she had ever felt it before. Normally it was like an ocean in the middle of a terrible storm, waves filled with chaotic feelings rushing over her and ravaging energies rampaging above it. Now it was more like a clear, peaceful sea, a gentle breeze hushing above it.

And she could not feel the presence of the Emperor. Not even in the utmost backwater system on the brink of the Ultima Segmentum was the power of the Astronomicon this weak. It was like it didn't even exist here. Thus the story of the girl was making sense, or at least it explained all of the above.

Still, it was far-stretched.

But could it be? Could her consciousness been ripped out of her original body and put into this one, along with the souls of other brave warriors and fighters of the holy Emperor of Mankind? And if yes, why? Why her, and not some Lord-Inquisitor? It was all so very confusing.

She was only sure of one thing: There was foul chaos involved in this and whoever was at fault, they would pay dearly for this. The holy wrath of the Emperor was at her disposal and even if it was just delivered by a handful of random warriors, it was still terrible and, most of all, painful.

“Honored Inquisitor.”

The voice of Battle Sister Joyce hearing she turned around and looked at the Sister of the Adepta Sororitas. With her right hand she held her bolter leveled at the head of an attractive human man, clad in dark cloth and looking at her with big eyes.

“Buffy, there is madness outside and UFF!”

A powerful kick into the stomach nearly doubled him over. “This individual tried to get into the house”, the Battle Sister informed her.

Inquisitor Buffy Summers nodded courtly and turned around again, not even bothering to really look at him. “Shoot him.”


The loud thunder of the Bolter silenced him immediately and with a big hole in his chest he sank to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The young woman on the couch watched the display with eyes wide with terror, before she barfed all over the couch.

“Disgusting...”, mumbled the Commissar disdainful, before he grabbed her by the back of her head and hurled her to the feet. “Get moving.”

He dragged her to the basement where he locker her up.

While Commissar Giles was in the cellar, Paladin Xander and Engineseer Willow came back down from the upper floor and took posts at one window respective the front door. Battle Sister Joyce dragged the lifeless body of the shot man to the back-door and hurled it into the backyard, then closing the door and barricading it with the kitchen table and the refrigerator. Everyone knew what to do and how they had to act, at the same time giving the Inquisitor time to think.

If what the girl was really true, then there had to be some sort of chaos-cult or at least a single witcher at work on this world. That was bad, that was really bad. She had neither the forces nor the information she needed for a full investigation, she was out of her depths. In a fit of anger she whirled around and hit a frame with her energy weapon, hurling some photographies and a small vase across the room.

“We've got incoming!”, yelled Kasrkin Andrew from his post on the second floor, where he had been on lookout. “Big group of combatants!”

Dammit. Emperor curse you, god's of chaos. Grinding her teeth she whirled around and moved to the front door, where Paladin Xander knelled down to have a better aim. She allowed herself to take a look at the street and immediately she spotted a big group of daemons and xenos. There were small ones and a lot bigger ones, some in human clothing, others just clad in scales or fur or both. Or just skin.

She unsheathed her sword. “Emporer, guide my blade and lend me your strength.”

Unknown to Inquisitor Buffy however was the fact, that Chaos God is not equal Chaos God. While in her home dimension the power known as Chaos was the equivalent for corruption, madness, evil and unimaginable horror, it was something completely different in the dimension she was currently in. Here, Chaos was only that: Chaotic. Nothing else.

It was neither evil nor crazy nor in any way unfair, it was a force of pure luck, driven by chance, coincidences and of course a bit of will. And a God of Chaos was a lot of things, but by no chance was he able to act in any planned matter, it just was against his nature. No, he just did as he pleased in the moment something came to his mind, never caring about the consequences or what anyone would think about it, not even the Powers were in any way able to stop him.

Ethan Rayne was one of the few individuals who thought he knew that, someone who understood the nature of Chaos but at the same time he thought himself outside of this laws that were no real laws, the exception. He wasn't. There was no exception from luck or chance.

It was a big joke so to speak, that ended the Halloween night of terror in Sunnydale. Perhaps had Janus a sense of twisted humor, perhaps it was the Powers acting, perhaps it was just another strange occurrence or a fluke. Anyway, it was nearly funny.

Harmony noticed the group of Grots long before she saw them. It's rather easy to hear a SUV that is driven at full speed, especially if the windows are down and the radio is blaring at full volume, the voice of Cher singing on top of her voice. The group of seven small green beings were having the time of their life, now that there bigger Ork-Masters weren't there.

The big red SUV rounded the corner of the street with screeching wheels, one of the small orkoid creatures standing on the roof and holding onto the Antenna for his dear life, the others inside, screaming, yapping, laughing and firing their oversized weapons.

She just knew that something crazy would happen the moment she spotted them .There is always something crazy involved when you're dealing with green-skins. Even if you have to help fate sometimes with it.

Cursing his luck, or lack thereof, Commissar Giles jumped back and barely avoided the big claw of the blue-skinned horror in front of him, which would have ripped open his gut otherwise. His opponent overstepped slightly, losing his balance for a second and immediately the battle hardened veteran took his chance, attacking from below and slashing with his energy-sword as deep as he could, nearly cutting of the arm.

Screaming the monster stumbled backwards, holding his now useless left arm with his other appendage, screaming something in an unnatural language. But Giles had no time to take a breath, another monster charged through the door to the garden, attacking him with wide, brutal swings. Even a fresh recruit could have avoided those attacks, but then again, most recruits wouldn't fight in the destroyed kitchen of a primitive house on some unknown backwater planet.

“Bloody dog-shit-scum...”, he cursed, dodging another swing and trying to attack himself. He could hear how the front door was attacked, where the Astartes and the Inquisitor-Lady were holding off the enemy. Somewhere glass was breaking and the loud scream of the battle sister could be heard, at the same time firing her oversized weapon, before a crash thundered through the house and the bolter was silenced.


It was the small Engineseer that was screaming and out of reflex he whirled around, cursing himself in the same moment. But he had no time for that, as gigantic, sharp claws ripped open his coat and send him flying, crashing into the wall and dropping there to the ground.

Sharply he inhaled the air. “Balls.”

His back hurt and his chest felt like he had been hit by a sledge hammer. The only reason he was still alive was the chest-guard out of carapace he was wearing, which was now nothing more than scrap metal.

He tried to stand up and grasped his sword again, his sidearm he had discarded after the blue-skinned one had bitten a piece out of it. The Black Templar had thrown aside his weapon, it seems he was out of ammunition and charged into battle, a song about the glory for the emperor on his lips. The battle sister was brawling with no less than three small daemons and the Eingineseer tried to free her of one of them.

This was not looking good. He snarled and bit his lip, spitting out some blood and gripped his weapon tighter. “Come on, you ugly piece of shit!”

Harmony knew to take a chance when she saw one. Although it was not her assignment to kill a few green-skins, it couldn't hurt either. In the chaos and disorder which ruled the area at the time, no one would notice a single shot.

With precision born out of years of training, genetic enhancements and cybernetic implants she aimed with her sniper rifle and fired once. That's all she needed. The round hit dead center and immediately the vehicle jumped to the left as the front wheel was destroyed.

The small driver lost the bit of control he had and with a loud, thundering bang and six small, panic voices, the big vehicle crashed through the front window of the costume shop. Glass shards flew in every direction and a sickening sound could be heard as the single grot who stood on the roof of the car was smashed against the wall.

For a moment there was silence and she began to think that every one was dead, when the sound of something crashing and weapons fire could be heard. A scream pierced the night and a second later two of the grots climbed out of the smashed window, laughing like the maniacs they were and hitting each other with toy-swords. Just a moment later someone else charged through the door, yelling and kicking and followed by another grot, who was shooting at him with wild enthusiasm. It was a middle aged human male, slim and at the moment busy with running for his dear life.

That's him. She had no idea how she knew it, but she was sure that this individual was her assignment, this was the man she was ordered to kill.

Every normal person would have second guessed the urge to kill a man, but not her. She just thought about the if shooting him was the right way to kill him, but without any more information she acted on her first urge. Reloading she leaned into her rifle with her shoulder and aimed for his head.

Then she shot.

Magic isn't science, something that every spellcaster could gladly explain to you. But like in science, there were certain laws about how a spell is cast, how it acts and how it is sustained. Every single amount of magic, every spell and every magic item works after this rules, be their demonic, holy or wiccan in nature. And even chaos magic works that way.

For a sustained spell, you need the right amount of magic energy in the first place, a focus object and of course someone casting the spell.

Ethan Rayne had all of these bases covered before he began his great prank for Halloween-night. Janus himself was lending his power for the spell and a god has a lot of magic energy at his disposal, trust me on that. The bust of Janus in the back of his little shop worked as the focus object, the portal through which the magic flooded into the material world and fed the spell. And the caster was him, of course.

Now, if you remove one of these things...


The End?

You have reached the end of "Echoes of War" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 22 Apr 11.

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