Getting Warhammered [WH 40k Fanfic]

The rockets always came back, and they are also unwilling to run out of fuel — if they even had any in them in the first place. 

I smiled with a mix of amusement and more than a bit of confusion as I watched the rocket stretch, contract, and spring back to full size as I moulded it with my conjured hand. It was like playing with soft dough that kept springing back into its original form.

It was unquestionably made of some welded together piece of scrap metal housing some Orkish explosives, but that didn’t stop it from behaving like gelatin when I squeezed it. Even as I held it, the damned thing sputtered and whiled in my grasp, trying to continue its flight.

Taking a quick glance over at the Weirdboy, I saw him sweating buckets as he kneeled, his entire body quivering in effort as he held up his glowing gnarled-wood staff.

I felt his power resonate in the rockets, bolstering their failing enchantments. He had foregone enchanting more, seemingly determined to have these ones hit. The non-enhanced missiles the Ork fired at us, I quickly slapped out of the sky.

Those exploded the moment I poked them, so that wasn’t much trouble. Can I somehow goad these things into exploding without endangering my blue onlookers? … nothing seems to be working.

I could of course simply obliterate the missiles with a concentrated blast of psychic power. If one rule held up in all of Psychic sorcery, it was that even the best-crafted piece of spell sorcery could be made irrelevant by enough brute force. 

Someone with a hundredth of my level of power could weave together the most magnificent Psychic shield in existence and I would still blow it to smithereens if I put my entire weight behind the blast. Enough pure power could even permanently kill Daemons and their like. Though the Psyker had to vastly outclass the Daemon for that to be possible. 

Like 30k Emperor against Lesser Daemons levels of outclass. Though I ever so faintly recalled him obliterating stronger beings too … among them, Horus. Though he was in a pretty shit state by the time he found himself on the wrong end of daddy’s obliteration beam. 

Just to see what exactly the rockets would do if they exploded, I then went about trying to peel off the outer layer of the enchantment, so to say. The layer which I knew — from identifying one of the distinct tastes of the layer as ‘squishiness’, or rather ‘squiggy-ness’, as the Orks would say — was responsible for the gelatinous texture of the rocket.

After a few tries where my gentle prodding was deflected by the enchantment itself absorbing it into its strangely rubbery texture, I got through. The moment I pierced the barrier, it dissipated all around and the enchantment beneath was left exposed … which was apparently one of the triggers for it activating. 

The rocket detonated with a thundering crack that reverberated through not only air, but the Veil itself as a storm of Warp-lightning exploded outwards, arcing and forking towards the shuttle. I slapped them away easily enough, but I had to conjure up several spectral hands that dashed for each bolt of lightning to disguise the use of my aura. Let the Tau think I had to touch someone with those hands to use my powers on them. 

The Warp-lightning is not especially powerful, though it doesn't have an Orkish flavour to it … Ah! That’s right! It’s not generic Warp-lightning, but WAAAAGH! Lightning, a pure manifestation of Ork bloodlust and savagery. 

Deflecting them away with condensed shields of my psychic power was not too hard at least, there was no mind guiding them, only some of its inherent bloodlust driving it towards the nearest enemy. For someone who’d been on the receiving end of Valenith’s savant use of Warp-Lightning, counteracting the Weirdboy’s flimsy version of it was effortless and I did it without thinking.

Val’s lightning bolts would writhe in my grasp, curl around shields and twist around once deflected to strike me once more. Each of his bolts was alive and out for blood, guided by his centuries of experience and finely honed cunning. 

These did no such thing, they merely struck a tree or an unlucky Ork instead, turning them to scorched wretched if not outright tearing them apart.

I did the same to another rocket, and found it reacting in the exact same way, as did the third. That had my curiosity satiated, and I obliterated the last two rockets, but before that, I slapped them down at the Ork camp and had it explode there. That cleared up a decent sized chunk of the forest, WAAAGH! Lightning demolishing trees and shrubbery with the same savagery it would have torn dozens of Imperial Troopers to shreds. 

“Is that a good enough landing spot?” I asked idly, turning my attention to the Tau for the first time since I started experimenting. Thus far, they had been occasionally requesting I either hurry the fuck up — though a bit more politely — or telling me they were going to turn the shuttle around and leave, since I obviously couldn’t handle the Orks as well as I’d claimed.

I shut them down every single time, which no doubt annoyed even the most disciplined blueys. Not that I cared, I had space magic to examine and play with. 

“It is,” one of the guards said, and I could hear the grumpiness in his voice. That was something. He must have truly been annoyed, or I would have had to hold the psychic equivalent of a stethoscope to his soul to feel his emotions. I guess I’m really good at being annoying, one of my many talents. 

“You can go ahead then,” I said, smiling in contentment as I leaned back. “Playtime’s over.”

“Is that what that was?” Aun’Saal asked incredulously, and I just blinked at him innocently. “ … truly?”

“I girl’s got to have some hobbies,” I said with a smile. “Mine just happens to be figuring out the true extent of my powers … among other, more mundane things.”

“And you have learned something from … whatever that was?” He asked again, clearly finding it hard to put the words together. Was it his knowledge of his ignorance in the ways of Psykers, or the after-effects of my having spooked him before? I wondered. 

“Some things, for sure,” I said, tapping my lips in thought, eyes going distant. “Orkish Psykers are so different from Human and Eldar ones, they wield their powers without fear or understanding. Perhaps that’s why the effects they can manifest seem so nonsensical at times, their minds are not constrained by the shackles of preconceptions and common sense … or by sanity, in some cases. From what I understand, that Ork merely wished the rockets to be ‘squishy and bouncy’, and so they were. It would have been interesting to examine the molecular and atomic bonds in the affected metals to see how deep that ‘magic’ went. Alas, you have seen what those rockets could do when mishandled.”

“Indeed,” he said, clearly still put off by the situation as he waved his hand and had the sequence of explosions play out on one of the projectors. Storms of prismatic lightning writhing in the air and snaking towards anything living nearby played out on the monitor. “There doesn’t seem to be any difference in the rockets themselves … and yet one produced a regular explosion while the other did that. I’m still not sure what exactly that was. Perhaps a condensed arc-reactor stashed into the missile? Some empowered EMP?”

“I’m sure you would find neither if you managed to catch one without it exploding in your face and took it apart,” I said with an amused smile. “That was pure Warp Sorcery, and Ork ‘WAAAGH!’ bullshit.”

“That’s not too scientific,” Aun’Saal said evenly, and I could taste an echo of derision and dismissal in his words. Idiot. Have it your way then. 

“You can examine it all you want,” I shrugged. “You can pry open as many Psykers as you want, dissect them, study them, study their powers … you will find no scientific reason behind them. Their powers are not from this world, they draw it from the Warp, and trying to study the Warp with the ways of science is as futile as things can get.”

That was not entirely true of course, since being a Psyker is partially genetic. I knew the Tau were garbage at genetics and in most organic sciences, it would take them centuries, if not millennia of further technological advancement in that branch of science to even have a hope of properly studying Psykers. 

The power wasn’t even just a string of genes; it was more an echo in them, the way they felt instead of what they really were. There was little rhyme or reason for it, but it worked. If one found matching gene-strains between two Psykers, that was just a coincidence and not the true cause of their shared powers, but it would undoubtedly derail any scientists looking for the common denominator. I had seen enough Psyker genes and samples to replicate the effect and modify it to my needs in my own creations, I doubted there were more than a handful of people in the Galaxy beside me who could do the same. 

One of them was busy being a desiccated corpse serving as a battery too, so the count went down by one. My bets were primarily on Fabius Biles and Illuminor Szeras, especially the latter, since I remembered some fan theories about his involvement in seeding the Blank genes in humanity to be a weapon against Psychic races like the Aeldari and the Old Ones. If even just a fraction of that was true, the psychopathic Necron scientist understood the way genetics and the supernatural intertwined better than anyone else in the Galaxy, and had a mastery over them that I could only dream of. 

While everyone else was out here picking apart toys, and at best reshuffling the parts or swapping some with parts taken from other toys before putting them back together, Szeras could likely build the toys from the ground up. 

Perhaps … perhaps I should take a look at the happenings in the Pariah Nexus when they happen. Getting even just a tiny bit of the endless treasure trove of information hidden in that old Necron’s head might just be worth travelling halfway across the galaxy into one of the most dangerous war-zones in existence. 

The Pariah Nexus, Plague Wars, the Death Guard invasion of the Tau Empire, Trazyn’s little adventure in the tomb of Nephreth. I had so much stuff lined up, I doubted I could make time for each and be there for them all in time. This galaxy was fucking huge, and while I could travel it quickly, I was likely to rush right into a Daemonic trap if I made my goals obvious. 

Despite loving the chaos, I doubted Tzeentch would allow me to kick over the pot of shit he was stirring so many times. Maybe he’d shit out a Warp storm on top of my head which would send me a century into the future, or send that feathery fuck Kairos back at me for another go. 

Then there was the fact I couldn’t leave my fledgling Empire behind without protection. I could likely get my second Avatar back from Trazyn after I helped him nab a shard of the Deceiver, but I had no clue as to when that particular event would even play out. Maybe I should go about retrieving that Avatar anyway if my need to be in two very far-away places at once becomes too pressing. 

“Landing,” the Pilot’s voice rang out in the shuttle. “The Orks are approaching the shuttle, requesting permission to take flight before they start prying the doors open.”

Aun’Saal looked at me questioningly, and I shook myself out of my thoughts before hopping to my feet. 

“Open the doors,” I said, a slight grin tugging at my lips. “Let’s get started on your introductory lesson in Ork diplomacy.”

Aun’Saal waved, and a moment later the door started opening. My aura was spread far and wide, easily covering the entire settlement and the surrounding forest so thickly an ant couldn’t take a shit without me knowing about it in excruciating detail. 

I strode outside with a casual sashay, white light shining from beneath my skin and hardening around me into the form of an armour. I made it as thick as two of my fingers put together and formed it into the shape of my human-sized Combat Drones.

The forest was in tatters in the newly-made clearing, trees turned to dust or shattered into tiny fragments dotting the upturned earth. Beyond it the greenery remained the same, and from it a great tide of green bodies flowed forth with weapons held at the ready and bellowing war-cries as they charged. 

I heard an explosion, the first Ork getting within shooting distance of me pulling the trigger on a oversized hand-cannon — because that damned thing was no simple gun, guns weren’t as thick as my thighs — and sent a misshapen sphere the size of my fist flying at my chest. 

More for show than anything, I dug my right heel into the earth and crossed my arms before me just a moment before the projectile reached me. It pushed me back even still, forcing me to slide back half a metre as the orb of scrap metal bent around my light-coated forearms before breaking into fragments. 

My Avatar might have had some of the most powerful muscles organic matter could allow it, but it was still the size of a simple human woman and was not even covered in the Tyranid Carapace that I could infuse with my soul-energy to absorb kinetic energy. I only had the armour of light I’d conjured up and hadn’t given more than a lick of power to, so despite everything, I was not nearly as unmovable as I was otherwise.

Good. I thought with a grin. It wouldn’t be a fun fight otherwise. They have to have a sliver of a chance at winning for this to be enjoyable. 

I exploded forward, reducing the power of my body to average Space Marine level, it wouldn’t do if a flick of my fingers tore one of them in half. Plus, this much power should be within the realm of possibilities for a powerful Psyker, so my blue skinned peanut gallery shouldn’t get too spooked. 

Let the fun begin. I grinned, a sword of light forming in my hand which I swung at the brave Ork who’d shot me. My blade’s edge seared through his skin, the hiss of flesh burning filling my ears once his brief roar of pain cut off — I must have burned the vocal cords.

As his body slumped back, head flying away and rolling over the earth, I let my gaze span out over the approaching wave of greenskins. They were a tidal wave of murder and bloodlust, savagery made manifest. 

A dozen arms made of light formed around me, but these were not the size of my own human arms, oh no. These were large enough that they could grab and Ork around the torso and squeeze them to death, or form up around me and cover me in a spherical barrier of light. 

I kicked off the ground, unwilling to let the Orks come to me and charged them, my floating arms soaring beside me and overtaking me. Fingers shifted, ending in wicked claws instead of nails as they flew past me and crashed into the first line of Orks, sending blood and gore flying through the air as screams of rage and fear overtook the war cries. Dozens were already dead, but there were hundreds more to kill, and kill I would.

Bullets impacted my armour, deflecting off its surface with little of their force reaching me and doing nothing to slow my advance. Then I reached them, sword hissing through the air with its super-heated edge and then I was on them, blade flashing left and right as limbs and heads went flying. Some Orks I cut in half wholesale, a swing catching two Orks when I was lucky. I became a storm of blood and death.

I wonder how long it’ll be until they get bored with getting slaughtered. 

I hoped it wouldn’t be too soon since I still had some steam to work off and tension to work out of my body. A bit of good old, melee slaughter was just what the doctor ordered.