Dreamwalker

This story, part of the community effort on the Emperor's Nightmare chapter, takes the point of view of a Venerable Dreadnought. (by THW)

---

Shadows obscure all but the closest of buildings, screams emanate from with, the sounds of rending flesh. Bolters barking out a thunderous decry in riposte. He strides forward, stomping over the... concrete? plasteel? It matters not, for he can see the enemy now, twisted abominations that were once men but are now merely puppets for the foul beasts that ride them. He can see the daemons, crouched on their shoulders like twisted jockeys.

They have not seen him, but instead fling themselves into the bolter fire of his fellow battle brothers. With a roar of fury he charges, his ceramite encased servo-arm smashing through the mortal flesh like wet tissue.

Suddenly all goes black, and then he is in a drop pod. The reaction thrusters forcing his prodigious weight down as they slow the pod before it slams into the ground. The sides peel open like some metallic flower in bloom and he strides out, in front of him is a horde of xenos filth, around him the solid thud of heavy bolters and drone of autocannons as they lay into the green tide streaming up towards them. He raises his assault cannon and adds his guns to the defilade. Despite the storm of super heated metal screaming into them the green tide barely ripples as it surges towards them.

Before he can bring his mechanical fist to bear all goes dark again. He floats in nothing, hears nothing, for an infinity and more, nothing. Then a pinpoint of light. It expands until all there is is light. Shapes start to be discernible, first hazy then more focused. A hive spire, albeit one ravaged by heavy bombardment. Images come quicker now, humans in ragged uniforms of ochre and cream fire sporadic las shots at dark monstrosities in red ceramite, traitors exchange blows with those they once called brothers and from the shadows death stalks the unwary heretics, striking with speed and ferocity. He sees it all in the blink of an eye and in the eternity of infinite stillness.

He feels a tug, a pull from the centre of his being, the hive spire recedes into the distance becoming dimmer and dimmer, before it fades completely he sees a stain darker than black appear above it, waves of malevolence emanate from it like light from a the sun. An ink tendril stretches down to saturate the hive spire in creeping hatred. Then darkness and silence.

Noise. That is the first thing to return.

It starts as a low drone slowly building, louder and louder, until it fragments into distinct, identifiable sounds, there the low hum of generators from across the room, here the gentle chanting of the techmarine as he performs the final rituals of awakening.

Raimer Falcur activated his multi-spectrum oculobes and lowered his gaze to regard the techmarine standing before him. The marine continued his gentle chanting for a few more seconds before looking up at the armoured bulk before him.

“How long have I slumbered, brother?” came Raimer’s mechanical voice from the vox speakers upon his back.

“It’s been over 400 years, venerable Dreamwalker,” replied Techmarine Donatos. “We have received astropathic communication from our brothers upon Grephus II that the traitorous Oracles of Change besiege the capital and The Wake requested that you be awakened to provide us with your tactical expertise.”

“The Oracles of Change, their armour is red, yes?” rumbled Raimer

“Y-yes venerable elder” replied Donatos, slightly taken aback, “it is.”

“And the Grephus defence force, are their colours ochre and cream?”

“I am unsure, venerable elder. I believe so”

“I have dreamed long brother and have seen much, our enemy is not what he seems. We must move quickly.”

“Yes, venerable elder, The Wake awaits your arrival,” replied Donatos. He was well aware of the cryptic nature of some of the chapter's eldest Dreamwalkers.

“Then lead on brother, let us show these traitorous Oracles of Change why we are called the Emperor's Nightmare.”