Warhamer40k & MonsterGirlQuest: A Double Traitor

POV Alexandra

Alexandra coughed, spitting out dust and sand. She lifted her head. Her frantic companion was quickly making his way toward the girl. As he passed the crowd of warriors throwing stones, Amon didn't stop, seemingly oblivious to the people around him. With no apparent effort, he walked through the warriors, knocking them to the ground.

"Hey, who are you, son of a worm?!" a bearded man, clearly an officer, exclaimed in indignation.

Amon paid him no attention. Approaching the unconscious girl, he crouched down and tensed his shoulders, as though lifting a monstrous weight.

***

Flashback

The servos of the power armor growled as Amon gripped the beam and struggled to tear it from the ground. The Keeper grimaced and cried out in unbearable pain from her broken legs. Crawling with great difficulty, she dragged herself forward, emerging from beneath the debris. Amon released the stone slab, and the beam crashed back to the ground with a loud crack.

He gently lifted the girl. The Keeper sobbed and quietly moaned.

"Quiet, little one," Amon reassured her, looking into her blue eyes. "It will be over soon."

***

With one swift motion, the warrior pulled the girl from the sand. He carefully cradled her in his arms and muttered something softly. The angry southerners surrounded Amon.

"You can't interrupt the execution!"

"Foreigner! Heretic!"

"He insults the Prophet of the Goddess!"

One of the locals drew a curved sword and struck Amon across the back. The weapon tore through his clothes, and, losing some of its force, became lodged in his muscles. His companion didn't move, as though the strike caused him no pain. Alexandra sprang to her feet and rushed to help her employer. She didn't make it in time.

***

Flashback

"Wolves! Wolves!"

The bolters roared in fury. Amon leapt behind a stone slab, jerking when a shot ricocheted off his pauldrons. He left the Keeper in relative safety, detached his weapon, and began unleashing a barrage on the advancing enemies. The hall had only one entrance, wide enough for several Space Marines to pass through at once.

The Wolves took full advantage of it. Without pausing for cover, they stormed through the gap, cutting down the warriors guarding it. The barbarians suffered heavy losses—four lay dead on the floor, riddled with bolts at point-blank range.

"Amon!" crackled Ulthazar's voice through the Vox. "Let's roast them!"

The sorcerer closed his eyes and mentally reached out to his comrade, whose image flared brightly in the darkness of his mind. Without releasing the trigger and using his inner senses to aim, Amon touched the Pyrridus warrior, channeling power. The flames surrounding Ulthazar turned white. His battle-brother let out an angry roar. He thrust both hands forward, showering the Wolves with a radiant warp torrent.

At that moment, Amon felt that the barbarian attack was faltering. Two Wolves were lucky enough to die instantly, while the others, less affected, fell to the ground, struggling to douse the warp flames.

The flame surging from Ulthazar's hands weakened, losing its strength.

"That's it!" the sorcerer shouted triumphantly, turning his head toward Amon. For a brief moment, Ulthazar dropped his guard.

"Watch out!" Amon shouted, but it was too late.

From the red firestorm, a massive figure burst forth and knocked Ulthazar off his feet, dragging him several meters by sheer inertia. At a glance, Amon recognized that the creature before him was no ordinary Space Marine.

The Space Wolf's armor cracked in several places, exposing skin covered in thick, long fur. The gloves had been torn off by some unknown force, and instead of hands, Amon saw beastly paws with powerful claws.

The monster snarled at Ulthazar, revealing its hooked fangs, and then lunged for his throat. The sorcerer convulsed. Amon pulled the trigger, aiming for the beast's outstretched face, but the shot didn't fire—he had run out of ammunition. His comrades were preoccupied with the new group of enemies that had stormed the hall, engaging the Thousand Sons Legionaries in close combat.

The beast pulled away from the slain sorcerer and opened its mouth in a nightmarish parody of a grin. Thick blood dripped from its fangs. Amon drew his power sword and leapt over the slab.

"For Tizka!" the sorcerer roared, charging at the monster.

***

Alexandra didn't make it in time. Amon gently laid the girl on the sand and drew his two-handed sword. The desert trembled under the deafening battle cry.

"For Tizka!"

Stunned, the warriors recoiled. Something strange and ominous was happening right before their eyes. The mysterious man had intervened in the execution; he appeared insane and struck terror with his behavior. Another moment, and they would have fled in panic. But the leader regained his senses and responded to Amon's shout with his own:

"Death to the heretic! Attack!"

The following events unfolded with lightning speed.

***

Flashback

The hot breath of the Wulfen pierced through the helmet's grill, filling it with a beastly stench. Amon gripped the sword with both hands and, using a brief illusion to deceive the Wulfen, cleaved it in half. The top half of the monster hit the ground with a thud.

Growling with fury, the creature still attempted to fight—it grabbed Amon's leg with its paw. The sorcerer struck downward, aiming for the neck. The monster's head was severed from its body and rolled across the floor.

In that same moment, a chainaxe crashed down on Amon's pauldron. He recoiled, and the teeth of a chain-sword, striking from the other side, buzzed through the air. The Space Wolves had slaughtered his comrades, and now Amon was alone. Four enemies wielding close combat weapons surrounded him on all sides.

"Death to the traitor!" roared a tall, helmetless warrior with a braided gray beard. The Wolves charged.

Surrounded by enemies, Amon fought with noble fury, unlike anything he had ever experienced. He confused his opponents with illusions, shifting and vanishing before their eyes. He parried the barrage of strikes coming at him from all sides.

He rolled, dodged, and counterattacked—with his sword, fists, feet, and head. Never before had Amon fought with such desperate conviction in the righteousness of his cause. He had to win— for the knowledge accumulated over millennia. For the books burned in the squares by the hated enemies. For his homeland, turned to ruins. For the millions of people wandering, seeking salvation. For the blue-eyed Keeper, sheltered among the rubble. For everything he loved, valued, and believed in. He had to win.

And he won.