The Seeds of Corruption (Multi-Part Story)

[MyLittleHellhound]

Alborough could only be described as a mega-city. It's streets were 5 lanes wide in most cases, parking was a nightmare, and buildings built of the finest materials soared towards the baby-blue sky. Alborough boasted a population of 10 million residents which included a 10,000 strong standing military. The city was the strongpoint of humanity's weak claim on the world Sangrimar, a jungle world discovered when the first exploration ships scattered to the stars. Torrential rains wracked the planet along with horrendous lightning storms, heavy flooding, and the extremely frequent minor earthquakes. The city specialized in raw materials such as wood and ore, drawn in abundance from the deepset mines and thick, grasping jungles. Over 150 ships landed at its spaceport, and all of those ships left laden with raw timber, ore, and more refined materials to be used in forge worlds across Imperial-space. 

 

The city had stood against the elements for generations, its imposing grey walls keeping the worst of nature out. No foul xeno had touched the city, and it was for this reason that the 10,000 strong military was nothing but a pretense. More or less, it existed to prevent the men and women from getting bored of their daily lives. Although Alborough didn't lack in the armor and weapons section, most of the equipment was outdated and much of it didn't work at all. Yet the citizens and their governor saw no issue with keeping it like that, preferring to spend the money on new entertainment and keeping the city from being swallowed by the jungle around it. 

 

That was their folly.

 

700 years to Alborough's founding, where man first claimed Sangrimar, communications cut out and much more. Trans-galactic ships in orbit hung uselessly as they tried to contact the spaceport, and many of the ones eager to stick around soon found themselves out of fuel, stranded until they froze to death.  Alborough went silent, its carpet of lights blinking out as if someone threw a giant switch. When the next ships arrived, warping into a field of silent hulks, they too found the same problem. However, visual scans revealed the city perfectly intact as if it had never been touched. There was nobody in the streets, no cars moving, no automated machines working.

 

It was as if the entire population had simply...

 

Vanished. 

 

Reports filtered back to the nearest military commander who quickly responded, leading the Black Wing Legion into the system. The Black Wings were armed to the teeth, expecting rebels or some alien force. What the encountered, however, was far different. 

 

*recording taken on 14/5/2824- Battleship Althimus*

 

The recording starts with the formalities and cold tension of the Black Wing Legion. Dropships wail down from the morning sky, settling down in the abandoned, utterly empty spaceport. Huge stacks of crates still sit on the baking tarmac. It is very humid when they land, and some soldiers are already unclasping their helmets or shifting in their body armor. There is still no sign of the citizens of Alborough. 

 

"Vanguard, move towards the city center. Up the main street. Huskys on flanks."

 

A vanguard of 2000 men take their first steps into the city proper, passing underneath the stylized spaceport entrance. The feed then switches to one of the soldiers on point, Private Delaruse. There is only silence on the feed. Not even an insect makes a sound. The street is empty before them, parked cars still sitting in their spots and OPEN signs still flickering. A Husky combat jeep spots something, revving forward down the wide sidewalk as it turns the corner. Everybody is on edge now, and safeties are clicked off on some guns. There is a screech of tires on asphalt and then a crash of metal, the chattering of a machine gun, and then silence. Now the vanguard is on edge. Men point their guns warily at the windows, some with shades open, some pitch black. A car sits with rotting takeout still on its hood, as if the driver was eating and vanished without a trace. 

 

"Movement in the windows!" a trooper yells.

 

Delaruse looks up at a skyscraper to his left, some multi-galactic office. The shades in the lowest floors ripple as if something is behind them. His hands are shaking. 

 

"Vanguard, halt!"

 

Delaruse halts, his gun out in front of him. Where there was the yelling of orders and the rumbling of the Husky engines, everything is shut off and the vanguard is holding position. 

 

"Helicopters, I need a visual confirmation. Beirut Avenue, we have movement in the windows."

 

A trio of helicopters fly into view, dark shapes against the morning sun. Turrets track the windows as they hover closer and closer to the building's windows. Glass shatters and Delaruse looks up in shock as black humanoid forms leap onto the side of the helicopter, gunners firing on instinct as the machine lurches. Their screams echo through the humid air and the helicopter chews its way into the side of the building, spitting out chunks of office chairs, cubicles, and paperwork. The men in the helicopter are still screaming but they seem too loud. The Black Wing Legion is in disarray, caught by surprise by an enemy they've never seen. Delaruse looks down at a sudden movement. The sewer grate lifts and a gnarled hand, decomposed and slimy, wraps its talons around him and yanks him into the black hole. His helmet is knocked off and sits, looking down at a convenient angle into the shaft of light made by the sun. The soldier is fighting with a human that seems to have lost all feeling. Chunks of it are hanging in ragged tears or missing entirely, and the thing oozes black blood that drips onto the sewer concrete. More hands grab hold, and Delaruse is dragged into the darkness. 

 

*//end*

 

The Black Wing Legion was lost that day, all 5000 men disappearing into Alborough.

Requests for more military reinforcement are being considered and will likely be processed within 2 Earth days.

 

 

Please stand by. 

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[MyLittleHellhound]

The message raced through the wormholes of space, bumping into dozens of other transmissions before it reached the central world of Torwind. The receiving machine spat it out into a pile of papers so immense it would have taken years to shred it all. Of course, it was a low priority message and it wasn't read by any eyes until the sixth day.

 

High Lord Vaughn's eyes crinkled as he scanned the package of scrawling lines and pictures. There was a matching video that had been received to go along with it, but he hadn't bothered with it. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be. Sipping the glass of scotch he held in wrinkled hands as he reclined in a black leather chair, he could have been in a wealthy office or in a quiet study situated in one of the gigantic mansions studding the lakes of Terra. But where there should have been a sparkling lake or a fireplace, there was a wall that looked out into the shipyards where his greatest assets were. Mighty battleships, upwards of 10 kilometers long, rose into orbit on engines nearly brighter than the sun that shone upon Torwind. The revered Navy ships were accompanied by handfuls of cruisers, which were further outnumbered by swarms of frigates and support craft. The amount of firepower at the shipyard was daunting, and that wasn't even including the orbital defence batteries circling above. 

 

Great, Vaughn thought, another world with weird shit happening on it.

 

There wasn't anything new about an Imperial world falling to some witchcraft or demon. After all, there were truly unlimited possibilities. During his tours, Vaughn had seen beasts the size of skyscrapers scoop up legions of men like luncheon crackers, a witch, every square millimeter of her body taken from a different victim, an entire world cracked in half, just because one man couldn't keep a secret.

 

And now this.

 

Some city had fallen into complete silence and its people disappeared without a trace, and the first people to respond hadn't gotten out alive. He had to note however, that the Black Wing Legion was a tried and tested force. They shouldn't have been killed, not without the enemy losing at least twice their number. Of course, the enemy was some sort of zombie. He had faced those before. Shot them, stabbed them, broken them with his own two hands. But defeating the Black Wing Legion? There had to be some sort of outside force. What galvanized these humans-turned-undead puzzled him. No sorcerer he knew could change 10 million people into zombies overnight. It was only for this reason that he decided to gather up a couple units and write them orders to assemble and dispatch to the jungle world of Sangrimar. He also knew just the man to get the job done.

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The fleet rose in perfect formation, the carriers flanking the battleship and the cruisers and frigates arrayed around them ready to screen. This was a small fleet in comparison to most High Lord Vaughn sent out, only consisting of 15 larger ships. Most of the fleets, by normal standards, didn't include a battleship unless they knew there was heavy fighting and high stakes. But Vaughn didn't get to be a High Lord by being cautious. If there was an outside force to intimidate, a battleship would probably do the job. If the city was lost, well, the battleship could just vaporize it from orbit. 

 

Carried by this fleet to do the truly dirty work was the 47th Lokarin Legion, the 1st Grimlock Legion, and the 10th Arcadian Mechanised Infantry. Each of these groups contained 15,000 fighting men, and countless other support staff. They boarded the carriers in short order like a colony of ants, each man sticking with his group. It was only then that the Iron Belts and Basilisks boarded, lugging their tanks and heavy artillery behind them. The tanks dwarfed the men trudging beside them, sponson guns twitching to get a taste of the enemy. The artillery towered over both, and it was with crate upon crate of explosive shells that these were loaded on. The boarding of the army took the better part of two days, a weapon made of over 60,000 men. It wouldn't fail. How could anything stand against it?

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The fleet warped into the system with no problem at all. Dead space hulks, their occupants long frozen over or given to madness, drifted around them. Pulse lasers flashed and these obstacles were pushed away or vaporized as the fleet moved closer to the planet.

 

Payload prepared. Coordinates received. Descending.

 

The three carriers and .its cruiser escorts descended slowly to the surface of Sangrimar, breaking through the heavy clouds in short order. Of course, it was pouring rain and visibility was reduced to nearly nothing, the flares of the engines and the beeping of sensors the only things telling the captains where they were. The jungle lay itself out before them, wild and tangled and uncontrolled. Since the disappearance of the humans, the wildlife had started to creep back in to the city. Vines straddled walls and weeds grew unchecked between the concrete slabs of the sidewalks. It made for an eerie sight.

 

The spaceport was luckily large enough to accommodate an entire landing force. Each carrier hovered over the tarmac, blowing tons of debris out from below them in billowing clouds of dust. Deploying ramps dropped out and the troops began to stream out like ants, assembling on the hot tarmac. There was the light green of the Lokarins, the dark grey of the Grimlocks, and the tanks and artillery pieces brought by the Iron Belts and Basilisks. The sounds were tremendous, a steady backdrop of noise created by the engines of the carriers, the shouting of men, and the growling of tank engines. They had started unloading in the early morning and only finished by sunset, the insects of the world already picking at the men assembled. 

 

60,000 men. One city. 10 million undead. 

 

What could go wrong?