Thirsty Land

Standard Terra Calendar.681.M31

Tami tied a hemp rope around her waist, climbing down the well wall hand over foot until she finally reached the bottom. But all she stepped on was dry sand and dirt. Tami pulled out her shovel and dug hard, straining in the cramped space. After nearly half an hour of digging, there wasn't even a trace of moisture at the bottom—only the sweat she'd shed from the labor.

She had no choice but to give up. Looking up, she said, "There's nothing down there."

Her companions above pulled her back up. The group of over two hundred of her kin were deeply disappointed, and even the Quetzalcoatl Prophet leading them was crestfallen.

The Quetzalcoatl Prophet, wearing a feathered headdress with feathers sprouting from his arms and body as a blessing from the serpent god, gripped his staff and said:

"Hold on. We continue north. Those daemons have cursed the land, stopping the rain. But the Apostle of Quetzalcoatl awaits us at the Center of the Continent. If we can meet and begin the ritual, Quetzalcoatl will descend from the Empyrean to defeat the daemons."

Tami and her people had no choice but to leave this abandoned village and press on.

Tami's face was full of despair. Their water and food were running low. About two years ago, the once lush land had suddenly stopped receiving rain. At first, they could rely on rivers and digging wells to temporarily solve the water problem—they'd weathered dry seasons before, and such things usually ended in a month or two.

But a month passed, then two, then half a year, and still not a single drop fell from the sky. Even clouds were nowhere to be seen. The grass and shrubs on the land withered and died quickly, followed by the rivers drying up and their beds cracking. Herbivores, carnivores, even insects all perished from thirst or hunger. Eventually, even the wells the tribe dug ran dry.

Now, over two and a half years had passed. Fortunately, the powerful Quetzalcoatl Prophet among them received a divine revelation in his dreams: to the north, at the Center of the Continent, rain still fell.

They had no choice but to set out northward. But the elderly couldn't keep up, so they decided to stay in their homeland. Tami knew that was a death sentence, and the journey only grew harder. Soon, the children couldn't hold on either. The little ones could still be carried by adults, but the slightly older ones could only slow down step by step, eventually falling behind with their mothers or uncles.

The children in their tribe never knew who their fathers were—they could be any man from a nearby tribe.

The Prophet said the sky's refusal to rain was all caused by the sorcery of a group of daemons. Quetzalcoatl had commanded them to head north to meet his messenger. Once they joined forces and performed a great ritual, Quetzalcoatl himself would descend from the Empyrean to vanquish the daemons.

Then the rain would return to the land, and they could go back to their normal lives. Clinging to that thought, Tami kindled a spark of hope, gripped her Obsidian Spear, and caught up with the group.

But just then, a band of fierce-looking men with red cross-shaped war paint on their faces and all kinds of weapons burst out from the roadside. These savages, clutching weapons stained black with blood, howled wildly.

"Fresh meat! Aaaaaah, kill them all! For the Blood Hand Butcher!"

A scout ahead shouted a warning:

"Servants of the Blood God!"

But one of the savages threw a javelin, taking the scout's life in an instant. Then, over a hundred followers of the "Blood Hand Butcher" charged forward.

Tami gripped her spear tightly, forming a defensive line, but she hadn't had water or food in too long. She felt she might not be of much use. Yet the Quetzalcoatl Prophet stood at the front, giving her courage.

The Prophet raised his staff, chanted a spell, and pointed forward. A bolt of lightning arced from his fingers, a chain of electricity that struck a dozen of the Blood God's servants, dropping them to the ground.

Archers at the rear drew their bows, firing poisoned arrows into the attackers. They had the advantage in numbers, and the powerful Prophet was with them.

The tribesmen shouted in excitement:

"In the name of Quetzalcoatl, destroy these slaves of the Chaos God!"

Tami mustered her courage and thrust her spear into a charging cultist, punching a bloody hole through his belly.

Battle spread across every corner of the continent. Who knew how many of Quetzalcoatl's faithful would reach the Center of the Continent?

Meanwhile, the armory of the Fortress Monastery was bustling. Thirty-four War Band Neophytes were collecting their weapons. Operation Drought had officially begun. The War Band would join the Dark Mechanicus in a joint operation to capture Servitor materials and Psykers.

They hadn't yet undergone their surgeries, but the Forged Steel Lord, Peter, ordered them to join the coming fight. His exact words were: "A warrior trains in real combat. You don't become a sword saint before you pick up a sword."

So all thirty-four Neophytes gathered in the armory, holding the equipment assigned to them.

The gear they received was fairly basic: Scout Armor made of Sub-Adamantium. For melee weapons, they had only Monofilament Combat Knives and Extended Monofilament Combat Blades—after all, many of the actual Space Marines in the War Band still lacked Chainsword Weapons and Power Weapons.

In contrast, the Neophytes had more options for ranged weapons: mainly Bolter Pistols, large-caliber Combat Shotguns, Laser Sniper Rifles, Twin-linked Heavy Bolters used by Ogryns, Heavy Logging Guns, Grenade Launchers, and Net Guns.

For throwables, they had Flash Grenades and Concussion Grenades. There were also two special weapons: Stasis Grenades and Stasis Shells, the latter provided by the Daedalus Forge World and fired from Human-sized Grenade Launchers.

These two types were nearly useless against troops with gas masks. Even without masks, the anesthetic gas couldn't knock out a Space Marine, let alone an Ogryn. But they were perfect for primitive tribes—the gas and Net Guns would be their main tools for capturing slaves this time.

Lycurgus slung a Heavy Logging Gun over his shoulder, wrapping an X-Type Ammo Belt around his arm.

Alexios made a standard choice: a Bolter Pistol and a Combat Knife.

A Neophyte with a thick beard named Randolph fiddled with his Scout Armor, examining it closely:

"I get the logic, but why does the Scout Armor's abdomen look like a muscle?"

Alexios answered casually:

"That's called a Muscle Plate. It's popular on Lasidream. Senior Filon said armor should have Planetary Characteristic, so he emphasized some features."

Randolph pointed at the Scout Armor's chest with a smirk:

"You mean these two nubs?"

Alexios replied seriously:

"You should follow the Tradition of Lasidream Warrior."

Gorgias paid no attention to their bickering. In just five years, the once scrawny fisherman had grown into a two-meter-tall, golden-haired, burly man.

He put on his Scout Armor, picked up his Combat Blade and Bolter Pistol, strapped a Net Gun to his waist, and prepared for battle.

Today would be their first fight as Neophytes.