In the four hundred years that Sergeant Efuuy had been serving the Emperor, he had seen many of his brothers perish. Across a thousand worlds he and his kind roamed the stars killing and dying in turn, as was their eternal duty. The old stories always told of grand, noble deaths. Great speeches and heroic efforts were portrayed, but all too often this was not the reality. All to often real combat saw death come suddenly and without warning. A gurgling rasp replaced the noble speeches, a tumbling head supplanted heroic deeds.
The mission was much like any other. Destroy the insidious chaos cult that had murdered the planetary governor and reestablish order. The strike team landed and dealt out death and destruction on the Emperor’s enemies without remorse. Seven days and nights the fighting had gone on and enemies of the Emperor were slain one after the other by the Sergeant and his brothers nine. That was until they reached the bowels of the palace, for there lay madness. The cultists in their zealotry had performed dark rites, that no man should know. Out of the shadows abominations rose as the rites were completed, their first action to slay the cultists and feed on their souls.
The stalwart warriors were not deterred. Their faith drove them on, hacking at the insane faces and limbs of horrors not of this reality. The first to fall was Brother Rewul, a deamon lashing out, devouring his head and shoulders in one swift bite. His body fell pathetically to the ground as his life blood gushed out on the flagstones but still the warriors drove on.
As the space marines fought on, the chaos of battle grew thick and soon the warriors were divided, fighting for their lives. And on they fought, for they knew no fear. But fearless or not, they were not invincible and so the Sergeant watched the flat lines flare in his helmet as one by one his brothers perished to the onslaught of evil that oppressed them on all sides. On and on the Sergeant fought, barely even realizing he was the last. And still he fought until he found himself a slight reprieve as the monstrosities he slaughtered reeled back.
And then all went black. There was no pain, no feeling at all, just the endless dark of nothingness. Just as suddenly light flared. Painful, searing light. His eyes opened and he was back in the depths. Out of nowhere a blinding light shone down on the faithful warrior. He could feel his vision slowly fading but he could not look away, for in the lights embrace possessed him. Just as he though he could bear no more, the light intensified and he flung his arms back as an entity possessed him. But this was no entity of dark chaos, but the Emperor’s spirit himself. “Worry not my child for you have fought faithfully”. Tears streamed down the warrior’s face as the light enveloped and overtook him. The light was all and he was the light. Rapture and pain in equal measure over took him and as suddenly as it appeared, the light was gone and the warrior with it.
-
Desert Ambush
The dust kicked up by it’s tainted metal legs gave the Sentinel’s position away giving Sergeant Dioclese ample time to prepare the ambush. The space marine had been fighting these treacherous auxiliary for several months now. The clanking hulk before him now was the only survivor of an artillery strike seventeen kilometers back.
As the cursed machine stomped through the gap the trap was sprung with practiced efficiency. The Sergeant leaped from his vantage point high above the traitor, his power swords eager to taste the corrupted engine. “For the Emperor!”, he bellowed as the first sword plunged into the top most armor, slicing through it like butter. As the space marine passed over the Sentinel, his second sword came swiping under the body hewing the diseased metal in two. The tainted wreck screamed a machine howl, the sound echoing off the rocky protrusions dotted throughout the desert. The Sergeant’s body hit the dirt with a practiced roll, standing up in front of his handiwork.
The wind howled across the plains as the creaking halfs crashed to the ground, the lone space marine already accessing his helmet’s auspex for his next victim.
-
The Last Litany of Endless Despair
The breaching pod slammed into the space hulk, cutting deep into it’s twisted body. With a jolt the pod screeched to a stop and opened up into the belly of the hulk. Code named Endless Despair, the space hulk lived up to its name. The five terminators turned on their shoulder mounted spotlights, cutting into the gloom as the decouplers hissed and detached.
With their sergeant taking point, the terminators of the Blood Angels chapter resolutely moved into the oppressive darkness. Their stomping armor drowning out the clunks and hisses of the hulk.
It did not take long for the enemy to attack Hated xenos attacked them soon after their extraction from the breaching pod. The Blood Angels welcomed it. The Sergeant’s power sword thrummed to life and cut down the first, his storm bolter taking the next in the chest. Explosive rounds covered the terminators in gore, their holy armor sullied by the filth.
Suddenly a door exploded inward, a thrashing xenos besetting brother Petrarch. Brother Acrion behind him cut down the twisted this with his lightning claws, the pieces of it’s body splattering to the ground it’s claws still twitching. Without missing a beat, Brother Petrarch turned his heavy flamer to the destroyed door and filled the chamber beyond with purifying flame. Screeches and howls emanated out from the opening eventually diminishing to pitiful squeals as the xenos burned alive.
First to fall was Brother Belarius who held up the rear. A xenos claw burst out of the wall and slashed across his throat, taking off his head in one savage blow. His body fell to its knees, blood spurting out of the exposed stump and slumped to the side against the wall. Storm bolter fire rang out from the survivors covering the wall in exploding shells.
Then silence.
Smoke rose from the barrels of the terminators guns as they waited for any movement, the blood rage rising. Still they controlled themselves, for they were of the first and discipline was firmly entrenched. Hearing nothing, they carried on, marking the resting place of their fallen brother for later extraction.
Twenty minutes later Brother Meros and Petrarch were the next to fall, rushed by several genestealers at once from the rear. Brother Petrarch’s heavy flamer chaotically spraying burning promethium everywhere, covering the ceiling in flames as his ruined chest spilled out it’s life blood. Brother Meros in the midst of slamming his chainfist into the chest of one genestealer was taken out by another, his arm shorn off at the shoulder, quickly followed by his torso.
The sergeant, overtaken by rage at seeing his betherin slain pushed past Brother Acrion and slashed one of the surviving xenos to pieces with this power sword. The warning from Brother Acrion fell dead on his lips as the berzerker Sergeant overextended and fell to slashing claws. But even in his death throes, the Sergeant managed to blow the head and shoulders off of one genestealer and slice another in half with his power sword before he finally succumbed to his wounds. Brother Acrion dispatched the remaining two with his arcing claws. The silence was oppressive. Only Brother Acrion remained.
Stamping down the corridor Brother Acrion watched as a xenos turned the corner and charged towards him. At the same time another genestealer broke out of the ceiling and scuttled down the wall. Brother Acrion began the litany of battle, bellowing iit fruitlessly at his foes.
I am the edge of His Sword,
I am the tip of His Spear,
I am the mail about His Fist,
The Emperor’s chosen,
Covered in the Blood of Sanguinius,
I will smite my enemies,
I will purge the heretic,
I will burn the witch,
For I am the Emperor’s judgement.He splayed out his claws as another genestealer burst out of the floor, ready to deal out the Emperor’s justice against the hated xenos.
Brother Acrion fell to the ground as a claw pierced his heart, his litany still thundering in his head.
-
Ork Painboy Wazgrom Bonestompah
The ork stumbled out of the Painboy’s makeshift surgery rubbing his freshly attached arm, blood still leaking from the stitches. Wazgrom Bonestompah looked on, satisfied with his work. “Dat dar iz some lovely work i fink”, he thought to himself. “Oi ya lazy little git, get back ta work!” Wazgrom kicked the gretchin at his feet who yelped and scampered away, picking up bloodied tools up off the floor hurriedly.
The orks had been camped here for several weeks and were starting to get rowdy with inactivity. Several fights had broken out with today being the worst of the injuries. Wazgrom had reattached several limbs, a head and in one instance had to fit a kustom claw to one of the Nobs. Needless to say once he came to he was right back into the fight with his new toy.
Wazgrom thought back to the last time he had this much trouble with the boyz. He remembered the time several years ago when Da Big Boss came in hollering about his arm, smashing heads of his boyz that couldn’t find it anywhere. He had finally given up in a rage and came to the Painboy for assistance.
It took several boys to hold him down with leather straps whilst Wazgrom attached a right proper Klaw with down right nasty flamer attached. The teef flowed that night, and Wazgrom became rich overnight the Boss was so happy with it.
The noise of fighting grew louder and one of the gretchin jumped up on Wazgrom’s back holding a needle sticker in anticipation. Wazgrom looked up at his trusty Kustom Klaw, stretching out each digit making sure everything was working before the boyz turned up. One of the knifes was a bit stiff. “Might haf ta get da Mekboy ta hav a peek later”, he thought.
