Your very own short-stories

[Hally]

This needed a thread, so I made a story about Khârn, my favourite 'Zerker. CC most appreciated :turned:

 

Khârnage (Lame I know <_<)

 

Khârn roared up and brought Gorechild down on the doomed Guardsman, cutting him fully in half. Before the severed halves could even hit the floor, his ornate plasma pistol had burned a hole through another. There was no blood as the plasma cauterized the wound instantly. He let the corpse fall onto his chainaxe, and felt blood splatter his armour as the teeth bit through flesh and bone.

 

Battle was no longer what it had used to be. Centuries had passed since he last had a good fight. He decided to seek out a real enemy, as these petty Guardsmen would only please the Blood God, and himself, for so long.

 

Captain Kruger of the Revilers chapter advanced through the ruined city with his Battle-Brother Bonifaz. Their grey armour made them hard to spot in the gritty streets of the abandoned hive. The rest of his squad had been cut down in a last stand against Chaos Space Marines of the Night Lords Legion. They had killed his comrades and disappeared into the shadows. The two Space Marines continued through the labyrinthic habs.

 

Khârn jumped from roof to roof, scanning for worthy targets. In the distance his suit’s ancient auspex detected two targets. Power-armoured targets in fact. This could get interesting. He leaped down from the roof, and hit the floor seconds later. The ten-story drop would’ve all but crushed any lesser being, but his antique power-armour absorbed the force, and he landed standing upright, already running. Once again he felt his blood rushing, his ages-old body preparing for glorious slaughter of the Corpse God’s chosen.

 

He was twenty paces behind them, approaching slowly, silently. Creeping ever closer, his whole body on edge, awaiting bloodshed.

The blood-rage came faster and more unexpected than ever before, his whole body trembling. Why did he try to surprise them? Fury washed over him for not approaching them directly. He was a true servant of the Blood God, the Lord of Skulls. Bellowing his war-cry, he lunged for the Loyalist dogs.

 

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” The scream hit the Marines like a physical force, knocking Bonifaz over. That was the only opening Khârn needed. With deadly precision he struck down against the Marine. Bonifaz rolled away, and brought up his arm to block the blow. It never connected, as Kruger had already regained his senses and swung against Khârn with his power-sword. With a single smooth movement the Berzerker flicked his wrist and blocked Kruger’s ferocious attack. This was almost too easy, he thought bitterly.

 

He turned against Kruger, swinging his howling Chainaxe around, through the Marine’s defense. It bit into his side and drew blood. Bonifaz had drawn his own chainsword and swung for Khârn. Without looking, the Berzerker pointed his plasma pistol and fired. The carefully placed shot took off Bonifaz’ arm at the elbow. Kruger slammed his armoured fist against Gorechild, knocking it aside just before it ripped his internal organs to shreds. Now Khârn was enjoying himself. The weakling had been neutralized and the real warriors clashed.

 

Bolts of lightning snaked through Kruger’s power-sword as he stabbed for the Betrayer’s lower torso, as predicted. Slamming his plasma pistol flatly against the Marine’s head, he brought him off balance. Kruger stumbled backwards, as he ripped off his melting helmet. He had a lean and just face, pocked with scars from innumerous battles. Using his foe’s confusion, the Berzerker lunged forward and let Gorechild rip through Kruger’s off-hand. Unexpectedly, the Loyalist let him, instead of trying to block, hacked against Khârn’s arm. His millennia-honed reflexes took over and dropped him, letting his shoulder-pad take the blow.

 

Kruger’s mind writhed in agony before his body was pumped with painkillers by his suit. Once more, Khârn swung for him, plainly, against his torso. The Marine slammed Gorechild away with a hard backhand stroke from his power-sword. He had an opening. Slamming forth his power-sword, the Betrayer barely managed to block the blow with the hilt of his Chainaxe, which hissed as it was pushed by the squirming power within the power-sword.

 

Khârn could barely believe it, had blessed Khorne, Lord of Skulls, left him? Loyalist-scum shouldn’t be able to catch him, Khârn, Champion of Chaos – Blessed by Khorne, off-guard. “BLOOD,” a familiar voice chimed in his head. He had become too obsessed with his hunt for worthy foes to give praise to the Blood God.

 

Bonifaz was desperately trying to get his chainsword out of his own severed arm. The servos must have locked when they were cut off, he realized. He died while trying to force it open. The Betrayer’s massive Chainaxe swept down and cleaved him in half, blood splashing his ornate armour and flowing through the dried street. Power flowed through him as he once again felt the Blood God’s blessing.

 

It wasn’t enough the Berzerker realized. They were trading several blows each second, but he was tiring. The Marine was getting the upper hand. His own moves were getting sluggish while the Loyalist’s was getting faster by the second. He had never been this close to death for millennia. Hacking through the Betrayer’s defense, Kruger chopped for Khârn’s head. The blow stopped firmly centimeters from the Berzerker’s helmet. In the last second he had brought his plasma pistol up, and it was, barely, holding the power sword away.

 

Khârn quickly weighed up his options; if he removed his plasma gun, he would have his head chopped off, and if he tried to lunge at the Marine with his Chainaxe, Kruger could just swing his sword sideways and chop his arm off. “BLOOD,” the voice repeated, more intense this time. Suddenly The Betrayer realized what he had to do. Slowly at first, then more determined, he slashed his own leg, letting the blood flow. Now that Khorne had gotten blood from both his enemies and his followers, seemingly pleased, granted his mortal Champion a fraction of his unending rage.

 

Smashing away Kruger’s power-sword with his plasma-pistol, his rage, now fueled by Khorne’s endless fury, was fulfilled. Gorechild smashed through the Marine’s leg, bit into his torso, ripped over his wrists and finally cut his throat in a crescendo of bloody carnage. He let his helmet fall to the ground, so that he once more could feel the rejuvenating blood of humans.

[Aarhus]

---Recordings from Video Servitor #4140b37sl9---

 

The small briefing room hummed with the sound of vidscreens and servitors. The room was just large enough to house a mahogany desk that shone deeply and a dozen adamantine chairs. Each chair different in design, crafted by Techmarine Pyrrhus several millennia ago, was meant to hold the Chapter Master, his second in command, and the Master of each Company. Since Spectre Lance had taken so many casualties during the home defense of the Byblos Sector, several Masters had been killed, or mortally wounded and forced into stasis; there were enough chairs for the visiting inquisitor and Chapter Master Aarhus’ personal staff, along with the three surviving Masters.

Currently, the room was empty, save the Chapter Master himself, Inquisitor Lord Xerxes and a few servitors.

 

"Hellfire and damnation Xerxes! Why do you deny our forces to destroy the heretical scum that has landed on Aristade? Do you not think that my Marines are fit for service?!"

 

Chapter Master Aarhus smashed his fist on the desk.

 

"Calm yourself Brother Aarhus. I am still conducting my interrogations. Besides, you do not know the strength of the invading forces."

 

Inquisitor Lord Xerxes plucked the servo skull that was recording their meeting. He looked at it carefully. The soul once belonged to was Xerxes' best personal bodyguard. Unfortunately, his body was torn apart by autocannon fire. Xerxes found it fitting that the once valiant guardsmen still serve his lord and master, even after death. He gazed into the hollow eye sockets then let it go for it to continue hovering around.

The Inquisitor always had a calm aura around him. Even in the midst of battle. He neither snarled in fury, nor grinned after a confirmed kill. Xerxes was not emotionless – not in the least – moreover, the man was always calm and serene.

 

“Besides” Xerxes said softly, “we can send in our allies the Tau…”

 

Aarhus’ blood boiled when he heard this last statement.

 

“Do you find them to be better warriors than mine? Are they more worthy of combat? Although they are useful allies and are far more cordial than our other allies the Saim-Hann…” Aarhus spat as he spoke the name of the Eldar Craftworld “I still do not see why they should see combat when we are sedentary in our barge…”

 

Xerxes calmly raised a hand indicating silence.

”Think of the Tau as a scouting force… they shall do some ‘recon’ with a large force, to probe the current strength of our enemy. Should they be overwhelmed and forced to retreat, I shall see to it that Spectre Lance is deployed into the theatre of war. In addition, I am sure that Farseer Isaiah Khoresa Khalai has some sort of honor conflict – I believe the term she used – with the heretic marines. I am sure that the Saim-Hann would be more then pleased to aid Spectre Lance and the Blinding Lance hunter cadre to drive them out.”

 

Aarhus brought his temper under control. He did not like having to ally with the Xenos scum. However, he knew that Spectre Lance had suffered too many casualties with the aftermath of the Locara Crusade, and that Spectre Lance could not sustain themselves in battles of attrition.

 

“Very well,” Aarhus let out a long breath “inform Shas'O Sa'Cea Kais Vral'Re of the plan to… ‘scout’ the enemy’s forces. If the Tau can handle them, then we shall chase them back to the Orrus sector. If it is too much for the Tau, then we shall see to it personally to obliterate the taint that has spread to fair Dios Cadalion.”

 

Aarhus took another deep breath. He was usually not so angered by such matters. However, with the sign of chaos in the sector, it usually meant that the Black Storm was nearby. If the Black Storm was nearby, then it meant that Aarhus could get vengeance for what happened two hundred years ago, vengeance for the near destruction of Spectre Lance’s home world, vengeance… against The Quint’Aan…

[Roultox]

I'm bored so I'll just type one out now off the top of my head. (really I'm that bored, I had nothing to do tomorrow, and WoW had a patch kick me off)

 

Light buzzing sounds could be heard through the room as the seven men caught their breath. The humming generators in their troop packs charging up their clips for another reload, some felt to be their last. The two sergeants looked at eachother, nodding in acceptance of what must be done. Three men sat in silence, bleeding from shrapnel wounds. On this vile world any wound is deadly. Noxious toxins that eat away at the flesh when exposed. Why they were fighting for this deathworld they did not know.

 

All they knew is that the first shots were fired at them, and they've made no kills. It was the dead of night on a routine scouting sortie. As the concussive explosions could be heard at a constant rate they pelted shockwaves one by one. Slowly chipping away at their resolve. One stood, perhaps maddened by the reality, he starts spattering reasons they should leave and report back. He knew well enough they had no information to give that the higher command would'nt already know. A shot sprang from the sergeant in command of the now dead coward. The men gripped their lasguns, ready to fight, not in fear of being shot, but it was a reminder of their duty to the glorious one. What are they to sit cowering in a bunker with cold muzzles? "For not!" they yelled, an ancient battle cry sung for nearly a hundred generations of regiments sprung from their home-world. For the 492nd regiment of Del'Forlakar it was not of nothing, but for everything. The blast door swung open, and a few were blazed down, noticed only by those who were shot, as anger arose within their beating hearts they fired. They shot until they could no longer have the strength to pull the trigger. To the last man... For not.

[Maeklos]

Brother-Butcher Gorgatch trudged wearily into the eataterium, having had a ludicrously difficult day at the decapitarium. It seemed as if necks were getting thicker these days and his axe-swinging arm was starting to feel the strain of beheading slaves ten hours a day, six days a week. All he wanted to wash the taste of blood, sweat, and tears out of his mouth was a nice, tall glass of milk.

 

Reaching the refrigerarium, he opened it and started grubbing around for the milk carton. But, but..."It's gone!" he roared.

 

"What's that?" Brother-Decapitator Grrrrawrrrrgh! asked nonchalantly as he sauntered up to the sinkerarium to wash a suspicious white liquid from his hands.

 

"The milk....it's....gone! Rrrrr." Gorgatch could feel his murderous rage starting to rise.

 

"Ah, the milk. Yes...we were out of blood, brain fluid, viscera and every other bodily fluid for today's Dance of a Million Billion Screaming Terrors. The milk was the closest thing we could find." Grrrrawrrrrgh! looks idly as his milk-flecked hands. "In retrospect, I suppose we could have used our own blood, but that would have been painful. Oh well."

 

Throwing himself to his knees and flailing at the bitter reality of the harsh universe, Gorgatch left out a soul-piercing scream of anguish, "Nooooooooooooooooo!"

 

Dunh dunh dunh!