The Heart of the Sword

[Ferrata]

The holo-map stared at him, mocking him. His eyes had become bloodshot as the lights danced around in front of him. The situation was dire indeed. The Chaos fleet had vomited from the Eye of Terror, slaughtering their way through the Imperium’s defences. By all calculations they would be making planet fall upon Cadia in little under sixty-three hours, and if Cadia fell the Empire of Man would be on its knees. Foul beasts would pour forth and pillage, burn and wreck havoc across the Imperium. It wouldn’t be long before they were making siege upon Terra again, and bar Him striding from his golden throne and taking to battle Himself, all would be lost. If Cadia fell, the Imperium fell.

 

One of the greatest tacticians known to man keyed in his orders, it was the hundredth time he had done so in the past few hours. Ever since the call for aid had reached his ears he had been in his personal planning room. Variation after variation of battle plans had been hypothesised on the map and each time the machine spirit spoke the same two words. Its mono-tone voice uncaring for the meaning of the words, the number of people that would be slaughtered if it was to come true; Cadia Lost. He had known his hand would be forced, his fate decided before he had even looked at the map. With his head lowered, a single tear ran down the cheek of Rogal Dorn. The Imperial Fists would go to war and few would return.

 

He rose from his chair, his thick, furred cloak sweeping behind him like a faithful servant. Splashing water from a small bowl over his face to freshen his features, it would not be for the Primarch of the greatest chapter of Space Marines to look tired or worn. Striding down the corridor he looked every bit the god of men his father had intended him to be. His mere presence was enough to in vigour men to great feats, his aura enough to refill the heart of any man. Each individual step was a leap to a normal man, each movement perfectly judged to induce nothing but confidence in the men around him. His charisma wrapped around the Phalanx like a cloud of smoke, leaving no corner untouched. Injured men forgot the pain of their wounds to catch a glimpse of their Primarch, their leader, their general.

 

Dorn stepped into the command room, his captains already gathered for his council. They too had been rigorously pushing the holo-map to its limit in an attempt to find a more hopeful outcome. They snapped to attention as he approached them, waiting for his silver tongue to spill its words of honey into their hearts. Dorn could inspire men to the greatest feats; he could make ten marines strike at the force of a hundred; now he would need their strength.

 

Their eyes pierced his own, searching deep into his soul. He couldn’t bring himself to issue the commands, he couldn’t do this to them, to his men. Alone, he would have accepted the challenge without question, but to take his brothers forced him to think again. He would have single-handedly assaulted the Chaos fleet, but to throw his men into certain doom troubled him. They had prevailed against the odds before, the Emperor’s Palace during the Siege of Terra, in the trenches of the Iron Cage and now, in the twisted corridors of the traitor’s armada. He knew to ask any man to join him was to already have them along before he had finished the sentence; each would gladly follow him into battle. No matter the problems, no matter the numbers, no marine would falter in the face of death. They were his Imperial Fists, stubborn to perfection.

 

‘Captains, brothers, friends. Today we make a stand. Today we strike out at the enemy. Today we will taste battle. Brother-Captain Petur, you have control of the Phalanx and will remain chasing the damn Eldar. Tymon, Skah, grab as many men as can be spared, be they of your companies or that of others.’

 

**

 

The great muster hall of the Phalanx heaved with men, three hundred battle brothers stood ready for war. Dorn paced through them, sharing jokes with veterans he had fought with before, and giving words of encouragement to newer brothers. Finally reaching the front of his vast hose, he climbed upon the podium so all could see him. The past four hours had been hard, how would he tell the troops that many of them would die today. Clearing his throat, he glanced upwards, if seeking the advice of his father.

 

‘My brothers, the Great Enemy has Cadia on a plate, he only needs to strike out to capture it. He has been here before, and this time he takes a little more caution and ports his fleet in the Pellenos Belt, preparing his men for war. Unlucky for him we are within striking distance. He feels safe, secure, but we will show him the wrath of the Imperium. Our mission is simple; we attack and cripple his fleet. In doing so, his so called Black Crusade will be pushed back and we will live to fight another day. This mission is dangerous, and many of us will not return to drink in victory, but it is our duty as warriors of the Emperor to fight regardless of ourselves. I would not ask for any of you to lay down your lives for the Chapter, no, for the Imperium, for I know you will do anyway. This mission is impossible for any mortal man, but we are not mortal men. Success would be improbable for all the other chapters of Space Marines, but we are not them. Success in this mission is vital and we are the Imperial Fists and it is our mission.’

 

A huge cheer erupted from the floor; Dorn was almost deafened by the roar. As he strode through his men, clasping hands with many, he knew he had made the right call. They would not fail him.

 

**

 

It had come down to this, one bridge, one corridor, one ship. They had already struck a deep wound into the Chaos fleet but this one assault would multiply the destruction ten-fold. To cripple the flag ship of the armada would not only be a physical blow but destroy the enemy’s morale. Behind them lay a wake of carnage, vessels bloodied in high anchor. Unfortunately along with the countless dead of the enemy slept two-hundred and forty-three Imperial Fists, lost to the Imperium. Each brother still alive mourned their losses, but mourned the fact they could not retrieve the bodies of their comrades more. On the bridge of the Sword of Sacrilege it would be decided if their sacrifice was worth the pain of their loss.

 

Dorn looked down at himself, he did not see the noble son of the Emperor, instead what greeted him was a blood-soaked soldier in a situation far out of his control. Gathered around him stood seventeen brave warriors, even the youngest with the look of ancient veterans. He nodded to Captain Skah, a survivor of the Iron Cage who now had gashes all across his face where his blood had quickly clotted. Veteran-Brother Zian caught his eye, Zian who had slain the Daemon Prince G’Unn’Hana, missing his right arm and along with it the ancient battle sword Divinity. Newly promoted battle brothers, Abele and Kwame, crouched the other side of the corridor attempting to give emergency treatment to Brother Geraud, who’s even heightened immune system could not deal with the extent of his wounds.

 

The chattering of heavy automatic weapons shook Dorn back from the eyes of his children. The traitors had retreated to the bridge and had set up firing lines, weapon platforms and traps for his men to fall prey to. The withdrawal had already cost the lives of nine Imperial Fists, and by the looks of Geraud it wouldn’t be long before that number reached ten.

 

‘Brother Abele, Brother Salal, frags...now!’ he bellowed from his lungs. Almost instantly two grenades were bouncing their way down the corridor towards the embankment. Dorn counted down the fuses in his head, three...two..., pushing his might round the corner he was in full sprint before the others had even realised what he was doing. As two explosions ripped down the other end of the corridor his storm bolter was spitting out bolts towards the enemy, just to make sure they kept their heads down over to inflict any damage. Four paces away from the sandbag wall he dropped his gun to his side and drew his sword, the large blade flickering into life as he thumbed the activation rune.

 

The combat was over quick, the six traitors lay dead behind their still hot guns. Dorn’s quick strokes had decapitated two, destroyed both hearts of another and almost obliterated a fourth. The other two had been incapacitated by numerous quick slashes across their chests, their armour offering little protection from the precise aim of the Primarch. As his small group of brothers approached down the corridor, Dorn flicked them a quick smile.

 

‘That wasn’t too hard now was it?’

 

Heavy fire cracked against the wall and around the door frame, obviously those guarding the bridge realising their last line of defence had been destroyed. Zian peered around the corner, a couple of stray bullets pinging of his helmet.

 

‘How many brother?’

 

‘Too many, milord.’

 

‘I said how many?’

 

‘I counted at least three dozen, but who knows how many are hidden within the depths of that room.’

 

He knew his men would be cut down by the sheer mass of fire as they raced through the door, but the ship had been built well, designed to repel all assaults made against it. Sixteen able marines, not one of them without some wound which would require a week or two of rest to fully repair. Seventeen, including him, against at least thirty-six...the odds were not in the favour of the Emperor’s Praetorians today. The odds had been against them all the way through but they had pulled through. They had fought their way to the heart of the enemy fleet, to the heart of the flagship itself, to the heart of the sword.

 

‘Place Brother Geraud behind the guns, he will be our rearguard. ‘

 

Realisation spread across the faces of his men, this mission was to become their final one. They would die in the next five minutes, none doubted that. Even the great Dorn could not withstand the bloodshed that was about to hit them. Geraud attempted to argue his way into assault, not wanting to be left out of this glorious moment. He knew his legs could not carry him anymore but to miss this would be a mark of shame he would bare forever.

 

‘Brothers, you know I am not one for words...’

 

A quiet chuckle was shared by the marines, the irony of their Primachs words not failing any of them.

 

‘It has been my honour to serve amongst you, to guide you in life, to lead you into battle and now join you in death. Today our victory has cost the lives of many, too many if I am to be honest. I would have happily given my life to replace any of those who have already fallen but my life is not mine to give. ‘

 

His eyes began watering up, the end was in sight and all he could think about was how would his chapter do without him. Those he had left in charge were capable, excelling at all that was required of masters of a chapter, but it would be a sad day indeed when Rogal Dorn would not sit at the head of the Imperial Fists. As the first tears ran down his face, he stared deeply at each of the warriors around him.

 

‘With me my brothers, now we teach our enemies the meaning of fury. To the glory to Him on Earth!’

 

As Brother Geraud watched his General disappear into the command bridge, followed by all those who had came this far, he wept. Out of the corner of his watery eye, he saw movement. Starting up the auto cannon, he was damn sure he wasn’t going to be the last one to see Rogal Dorn alive.

[Captain Antonius]

BEAUTIFUL!!! I love it! You have made the "past" come alive. Great job!

[cathar the great]

Very well written, I like it very much. Though your Marines do cry a lot for superhuman and ruthlessly efficient warriors Oo

[Ferrata]

Though your Marines do cry a lot for superhuman and ruthlessly efficient warriors Oo

Manly Tears! I've always thought the scene of warriors fighting on with tears in their eyes somewhat awesome. And hey, if there is a time to cry it is when you know you are going to die alongside a demi-god.

 

Thanks for the kind words.

[Codex Grey]

A great story in honor of the greatest Primarch ever. I almost sheded some manly tears myself :)

[Pulse]

That is how stories should be written, excellent Ferrata, i loved it. The details were nice and the images i pictured came clearly when reading. :D

 

The tears were a nice touch, one that as a solider i can relate to, the tears come in certain moments its just something that happens.

 

Are you planning on doing any more, like a.. Primarch project?

[Hubernator]

Brilliant. very emotional, yet nicely written. I did spot two things, only minor. The first is a grammer error:

 

"...he didn’t see the noble son of the Emperor, instead of blood-soaked soldier..."

You missed a comma :huh:

The other thing is more of a Q:

 

"To the glory to Him on Earth!’ "

Do Marines still call Earth 'Earth', or is it meant to be 'Terra'?

 

 

Apart from that i saw nothing else. Well captivating and extremely good read. Congrats Ferrata ;)

[Ferrata]

One missed comma in that story...I'll take that for good grammar for me ;) I'll have to check the Earth mention, for some reason I just went with it and I forgot about Terra. It is only a small change I can fix but I'll have to check some things when I get back.

 

Are you planning on doing any more, like a.. Primarch project?

I was planning on it, I'm quite a believer of that you should never force yourself to write or force a topic, just whatever comes natural. Unleashed... does cover the final moments of Sanguious' life although it isn't really a story about him.

[Pulse]

I was planning on it, I'm quite a believer of that you should never force yourself to write or force a topic, just whatever comes natural. Unleashed... does cover the final moments of Sanguious' life although it isn't really a story about him.

I agree with that, forcing yourself will only lead poor writing. It would be nice though to see you write a few more, i think Curze would be awesome if you were to do another one, i think you'd be able to pull it off really well, although i think there should be a twist at the end personally. :P

 

Edit: Wow that Unleashed short was excellent as well, thats how i see the combat between Horus and Sangy being like, and the affection Horus had at the end for Sangy, brilliant. I love the way Acacius is rembering the last battle as well. Awesome. :D

[Ferrata]

I would have to do more research into the motives and character of Konrad as he has never been one of my favourite Primarchs, but then again I'm not a fan of Batman ^_^ Also, it would have to avoid the question 'Did he really die?' because I wouldn't want to influence peoples thoughts on that matter because each of us should have our own thoughts. Personally I would have him drop dead like a sack of potatoes because it is more tragic like that, like Sang. death, like marines giving up their humanity to defend it, the Ultramarines always standing between every Black Crusade because they weren't there for the assault on Terra. All of these things add the extra spice to the 40k world which I love.

 

And thankyou for the Unleashed comments.

[Pulse]

Yeh thats true actually, if he did die, which i think he did he gave his life up. Didn't see it like that with the Ultramarines always being there to stop the black crusades as they weren't there on Terra and feel its a duty to make up for it, but i see it now. :blush:

[Reyner]

Great story! On the subject of the tears, a Primarch knowing he and so many of his sons are going to die is bound to cause something.

[Ferrata]

Made a small change to the story. After correcting the mistake Hubernator Hubernator found, I re-read that sentence and didn't like it. It became: 'Dorn look down at himself, he did not see the noble son of the Emperor, instead what greeted him was a blood-soaked soldier in a situation far out of his control.'

 

On the Earth matter, the Imperial Fists battle-cry is 'Primarch - Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of Him on Earth' hence where the 'To the glory to Him on Earth' came from.

[Logain the Ranger]

Both of those stories are great and they leave me wanting more.

[Ferrus Manus]

'Dorn look down at himself, he did not see the noble son of the Emperor, instead what greeted him was a blood-soaked soldier in a situation far out of his control.'

 

You mean looked right? B)

[Ferrata]

That is what it says...damn loss of ninja edit...