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The Rise of the Warmaster

Skirax

By Skirax
in + FAN FICTION +

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calgar101 Venerable Brother

calgar101

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Yes, i think its very interesitng. A different approach to mine, i was considering the way your doing your story, but but different in some places but didnt want to do an idea thats being done already.

 

Keep writing please, and i will comment more :)

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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Blood in the sand

Kilox raised his head, his arms still spread wide and the back of his neck burnt by the desert sun. He gazed around, a look of triumph on his twisted face. The many sorcerers still had their heads bowed, chanting softly under their breath. The mystical lyrics made the atmosphere tense and hostile; behind his little conglomeration, a full company of Renegade Guard stood ready, just in case their little operation came under attack. Their faces glistened with sweat, and coughs and sneezes could be heard from the mass of heretics. However, this large assembly was dwarfed by the giant presence that stood around the Sorcerer’s Circle; three full squads of Thousand Sons stood at ease, their armour shining with mystical light, the pure essence of the warp emitting off of them like heat; amidst these giants, there were men like them, but in different armour colour and with different symbols on their left shoulder guard; the stark contrast between the glistening blue and scratched gold of the Thousand Sons and the deep crimson of the Word Bearers made the eyes hurt; the warp seemed to radiate from them as though they were like the Deamons they served.

Kilox looked around, a broad smile on his face, and sweats running slowly down it. However, when he saw the sorcerers stop chanting, his smile faded quickly as he realised that the bond had been broken and, even if he was still alive, Ahriman was stuck in the webway and could never return. He threw his head back, and screamed, at first the sound deep and rumbling, then turning note and rising an octave, becoming a shrill cry of hate and regret. Everything, everything had been a run up to this point; T’zeentch himself awaited the return of his herald, and the knowledge of all things. But this would never happen now. The sacrifice too much, thought Kilox , as he looked upon the slaughtered Renegades over in the distance, piled high with blood flowing like a river around the mountain.

Every one of the assembled figures’ heads snapped up at his scream, and the mortals trembled in fear.

After many minutes, Kilox lowered his head and ended his scream. As he stared at the ground, wondering what to do next, the earth groaned.

Taken aback, he looked around, wondering what had happened. Hoping that it was a void-gate opening for Ahriman, his face lit up. But as rocks around him shook and sand began to cascade down the dunes, he knew it couldn’t be.

‘Earthquake!’ yelled one of the humans. Kilox shook his head slowly, knowing full well what it was. His fears were confirmed when he looked to the horizon, and saw a dark line spread along it, followed by a great dust cloud that rose high in the air.

‘Orks...’ breathed Kilox.

How wrong he was.

In the ranks of oncoming warriors, the man at the front raised his Katana, and roared at the top of his longs, ‘FOR THE KHAN!’

In response to his cry, the entire of the White Scars Chapter arrayed behind him yelled in perfect unison, ‘Forward, for the Emperor and the Great Khan!’ They were nearing the hastily assembled enemy lines now, and las-bolts zipped past them. The odd thud of a bolt shell impacting on their bikes could be heard amidst the din of the engines.

A split second before the tide thundered into the traitors, a single order was heard above all other noises.

‘FIRE!’

The sound was deafening, leaving many of the Space Marines ears’ ringing as the assembled Astartes unloaded their bolter magazines into the heretics; the first several ranks of the Guardsmen exploded as each and every bolt found it’s mark, detonating inside the target and showering their comrades with blood and entrails. They attempted to wipe the gore from their uniforms, but were given no time as the tide of White Scars crashed into them.

As one, 700 bike bound Astartes crashed into the ranks of Guardsmen. Men screamed as they were dragged under the roaring constructs and were churned up and destroyed by the whirring wheels. Bones crunched and split as they were crushed beneath the weight of the White Scars. Great cries filled the air, and amidst the smog and dust kicked up the roaring bikes, the sons of the Great Khan slaughtered the assembled traitors.

 

Several hours after the slaughter had finished, the leader of the bikers had dismounted and was now striding between the bodies of the traitors, rolling them about with his unsheathed Katana and were cutting them open to ensure they were truly dead.

‘Jubal!’, came a shout to his left. The Chapter Master of the White Scars turned to see the owner, and smiled as he saw it belonged to Clan Brother Jogaten, a long time friend. He smiled, stretching the long scar that ran down the left side of his face.

‘I am grateful for your assistance in this attack, brother,’ said Jubal.

‘It was nothing, the Chapter was called and every other biker in the Chapter rushed to aid the attack. However, I do have one concern,’

‘Voice it brother, and it shall be heard.’

‘Well... I do not really understand the importance of this planet. It is detached and desolate, far from any civilised world, and yet, such a large force,’ he said, indicating the resting brothers behind him with a gesture.

Jubal eyed him carefully, and when he spoke, he did so cautiously; ‘This information is privy only to the higher ranks of the Chapter, but you are a good friend, so I shall indulge you; the Stormseers heard a whisper in the warp, a rumour of a bike mounted figure that had appeared in the webway.’

‘The Primarch?’ whispered Jogaten.

Jubal nodded in confirmation. ‘At least, that was the theory. And the warp disturbance was in this exact location. It seems they were right, I can think of no other reason for this assembly of sorcerers other than to lure him into a trap.’

‘So... has he already been here?’ asked Jogaten, his feature lighting up as the thought entered his mind. Almost all other Chapters had had their Primarch return to them.

‘From the looks of things, no.’ Jogaten’s face fell.

As the two warriors stood in silence, the air was suddenly split with the roar of thunder and the crackle of warp energy. The sand was kicked up and collecting pools of blood rose into the air as a hole in reality appeared before them. Inside, it was nothing but darkness. Then, out of the hole, came a lone figure on a bike larger and more extravagant than that of any in the Imperium. The roar of thunder was now evidently the scream of the figures engines, and as Jaghatai soared through the air, the entirety of the White Scars ran to the warp hole in awe and wonder, great happiness filling them as they looked upon their Primarch for the first time.

Jaghatai wooped as he felt the kiss of the air for the first time in ten thousand years on his tanned skin.

He landed in the sand, the dirt kicked up by his engine and his wheels.

He came to a stop before his sons, and looked at them with a winning smile.

‘I return! For the end of all things!’

The smiles vanished from the Astartes as the words hit home.

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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Yeah... It is a dark and depressing time... but the muse is within me! So here's another preview:

 

The marine awoke, his mind cloudy and filled with disturbing images and memories. He looked around, shaking, the cold of the room pressing down on him. In the distance he heard the dripping of a tap. He raised his hand to feel his head, but stopped short when he heard the sound of chains. His head snapped down, his superhuman senses penetrating the dark. The chinking of the chains hit his ears hard, making the ringing effect in them seem to magnify a hundred fold. He screemed, after ten thousand years of freedom, he was chained and restrained. It was not right, it was not something he was used to.

He suddenly became aware of the blood on his chest and the throbbing pain in his head. He groaned, the pain filling him and setting his body afire.

His bare feet froze on the stone floor, small puddles of water collecting around his feet.

He suddenly became aware of a pict screen on the ground before him. Bending down to pick it up, it suddenly sprang to life. On the screen was an ominous servitor, it's head made to resemble an alarmingly horrifying childs doll in the shape of a skull. It was looking off to the left, but as the marine brought the screen closer, the head turned to look at him. It's mouth peice moved along with a voice that clearly not it's own. The voice was dry and raspy, and put a fear in him that chilled him to the bone.

'Hello Cypher. I want to play a game...'

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