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The Time of Ending (Chapter Nineteen up)

Skirax

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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Chapter Eleven: The Beast of Cadia

 

The banners fluttered in the cold breath of the frozen morning, each ablaze with the taint of Chaos; foul markings of each and every false God spreading across the ripped and torn icons that had somehow carved paths of bloodshed and death across the galaxy.

The Sternguard stood atop the wall of bodies, the stench of the decaying corpses beneath their feet filtered out by their helmets.

‘Why do they just... stand there?’ asked Valcornius, and Herculius shook his head.

‘I have no answer, Brother,’ replied the Sergeant, and a gruff voice came from behind him.

‘They stand there because they fear the roar of our guns, the cries of our brothers and the scream of our chain blades,’ said Bulveye, and the assembled brothers turned to look at the new comer. He regarded them with brotherly rivalry, and a hint of unrestrained fury glinted within his eye. A tint of yellow hid in the corners of his eyes, and Herculius recoiled from what he saw in a fleeting moment. Bulveye whistled, and a host of feral looking beasts loped up the slope to the crest of the wall. Their tongues rolled from their lips and their hands slouched at their sides, and long, mangy fur fell in a cascade from their forearms and onto their bestial claws.

‘What are these beasts?’ breathed Valcornius, and as one the beasts snarled at him, their eyes alight with hatred.

Bulveye rounded on the Fist, and that same look in his eye flared forward once more.

‘Hold your tongue, whelp. Question not what they are, but WHO they are. They are Wulfen, and they will save your lives,’ snarled the grizzled warrior, and he turned back to the rotting crenulations, before breaking down in laughter.

‘What is it?’ snapped Herculius, all sense of good will towards this man lost in an instant.

‘Reminds me of a time on a planet of the dread God Nurgle. Happy days...’ he sighed, then turned to the assembled masses. ‘Come get us, you base-born curs!’ roared Bulveye, and the Wulfen howled into the night air, their breath coming out as icy contrails in the freezing cold.

The earth rumbled and the horde of traitors before them roared in bloodlust, charging in a screaming frenzy.

Bulveye calmly turned to what appeared to be the leader of the Wulfen Pack.

‘Bring up the Long Fangs. We’re going to need some heavy fire.’

**

Russ smiled as the traitors rushed at them, their howls of bloodlust and cries of forlorn hope carrying him to a place in which he found total calm, even in the maelstrom of battle.

The ground rumbled, and the wave off scum and vile heretics came closer with every passing second.

Then the Imperial Guard opened fire on the traitors, and the first ranks fell like wheat to scythe.

Russ roared in mirth, and his Wolf Brothers joined him in his surprising uproar. Heavy Bolters screamed, Heavy Stubbers spat death at the enemy and Battle Cannons thundered in fortified artillery pits.

The screams of dying men reached him, and he took a deep inhale through his nostrils. He smiled, the tangy smell of traitor blood helping fuel his calm.

Creed opened a short-wave vox link with him, and Russ greeted the General.

‘Creed, congratulate your men on a job well done. Such slaughter pleases the All Father,’ said Russ with a smile, and Creed paused for a moment as he consulted Kell.

‘My Lord, we must reload. This will allow the traitors a brief moment of respite. They will push past the barrier,’ informed the newly elected Lord Solar. He paused as he searched for words.

‘Do not worry Lord Solar, my soldiers are men enough. Plus, I think that Bulveye will appear at just the right moment,’ said Russ, and Arjac chuckled.

‘I do not mean to offend, Wolf King!’ said Creed hastily, and Russ laughed aloud.

‘You do not, Lord Solar. Now, reload.’

For a brief moment, the guns atop the Eternity Walls paused in their thunderous volleys. The traitors paused as their numbers stopped decreasing, and Russ threw his head back, opening his huge maw to the night sky.

He let loose a roar that shook the sky itself, the howl tearing great fissures in the ground and ripping men’s ears to shreds as the sheer power of the Wolf King’s war howl took its toll.

Men turned and ran, throwing down their weapons and fleeing. Then they realised that, they had nowhere to run to. So they just lay on the ground and crawled into the foetal position.

Those that didn’t run charged full pelt at the Space Wolves.

Russ punched the air at their stupidity, and growled a ferocious snarl.

Arjac hefted his hammer high above him, activating the weapon’s teleport homer, before launching at the closest soldier. The man exploded in a shower of gore, the blood spattering the ground in a wet crunch of bone and matter.

Then he turned to his assembled Wolf Guard, and muttered, ‘Fetch.’

Cheering praises to the All Father, the Wolf Guard rushed forwards, the ceramite that clad these behemoths of war filling the night air with loud clangs and bangs, their hammers smashing against their shields and their hoarse voices scarring the air with guttural cries.

A loud crack filled the air, louder than the charge of the Wolf Guard, and a huge gaping hole opened in the earth behind the Traitor Guard. Russ roared in adoration, and turned to salute a lone Rune Priest standing atop one of the wall pieces.

‘Brothers! The World-Wolf joins us in the murder-make! Slaughter them all, for they have spat on their moment-oaths and cursed the All Father’s name! Death! DEATH!’

The tide of Wolf Guard smashed into the suddenly wrong-footed Traitors, and thousands of men fell as the huge bulk of the Terminators smashed into them, breaking their forms and crushing their bodies. Russ himself was at the head of the tide, Mjainar buzzing for blood and death in his gauntleted hand; the very thing it hungered for came next.

With one stroke, he cleaved three men in half, severing them from their lower bodies in one sweeping stroke. Blood spurted outwards, showering the raging Primarch in a flood of gore and entrails, and the son of the Emperor laughed in a moment of madness, a glimmer of a yellow spark lighting up within his eye for an instant. It seemed, for a moment, that his fangs grew longer and his skin greyer. The tips of his gauntlet fingers ruptured open as claws sprang from the blessed armour. Mjainar roared as the blood that had been spilled on it sank into the writhing metal.

Russ howled into the cold night air, and the skies of Cadia were filled with the cries of dying men and hateful gods.

**

Russ severed the head from the last Traitor, and he smiled as the man’s bowls emptied before him.

Arjac walked up to him, and Russ bowed his head. ‘It has truly been glorious fighting by your side, brother,’ said Russ, and Arjac was taken aback.

‘My King, it is I who should be thanking you. I had never dreamed that I would fight beside my beloved Primarch. For that, I thank you.’

The sky above them rumbled, and the men formed into a tight circle. Russ smiled, and muttered softly, ‘My brother sends his love,’ as thousands of megatons of rock smashed into the planet.

 

 

 

To Be Continued....

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Cheers, lads! Although, I wonder if any of you thought that this part was a wee bit funny:

 

Arjac hefted his hammer high above him, activating the weapon’s teleport homer, before launching at the closest soldier. The man exploded in a shower of gore, the blood spattering the ground in a wet crunch of bone and matter.

Then he turned to his assembled Wolf Guard, and muttered, ‘Fetch.’

:P

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Cheers, Calgar, I was hoping you'd get my message...

Ok, while I'm trying to complete this story, I'm adding to it every day, and it'll end up as one big one in a few days.

 

Anyway, here's the new update:

 

The banners fluttered in the cold breath of the frozen morning, each ablaze with the taint of Chaos; foul markings of each and every false God spreading across the ripped and torn icons that had somehow carved paths of bloodshed and death across the galaxy.

The Sternguard stood atop the wall of bodies, the stench of the decaying corpses beneath their feet filtered out by their helmets.

‘Why do they just... stand there?’ asked Valcornius, and Herculius shook his head.

‘I have no answer, Brother,’ replied the Sergeant, and a gruff voice came from behind him.

‘They stand there because they fear the roar of our guns, the cries of our brothers and the scream of our chain blades,’ said Bulveye, and the assembled brothers turned to look at the new comer. He regarded them with brotherly rivalry, and a hint of unrestrained fury glinted within his eye. A tint of yellow hid in the corners of his eyes, and Herculius recoiled from what he saw in a fleeting moment. Bulveye whistled, and a host of feral looking beasts loped up the slope to the crest of the wall. Their tongues rolled from their lips and their hands slouched at their sides, and long, mangy fur fell in a cascade from their forearms and onto their bestial claws.

‘What are these beasts?’ breathed Valcornius, and as one the beasts snarled at him, their eyes alight with hatred.

Bulveye rounded on the Fist, and that same look in his eye flared forward once more.

‘Hold your tongue, whelp. Question not what they are, but WHO they are. They are Wulfen, and they will save your lives,’ snarled the grizzled warrior, and he turned back to the rotting crenulations, before breaking down in laughter.

‘What is it?’ snapped Herculius, all sense of good will towards this man lost in an instant.

‘Reminds me of a time on a planet of the dread God Nurgle. Happy days...’ he sighed, then turned to the assembled masses. ‘Come get us, you base-born curs!’ roared Bulveye, and the Wulfen howled into the night air, their breath coming out as icy contrails in the freezing cold.

The earth rumbled and the horde of traitors before them roared in bloodlust, charging in a screaming frenzy.

Bulveye calmly turned to what appeared to be the leader of the Wulfen Pack.

‘Bring up the Long Fangs. We’re going to need some heavy fire.’

**

Russ smiled as the traitors rushed at them, their howls of bloodlust and cries of forlorn hope carrying him to a place in which he found total calm, even in the maelstrom of battle.

The ground rumbled, and the wave off scum and vile heretics came closer with every passing second.

Then the Imperial Guard opened fire on the traitors, and the first ranks fell like wheat to scythe.

Russ roared in mirth, and his Wolf Brothers joined him in his surprising uproar. Heavy Bolters screamed, Heavy Stubbers spat death at the enemy and Battle Cannons thundered in fortified artillery pits.

The screams of dying men reached him, and he took a deep inhale through his nostrils. He smiled, the tangy smell of traitor blood helping fuel his calm.

Creed opened a short-wave vox link with him, and Russ greeted the General.

‘Creed, congratulate your men on a job well done. Such slaughter pleases the All Father,’ said Russ with a smile, and Creed paused for a moment as he consulted Kell.

‘My Lord, we must reload. This will allow the traitors a brief moment of respite. They will push past the barrier,’ informed the newly elected Lord Solar. He paused as he searched for words.

‘Do not worry Lord Solar, my soldiers are men enough. Plus, I think that Bulveye will appear at just the right moment,’ said Russ, and Arjac chuckled.

‘I do not mean to offend, Wolf King!’ said Creed hastily, and Russ laughed aloud.

‘You do not, Lord Solar. Now, reload.’

For a brief moment, the guns atop the Eternity Walls paused in their thunderous volleys. The traitors paused as their numbers stopped decreasing, and Russ threw his head back, opening his huge maw to the night sky.

He let loose a roar that shook the sky itself, the howl tearing great fissures in the ground and ripping men’s ears to shreds as the sheer power of the Wolf King’s war howl took its toll.

Men turned and ran, throwing down their weapons and fleeing. Then they realised that, they had nowhere to run to. So they just lay on the ground and crawled into the foetal position.

Those that didn’t run charged full pelt at the Space Wolves.

Russ punched the air at their stupidity, and growled a ferocious snarl.

Arjac hefted his hammer high above him, activating the weapon’s teleport homer, before launching at the closest soldier. The man exploded in a shower of gore, the blood spattering the ground in a wet crunch of bone and matter.

Then he turned to his assembled Wolf Guard, and muttered, ‘Fetch.’

Cheering praises to the All Father, the Wolf Guard rushed forwards, the ceramite that clad these behemoths of war filling the night air with loud clangs and bangs, their hammers smashing against their shields and their hoarse voices scarring the air with guttural cries.

A loud crack filled the air, louder than the charge of the Wolf Guard, and a huge gaping hole opened in the earth behind the Traitor Guard. Russ roared in adoration, and turned to salute a lone Rune Priest standing atop one of the wall pieces.

‘Brothers! The World-Wolf joins us in the murder-make! Slaughter them all, for they have spat on their moment-oaths and cursed the All Father’s name! Death! DEATH!’

The tide of Wolf Guard smashed into the suddenly wrong-footed Traitors, and thousands of men fell as the huge bulk of the Terminators smashed into them, breaking their forms and crushing their bodies. Russ himself was at the head of the tide, Mjainar buzzing for blood and death in his gauntleted hand; the very thing it hungered for came next.

With one stroke, he cleaved three men in half, severing them from their lower bodies in one sweeping stroke. Blood spurted outwards, showering the raging Primarch in a flood of gore and entrails, and the son of the Emperor laughed in a moment of madness, a glimmer of a yellow spark lighting up within his eye for an instant. It seemed, for a moment, that his fangs grew longer and his skin greyer. The tips of his gauntlet fingers ruptured open as claws sprang from the blessed armour. Mjainar roared as the blood that had been spilled on it sank into the writhing metal.

Russ howled into the cold night air, and the skies of Cadia were filled with the cries of dying men and hateful gods.

**

Russ severed the head from the last Traitor, and he smiled as the man’s bowls emptied before him.

Arjac walked up to him, and Russ bowed his head. ‘It has truly been glorious fighting by your side, brother,’ said Russ, and Arjac was taken aback.

‘My King, it is I who should be thanking you. I had never dreamed that I would fight beside my beloved Primarch. For that, I thank you.’

The sky above them rumbled, and the men formed into a tight circle. Russ smiled, and muttered softly, ‘My brother sends his love,’ as thousands of megatons of rock smashed into the planet.

**

The planet itself shook with the force that could smash whole fleets from the skies; great chasms opened in the sun baked earth and the huge bunkers that had stood for millennia were smashed to pieces as the fury of a reborn god descended on the planet.

The Star Child himself played his part in the downfall of Cadia, and the streets ran red with blood; men buckled over and vomited their whole insides out as disease riddled their bodies, and the effect of years of suppressed evolution began to twist their already broken forms into crazed spawns that fell upon their allies as the pure essence of the Warp saturated the world.

Men put down their brothers, and generals were executed as they began to spout crazed gibberish and roared praises to the dread God of the Warp till their throats were hoarse.

Through all of this madness, there stood a shining star of resistance; at the eye of the storm, Russ and his chosen stood like the bulwark against the madness that they were. Like the legends of old, they turned their wounds aside through either their wargear, or through pure stubbornness.

The sky split and howled in pain, scars of eldritch power tearing the sky asunder, and winds of ethereal essence whipping the landscape into a furious storm that not even the most grizzled Imperial Guard veteran could survive. But like titans of legend, the Space Marines stood as shining beacons of hope in a mad and ever changing landscape. Like the Imperium itself on a smaller scale, Cadia was torn to shreds beneath the furious onslaught of the reborn Suroh. But not even this godly fury made manifest could prepare the defenders for what came next.

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