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The Time of Ending (Chapter Nineteen up)

Skirax

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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Ok, bear in mind that this Chapter is still under construction:

 

Chapter Thirteen: We are his Heralds

 

The wall came crashing down, the blasted forocrete and ceramite shielding thrown across the courtyard as the Traitors forced their way into the fortress.

Cries rang out across the square that echoed of warp-taint and ethereal powers, and the sweep of Crozii severed heads from bodies, sending arterial spray arcing across the stone.

The zip of lasgun met the roar of bolter as the two forces clashed; skulls were caved in and arms broken as the wave of Traitors met the rock of Imperial Guardsmen in the scorched courtyard. Ceramite was cracked, and spines broken as, inch by inch, the Traitors in deep red pushed their way forward.

Toumanez raised his head from the broken form at his feet, and voxed his commander; ++Entrance clear. Ready for your arrival, my Lord++

Within seconds a Land Raider rolled up to the breach, its huge tracks crushing any bodies in its way. The front ramp creaked open, and a gaggle of filth came scrambling out; nine Possessed marines sprinted out, eyes open and teeth snapping in anticipation. Their hands - if they could be called hands, they were so twisted - were a constant blur of movement, anticipation evident in these damned Marine's bodies.

After they had cleared the Land Raider, a huge figure came striding out of the ramp, robes wrapped about him and scriptures blazing on his shaven scalp. His eyes shone with the death-fire of worlds, and his teeth were warped fangs that jutted out of his mouth, strips of flesh hanging from the bestial fangs. The assembled Traitors bowed low before him, and Toumanez approached his Lord.

'Enemy in full flight, Dark Apostle,' reported the Coryphaus.

The Dark Apostle turned to regard his apprentice. 'You have done well, Toumanez. Raze this world in the name of our true God,' spoke Erebus.

+++

Watch-Commander Sivox stood at the highest point of the Castellum Incorrupta with his most trusted adjutant, Triskelle, and a host of scribe-servitors. His blood-red armour shone in the dull blue light of the Tour de Corvidae, the midnight black raven on his chest holding the blood drop within its enveloping blackness. He saw the Deimos Peninsula in the far distance, the flashes of explosions, and the short bursts of gunfire. Briefly, Sivox returned to that blasted hell-hole from twenty years ago, and remembered watching his squad-mates die around him as the fury of the Word Bearers stunted their attack. He remembered getting bogged down in the ditches, and watching as thousands of misguided cultists threw themselves into the teeth of his brother’s guns. He wept for the blood that was shed that day, not for those who died, but for the simple fact that, for every life they took their enemies power grew ten-fold.

He was brought back with Triskelle tapping on his pauldron, and a scribe-servitor standing perfectly immobile before him, a long scroll of names hanging from its chest piece. Sivox sighed, and the reel whirred up again, lengths of scroll churning out with every passing second, and millions of tiny black names scribbled onto the faded parchment. Every name signified those that died in combat, in the battle zone in the Peninsula. Here and there, dots of red and gold shone out amongst the tide of names, one every hundred. These were fallen Blood Angels, and each time he saw one, Sivox wept for those lost within his soul. He only hoped that they would find absolution by the Emperor’s side.

Then the muffled explosions stopped, and he looked up through the window at the peninsula; there still were lights, but they were fires or dying muzzle-flashes.

Soon after, the reel of the scribe-servitor creaked ever so slowly to a halt.

The last name on the reel read; Chaplain Surth .

+++

The Chaplain knelt before the Dark Apostle, an Accursed Crozius resting atop his newly cut skull. Erebus snarled down at the servant of the Emperor, his filed teeth glinting in the dying fires of the newly cleansed Deimos Peninsula. Already Heretics were summoning his Daemon Legion, the Hellgate glowing with accursed fire, throwing shadows that literally danced with dark beings across the scarred face of the rockrete courtyard.

Toumanez stood at the back of the courtyard, his head bowed, the dark runes of Chaos carved into his flesh shining as he chanted ancient damnable litanies to summon forth the minions of the Warp. Cultists, whose eyes had been opened to the true light of Chaos toiled across the forocrete, raising structures that wept with damned light.

The Chaplain looked up, and stared into the eyes Erebus, and knew then that he was staring into the heart of Darkness, the gateway to the secrets of the Warp itself; he saw roiling planes of corrupted beauty, twisted fields of splintered bones and whole worlds screaming as their own continents ripped each other apart in mindless self-destruction. And he saw the truth.

He saw the reason for existence.

He saw the ultimate answer to all life.

And then he knew what to do.

He knew he was abandoned. He looked back down at the helmet that he used to wear; he saw not just the cracked ceramite of his old helmet, but he saw the symbol of his old life, broken and shown to him for what it really meant; as he had shed the symbol of his old life, he had shed the shackles of his oaths to the Emperor and in doing so seen just what a lie it represented.

He slowly raised his head and looked once more into the eyes of the Dark Apostle, and twisted his scarred and broken lips in a gruesome smile, lips parted ever so slightly.

Erebus smiled back at this new servant of the True Faith, and knew that the fate of this world was sealed forever.

In a flash, Erebus’ arm had snapped up and the fury of a sun fled from his smoking pistol, which screamed at Toumanez. But the bright flash paled in comparison to the brilliant flash that came next; Toumanez had his hands raised, his mouth twisted beyond possible mortal realms and his eyes blazing with ethereal fire.

Erebus smiled, and corrupted words slipped past lips; ‘I taught you well.’

Toumanez didn’t reply. He cast the blazing fire aside, a staff appearing in his hands in seconds, and he had covered the ground between them in a matter of moments; in a screaming cacophony of rhetoric, he rained blows down on his former master in a flurry of blows. His hands were a blur, and every step he took roared with flames as his fury twisted the land around them.

But, while he was clearly a skilled combatant, Erebus was the better one.

He deflected every blow, before springing forward once more; his Crozius landing telling blows on the crazed Sorcerer, with every blow, destroying the Sorcerers psychic wards.

He roared, and brought the twisted Crozius down on the raging psyker’s head, his brains splattering out across the courtyard in a shower of ichors. The Dark Apostle sighed, bowing his head and wiping a small spatter of blood on his cloak.

It was all over in a matter of seconds.

Erebus turned to his new apprentice, a grim smile working its way across his features. ‘Welcome to the pantheon,’ grinned the Dark Apostle, his voice resting softly on the last words, ‘Coryphaus Surth’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kronus....

 

A world wracked by war....

 

A Dark Crusade of seven armies clashing over the blasted landscape of this barren world...

 

... that was twenty years ago.

 

Since then, the Imperium has reclaimed the lost Tomb World, and brought it back fully into the Imperial Fold, with it becoming a thriving world dedicated purely to the cause of the Reclusiarchy.

 

Now the world falls beneath the insidious gaze of a ancient foe of the Imperium...

  • 2 weeks later...
Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

Posted
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Calgar has hit the nail on the head - there's a secret love of- *WOOPS, SAID TOO MUCH!*

And now, a very short...

 

Preview of Chapter Fourteen:

 

The Skies fell down on the rulers of the Planet, the fleet that had defended the planet for ten millennia turning it's guns on those they had once sworn to protect.

The Palace stood as a bastion to the fury of the falling fleet.

As he take his first on the planet in millennia, he felt that the planet was truly dead; he remembered when the rock still breathed, when plants sprung up from the ground as a reminder that there was still hope in the barren wasteland of despair. He despaired himself as he thought of the beating heart in the planet smothered under millions of years of toil and war, of climate change that had torn the world apart in an orgy of destruction and self-inflicted wounds.

Such a tragedy could have only befallen the mightiest of worlds, the sight of the greatest battle to ever wrack the bleeding cosmos.

He bowed his head, feeling a tear welling up in his eyes as he thought of the dead planet, what had befallen such a mighty world and what was yet to come.

As the tear fell to the ground, the splash culd be heard across the planet, reverbrating through the war-torn rock.

From where the tear fell, a small plant sprung up from the ground.

As the Emperor wept, he breathed life into Terra once more.

  • 3 weeks later...

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