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The Time of Ending (Chapter Nineteen up)

Skirax

By Skirax
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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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A far far far preview:

 

 

The Emperor just stared at him, half turned away. ‘You know what I’m going to say, Horus.’

Horus growled, his blade spitting as Fireblade roared with flame. ‘I know all too well, Father,’ he seemed to spit the word ‘father’ out as if it was stinging the inside of his mouth. His eyes were burning, the power of the Star Child welling within him.

‘You can either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. My son, you lived for too long,’ said the Emperor sullenly.

Then, with a vicious roar, he lunged at the errant son.

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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A far far far preview:

 

 

The Emperor just stared at him, half turned away. ‘You know what I’m going to say, Horus.’

Horus growled, his blade spitting as Fireblade roared with flame. ‘I know all too well, Father,’ he seemed to spit the word ‘father’ out as if it was stinging the inside of his mouth. His eyes were burning, the power of the Star Child welling within him.

‘You can either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. My son, you lived for too long,’ said the Emperor sullenly.

Then, with a vicious roar, he lunged at the errant son.

God Of War Battle-Brother

God Of War

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Again, stop pointing out the twists, we long ago learnt to expect them from you :lol:

Aha, maybe the twist is that there is no twist....... ;)

So there's a twist, but the twist may be that there is no twist,and,during all of this, the author is teasing us with teasers of the story?

I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! :)

*Puts bolt pistol to head*

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Again, stop pointing out the twists, we long ago learnt to expect them from you :P

Aha, maybe the twist is that there is no twist....... ;)

So there's a twist, but the twist may be that there is no twist,and,during all of this, the author is teasing us with teasers of the story?

I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! :D

*Puts bolt pistol to head*

Welcome to the madhouse. There's a bucket in the corner.

You'll get used to it.

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Chapter Sixteen; The First Psyker

 

He heard the roar of the Assault Cannon from all the way down the trench system, a good two miles away.

The thick mist that had settled over the battlefield was so inhibiting that he could barely see two foot before him. Although, from what he could see, he was guessing that it was better that he couldn’t; his las rifle settled on the firing step, the empty and broken Heavy Stubber discarded to his left, he was pouring fire with the rest of his hundred strong platoon into the sea of Tyranork, the roars of blind animalistic hatred drowning out the snapping cracks of the hundreds of rifles.

A roar came from behind him this time, but it was not that of an animal, it was the war trumpet of the Legio Hades as the legion of hell itself marched past him and into the hordes of deadly and scything masses. The twin mounted Assault Cannon on the Dreadnoughts left arm began to whir, and the belt of ammunition that trailed into the rear of the gun began to shift, almost in sudden anticipation of the coming slaughter.

Like a great beast of the Ancient Tales, the Assault Cannon began to scream, its pitch growing higher and higher until it was the loudest sound in the whole field. The Tyranork, in their base stupidity, kept clawing at the huge armoured form of the Dreadnought as the Assault Cannon sped up.

Like the roar of a terrible beast, the Assault Cannon began to spit shells at the Tyranork with unimaginable ferocity. The gun tracked back and forth, sub-atomic shells hammering into tough skinned monsters; limbs were sent flying as mass reactive bolts the size of a grown man’s torso exploded in the midst of armoured shells and thick muscle, sinew flying and cracked carapaskin tearing through the air.

The Tyranork were in full flight now, the hordes cut down like wheat to a scythe as the power of God Legion stalked the field.

Guns clattering and fatigues ruffling, the survivors of the brutal assault gathered at the lip of the trench, their guns resting on the sandbags. A few old, grizzled veterans were hiding amongst the Conscripts, their morale and courage instilling awe and a determination to prove themselves amongst the Whiteshield.

For a brief moment, there was silence across the field as the Tyranork regrouped, the Legio Hades reloaded, and the guns of the Defenders of Charadon fell silent.

In this moment, Mathias thought that he could hear the sound of battery guns, millions of miles away, muffled by space. It was like the hammer blow of a God, and deep inside him he felt deep dread.

Then whistles were blown, pistols were fired, and the platoon of men roared in defiance, climbing their ladders and firing steps to reach No Man’s Land in a glorious all or nothing charge.

The mud was soft beneath his feet, hard in places where the tendrils had crawled their way into the trench. The Dreadnought lumbered slowly past him, his Twin Assault Cannons whirring in an untraceable motion. Behind the Dreadnought stood the Gods of the Legio Hades, the Deaths Head resplendent upon its crotch, a great banner hanging from every spare layer of ceramite available.

Pink and green blood sprayed out over No Man’s Land as the Tyranork menace exploded under the fiery gaze of the Legio. A huge four-legged figure leered out amongst the sea of mutant creations, a bio-gun in one hand, a roaring chain-blade in another. Its tongue snaked out, wrapping its way around its neck, dripping acidic juices that fizzled on the toughened carapaskin of the Tyranork horde. It roared, the sound blowing Mathais' hair about, knocking his helmet off and sending spit droplets onto his grizzled face. He cared not.

He was in a glorious charge with his brothers, lasgun's snapping and barking as a million upon a million Guardsmen charged out across the wastes of Charadon.

The sound of their boots against the ground was like the roar of thunder, the las bolts of their weapons like the flash of lightning.

For a second, time slowed.

Mathais could feel it, he saw bullets slow in their path through the rank air and sweat droplets on his friend’s forehead pause in their descent. The sounds of the battle became muffled, roars sounding like they were passing through deep water and cannons sounding no louder than a Boltgun.

He smiled, his face split in a huge grin. He was at the forefront of one of the greatest military movements of the past ten thousand years of human history, a tip upon the hammer of the Imperium that would smash this foe back to the nether regions of hell itself. He could feel the huge wave of men behind him as he sped forward upon legs that were possessed of an amazing determination.

His eyes blazed with a battle-lust that had been, until this moment, suppressed beneath battle doctrine and careful screening, but now it was fighting its way to the fore, and he didn’t dare hold it back; he embraced it like an old friend, a tool to use to crush his opponents.

He let the power pour through him, revelling in the sudden surge of energy that touched him.

He let the power into him, into every crevice, washing away his sins and purging his very being as it washed through his system. He let it take him into its embrace, and like an old lover it took him in.

But too late he realised his mistake.

In a fiery blaze that, for a brief second, roared louder than the sun, Mathais exploded as a surge of psychic energy blasted through him and set him aflame, thrusting him at the Tyranork like a missile; he soared into the air, and like a giant bullet he impacted in the centre of the horde and exploded, his being becoming a channel for the power of Star Child as every Tyranork, big and small, was swept aside in a blast of unfocussed and pure power.

The charging Imperial force halted for a second, blinded by the blast; when their vision returned, they saw a blasted landscape that roared with the energy of the Warp. It was dark, so dark, and twisted structures reared up from the ground. Deep in the centre, a single purple light pulsed.

 

‘We must never speak of what happened,’ said Straken, his voice low and gruff.

‘The Inquisition must know!’ said the psyker. His eyes, long since blown out by psychic storms, were glowing with a deep, distant red.

‘If the Inquisition were to know then this whole world would be declared Exterminatus, and the lives of millions of loyal Guardsmen will have been in vain.’

‘The stakes have been like that before, and no Warmaster has ever paused like such before,’ spoke the senior Commissar.

‘Then no Warmaster has ever had a heart,’ whispered Straken.

 

Deep in the wastes of Charadon, the single light pulsed.

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