Eye of the Storm

[Gree]

This is something I've been working on for my Black Legion. The title of the story is a pun. The Legion's symbol is an eye and they are in the middle of a storm. Geddit?

 

 

 

The armor we wear, is the armor of darkness.

 

The darkness of our armor reflects many things, for me I like to think it was shame.

 

Once we were the greatest of the Emperor's Legions, the trailblazers of the Crusades. Then Horus saw past the lies of the Imperial Corpse and led his legions to freedom. We his sons followed, ever prideful, ever lusting for glory alongside our father.

 

And then.......

 

….........We fell.

 

Our father died and everything changed. We fled back to the Eye to nurse our wounds. We built a mighty fortress-tomb to house our father and we mourned him. We fought meaningless wars out of pride, bleeding ourselves dry in an effort to reclaim what was ours. We petulantly switched from god to god in our complete despair. We threatened ourselves with extinction. It seemed that the XVI Legion would be ended, it's bloodline extinguished forever. Then Abaddon, the Captain of the First Company, took charge. He reclaimed the Talon, binding the sons of our father together before destroying the body of Horus once and for all, laying him to rest properly.

 

No longer would Horus's sons whine and scrape in sorrow. We would avenge him with our hearts held high. We tracked down the twisted clones that the III Legion had forged to mock our father and we destroyed them in his memory. We rebuilt ourselves, took new recruits and painted our armor black.

 

No longer would it be the green-gray of the Sons of Horus. We are now black as night. To reflect our permanent shame of defeat and how we allowed ourselves to fall so far. We would not mourn Horus.

 

Instead we would avenge him.

 

Once we were the weakest of legions, preyed upon by our so called brothers in the Eye. Now we are the strongest, our ranks swelling with new followers to the banner of the Warmaster. Outside of the Eye ten thousand years have passed. To me it is merely a few centuries.

 

We will avenge our Primarch, and the Imperium will burn.

 

**

 

 

The Primus Bellum ground to a halt, the machine spirit of the vehicles assessing the target ranges. Snow whipped in front of the great black bulk of the vehicle. The landing ramp swung down with a hiss, kicking up a pile of snow, and then Upuat squad emerged.

 

Sartol was first out, his helmeted head scanning back and forth. He was clad in a bastardized mix of Mark VII, IV and V armor. His war plate was ornately decorated with kill markings and devotional runes to the Ruinous Powers. One shoulder guard depicted the golden eye of Horus, the heraldry of his Primarch The sword gleamed in his hand. It was named Moonclaw. The blade itself was a Legion relic from the earliest days of the Luna Wolves, a master-forged blade crafted in the Ural mountains on Terra for the newly recruited Astartes of the XVI Legion.

 

Behind him came Zaltu, in his horned Mark III helm. The eye of Horus was painted on one visor while he clutched a gargoyle-mouthed bolter. Both of his gauntlets were painted crimson. His head scanned from side to side in search of threats. The Marine was Sartol's second in command ever since the fires of the Heresy had subdued.

 

Next came proud Namtar. The headtaker's trophies clacked against his shoulder guards. He wore a Mark II helm, giving his profile an almost knightly aspect. Scarps of human flesh were nailed to his shoulder guards, each one detailed with his deeds inked in human blood. Hedam came, countless tiny runes of chaos were carved into each vambrace, pauldron, gauntlet and surface of his power armor. He wore a plundered horned MKVII helm. Sharru came, armed with his hooked falacta.

 

Saphon carried an plundered plasma gun, taken off the corpse of a Dark Angel. His augmetics wheezed and whirled as he stepped off. Almost half of the veteran's body was replaced by bionic augmentations over the years. Pidar carried Upuat squad's icon on his back in its retracted state. The Icon-Banner was a great spiked eye. Empty grinning skulls hung from it along with various smaller fetishes and icons depicting each of the four powers.

 

Then came the newbloods.

 

Ishkar was first, clad in his pilfered suit of Mark VI armor. His beak-like helm looked down at the snow. He was one of the more promising newbloods, taken from the depths of the Vengeful Spirit's gladiatorial arenas. His fellow newbloods came after him. Keret carried a flamer, the weapon already out. Lahar was last, his hulking figure towering over even the other Black Legionaries, his club like fists grasping a chainaxe.

 

And last came Ashrak.

 

The Sorcerer's armor was covered in wards and daemonic runes, designated to invoke power and protection from his patron daemons. His helmet was horned. In one hand he carried a golden staff, fashioned into a horned eye. He wore gray robes and chain mail over his war plate. A shimmering imp flapped at his feet, smoky warpstuff trailed behind the familiar.

 

''He's not here.'' Sartol said, looking about. His helmeted head inclined to look at Ashrak.

 

''This storm is strange, not natural.'' Sartol commented.

 

The Black Legion warband of the Returned under Lord Varkast had come to the world of Septium Varlan at the head of a massive mutant horde, intent on pillaging and plundering the world. The objective was simple: burn the world to the ground before the Imperial war machine could fully muster against them. But this ice storm had lately erupted in Varlan Gate, one of thee central cities of Septium. While the Black Legionaries fought on, protected in their sealed power armor, the horde of mutants and cultists perished from the cold.

 

''Of course not, it's warp based.'' Ashrak said in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

''One of ours?''

 

''Nope,'' Ashrak responded. He glanced up ahead. ''Why don't you look up there?'' he asked. Sartol glanced at Zaltu.

 

''I'm taking point.'' Namtar strode forward, his chainblade in hand, his helmet scanning about.

 

It wasn't long before they came across several corpses. Namtar bent down to look, turning one over.

 

''Our own slave-troops.'' he identified them. They were the butchered forms of the mutant slave-troops that the Black Legion employed as cannon fodder. Various clawed and bladed limbs were scattered all over the ground, staining the snow pink.

 

''Torn apart by chainblades,'' Zaltu said softly. ''One of our allies?''

 

''Their were none deployed in our area.'' Ishkar said.

 

''Who did it then? Not that I give a crap about these filth, but who did this?'' Zaltu commented.

 

''I see then.'' Sartol looked at Ashrak.

 

''Already on it.'' the sorcerer nodded, his familiar leaping towards a corpse. The thing sputtered and writhed as it dragged out some sort of ethereal, glowing light from one of the corpses.

 

It was a soul.

 

Ashrak extended one black gauntlet and clutched it tight in his hand, the thing pulsed and writhed as he held it close, examining it. Casually he fed it to his daemonic familiar, the bat-winged imp cackling as it devoured the poor soul.

 

The Black Legionaries watched with vague interest as the familiar fed the soul-memories back to it's master. Ashrak nodded in thought briefly before saying a single word.

 

''Astartes......'' he said with relish.

 

''Can you be a little more specific?'' asked Saphon.

 

''VI Legion.''

 

''The Wolves here? Finally a worthy foe,'' Namtar straightened up. The Space Wolves had been sighted, but on the other side of the planet. Nobody expected them to be here.

 

''The Wolves? Russ's dogs?'' asked Lahar.

 

''I've heard of them but-'' Ishkar began.

 

''But what?'' Sartol asked.

 

''I've never fought them before.''

 

''Then we will blood you.'' Namtar drew his chainblade.

 

''No, you are holding back.'' Sartol told him. He looked as Ashrak.

 

''Already ahead of you.'' the Sorcerer held up his staff and began an incantation. The staff glowed brightly then a strange ripping sound filled the air. Reality tore apart in ten places as flaming bones emerged out of thin air, followed by ropes of muscles and sinew, and finally dark fur and skin. Within seconds ten flaming shadow hounds tore their way into existence. The things were as large as a small horse. Their features were obscured, save for multiple crimson eyes and rows upon rows of serrated fangs. They gave keening cries and bounded off at a sharp command from the Sorcerer.

 

''And they are off,'' Ashrak said smartly and marched back into the Primus Bellum. ''Come now my brothers, we don't want to be late.''

 

**

 

The hounds made contact twenty minutes later.

 

A quartet of Space Wolves marched through the frozen streets of Varlan Gate. They moved through the snow with practiced ease. Groups of fleeing cultists and traitors fled before them, cut down with ease by the Fenrisians. The Wolves were born and bred on a world far harsher than this snowstorm, coupled with the cold they had been able to slaughter scores of mutants with ease. They were all young, freshly recruited from Fenris. They were cocky. Confidant.

 

Then the hounds came.

 

The shadow hounds leapt through the swirling snow with unnatural speed, their warp-sharpened claws and fangs ripping through the gorget of the first Wolf and tearing his throat out. Blood spurting to the ground, the Fenrisian gutted the first daemon-hound with his chainsword, fighting to to behead a second. He finally fell when three more piled on him. The remaining Wolves fought on, chainblades and bolt pistols spitting as they hacked down the daemon hounds, but even they were not enough. A Blood Claw lost a hand to the jaws to a hound and another was pulled down by numbers.

 

Then help came.

 

Howling filled the air as several Blood Claws came charging out from a side street. Their faces were alight with the excitement of battle, chainblades whirring and bolt pistols coughing. At their head was a grizzled white haired warrior wielding a kraken-toothed blade. The Blood Claws surrounded the shadow hounds and tore them to pieces. Warp blood and daemonic ichor stained and curdled the snow below as the Wolves extracted revenge for their fallen comrades, ripping the hounds apart with glee.

 

Then the Primus Bellum came roaring in. It's frontal prow smashed through a building wall as the huge Land Raider ripped through a single-story hab. The Blood Claws scattered as quickly as they could, however one was still engaged fighting a single shadow hound and was hit by the armored prow of the Land Raider. The Space Wolf flew back, to impact hard against a ferrocrete wall. The structure crumbled under the power-armored weight of the Wolf. The landing ramp for the Primus Bellum fell down and the warriors of the Black Legion charged out.

 

''We are Returned!'' Sartol roared, his vox-caster turned up to maximum. Moonclaw was in one hand, the relic blade blazing with power.

 

The warriors of the VI Legion were much like Sartol had remembered them the last time he had fought them. They were wild figures, clad in gray armor. On their shoulder guards they bore the symbol of a wolf with a bloodied maw. Their face were bareheaded despite the storm. Those same faces were young and mostly unmarked.

 

Newbloods.

 

The Wolves normally would have heard the approach of something as huge as the Land Raider, yet Ashrak's sorceries had done well to mask their approach. Sartol mentally thanked him with relish as he charge din. A Wolf fell back as the Blood Claws responded to the sudden assault. The shot was from Zaltu who calmly switched targets and shot a sidestepping Blood Claw right through the head with the practiced skill of ten millenia of warfare. Another Blood Claw fell to Saphon's meltagun, his upper torso liquifying.

 

Namtar roared as he met a Blood Claw blade to blade. Another Blood Claw made to flank the headtaker, but Sartol came in, his power sword cutting the Blood Claw from shoulder to hip. The twin halves of the Astartes warrior fell to the ground, smoking. Rapidly the entire street turned into a brutal short-ranged fight, with bolters and pistols being fired point blank and chainblades and fangs used at close quarters. Lahar clubbed a Blood Claw to death with his bony fists while Namtar beheaded the Blood Claws he was fighting in an awesome display of skill.

 

Keret fired his flamer as the Wolf Guard, the promethium covering his form. The Wolf came charging through, his face a burning mess. Despite the incredible pain he must be in, the Wolf Guard's blade sliced the flamer in half before tearing through the stomach plating of Keret's MK V suit. The chainblade ripped through the armor plate, gutting the Black Legionary. The Wolf Guard ripped the blade out of of Keret's gut and made to finish him by decapitation. But even as he lifted the blade his arm slowed down. The very fabric of reality warped as a pair of golden blades ripped through his chest and upwards, ripping open the Wolf Guard's entire chest.

 

''Goodbye.'' Ashrak said, channeling his psychic energy though his force staff. The entire genhanced post-human nervous system of the loyalist was obliterated by the psychic burst of the Sorcerer, the warp energies of the staff utterly rending the Wolf's internal organs to mush.

 

Ashrak disdainfully withdrew the blade from the Wolf Guard's blasted corpse. ''Come on Keret. It's disgraceful having to rescue you.'' he said.

 

Absentmindedly, the Sorcerer flicked his wrist and sent a barrage of shadowy lighting out. The warp lighting tore into two Space Wolves that Pidar and Hedam were engaging, flesh and armor was torn and blackened by the lightning and two smoking corpses fell to the floor.

 

A chainblade tore a large strip from Sartol's breastplate and another gouged a chunk from his shoulder guard, blasting across the Eye of Horus. Annoyed at the insult to his legion badge, Sartol beheaded the offender before slicing off the sword arm from another Blood Claw. He finished the job with a bolt shot through the skull at close range.

 

''These are the Sons of Russ?'' shouted Namtar incredulously as he headbutted a Blood Claw. His helmet cracked under the sheer force of the blow, but the Wolf was not so lucky, staggering back, his skull partially collapsed, Namtar finished the job by decapitating him.

 

''Speak for yourself.'' voxed Lahar, whose massive frame ran with deep wounds. Sartol leapt next to him, his power sword flashing. Steaming Astartes chunks fell to the ground as another Blood Claw leapt at the Chaos champion, chainblade extended in one hand with a fist clenched in the other.

 

Sartol caught the punch, servos in both of war plate whined and struggled as the two Astartes matched strength. But Sartol didn't need to rely on his power armor. His warp-blessed muscles were enhanced to a degree past even other Astartes. Inch by inch he forced the Wolf back. Moonclaw flashed and the Wolf brought up his chainblade. The venerated blade cut thorough through the whirling teen and went on to behead the Wolf. Nearby the last of the Blood Claws was finished off by Saphon's meltagun.

 

''Glorious.'' breathed Namtar.

 

''Well are the sons of Russ like you remember them?'' Lahar asked Sartol.

 

''Not quite, not quite.'' the Chaos Champion shook his head, gazing on the Wolves' corpses. These Wolves here were nothing but copies of copies, pale shadows of their descendents during the Heresy and the Scouring. Those had been worthy foes indeed.

 

But these.........

 

These were mockeries of true Astartes. But then again they were newbloods, Sartol noted. Even then they had given the elite Upuat squad a run for their money. Most of his squad had sustained wounds of some sort with Lahar and Keret taking the worst.

 

Ishkar picked up a severed finger, ignoring the pain. When he was a mortal cultist decades ago he might have found the pain disturbing, even crippling. But now as an Astartes he felt nothing. The newblood thanked his gods and Horus for his gene-gift before turning to Zaltu.

 

''Can I get this reattached any time soon?'' he asked.

 

''You will......when we get back to the Mortis Invictus,'' Zaltu waved him away. ''It's nothing, ask Saphon.''

 

''Yes newblood, when you lose this much,'' Saphon indicated both of his legs. ''Then we talk.''

 

''Shut up, there is still one left to slay.'' said Namtar, leaping over a corpse.

 

The Blood Claw that was hit by the Primus Bellum was still alive. He lay broken, impaled on a piece of rebar. The Astartes had taken a hit that would have killed a normal man instantly ,yet still lived, however badly wounded and barely alive.

 

The Wolf's red hair was spilled over the snow, his lupine eyes glaring with hatred as Namtar approached him, blade held high.

 

''Stop Namtar,'' Sartol commanded, pushing his brother aside. ''He will be questioned.''

 

Namtar bowed and stepped back before busying himself with beheading the corpses.

 

Sartol looked down upon the Wolf and removed his helmet. Connection links hissed as they were disengaged and the horned MK VII helm was lifted aside. Sartol's face was broad and clearly reminiscent of his gene-father. Twisting black tattoos snaked over his temples and cheeks. On his forehead was tattooed the Eye of Horus.

 

''We know this storm was not caused by us. It's you wasn't it?'' Sartol said, his voice deep and cutting, freed of the vox-distortion of the helm. He faintly felt the howling wind whip at his exposed skin, but he paid it no heed.

 

The Wolf did not answer, but instead he spat on Sartol's foot. The acidic spit sizzled against the ceramite.

 

''Tell me who did this and where I can find him and I will give you a quick warrior's death.'' Sartol promised.

 

The crippled Wolf said something in Fenrisian and raised a single finger. The meaning was obvious.

 

''Very well then.'' Sartol replaced his helm.

 

''Do your work.'' he said to Ashrak who bowed with an extravagant flourish before walking over to the struggling Fenrisian.

 

''Let's get a little more personal shall we?'' he bent down and grabbed the breastplate of the loyalist.. Tugging his fist upward the Wolf screamed as a glowing blue-white substance was ripped from his chest. It writhed in the Sorcerer's grasp as Ashrak brought it up and clinically observed it.

 

''Oh Pheles!'' he said to his impish familiar ''Daddy had a little treat for you.'' he tossed the soul to the familiar who tore at it with widened jaws.

 

With a slurp the daemon feasted on the soul of the Space Wolf, devouring him completely. With a light burp the familiar settled on his Master's shoulder. Ashrak lovingly stroked the daemon as he turned around.

 

''Pheles has the scent-memories of the VI Legion man here, he knows the psyker who did this................yes I have his signature now.'' Ashrak's ornate bladed helm nodded.

 

''Let's move then, I don't want to spent too much time playing around.'' Sartol gestured to the Primus Bellum.

 

''Get in.''

 

**

 

''There,'' Ashrak pointed to the massive cathedral. ''I have him.''

 

The Imperial Cathedral was huge, over fifty feet tall and topped with votive, gothic spires. Stained glass windows were obscured by howling wind and snow. Statues of angels and stains were coated in white. The black armor of the XVI Legion Astartes was covered in white as well. For a moment they resembled the Luna Wolves of the old. Something nostalgic stirred briefly in Sartol's heart as he looked them over.

 

He crushed it.

 

Quickly he accessed the arcane communications systems in his helm, activating the long-range vox-transmission. In heartbeat a message was sent to the Mortis Invictus, the Black Legion ship in orbit. Several seconds later the reply came.

 

''Good, he's game.'' Sartol looked at the rest of Upuat.

 

''Saphon, take point and blast down the doors, Namtar, Ishkar, you support him. Hedam, Lahar, watch the flanks.'' Sartol orders were clipped and precise as the Black Legionaries moved across the Imperial street, scanning the area for enemy contacts. Eery street angle, cranny and nook was analyzed for potential cover and fire positions.

 

Saphon walked up the fifty four steps of the cathedral, his daemon-mouthed meltagun brought up. He squeeze the trigger and a spear of superheated energy struck the large Aquila-stamped doors, blasting them apart.

 

Saphon tore through the molten wreck of the doors with his bare hands as Namtar and Ishkar entered, bolters at ready, scanning the area with professional alertness. Quickly the Black Legion swept past the entrance hallway into the main service chapel. The main service chapel was a widened dome. On the ceiling were artfully rendered frescoes of winged cherubs and Astartes warriors battling a horde of daemons, monsters and xenos,. Leading them was a artist rendition of the Emperor himself. Row upon row of seats filled the vast cathedral, with the central altar section cleared out.

 

''To the flanks.'' Ashrak whirled around. The stone walls to left of the Black Legionnaires burst as wolf-cloaked warriors smashed through the chapel walls and opened fire with their boltguns. It was the VI Legion.

 

This was a trap.

 

These were not the untested youngbloods, but fully veteran hunters. They were clad in the same company markings as the Blood Claws, but with different pack markings. Their were over a dozen of them. They moved amongst the wooden pews, their bulk smashing them like so much kindling. Only a half-dozen had room to open fire upon the Black Legion, the rest of the wolf pack was moving out from behind their brothers, trying to get an angle which to pour fire on Upuat. Under fire from the sudden bolter fusillade, Upuat squad reacted with their customary efficiency, falling back to the stone pillars.

 

Namtar stumbled, a pair of bolt rounds tearing through his armor and into the side of his leg. Ishkar hurled back several grenades to the rear, forcing the Grey Hunters to take pause from the fragmentation shrapnel. Hedam was torn apart by multiple bolter rounds and Sharru was headshotted by a bolter round. Saphon fired his meltagun, reducing a Grey Hunter to a molten husk before multiple bolter rounds tore into his chest. Then to the right more walls were smashed open and a dozen Grey Hunters leapt out, supporting them was a staff armed Rune Priest.

 

Ashrak ran forward to meet them, his staff raised. Shadowy gargoyles and flaming daemons tore their way into existence, engulfing the Grey Hunters in a storm of fangs, claws and talons even as they raised their bolters to fire.

 

Instead of catching Upuat squad in a pincer maneuver, the Space Wolves were temporarily foiled. But Sartol knew that would not hold them for long. The Fenrisians were fierce warriors and the pacted daemons would not survive more than a few minutes. And his own squad was pinned down by the other pack of Grey Hunters. Four of his warriors were down already.

 

But that was fine. Sartol was not worried. He was not even annoyed.

 

He only needed a few seconds.

 

Meanwhile Ashrak raised his hand and sent coruscating black fire into a Grey Hunter,. There was a word of power spoken and the Rune Priest slammed his staff down, dispelling the warpfire. With a wave of his staff the Wolf sent a hail of razor ice shards into the bodies of the daemons before him. A Grey Hunter rushed him with a chainsword readied, followed by another Wolf with a frost-edged axe. Even as they reached within sword range, time and space warped around them as Ashrak calmly beheaded the first and impaled the second through both hearts. To the outside observer it looked like the Wolves were moving in slow motion.

 

Interesting that you manged to dispel that one...........Fargrim is it? Ashrak probed into the Rune Priest's mental defenses as he closed the distance between them.

 

The Space Wolf was clad in the fur of some black-maned wolf. His hair was gray and his head was bald, however his beard was plaited and his eyes were like chips of unforgiving ice. In one hand he carried a winged wolf staff.

 

My name is of no importance oath-breaker. The Rune Priest snarled mentally back as he lashed out with his staff. Ashrak blocked it as he was forced back. All around them raged the battle.

 

Really? I wanted to know the name of the man who conjured up this storm. Ashrak said, pressing in mentally. The name of the man I am going to kill.

 

I am a Son of the Storm, purer and more than you could ever be bastard spawn of Horus. Fargrim responded with mental knives of his own.

 

Son of what? Oh, yes, that's what you call yourselves. Oh well, to each his own I suppose. Ashrak chuckled at the last bit. Phelus climbed over his shoulder, tiny wings spread wide as he fed his master power.

 

If you want to be more than me....maybe you should consider that statement. After all you are going to be dead soon.

 

You are mad sorcerer! Fargrim hurled shards of bladed ice at Ashrak.

 

Really? The Black Legion Sorcerer raised a hand and melted the ice shards with a wave of black fire.

 

Madness is relative.

 

Pidar's icon glowed as Sartol slammed in a fresh clip for his bolter. He looked at the icon with satisfaction.

 

There was a flash of light in the middle of the cathedral, near the steps of the altar itself. For a moment, everyone, Astartes and daemon alike, was blinded by the light. Then it disappeared and five figures stood.

 

At their head was a tall, hulking figure in ornate black terminator armor. One shoulder guard was fashioned into the Eye of Horus, as well as his breastplate. A massive cape of hell-beast fur was draped over his shoulders. From his trophy racks hung the skulls of warlords and champions. Runes of chaos were carved into his armor. He wore a dark knight-like helm, crowned with a pair of curving horns, like the mark of an ancient king. Their was a crimson slash over his left eye slit. In one hand he carried a battle axe, a weapon that seemed to write with life. On the other he carried a gargoyle-mouthed combi-melta.

 

This was Heru'ur Varkast. Chaos Lord of the Black Legion. Leader of the Company of the Returned. Chosen of Abaddon. Son of Horus. This was a man who had been the death of a hundred worlds and had fought at the gates of the Emperor's Palace on Terra.

 

Behind him was the Justaerin. The Black Legion terminator elite. They were also clad in ornate suits of terminator plate inscribed with daemonic runes and bedecked in fetishes and kill trophies from past conflicts. They carried power mauls, axes and immense chainfists alongside combi-bolters. One held the personal banner-icon of the warband itself. These Chosen warriors were the finest warriors that the Returned could muster.

 

Varkast spoke only a single word.

 

''Kill.''

 

And then all hell broke lose.

 

The Grey Hunters suppressing Upuat turned around, five of them opening fire on the Terminators. Varkast charged through the bolter fire like it was a light spring rain, ignoring the bolter impacts as he opened fire with his combi-melta, killing a Grey Hunter wielding a plasma gun before he could fire it. A moment later he hit the Grey Hunter squad. Almost faster than Sartol's eye could follow, the daemon axe bit through the chestplate of the first Grey Hunter, cutting him in half like wet paper. The axe seemed to scream as it drank the rich blood of the Astartes. Two more Grey Hunters fell in bloodied chunks as the Chaos Lord continued his rampage.

 

Sartol's head whipped around as he saw Ashrak's daemons falling one by one. He issued a clip order to his squad and they moved out. Lord Varkast and his retinue would take care of their own Grey Hunters just fine. Upuat Squad did not bother to use bolters, for fear of hitting Ashrak. Instead they drew their chainblades, knives and axes. The barreled past the fading corpses of the last few daemons and into the Grey Hunters.

 

Quickly the Black Legionaries and the Grey Hunters tore into each other. Sartol's Moonclaw slashed out, cutting a Grey Hunter from shoulder to hip as he sidestepped a chainblade slash before removing the offender's limb with his power sword. Then a power axe crashed against Sartol's blade as he was launched back. Moonclaw's power field sparked against the power axe's as the Wolf Guard smashed his bolt pistol into the side of Sartol's helm before headbutting him. The Black Legion Champion staggered back as the Wolf Guard brought his axe around in another swing.

 

Sartol twisted his body out of the way just in time to avoid being cut in half. Instead the axe cut through his axe halfway, through his left lung and secondary heart. Sartol dropped his bolter and grabbed the haft of the axe as the Space Wolf pressed on with two hands. Inch by inch the axe slipped deeper into the Chaos Marine's torso, going closer and closer to Sartol's primary heart. Sartol felt blood bubbling past his lips for a moment before he took a step back. This was bad he thought.

 

Then Zaltu shot the Wolf Guard from behind.

 

Blood and brains splattered over Sartol's helmet as he wretched the power axe from his chest and kicked away the headless corpse of the Wolf. Zaltu disappeared into the swirling melee, but Sartol mentally noted to thank him later.

 

His side blared with pain as his armor injected combat stimms to lessen the pain. Rapidly, the wound n his side began to seal up as his Larraman cells rushed to help patch up the cut. He retrieved his blade and flicked the activation rune back on, a spotting the lightning-wreathed form of the Rune Priest in front of him.

 

Ashrak raised a single finger and a orb of pure darkness coalesced into being. He fired it in a wide wave of coruscating shadow. Fargrim lifted his staff and spoke a word of power, dispelling the wave of darkness, the runes on his wolf staff flaring brightly. Scarcely as the darkness had disappeared then Fargrim detected a presence behind him. Whirling about the Rune Priest barely got a glimpse of blazing red eyes and a snarling black visor before he raised his staff as fast as he could.

 

But as it turned out, not fast enough.

 

Fargrim's hand fell to the ground, still holding his staff as Moonclaw buried itself up to the hilt through Fargrim's chest, through both primary hearts. Fargrim's eyes widened in shock as his lips opened slightly before Sartol hooked his fingers and drove his fist like a claw through the Rune Priest's skull.

 

With inhuman strength Sartol tore the Priest's head off before kicking the corpse away.

 

Then the storm broke.

 

**

 

With the Rune Priest's death the storm disappeared and the Wolves retreated in good order, firing their bolters back at every step and moving through the snowy streets away from the Cathedral. Varkast ordered no pursuit. The Black Legion had completed it's mission.

 

Sartol knelt in the middle of the hateful church, his helm off on the ground. He ignored the painful wound in his side, remaining still in obedience to his lord. Vaskast smashed his axe through a statue of the Emperor, the daemonic spirit inside writhing in pleasure at the desecration of the hated icon. Slowly, the massive horned helm of Heru'ur Varkast turned to look at Sartol. All around him the rest of Upuat squad took up defensive positions. The fight had not been easy, two of his Black Legionaries had fallen. Saphon would have died if not for his multiple bionic upgrades. Namtar was severely wounded. The rest of his squad brothers bore some sort of wound.

 

The Justaerin's armor was damaged, but they bore no wounds.

 

The corpses of the Wolves were deposed of, either burned by the Terminators' heavy flamer to destroyed by krak grenades after bits of war plate had been scavenged for the XVI Legion's uses. Normally the Black Legion would have attempted to harvest their geneseed for implantation into new Legionaries, however the Wolves's geneseed was unsuitable for that. Regardless, it gave Sartol pleasure to deny the Wolves their genetic legacy.

 

The bodies of Hedam and Sharru would be gathered by the Fleshmaster and chirumeks of the warband, their genetic material extracted for the creation of new Astartes for the warband. Recruiting new recruits was always a long and arduous process, so every bit of genetic material was needed, especially bits of Horus's own geneseed.

 

''Sartol my servant,'' Varkast said, his deep deep and ancient, with a hint of steel under the vox-distortion. ''You have done well.'' he swept his visor over the battleground.

 

''You have done excellent work as well Ashrak.'' the Sorcerer knelt next to Sartol.

 

''That head.'' Varkast indicated the Rune Priest's severed skull. Sartol held it up.

 

''Do you wish it of me my lord?'' he asked.

 

For a few moments, Varkast looked at him. ''No,'' he said at last. ''Keep it.''

 

''My lord what next?'' Sartol asked, thankful for being able to keep the trophy.

 

''The storm is over. Now...........now Varlan Gate burns.'' Varkast said with relish.

[Skirax]

Wow. Just wow. Kept me reading right from the start to the finish. Couple of grammar and spelling mistakes here and there, but then again, look who's talking! :P Very good, you've improved since your last story and I hope to see more.

[lord gunthar]

Excellent, you have inspired me to convert some really nice black legion models.

 

 

Off to cruise for nice bitz on the website.

[Darkchild130]

very good, I always like reading about the Sons of Russ dying!

 

Darkchild

[Hibberyjoo]

Really good. Want lots more :)

[Sons of Horus]

only crit I have is that the Justaerin were specifically 1st company only.

[Gree]

only crit I have is that the Justaerin were specifically 1st company only.

 

There is no first company anymore. The old legion structure had essentially disappeared. Now Black Legion warbands and companies operate on whichever structure the Chaos Lord desires. If Varkast wants to call his terminator elite Justaerin I doubt Abaddon will care.

[Walter Payton]

You didn't message me!

 

Love it. Inspired me to get going on my Roboute Guilliman story, wot has been languishing for a while.

[Ufthak]

WOW!!!

 

Great story, really good presentation of the Black Legion!!!

 

One of your great strengths is to incorporate all the characteristics of a specific Chapter/Legion - you did that with the Praetors of Orpheus, the Space Wolves, and now the Black Legion.

 

LOVE IT!!!!!!