Brotherhood of Darkness

[Obscura]

Brotherhood of Darkness: Legion of the Damned

 

A black sarcophagus drifts through the vastness of space, it's contents the hallowed remains of the Emperors chosen, a Blood Angel by the name of Damon. His deeds recorded in the most holy of scriptures of his chapter, especially his final heroic moment where he cast aside the killing blow with a broken chain sword that would have cast his Captain's soul into the warp by a foul Sorcerer dedicated to the Chaos pantheon, in this he would simply take the brunt of the heretic's burst of miasma that was meant for his battle brother and friend, Jaconis. Though now he drifts through space like dust in the wind, his resting place already scarred and dented by the remnants of The Litany of Sorrow, the bare remnants of the Thunderhawk that was meant to bore his remains to the Blood Angel's cruiser could barely be distinguished from the pieces of Nangor VI's monitoring satellites once manned by rebel forces, save only for the scorched scarlet that still remained upon buckled and rent armor plating, a black blood drop flanked by wings barely visible upon a slowly rotating piece of plate that was once the mighty transports left wing.

 

An imperial vessel of ancient design drifted through, it's armor and weaponry cast in darkness except for the ethereal inconsistencies that marred its surface. There were once many like it and it still bore the scars of a warp storm from countless years adrift upon the current, to many it would seem like a derelict ship, it's barely there lighting giving life to shadows upon it's view ports, wreckage trailing in its wake and yet a sentience followed wherever it went.

 

The eyes of the dead were given life, milky orbs peering through the darkness as armor arose from slumber, given their curse their bodies and weaponry would reform to take on the idea that they had drilled into their very being, further reinforced by the technology they had salvaged in their eternal war, “The Emperor protects.” Centurius spoke, the voice of ages past spoke with a macabre sense of wisdom to his gathering brothers, “For even on the verge of death, we are his Angels of Death.” Silence settled in as the warriors continued to gather, only the echoes of their armored steps rang through the darkness.

 

A variety of Astartes armor had been cannibalized by the nameless legion, though this was for necessity as the few techmarines that remained were eternally bound to maintaining the few vehicles, weaponry and Ancients of the legion. Though each brother was familiar with the inner and outer workings of their armor as they were bound by a decree set down by Centurius to garb their vestments in the visages of death.

 

“Prepare for war.”

[Obscura]

Chapter 1

 

“I really dislike this place.” Samin said, leaning against plasteel reinforced plating that lined the bunker, the sickly sweet scent of day old body odor mixed with the foul release that came from the other guardsmen, “Really dislike this place.” Samin glared at Clarin, who in turn grinned as he burped, passed gas then proceeded to pick his teeth with the bayonet. “Don't you have any manners?”

 

“War is about sacrifice, so sayeth the Commissar.” Clarin spoke, hazel eyes settling upon Biancia. She sat alone, viewing the conflict through her modified lasrifles scope, the silent hiss of its release usually marking another traitor's death. “Mm, sacrifice.”

 

“If you keep on staring at me.” Biancia glanced over, cerulean orbs drenched in bloodshot weariness would soon lock upon Clarin, “I'm going to shoot you in the gut, pull out your entrails and eat the last of your rations.”

 

“I love it when you get feisty.” Clarin laughed and grinned, enjoying the attentions of the petite yet all to feminine features that men usually craved, given her proportions the many men of Lion's Perdition tried and they all failed, some of them even exhibiting the scars of an all to friendly approach that wasn't welcomed.

 

"Will you two shut up." Samin interrupted them, Biancia simply shrugged and went back to her duty, Clarin soon returned to picking his teeth with the bayonet, "Praise be to the Emperor for silence." Samin muttered to himself, flaxen hair obscuring his vision as he quickly removed his guard issue helmet, the leather straps were damned uncomfortable.

 

"They're on the move." Biancia spoke softly as if the traitors could hear them, "Armored division inbound, I suggest we relocate." Though she noted the bright lance of retina scarring light that broke through the perpetual fog of war, casting aside the haze to soon strike the armored forms of defiled Leman Russes, "Looks like Lemmin's boys got the Lascannon working again." She ducked behind the bunker, knowing that shrapnel from that distance could still kill them. Timota a sad reminder to that ill gotten knowledge.

 

Soon enough the telltale ground shattering boom echoed forth, the crumpled form of the Leman Russ groaning in its death rattle, "When are they going to show up?" Samin spoke, his hair swept back to hide beneath the helmet once more, "The Blood Angels should have swept these heretics aside weeks ago." To many it would seem like heresy to talk ill of the Emperors chosen, though Lion's Perdition had been stationed upon Nangor VI's for three years, their request for Astartes sent out two years ago and finally they'd received response from a Blood Angel company that was in the sector by chance alone.

 

"Quiet your tongue." Biancia spoke quickly, "Unless you want the Commissar to question your faith in the benevolent Emperor." It was more of a warning than anything else. Lion's Perdition needed every able bodied man and woman, the last thing they needed was an over zealous Commissar going through their ranks removing those he thought were lacking in body and soul.

 

"Yes ma'am." Samin said with a lazy salute, the earth shook and they all settled in for another bombardment.

[Dosjetka]

Wow, I'm surprised that no one has commented on this. I really like the beginning part, nice and dark, great for the LotD.

 

Chapter 1 is great too, it really sets the main (?) characters in the story along with the Guard's opponents and allies (the BA's). I also like the banter between the three characters. :)

 

Good stuff, keep it coming!

 

Ludovic

[Obscura]

( Thank you for the kind words, I'm sure more replies will come as the story progresses. I'll have to do some edits and the like since I kinda do this on a whim. )

 

Chapter 2

 

"Hold the line!" A nameless guardsmen bellows, his cries of encouragement cut off with the sizzling hiss of light that emanated from across no man's land to pierce his exposed neck, his remnants collapsing to mix with the blood and excrement that mixed with the churned mud alongside his indoctrinated brothers and sisters. Lasrifle shots were inbound and outbound along with the occasional mortar bombardment.

 

"White shield?" The catch all term for a green guardsmen, more often than not they were nothing more than meat puppets. Lemmin spoke with a certain amount of disdain as he viewed the conflict through his view finder, "Whose idea was to put those fools in my trenches!" A questioning bellow hardly phases his accompanying retinue, "You find me that fool, you bring him here, then you tell him we're looking for the Commissar." The grizzled veteran of five campaigns said to the nearest guardsman, their eyes wide with horror as they rush out of the reinforced bunker. Silence passed between the gathered men, his copper colored eyes lingering upon a distant goal that only he could see as the first glimmer of amusement hints upon his jagged face.

 

In rows of ten they line, armed with the ornate weaponry of their choosing, in time their numbers would become ten by twenty in the void of their ships docking bay, the remnants of their once glorious past. "Brothers." Centurius spoke, a leader amongst the nameless and yet they truthfully acknowledged that no one but the Emperor would guide them in this life or in the next, "We come here this day to give thanks, to bless our weapons and sanctify our hearts upon the glorious field of battle."

 

His voice would echo within the cavernous crypt, scarlet lenses locked upon his armored form, "In our suffering we find redemption, those we cast down with contempt are our offerings to the benevolent Emperor and in his name, we go to war." Beneath the mask, Centurius's decaying lips would match the grin of his ornate skull helm.

 

The dark brotherhood beat their chest with clenched fist, the solid metallic echo their war cry.

 

"Emperor damn them." Biancia hissed once more, "We have to hold this bunker." For weeks the offensive against the Lion's Perdition had been a joke, at best those tainted by that thrice damned demagogue sent paltry wave after wave against their fortified position. It was an extended front between two mountain ranges, unnamed by the people of Nangor VI and yet if it were to fall it would provide a direct route to the planet's only remaining functional star port. "Get that damned Bolter working again!" The Blood Angels had been sent there to fortify the city for an imminent assault, their commanding officer presumed that the guardsman couldn't hold the line. So far Lion's Perdition had proved them wrong, but it was at great cost, yet they still held.

 

"Yes ma'am!" Samin said, the sarcasm clearly apparent as he worked upon his weapon of choice. A non regulation Heavy Bolter stripped of all the unnecessary parts, though he had kept the purity seal, just so those who happened upon him would believe that this weapon had passed inspection, "Look, I'm out all of that damned Nangor slop that passes as gun lubricant. If you want me to use some of that stuff that Clarin uses when he thinks no one is looking, then yeah, I'll get it working."

 

Clarin gestures rudely to Samin, "Lion's Perdition, sixth platoon, requesting immediate supporting fire from outlining Basilisk formation. Heretic's sighted upon northern side, ETA to line in ten minutes." Clarin spoke calmly, even though the static filled voice upon the voxcaster seemed to be compliant to their request, one could never be to sure when it came to battle field bureaucracy.

 

Amongst the whistling snap of incoming Basilisk bombardment and the bark of Samin's Heavy Bolter, Biancia would swear she heard someone laughing amongst the chaos, she kept her eyes upon the front as heathen cowards retreated, resisting the urge to look behind her. Lion's Perdition would hold.

[Nilsson112]

Great stuff. Really great stuff!

 

Edit: So great I had to create an new account.

[Obscura]

( Thank you Nilsson, hopefully I can continue to write well enough on this side project of mine, inspiration comes and goes. Glad to know that you're enjoying it! )

 

Chapter 3

 

The Battle Barge Daemon’s Perdition slowly crept into the Nangorian system, far beneath detectable range. The Astartes that had already made planet fall knew that the system itself was rich in mineral wealth, many of which were the key components to creating their power armor. Artisan Techmarines often sought out ingots of the precious materials as they believed the minerals were of the purest strain. In many ways, that was why the Blood Angels were here, their artisans required

 

What they didn’t know was that Nangor IV was once a Manufactorum, though its remains now reside within an unknown mountain range, it’s memory long since passed and barely hinted at in the autocratic tenacity that came to the records held upon Terra. Though the 23rd Night Lords knew, the tempest tide of the warp allowed these survivors to know with indelible doubt what a few of their loyalist brethren only knew through oral tradition.

 

“Brother.” The darkness hissed his name, “What news do you bring?” Milky orbs would fall upon the distance of space, the power glaive at his side humming with life as arcane energy leapt subtle gaps between the silver filigree details upon the weapons shaft.

 

“Confirmed, Manufactorum ruins are visible from our current position. How they’ve missed it for this long. . .” Techmarine Vatire spoke with a veiled sense of sarcasm, a byproduct of his inability to understand the shortcomings of sentient life forms, he preferred the company of his modified servitors and twice damned brethren entombed within the three remaining dreadnought sarcophaguses that the 23rd still maintained, though their combat chassis were far from combat effective due to dwindling supplies. At best they’d be able to make one of them combat ready if the other two were stripped for parts.

 

In it’s prime Nangor IV supplied the imperium . mainly the Night Lords during it’s manifest destiny through the stars, Though that was long before the moment when brother would fight brother upon a galactic front.

 

“Good.” Jakobi spoke, his form hidden by darkness, the bridge itself was clad in black. Daemon’s Perdition in complete stealth mode. The ship itself still bore a few of the battle scars from the ‘Horus Heresy’, but as the years stretched into millennia for the imperium, those of the 23rd were only three centuries old due to the quirks of the warp. “We need these supplies to justify our goals. Plus, reclaiming that STC would put us in favor when the council convenes.”

 

Biancia looked up at the sky as the gathering clouds soon developed into a torrential downpour, “At least we won’t have to worry about our dwindling water supplies.” She quirked with a grin, though no one was listening. A week ago, the supply train which carried their water rations had been hit by a suicide squad. That in itself wouldn't have been a problem, if a heat wave hadn't hit the next day, combat effectiveness had plummeted forty five percent due to heat exhaustion and dehydration.

 

Clarin grunted as a rain channel funneled through past the sand bags which crowded the bunkers entrance, “Damn it, now the rain tries to kill us. I swear to the Emperor, we just can’t get a damned break around here.”

[Obscura]

( Arise oh dead thread of mine )

 

Chapter 4

 

Bolter fire cut through the rising swath of chaos summoned demons, dark miasma splashed upon their hell borne brethren as the Legion held firm, twenty brothers in all held the line as their scarlet clad brothers fell back. The Blood Angels while pure of heart with many who have witnessed the ravaging ages of war knew well enough that it was time for a tactical retreat, their engines of war badly damaged but salvageable while the bodies and most importantly geneseed were stored in safety within their armored transports.

 

"Frag out." Brother Sergeant Demetrius of the Blood Angels yelled, the vox caster causing his voice to rise far above the din of battle as the grenade sailed overhead and into the center of an incoming horde of Nurgle infested militia, body parts and rot infested gristle splashed upon death embraced soldier and soiled ground in equal amounts. With his remaining arm he held his bolt pistol true, each round taking the head of a traitor, "Stay with me brother." His voice transferring over to the barely there marine by his side, who in turn was from another squad but they were brothers just the same, the weakened marine hefted his bolter in defiance to the pox that ravaged him, the sucking wound upon his chest healed by the machinations of his armor and physical superiority, yet through it all he still suffered from fever and mild hallucinations.

 

Three of Legion stepped forward, bolter fire cutting a line through the coming darkness, where one ran dry the others would cover him with bolter and for the unlucky few that got through, a chainsword. In silence they progressed towards the two wounded Blood Angels, the one with fever murmured prayers to his primarch, wondering if these Angels of Death were made manifest for all Marines upon the verge of death. Demetrius on the other hand had witnessed these skull and flame clad marines at their worst, his eyes forever upon the oncoming enemy as two Legionaries took defensive positions, allowing the third to holster his bolter before starting the grueling task of dragging two fully armored marines who were still firing back to the line.

 

"What's your name, brother?" Sergeant Demetrius questioned the nameless marine while his pistol continued to claim more lives, a trail of spent magazines marking his passing. The skull clad marines eyes glowed a vibrant green, a preternatural light held within.

 

"Legion." His voice a hollow echo that came from the grave, even in his wounded state Demetrius felt a shiver slither down his spine as the marine spoke.

 

The other two took steps back as they provided covering fire for the three behind them, solid slugs and lasrifle rounds pattering harmlessly off their armor and anything that dug deep into the ceramite ricocheted with a green spark. Calmly they proceeded back to the line, the two rejoining with the seventeen as the one known as Legion returned the still living Angels to their brothers.