We are Eternal - An Eternal Legion Story

[Brother Argent]

A dull whine and then a few loud cracks was all the warning he had been given. Enough of a warning for his augmented reflexes to start him moving towards the large abandoned building ahead before his world exploded around him. Roaring thunder and fiery heat reduced his world from an abandoned Imperial street to a blasted ruinscape of choking masonry dust and thick ozone smelling smoke. His power armours servos had whined in protest as he ran from building to building, trying to make the most of what little cover was offered as the streets around him were blasted apart. Traitor artillery, specifically a squadron of Basilisks, had been hammering the Imperial forces for days. Today it seemed their target had been the small forward post of the loyalist forces bunkering down in a ruined Administratum complex. The forward force that he and his brothers had been a part of. He swore softly to himself His brothers, in the rush to find cover from the artillery barrage he had lost complete track of them. He attempted to contact them via the vox link in his helmet.

“ Squad Kios, check in.” he words were met with static and silence. He tried again but there was still no reply. He swore again. There was something about this planet. The strange electromagnetic storms that occasionally travelled the surface played havoc with communications.

 

He shifted a large beam that was blocking his way, causing a small shift in the rubble that lined the street. Looking around he thought to gain a visual sense of where he was. The city around him had been blasted to nothing. Any recognisable landmarks had been reduced to debris and the thick dust that filled the air made it impossible to get a true sense of direction. He stood there for a few minutes, his helmet scanning via infra red for life signs but soon gave up, the massive fires from the artillery making any attempts to find where he was pointless. With a sigh he gave up his futile search. There was only once option left. With grim determination he checked his bolter. The lovingly crafted weapon was still functional, although its ivory panels, once depicting the victory of the first Chapter Master of the Necrons on Argentum, was badly damaged. Then with one final sigh he picked a direction and begun to walk.

 

 

He picked his way carefully through the ruins. The city had long been abandoned as the war between the Imperial and Traitor forces had escalated. The war had been going on for quite some time when his Chapter had intervened. His Company, the Third House, had been returning to their homeworld after several battles against the orks of Ghoridan IV when they had received the distress call. Although their arrival soon began to turn the tide the arrival of more traitors turned the conflict into a bloody war of attrition. And it seemed that this hive had borne the brunt of it. Most of the hive’s spires had been reduced to the hellish landscape of blasted ruins that he walked through now. This area they were in was one of the last, a proud reminder of the glory the world once commanded. It too now was fast becoming a blackened urban skeleton, its glory stripped clean with massed artillery fire and bloody battles.

 

Suddenly a figure loomed out of the dust ahead and he dropped down behind a fallen column and raised his bolter.

“ Identify yourself!” he demanded, his voice came across as a booming baritone, due to the systems in his helmet. When no answer was forth coming he yelled again. The figure stood impassive and he fired a shot from his bolter. The projectile struck true with a loud crack as the shell detonated on impact. Although it now had a sizeable portion missing from its left side the figure still stood motionless.

“ What on Terra?” he asked. Keeping his bolter raised his slowly advanced,. After a few steps he lowered the weapon when it became apparent the figure posed no threat. Shaking his head and chuckling softly to himself he realised that the figure was a statue. It was a robed figure, perhaps some long forgotten saint or maybe even a statue of the Emperor himself. Its left arm and a large portion of its torso were missing, evidence of his bolter rounds impact. Its right hand was raised in supplication and a single stone tear sat upon its cheek. He turned from the statue and looked around. He appeared to be at the base of a flight of stairs. Another statue, this one devastated by the artillery, marked the other side of the ascent. Several shattered columns and other debris cluttered the stairway. What the building was, however, was unmistakable. Standing, battered but still proudly above the surrounding city stood an Imperial Cathedral, barely visible amongst the cloying dust and thick black smoke. It was a place other Imperial forces would look, he thought. Aside from that most Imperial Cathedrals were strongly built and easily defendable. At least he would be somewhat sheltered from more artillery, till he could establish a vox link with his brothers.

 

He climbed up the debris clogged steps. As he did so he couldn’t help but suppress a shudder at the thought that thousands of Imperia citizens had done the same before him. Coming to worship the Emperor, the Father of Humantity. A great man, no doubt, but not a God. A man whose very existence stopped the Imperium from crumbling, but still just a man. He shook such thoughts from his mind. He had other things to focus on now. He reached the massive doors of the ruined building. Tattered parchments hung in ragged strips from the doors and the remains of candles cluttered the top few steps. Signs of devoted vigils, probably as the war first started to take hold. People praying for a saviour. How ironic that their saviours would end up in the same place seeking refuge.

 

With a push he threw the doors open, their heavy bulk still swinging surprisingly easily on their rusted frames. The interior of the building was dark, yet here and their light spilled in from the shattered windows or from two large holes blasted through the roof. Several great columns lay across the floor and splintered pews lay like skeletal soldiers scattered the length of the building. The ever-pervasive dust and smoke gave the cathedral an eerie quality. Looking around he began to pick his way carefully towards the front of the cathedral. From outside it appeared as though the ancient building had at least one tower and he hoped that his vox system might work better from their, or that he would at least get a batter view of his surrounds. Get to higher ground, a basic survival instinct. He smiled grimly to himself. War, it makes animals out of us al, he though stoically. Of course his sergeant would berate him for such comments had he been there to hear them. He was snapped from his thoughts as another figure loomed from the dust ahead. He was most of the way to raising his bolter when he realised it was just another statue. A larger one then before, this one perhaps depicted the Emperor as a warrior. He started to move on towards the tower when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He froze in place and listened. He could still hear the whine of servos, like those in his power armour, but his own suit was motionless. Realisation struck him like a thunderbolt, he was not alone. No sooner had he begun to react when there was a flash from what he thought was another statue. He felt something glance of the shoulder guard of his armour whilst another projectile whistled past his head. The glancing impact on his shoulder caused him to stumble slightly and he used the momentum to drop down behind a fallen pillar. A small explosion blasted a chunk of the pillar he was sheltering behind and he realised that whoever was shooting at him was using a bolter.

“ Stand down, I’m friendly!” he roared at his unidentified assailant. The fusillade of bullets stopped and he waited to see if his assailant had just stopped to reload or had held his fire. When no more shots were incoming he slowly raised himself from behind the pillar, his bolter cocked and ready. He barely had a chance to half stand when he heard the distinctive click of a bolter firing again and, firing a few shots blindly, he sprag from his crouch, charging towards more cover. The first of his opponent’s shots clipped his power plant on the way through, the second struck him just below the knee whilst the third blasted into his helmet with all the concussive force of a small explosion. Dazed and half blinded he finished his run for cover, his momentum carrying him to behind one of the larger upright pillars. Grunting due to the pain in his leg and face he attempted to bring up a diagnostic of the damage, but his helmet was badly damaged. The images flickered briefly, his power plant was damaged as was his helmet interface. At least the damage to his leg was mostly superficial. Blood was stinging his eyes and he could taste its copperyness in his mouth. He pulled his damaged helmet off in disgust, dropping it amongst the rubble at his feet. A large portion on the right side on it was twisted and blasted and, judging by the bright red of his blood staining the alabaster white surface, his face hadn’t faired much better. Spitting blood he hefted his bolter. Whomever this opponent was he was no friend. Dropping down into a crouch he swung around the column, firing at the assailant. The enemy was clearly not expecting his enemy to still be standing, let alone fighting. His shots catching his enemy off guard two bolter rounds struck true, smashing into his opponents chest, whilst the others smashed into his assailants arm. All three detonated with a satisfying crack. He opponent staggered but then regained his balance. Damn, he thought, must be wearing power armour as well. He fired another three rounds before running forwards to move to more cover. He saw at least one of his rounds strike the enemy marine before he reached a fallen pillar and had to duck as he enemy raised his own weapon, a bolt pistol, and fired several shots. All of his opponent’s shots flew wide, the enemy apparently finding it hard to hit a moving target. From his position behind the fallen column he had a plan. Raising himself to a crouch behind the fallen masonry he carefully aimed. He’d have one shot at this, once chance before the enemy targeted him. He focussed as well as he could, shutting out the whine of his armour, the throbbing roar in his head from the bolter shot and the thick dust. He whispered a quiet prayer to his god before pulling the trigger. The bolt whistled through the air before striking home on its target. His days as a marksman in the Tenth House had aid off. The enemy marines bolt pistol, as well as his hand, exploded as the self detonating shell did its work. The enemy marine staggered backwards his hand now a bloody ruin.

 

The traitor marine looked at the bloody stump where his hand had been before looking at where he now was crouched. It then began to slowly walk towards him. With its remaining hand it drew out a long blade from a sheath at its side. The blade crackled to life with coruscating energy. The blade threw light on his opponent, finally revealing whom he face. The enemies power armour was damaged and worn, made more so by the three impacts from his own weapon. Once proud Imperial icons had been defaced and defiled. The armour itself was a faded blue and white halved pattern. He rose from his position behind the column, facing the approaching traitor. No reports had mentioned the possibility of traitor marines amongst the enemies, yet that didn’t matter. No foe was more deserving of death then those whom turned on their immortality gifted by their Primarchs for nothing more then earthly power. Raising his bolter he began to fire. Round after round smashed into the traitors chest. As each bolt detonated, blasting fragments of power armour or flesh from the marine the traitor staggered, but then continued on. He continued to pour bullets a the target until he heard a click as the bolter ran dry. He pulled the trigger a few more times, staring grimly at the traitor, whose armour and flesh were blasted apart but still he kept advancing. The traitor drew close to him now, close enough for him to see the blade up close. The once powerful weapon was pitted and rusty, a nauseating feeling emanated from the corrupt blade. He stepped back as the traitor smashed the column out of his way.

“ You should be dead,” he spat through a mouthful of blood.

“ Fool, I have no fear of death. Grandfather Nurgle has made me immortal.” The traitor’s voice was gravelly and raspy, made more so by the leering helmet he wore. In two strides the traitor reached him, swinging his rusted blade in a wide arc. He dodged back from the first swing and then brought his bolter up to block the second, an over head chop. The corrupt blade sliced cleanly through the holy weapon before slicing into his arm. He snarled in agony, white hot searing pain surged through his body and he staggered backwards before the traitor delivered a massive kick to his chest, sending him sprawling over backwards amongst the rubble. He could feel the dark infections from the blade spreading through his system. Even his superhuman immune system struggled to slow the infection. His bolter destroyed he looked around for a weapon. Scrambling to his feet he drew his combat knife whilst grabbed a bar from the rubble with his other hand. The traitor looked at him and chuckled, a dark mirthless sound. Drawing upon all his hatred for those whom forsook their oaths to humanity he charged. An inarticulate battle cry tore its way from his lips as he called upon his dwindling strength. He hurled his combat knife, his throw off target due to the injuries in his arm. The bladed was deflected harmlessly by the traitor’s blade. Then with one massive blow he swung the piece of masonry at his opponent’s head. The chunk of blasted concrete and metal smashed into the leering helmet of the traitor. The force of the blow sent shockwaves down his arm and smashed the traitors helmet from his head. It was then he saw the true horror of his opponent. The traitors flesh was pitted and desiccated, as though eaten away by some dark horror. His eyes were milky white, yet still saw. His jaw hung from a single side, although he wasn’t sure if it was his blow that had done that or not. The traitor looked at him with those milky blank eyes and then plunged his corrupted blade into his chest. He struggled to take a breath, the pain overwhelming him. The traitor then pushed forwards, driving the blade straight through him and pinning him against a column. As the traitor stared into his eyes he saw what he assumed to be a smile on what was left of the traitors face. His own words were filled with hate and disdain.

“ I don’t need dark gods to make me immortal, filth.” He spat the words as he raised the grenade he armed after he through his knife. With what little strength he had be held the armed grenade against the traitor’s face.

“ We are eternal…” he whispered, taking what pleasure he could in the unmistakable look of surprise in hi opponents face before his world exploded.

 

Brother Scout Sephron woke with a start, cold sweat beading on his forehead. A dream. It had all been a dream. Yet is had seemed so real. He swore he had been able to feel the traitors blade slice into his flesh, smell the smoke in the air, hear his own voice cry the battle cry. He swore that even in those last moments he had felt the force of the grenade tear his arm and face away to nothing. He had felt himself die. That chilling though hung with him as he stared into the pale light of dawn over the hills. With a still trembling hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. And begun stowing his equipment.

“ Are you well, brother?” a calm voice asked beside him and Sephron turned to face his Sergeant.

“ Uh, no, Brother Sergeant. I mean, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” He said.

“ Are you sure? You look quite pale. I need all my squad at their peak for today’s raid.” His Sergeant said, handing him part of his gear.

“ It was just a bad dream, a nightmare.” Sephron checked the sights of his sniper rifle.

“ Nightmares, eh? You’d best go see the Chaplain. It may be a sign of something far deeper.” Sephron was about to argue but then stopped. The dream had shaken him considerably. Perhaps a talk with the Chaplain would ease his mind.

“ I’ll do that, Brother Sergeant. Right away.” Sephron’s sergeant merely nodded his assent and the young scout set off.

 

 

He found Chaplain Tikos in a small building set up as a command post for the ground forces. The Space Marine sat looking at a small screen that had small lines of green text scrolling across it. The pale green light from the screen reflected dully of the imposing black and gold armour the Chaplain wore. Tikos’ helmet sat on the console beside him, golden wings spread eagles across the front. The Chaplain turned from the computer as Sephron entered the small building.

“ Brother Chaplain, may I have a moment of your time.” Sephron asked nervously. He didn’t know what it was but something about the massive Chaplain always mad him nervous. When he replied Tikos’ voice was deep and sombre.

“ What ails you, Brother Sephron?” Tikos’ face was scarred by three large claw marks across his otherwise fine features. Long blonde hair, a feature shared by most of the Chapter, flowed into his baroque armour.

“ Brother Sergeant Melenos said I should come to see you, Brother.” Sephron said nervously.

“ Regarding?” the Chaplain’s manner was that of disinterest.

“ A dream I had. Or rather a nightmare…” Sephron’s voice trailed off as the Chaplain turned to face him.

“ Indeed,” Tikos was clearly interested now, “ Tell me about this dream, Sephron.” The Chaplain’s full attention was on Sephron now. So nervously he began.

“ I was standing in a city, artillery falling all around me…”

 

 

“ And I held a grenade to the traitor’s face and then the world exploded.” Sephron finished his tale. Chaplain Tikos sat silently for a few moments, his sea grey eyes staring deeply at the young scout. It was a few moments before he spoke.

“ What you dreamed was the Battle of Hive Strakos. A battle fought many years ago. I know this because I was there. I was a member of Squad Kios. We were separated during the artillery strike. My brothers and I came upon Canus, that was whose death you saw, shortly after that. We were alerted to his location by the grenade blast. That you dreamed of his death is a sign.” Tikos said gravely.

“ A sign of what?” Sephron asked nervously.

“ You bear his soul. Your time as a neophyte is ending, Brother Sephron. All that is needed is for you to take the Harrowing and then you shall be ready to join the ranks of your brothers. But we must finish our war here first. Serve the Chapter well, honour the soul of Canus. For remember, brother, we are the phoenix born, the sons of the bennu and we are eternal.”

[Brother Argent]

And there it is, my really poorly written and badly edited story for the Iron Gauntlet. Its not what I was origionally going to write but it will have to do. Its also fairly crappy, but that happens. I hope to start writing a full length story soon, possibly following Sephron and perhaps include this, or maybe just focus on when he is a full blown battle brother.

 

Anyway, please let me know what you think.

[Lysimachus]

Very nice SP! A few little grammatical bits and pieces need work but overall it was a very good read with some nice action and imagery. Makes me want to find the 'Sons' IA to remind myself what the bit about the dream was all about! Congrats on completing the 5th Challenge too!

[Brother Argent]

I wouldn't worry about the Sons Ia yet, the whole dream thing is a bit of a new thing in their new IA coming soon.

[raptor1199]

. He didn’t know what it was but something about the massive Chaplain always made him nervous.

 

only typo i found (it lacks e)