The Silver Templars

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER I

A bird soared across the sky. Gracefully, the wind rippling through it's ruffled feathers. It twisted in mid-air, then suddenly dived down towards the ground, gaining speed at a rapid pace. The bird, seemingly suicidal and heading straight for an early death, pulled out of the dive smoothly and flattened it's flight pattern. The bird observed it's surroundings in the blink of an eye; it saw the enemy ahead of it, covered from head to toe in glinting armor. The bird seemed to grin, and then it convulsed, changing rapidly into a grotesque thing, its true form; the form that was what the warp had formed, that the Ruinous Powers had formed. The once-white, soft feathers dropped of the bird all at once, leaving a scaly, reptilian-like skin underneath. From small, grub-catching talons sprouted long, sharp claws that glowed with an unholy power in the blazing sunlight. It's mouth changed too, it's lower jaw dropping and leaving a enormous hole filled with millions of tiny, razor-edged teeth. The daemon let out an earsplitting screech as it charged towards it's target. An Imperial Guardsman saw the thing flying at the warrior, and in a moment of pure heroism and bravado, stepped into the daemon's path at the thing with a combat blade, but the daemon swiftly dodged and, with but a flick of it's right claw, cleanly separated head from neck, and intestines from torso. The daemon was almost there. He would enjoy this kill, he thought. He was now within feet of his target, and opened his gaping jaw in a scream of eminent triumph. Then, the screech was cut short, as the daemon quickly swallowed several bolt rounds, blasting apart the head and a large part of the torso. The corpse crashed into the ground and stopped at the warrior's feet. He stepped on the corpse in ditsgust as he moved forward, his bolter spitting fiery death. Behind him, the corpse evaporated into nothing.

 

The warrior ducked behind a boulder, chunks of rocks breaking off into nothingness as an enemy autocannon tore up the air around the boulder. The warrior risked a quick glance out from behind the rock. Across the barren wasteland that was the battlefield, he saw his objective: the PDF bunker set up about 100 meters away from his position. He ducked back behind his cover as the autocannon fired agains, ripping up the few pieces of grass left in the ground. The warrior rolled out from behind the boulder, came up on one knee, and three shots from his bolter. They bolt rounds flew across the plain and met their targets. The first two destroyed the skulls of two traitorous PDF troopers manning mounted heavy-bolters on the flanks of the rockcrete bunker. He rose from the crouch and sprinted for the nearest cover, the autocannon whirring as it warmed up to spray lead towards him. He dived behind a burning Chimera. The crew of the fiery wreck hanging out of the machine from several different gashes in the hull, their burning skeletons smiling in death. His armor sensors were triggered by the heat of the blaze, and warning sounds and sings began to appear on his visor. He ignored them. He had bigger things to worry about than a few burn marks to his battle plate.

 

He glanced around the side of the Chimera. Everything had just gone quiet. Too quiet.

What happened to the autocannon crew? They should still be firing?

The question answered itself rather quickly. The turret crew locked onto to his head, and let off a short burst. He saw the bullets flying at him across the plain, and ducked back behind the cover the smoldering Chimera provided, but not before two of the bullets collided with his faceplate. The sound of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object was devastating. The warrior fell back behind cover, his faceplate cracked. He tore off the helmet and looked at it briefly before attaching it to the mag-rope that hung off his right hip. He could not leave the helmet there, on the wasted battlefield that, if he could not succeed here, the Archenemy would take back. The helmet, masterfully crafted into the shape of a hiendr, a beast native to his home world. He would have the master artificers of his Chapter look at this. If anyone could repair it, they could. He hefted his bolter and looked at the muzzle. The last few bullets of the traitor's fire had crippled the barrel of the bolter, rendering it useless. He laid the bolter on the ground in front of him, then reached over his shoulder and grasped the all-too-familiar hilt of his power sword. He drew it, unlocking it's sheath from the mag-lock on his back and attaching it to his left hip, while he locked his bolter, carved with the names of many heroes of the Chapter, onto his back. He turned his attention to the enormous fist covering his augmetic left hand. Years ago, fighting an ork horde on Daecronista V, a ork warboss he had challenged to single combat. The ork had taken his arm at the shoulder in the opening seconds of the fight. Though pain unimaginable had befallen him, he knew that to lose this fight would mean certain death for him, and possibly his company as whole.

 

He had won the duel easily enough, impaling the barbaric greenskin upon his blade as it charged him. The real challenge, the hardest fight, had been waiting for his brothers to find him. They found him just in time, and the company apothecary had been able to stabilize him enough for transport back to the battle-barge. Ever since, he had fought with what looked to be an ordinary power fist. But it was more. The Chapter's Techmarines tinkered with the fist and, after approval from Feytor Haidr, he had been given the fist back for usage and inspection. The Techmarines had worked wonders upon the weapon. Attached to the underside of it was a bolter, the ammunition cables snaking up to ammo packs that hung underneath his power pack. Another surprise had been the talons. On his command, by simply thinking it, razor-sharp talons slid from their sheaths, crackling with blue lightning. He had graciously accepted the tool of war, and had used it ever since.

 

That was 500 years ago.

 

Now, like on Daecronista V, he faced the challenge of winning this battle himself. If he could not this, the area would not be secure for his brothers in orbit to land and mobilize against the Archenemy here on Haviria Minoris. His mission was crucial.

 

He lunged out from behind the Chimera, the bolter on his fist spitting blazing death. He jumped, landing in a trench in front of two terrified PDF traitors. They had marks and sigils of the Ruinous Powers carved in their flesh, pulsing with dark warp energy. He wasted no time in a war cry of any sort. The claws slid from the restrictive sheaths, screaming for blood to quench their thirst. He did not deny them, slicing the first heretic open across his stomach, before turning in a low crouch and swiping at the legs of the other PDF trooper, separating his lower legs from his thighs.

 

The trooper screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at the spurting stumps that once could have been called legs.

"Please, mercy, mercy!! I beg of you! Oh gods, don't kill me!" said the heretic between shouts and cries of pain.

"There is no mercy for those who stray from the Emperor's grace," the warrior snarled. And with that, he plunged his sword hilt-deep in the traitor's head.

"Heretical scum," he spat, before drawing the sword from the corpse, wiping each side on the traitor's disheveled uniform, and stalking off down the trench, disappearing quietly into the shadows.

 

CHAPTER II

The warrior gazed in through the side door. He could see the heretics standing around a command console, looking out over the devastated battlefield. The autocannon crews panned back and forth, searching for targets.

Searching for me, he thought. He needed to move quickly, before they realized he was in their midst. He threw himself at the command crew, slicing the first two heretics apart with a savage sweep from his crackling power sword. As the other PDF commanders drew their weapons, his claws slid from their sheaths, blue energy coruscating around them. He slapped the first traitor's weapon aside with his palm, before bringing his fist back in a devastating arc to split the enemy from shoulder to hip. A lasbolt glanced off of his shoulder pad, leaving a scorching trail across it. He roared, swinging his power sword around to neatly decapitate the shooter. He weaved in and out of the heretics, slicing, stabbing, and jabbing, until he reached the window view of the bunker. He stopped and looked around. The rank stench of blood and emptied bowels filled the room. Corpses lay shredded and mangled all around the room. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"This is Captain Andriar to Fury of Perdur, do you copy," the captain muttered into his gauntlet vox. He listened to the vox-bead in his ear. He heard the hiss of static interference, then a voice broke through, crisp and clear.

"This is Fury of Perdur to Captain Andriar. Have you secured the landing zone, captain?" the voice asked. Andriar smiled.

 

He knew this voice, very well. It was the voice of Captain Hriad, Master of the Fleet, 3rd Company. He had mentored Andriar ever since his induction in the Chapter five hundred and fifty years ago. He had served as Hraid's senior sergeant for close to a hundred years, even serving, for a brief stint before the loss of his arm, as Company Champion. They had both saved each others lives more times than either could, or cared to, count. When Captain Gerdir had fallen in battle against the tau, Hriad had nominated Andriar as a candidate for the captaincy of the Fourth. Chapter Master Sruda Freyntr had approved the nomination, seeing Andriar's lengthy battle service and honors. Andriar and Hriad had fought together as co-captains for close to three hundred years now, and they could always count on one another to get the job done and to have each others' backs.

"Affirmative, I have eliminated the PDF command in this sec-," Andriar stopped. he had heard something. He closed the vox link and drew his sword, thumbing the activation rune as he slowly walked towards the door. A gout of fire forced him back as five Chaos Space Marines in the livery of the Word Bearers stalked into the room. The hideous runes and sigils on their armor made Andriar's eyes water. The first Word Bearer charged him, brandishing a whirring chainblade and shouting obscenities to his horrible gods.

 

Andriar dodged the wild, reckless swing of the Traitor Marine and brought his own sword up into the gut of the Word Bearer. The powered blade of his sword, Vinces, sliced easily through the warped battle plate of the tainted Marine, severing him in half. The other four Word Bearers stalked silently into the room, forming a semi-circle around Andriar and forcing him to back up to keep from being surrounded.

 

He stopped. His heels were on the edge of the window ledge. He looked down briefly, calculating the distance in a millisecond. He looked back at the Traitor Marines. Their apparent leader, a tall Marine in standard Word Bearer crimson armor with fetish trophies hanging from his shoulder pads and curved horns sprouting from his helm, spoke first.

"Give up, son of Guilliman. Can you not see you have lost? Give into Chaos. Side with us. Chaos can offer you so much, and more. Give in," the Word Bearer rambled, his voice warped through his helmet's speakers. Andriar stood dumbfounded for a moment. Then he remembered something from his human past, from when he was a boy on his home world. Whenever his father had talked about Traitor Marines, he always used a certain word to describe them. Now the memory came rushing back to him. He glared directly at the Word Bearer, a confident look falling over his patrician features.

"Screw you, feth-face," he spat at the Chaos Champion. Then he jumped.

 

He landed hard, but stayed on his feet, his armor absorbing the worst of the impact. He looked back up at the window. The Chaos Marines had their bolters drawn and aimed at him.

"Fire!" the Chaos champion shouted, roaring praises to his Dark Gods and swinging a desecrated crozius in ritual movements. A flash of recognition flashed across Andriar's face. This was the Dark Apostle Sat'huri, the killer of Faridr, Andriar's closest friend in the Chapter.

 

On a mission close to fifty years ago, Word Bearer forcers had crossed paths with that of Andriar's company of Silver Templars. A chance to wreck havoc on those of Guilliman's gene-seed was too good for the Host to pass up, and so it had been that the Word Bearers had flanked the Silver Templars 4th Company at Yngreso, an agri-world under attack from the Tyranids. The Silver Templars, being very close to the Ultramarines, had fought at the sides of the Tyranid War Veterans many a time. Their whole Chapter, in a gesture of good grace from Lord Macragge Marneus Calgar and Master of Sanctity Ortan Cassius, was trained in the art of tyranid-slaying by these veterans. therefore, they were the first to respond to the plea for help from Yngreso's planetary governor. The PDF there, having already been garrisoned by a small force of thirty Silver Templars who had established a recruiting and training base on Yngreso, fought valiantly, and held the tyranid forces at bay until the major population centers closest to the spore landing sites had been evacuated into Yngresuao, the planetary capital. The walls had been built by the Templars, with a measure of help from Darnath Lysander of the Imperial Fists 1st Company, after the re-liberation of Yngreso from rebellious forces 250 years ago. The Templars had a reputation of being amazing fortification builders, and so it was that Yngresuao was well-fortified by the small Templar contingent there. The Third and Fourth companies responded to the call for help, and within three days of their drop pods slamming down on the farmland of Yngreso, they had surrounded the Tyranids and trapped them between the walls of Yngresuao and the Third and Fourth. It was then that the 166th Host of the Word Bearers landed and attacked the Templars from behind. Many heroes were made in that campaign. Veteran-Sergeant Drahn Serar and his squad of Terminator-armored brethren in the defense of the southern flank single-handedly for twenty days without reinforcements. Andriar had fought with his command squad of Terminator-armored veterans alongside Hriad. Faridr, Andriar's Company Champion and closest friend, had died when Sat'Huri and two hundred Anointed Chaos Terminators had made their final assault on Andriar's position. Faridr had separated himself from Andriar's side to challenge Sat'huri. Andriar had watched as the corrupted Dark Apostle struck down Faridr with a crushing blow to the his helm. Roaring in a blind rage, Andriar had slain the Dark Apostle's entire personal retinue, and had faced down the fallen Chaplain in single combat. It was an even tilt, but Sat'huri knocked Andriar down with a precise blow to his midsection. As the Chaos Marine stood over him, ready to deal the killing blow, Hriad had intervened, putting the Marine on the defensive. It resulted in Hriad being grievously wounded at the hands of ten of the elite Anointed Terminators. The timely arrival of Andriar and his command squad saved his life, as they formed a wall of bodies around the ancient captain's fallen form. The Word Bearers had retreated and fled, but Andriar vowed vengeance for Faridr on that day.

 

It seemed to him that the God-Emperor had granted him a chance to fulfill his promise today. Andriar turned, unclipped his bolter, and loaded a clip full of Vengeance Bolts into his gun. He racked the slide, sighted Sat'huri through his scope, and was about to fire when he heard a distant rumble. He ignored the rumble, and fired. The bolt ripped into the Dark Apostle's gorget, and exploded inside his body. Armour ripped apart, and the shrapnel pierced the eye lens of one of the other Traitor Marines and stabbed into the chest of another. Both wounded Marines fell to the ground dead, and Andriar placed a perfect round between the eyes of the confused final Marine. He clipped the bolter back onto the mag-lock and turned to leave. Then he saw it.

 

On the horizon, a dust cloud was rising. As it got closer, his visor zoomed in on the leading figure, and his mind recognized the body shape and armor of the runner immediately from the holo-picts taken on many battlefields. It was Khârn the Betrayer, and behind him a large contingent of Khornate Chaos Space Marines, all World Eaters. As they got closer, his sound filters were filled with the sound of a repeated chant coming from the rushing horde of bloodthirsty warriors.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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More to come!

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER III

The roaring blood-crazed Chaos Marines sprinted across the plain, snarling and screaming to their horrible God. Andriar thumbed the activation rune of his power sword, and unsheathed his lightning claws with a hiss. His brought up his wrist-mounted bolter and checked the ammunition load. Five hundred bolts were left. He knew it would be very unlikely that he would live long enough in the face of such bloodthirsty warriors to expend all of that ammo, but he checked out of habit. He faced the horde, and muttered a prayer under his breath. Just then he heard a hiss of superheated air, and shielded his eyes at a beam of light stabbed through the clouds and into the midst of the onrushing horde. Bodies flew into the air, shredded by the laser that had come from orbit. The crazed traitors recovered fast, but just as they once again began their insane chanting, giant creations of made of the hardest adamantium slammed down onto the dusty earth. Explosive bolts blew out, and the hatches fell to reveal the entire Third and Fourth Companies. Andriar's command squad, clad in their ornate power armour in lieu of their Terminator suits, surrounded him, waiting for his command. All across the plain, the brave warriors took what little cover could be found, and waited. Devastators took up positions at strategic points around the battlefield, and began to rain heavy weapons fire on the Khornate Marines.

"It looked like you needed some support, brother," said Hriad as he approached. Hriad was a bear of a man, huge by even Space Marine standards. He donned power armor, just as his command squad and the rest of his Company had for this battle, but many parts of it had been cannabalized from unrepairable suits of Tactical Dreadnought armor. A large honor scoll hung from his waist, and many purity seals covered his ornate artificer armor. His helmet was tucked in the crook of his arm. Also fashioned in the shape of the hiendr, his helm bore a Valor Crest, colored silver in honor of the Tanith First-and-Only troopers he had fought beside to earn it. His face bore the evidence of seven hundred years of war. Scars covered his face, many of them honor scars he had won in the Arena back home in the fortress-monastery. His eyes, though, were the one feature that stood out amongst all Astartes, common only to Silver Templars. His irises were multicolored, a quirk that the Templar's gene-seed had acquired over the years. Blue, grey, green, black, red, brown, orange, violet, all these colors were present in his eyes. They burned with a fierce fury, an unquenched thirst for war in the Emperor's name.

Affirmative, brother Hriad, and I thank you for your foresight and speed. Now, we have a battle to fight. For the Emperor, brother," Andriar intoned.

"For the Emperor, Andriar," Hriad repeated, " and on a personal note, don't make me save your hide again for the sixth time this century. I may not be there every time you need me."

Hriad walked away to rejoin his Company, and Andrirar grinned. It was just like Hriad to remind him of that. It was the same every time. It was an inside joke between the two, rare for Astartes. Andriar snapped back into reality. He opened his Company vox-link.

+++Sergeant Dredr, Sergeant Swerd, are you in position?+++ he voxed.

++Yes Captain, we are in position and ready to receive orders.+++ Dredr voxed back. Dredr was one of the two Devastator sergeants in the Fourth, and he did his job very well.

+++Good. Open fire with lascannons at four hundred meters. Let them close with us before opening fire with meltas, rockets, plasma cannons, and flamers.+++Andriar voxed.

Both sergeants acknowledged in rapid succession. Then another voice cut across the vox link. The voice was deep, commanding, and full of fierce devotion to the Emperor.

+++Captain, we are located on the western flanks, awaiting orders.+++voxed Chaplain Dominicus. Dominicus believe that, i. Battle, it was best to serve the Emperor from the front, deep within the ranks of the enemy, rather than using ranged weaponry. He had long ago eschewed his ranged weapons for an ornate power axe, his blessed crozius arcanum, and jump pack. He led the Fourth Company's assault Marines into battle, bellowing verses of prayer to the Emperor and litanies of hatred towards the foe. He had earned honors galore, and was inspirational to all who saw him.

+++Chaplain, wait until the enemy closes within three hundred meters, then attack their flank+++ the Captain ordered.

+++Acknowledged+++ was all the Chaplain said before he abruptly closed the vox-link.

"Sometimes, he has the personality of a Flesh Tearer," muttered Andriar under his breath. He then opened a vox-link to the rest of his Company.

+++Brothers, the Archenemy is upon us. Bolters, fire once the close withing two hundred meters. Stagger and short. At one hundred meters, attach chainsword bayonets. After that, it is blades free, guns down. understood?+++Andriar voxed. He knew they understood! But it never hurt to check. Affirmatives rattled into his vox-bead. He turned to towards the onrushing horde, and came face-to-face with a World Eater who has separated himself from the main group.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" the Traitor Marine screamed.

"For the Emperor," Andriar muttered, and fired his wrist-bolter at point-blank range into the World Eater's twisted helm.

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER IV

The World Eater's body fell backwards, his head blown into oblivion. Behind him came the rest of the horde, with Khârn at it's head. All of the heavy weaponry the Templars could bring to the front tore into the ranks, but it did not stop them. Bolters kicked in the hands of the Loyalist Astartes, but the rounds merely glanced off Khârn's unholy power armor. Khârn swung Gorechild left and right, screaming cacophonic praises to his foul God. He leapt over a burning Hydra and rushed towards Hriad with blood on his mind and murder in his heart.

 

Hriad let his dual lighting claws slide forth, the masterfully crafted talons crackling with power. His Terminator-armored retinue surrounded him on his flanks, spreading themselves out in a standard Codex Astartes defensive pattern. Dranggir, the squad heavy weapons specialist, started up his arm-mounted cannon, and sprayed golden bolts into the multitude of Khorne-worshippers, chopping down row upon row. The rest of his brethren slapped home clips of Vengeance bolts, and racked the slide of their mark IX storm bolters, awaiting the battle to come.

 

Khârn close the distance rapidly between the Sliver Templar captain and himself. Gorechild whined as the serrated teeth spun, the daemon trapped inside begging to feed on the blood of Loyalist Astartes. Khârn would grant it it's wish soon enough. He closed the last few meters with Hriad, and he roared one final promise to his God:

"KILLMAIMBURN!!!!"

 

Hriad lauched himself to his right as Gorechild cut through the air where he had once been standing. He rolled and came up in a crouch, firing off streams of golden bolts from his wrist-mounted storm bolters, but to no great effect.

"Your foul god must like you quite a bit," Hriad remarked as he watched his bolts, aimed at the center of Khârn's chest, merely bounce off without leaving so much as a scratch.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" yelled Khârn, charging Hriad once more across the dusty plain. Hriad lunged forward to meet Khârn head on, his claws clashing with Gorechild in a cataclysmic clash. The daemonic axe whirred, the daemon inside adding his strength to that of Khârn, but it was to no avail. Hriad's thrice-blessed talons held firm, sparks flying as the ancient teeth of Gorechild grinded on the adamantium claws Hraid wielded. Hriad broke the stalemate, spun low on his heel, and drove his right claw up into Khârn's gut.

 

Khârn cried out in momentary surprise at the speed of the venerable captain, then swung his heavy axe towards Hriad's head, intent on delivering a killing strike to the head of the Silver Templar. The axe swung and, with the sound of ripping air, flew over the top of Hriad's head and bit into a nearby boulder.

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!" Khârn roared, and viciously ripped the axe from the enormous rock, turning to face Hriad once more. Blood poured from four parallel stab wounded in Khârn's stomach for a moment before his corrupted Larraman's cells sealed off the wound. Hriad's right claw was coated in black blood, and he found that his bolter on that hand was jammed with a human skull from Khârn's belt.

That's just great," Hriad muttered under his breath. His attention was suddenly drawn back to the battle surrounding him.

 

All around him, he watched as his brothers, the closest family he had ever had, were slaughtered under the sheer weight of bodies that the Khorne-worshippers were bringing forwards. He watched with terror as Dranggir cast aside the limp body of a World Eater, only to be felled by a Knight of Blood wielding a chain-axe. Crahn Greynr fell as three World Eaters simultaneously drove their weapons into his helm, voiding the protection of his Terminator armor. Apothecary Hrugg bolted all over the battlefield, moving with surprising speed for someone covered in Tactical Dreadnought warplate. He helped brothers back to their feet where he could, and elivered the Emperor's Mercy to those who would not live, and removed their progenoid organs with great reverence and speed.

 

Champion Yhrunr had deserted his normal duties of hunting down enemy leaders in lieu of protecting the good apothecary. His dual power swords flashed as he carved at the enemies who tried to attack the apothecary while he was busy with his duties. His armor was rent and torn, and at some point he had lost his helm, but he did not yield. Not until the Bloodthirster arrived did the Champion falter.

 

The Bloodthister came from nowhere, slashing a path of corpses through the power armored brethren of Hriad's Third Company. When it came upon Yhrunr, he welcomed the challenge, and stepped forward to meet the daemon.

 

The battle was vicious, but one-sided. The bloodthirster drove the champion backwards until he was back-to-back with Apothecary Hrugg, who was defending himself from a crazed Sanctified Chaos Space Marine. The bloodthirster feinted left, then swung back to the right with his oversized double-headed axe. The daemonicalliy-infused blade bit deep into the champions ornate Tactical Dreadnought armor, and sliced his arm off at the elbow. Yhrunr fell back, blood spurting from the stump of his arm. He swung his blazing power sword towards the Bloodthirster, and opened a long cut across the beast's stomach.

"Blood for the Blood God!! He cares not from where it flows," the greater daemon of Khorne screeched. He whipped his axe around with warp-enhanced speed and smashed it into Yhrunr's helm. The helm split, and the axe dug deep into the champion's skull. Yhrunr's corpse fell to its knees, then flaty on it's face, blood pooling in the dirt around it.

 

The Bloodthrister stood triumphant over the champion's prone form, swinging his bloodied axe in a wild frenzy and yelling horrible preaises to his foul god. Suddenly, flames engulfed the daemon as Ancient Hru'sr, Fourth Company's Dreadnought, strode into the fray. The oversized flamer attached to the inderside of his enormous power claw gurgled away, liquid promethium spewing forth to ignite and cover the daeomon from head to foot. The daemon squirmed, shrieking in pain and pleasure at the same time.

"Blood for the Blood God! He cares not from where-" the daemon was cut off by four claws puncturing it chest.

"In the name of the Emperor, shut up," the gigantic Dreadnought grumbled, his voice distorted through his suits speakers.

 

He ripped his claw from the daemon and turned back to face the horde that was now upon them. His claw scored a kill with every vicious swing, and the mortally wounded veteran bound within the core of the ancient war machine reaped a fearsome tally with his autocannon.

"For the Emperor, and all his Sons!" cried the ancient Dreadnought as he lumbered into the comabt alongside his brethren.

"For the Emperor, and the Primarchs!" the Silver Templars yelled back as they engaged in the most vicious close-quarters fighting they had seen in many years.

 

A swoosh of air beside Hriad's helm brought his attention back to his own personal battle. He had only looked away for mere seconds, but in that time, Khârn had been able to close the distance between them with surprising agility and swing for Hriad's head with Gorechild. Hriad rolled to the side and stood up, his claws crackling, begging for a kill.

 

Hriad lunged at the champion of Khorne, and unleashed a hail of blows that even the infamous World Eater was hard-pressed to block. Khârn blocked a dual swipe from Hriad's talons, and pushed the captain back, giving him room. He fired off a shot from his plasma pistol, which skimmed past Hriad's midsection, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. Khârn roared in evident frustration and pressed the attack again. Gorechild swung left and right, but every move Khârn made, Hriad blocked with total precision and economy of motion.

 

Hriad side-stepped a vicious blow from the butt-end of Khârn pistol, and slashed his talons across the Khornate's back. The World Eater howled in pain, and stumbled forward. Around them , World Eaters started to separate themselves from combat to help Khârn, but he snarled viciously and they backed away, intent on watching.

 

Khârn lunged at Hriad, but the Sliver Templar had anticipated such a direct approach, and jumped over Khârn with an amazing show of agility and strength. He landed behind Khârn, and drove both claws deep into Khârn's back on either side of his spine. The World Eater stopped his forward motion witgh a juddering astep and fell to his knees. Hriad removed his claws from the champion's back and moved to in front of Khârn. His kicked Gorechild from Khârn's hands, and with a precise swipe from his left claw, he removed the World eater's helmet.

 

He looked upon Khârn's face. Blood flowed from his nostrils, eyes, ears, and mouth. His face was largely unchanged, with only millions of scars marring his features, and no mutations were evident. His eyes burned with a hatred and loathing that Hriad had never seen in the eyes of a Chaos Space Marine before.

"You could had saved the Imperium, Khârn," murmured Hriad under his breath,"you could have been a hero. People would have waited in hope you would arrive, and cheer when you took to the battlefield in their defense. But you chose to hurt those people. Why Khârn? Why?"

"Because I did not see what you see now," muttered the Khornate champion. Hriad jumped in surprise.

He can talk? What madness is this? Hriad thought.

": saw this fate as the only way to save the Imperium. I never intended to go this far. But the daemons took me over. And now, in my moment of death, they leave me. They leave me to die on this forsaken wasteland of a planet. I have brought death to many worlds over my lifetime. Please, Loyalist, I beg you, kill me now." Khârn pleaded.

 

Hriad looked deeply into Khârn's eyes. He saw a trapped soul, a good man buried beneath the lake of blood he was forced to fill in over ten thousand years of war by his possessors. Hriad nodded slowly, and swung his right claw in a flashing movement. Khârn's head flew into the air, and landed several feet away from his body. The once-unkillable World Eater dropped to the ground, dead for good this time.

"You are forgiven," Hriad whispered solemnly.

 

The World Eaters surrounding Hriad were taken over by mixed emotions; one of their number, Khârn's most favoured champion no less, had confessed his sins to a Loyalists Astartes, repented, and begged for death. The slowly regained their senses, and the bloodlust took over once more. They charged Hriad, slayer of Khârn the Betrayer as one.

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Hriad looked around and saw the multitude rushing him. His claws dripped with tainted blood. He fired his unjammed storm bolter at the crowd until they closed into close-quarters, then he resumed where he had left of with Khârn; in the fight for his life.

[Nacho Wolf]

Ok, let me start this off by saying, Why the hell has no one commented on this yet!?

secondly, this as a great story, looking forward to more

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER V

Andriar crushed the life out of the Knight of Blood with his power fist, then tossed the limp body away. He surveyed his surroundings. All around him, his Silver Templars fought valiantly against the Khornates, but it was a hopeless battle. Everywhere a battle-brother trod, he was outnumbered easily five to one. Ancient Hru'sr stood as a beacon of light and hope in the midst of the flood of Chaos, his claw slashing and crushing while his assault cannon whirred and tore great gouges in the bodies of the Chaos Space Marines, but even he was falling back.

 

The Templars were slowly being forced into a semi-circle, with their backs to a wall of solid rock. Andriar and his Terminator-armored command squad were found wherever the fighting was the thickest, saving his battle-brothers and forcing back the tide of red that faced the Third and Fourth Companies.

 

Andriar soon found himself back-to-back with Hriad. The venerable captain's lighting claws flashed, striking down a corrupted Marine with every swipe. Andriar's wrist-mounted bolter stuttered occasionally, spitting fiery death at the foe. His claw stabbed left and right, and his sword cut blazing arcs in the air as he slashed at the Traitor Marines.

"We cannot keep this up, brother!" Hriad yelled over the sounds of battle, "We've lost too many."

 

Andriar looked around him. Everywhere he looked, his brothers were falling, being slain at a surprising rate by the horde. Andriar knew this would be their last stand. After this, Andriar, Hriad, and every single battle-brother of the Third and Fourth- even Ancient Hru'sr- would simply be names in the Chapter's annals, names carved on the Great Wall of Heroes in the Chapter's Reclusiam.

 

"Brothers, hear me now, and hear me well," Andriar cried," this is where we make our stand against the foul forces that oppose us. We shall fight for the Emperor, and all his glorious Sons. We shall show these traitors what purity truly is." The warriors of the two grand companies cheered ferociously at this proclamation, and fought all the harder, their blades swinging faster and their aim as precise as that of a chirurgeon's. But for all their skill, and all their ferocity, they could not push back the unending ocean of chanting Khorne worshippers.

 

Andriar looked to the sky in a moment of brief respite, roaring praises to the Emperor in all his eternal glory, and to the Primarchs, when a glint in the sky caught his eye. To the untrained, mortal eye, it would be just that; a glint in the distant sky. But to the enhanced, sharp eye of a Space Marine, he recognized it immediately. It was a drop-pod.

 

A red drop-pod burned through the sky towards the Silver Templars. Hundreds more joined the singular pod as they fell from the sky like giant adamantium raindrops. The first pod landed, and Andriar recognized the symbols on the side immediately. It was a blood drop with wings.

 

The Blood Angels had arrived.

 

Lord Commander Dante leaped from the drop pod as the hatch slammed down. He was followed by a ten-man squad of Sanguinary Guard, their bolters blazing. He ignited his jump-pack and took to the skies, followed shortly by his elite brethren. He landed with a thud behind the Khorne berzerkers, and set upon them with Mortalis and his Perdition Pistol. Traitor marines fell left and right as they slowly turned to protect their rear. The Chapter Banner of the Blood Angels waved high and proud above the carnage, and all of the Silver Templars looked upon it and saw salvation. The Sanguinary Guard, in their resplendent golden artificer armor, sliced away at the bezerkers, and felled them with little challenge. The Silver Templars surged forwards into the front of the horde, taking full advantage of the distraction posed by the new arrivals.

 

Andriar saw blue lightning arc across the battlefield, burning several of the berzerkers in its path. Andriar smiled.

 

It was Mephiston, the Lord of Death. Warp energy leapt from his fingers into the Chaos Marines, turning the warriors into smouldering husks. He charged across the plain with another full ten-man squad of Sanguinary Guard at his back. The Khorne berzerkers were caught in a vice grip, hit by Dante from the rear, Mephiston from their right flank, and the renewed assualt of the Silver Templars at their front. What had once been a last stand turned in to a massacre.

 

After the last World eater, struggling defiantly against three Sanguinary Guard, fell to the ground dead, Lord Commander dante strode over to where Andriar and Hriad stood surrounded by the remnants of their command squads. Andriar was the first to turn and acknowledge the Blood Angels Chapter Master.

"Lord Dante," Andriar said respectfully.

"Captain Fuyr Andriar, Captain Agr'yr Hriad, once again we cross paths," the venerable Chapter Master said. he was referring to two hundred years ago, when the Third and Fourth Silver Templars had come to the relief of their Blood Angel brethren against the Tau on Girudio II. Andriar and Hriad had fought back-to-back with Dante in the final battle of the campaign.

 

"Lord Commander, what brings here to Kuyrit?" inquired Hriad.

"We were in a neighbouring system when we received the astropathic distress call from your flagship. As we seemed to be the closest task-force to your position, and that you are our brethren, we made the jump here as soon as we-," Dante was cut off by a blazing sound as Chaplain Dominicus landed in a shower of dirt beside the trio. His crozius was sizzling with blood, and his power axe was dented and soaked with the blood of the enemy. Behind the chaplain, seven Marines bearing a variety of close-combat weapons, and the odd bolt pistol, landed behind their squad leader. Their armour was painted pitch black, with the exception of their left arm. They had markings of Squad Mery'r. They were coated in blood, and their weapons were soaked with gore.

"Captain," the Chaplain grumbled. His armor showed that he had seen the most vicious fighting of the day's battle. His black power armor was torn in many places, and Andriar had a nagging feeling that much of the blood covering the chaplain's lower body was his own.

"Dominicus, I am glad to see you, brother. What is you and your squad's status?" Andriar inquired.

" Sert, Retyr, and Fren'tr are dead, and Brother-Sergeant Mery'r lost his arm to a berzerkers blade. The rest of us have minor wounds," Dominicus replied. Andriar hear the faint click as Dominicus gave his squeak orders over the inter-squad vox, and the assault Marines parted as Brother-Sergeant Mery'r was carried forward by two of his squad. His left arm was gone completely, in similar style to Andriar's and a gore-soaked cloth covered the stump. He looked unconscious, but as he neared Andriar, Hriad, and Dante, he raised his head to look at them through his visor.

"Captain," the wounded Marine slurred, and attempted to salute, but Andriar stopped him. It was clear that the sergeant had lost too much blood, and he needed to see and apothecary as soon as possible.

"Brother, I am glad to see you alive, but you must conserve your energy," Andriar said, smiling at the wounded Marine. Mery'r nodded his head slightly, and slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Apothecary," Hriad shouted. Hrugg came sprinting over, his Terminator armor stained red and his Narthecium gauntlet caked with the dried blood over dead and dying brothers. He looked at Mery'r, and tutted behind his helm.

"That is quite the flesh-wound," the apothecary commented," over here, bring him here." Hrugg guided the two Marines carrying Mery'r over a rise in the rock and down out of sight.

" Chaplain, taken your squad and go treat your wounds," Andriar said. The grizzled chaplain nodded, and crisply saluted to Andriar, Hriad, and Dante, who all returned his salute before he left with the remnants of his squad.

Dante looked over at the two captains, and sighed.

"Brothers, there is something we must discuss. Follow me," the venerable commander said. Andriar nodded, and called up his second-in-command, Champion Rehn.

"We will be back. Ensure the site is secured in case of any further attacks, and have the Fury of Perdur do a full scan of the surrounding area," Andriar ordered. The Champion nodded, and set about his assigned duties. Dante beckoned the two Silver Templars towards a Storm Raven that had just landed.

"Come brothers, there is much to discuss," said the Blood Angels Chapter Master. And with that, Andriar and Hriad boarded the gunship and left surface of Kuyrit for the Blood Angel flagship, Sanguine.

[Nacho Wolf]

Even more bloodshed? I'm starting to think your a khorn worshipper yourself :rolleyes:

[Dominicus]

Even more bloodshed? I'm starting to think your a khorn worshipper yourself ;)

Nah, I'm not much for the whole blood rituals thing.

I'm just bringing in the Blood Angels to set it up for the next Chapter.

There won't be too much bloodshed in the next coming update.

Then it's all awesomeness.

[mandalorethe1st]

This is a great story, I look forward to reading more. why haven't more people commented on this yet?

[Nacho Wolf]

Thats what I was wondering... maybe they are afraid of distracting people from such a wonderful story with their comments?

[raptor1199]

random name dropping

people randomly arriving and vanishing without any reason

"and then he did barrel roll and killed 500 uber chaos mahreens"

mary sues

:D

 

also text wall effect

[Dominicus]

random name dropping

people randomly arriving and vanishing without any reason

"and then he did barrel roll and killed 500 uber chaos mahreens"

mary sues

:D

 

also text wall effect

The random name dropping is to end soon. I'm just setting up for something bigger.

As for vanishing: no one had vanished, I am just flicking between different views from Hriad and Andriar

 

More to come soon

[Nacho Wolf]

Not a bad extention, but I find it hard to believe the blood angels would have both Dante and Mephiston on the same campaign, unless the campaign is of huge significance?

[Dominicus]

Not a bad extention, but I find it hard to believe the blood angels would have both Dante and Mephiston on the same campaign, unless the campaign is of huge significance?

Oh it's huge, all right. The twist that's coming will blow your MIND!! Except it's all in my head right now, not on this site. Will put more up soon. Good to see it is being enjoyed so far.

And a note to all readers: I know you are reading this!! The reply button is there for a reason!! Feel free to use it!

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER VI

 

Dante strode down the ramp if the Stormraven with Andriar and Hriad following in his wake. The sound of their armored boots hitting the floor echoed across the empty hangar bay. All of the tech-adepts and gunships had been deployed planet side to help the Silver Templars secure the battle area. As the trio headed across the cavernous space, Mephiston appeared at the exit of the hangar. Power radiated from him, and his crystalline psychic hood blazed a brilliant blue. He waited as Dante and the two Silver Templars came closer before speaking.

"Lord Dante, your captains await your convenience," the chief librarian said reverently. Andriar looked upon his ornate power armor and his master-crafted force weapon, but his eyes were his key feature. Warp energy lit his dark eyes, and his irises were a blue brighter than Perdur's sky. Andriar suppressed a shudder as the librarian cast his gaze upon him. He could feel the librarian prodding his minds walls, testing his defenses and his will. Andriar calmed himself, and forced himself to remember his teaching regarding the safety of his mind. He threw up walls were before there had been fences, and did his best to block the psyker from his mind. Mephiston's eyes widened slightly, and Andriar could tell he was impressed, and curious. The captain turned his attention back to the Lord Commander.

 

"My thanks, Mephiston. Come, we must go, time is of the essence," Dante grumbled. The four of them set off down a long hallway, towards an elevator that would take them to the ship's bridge. The hallway was bare, the adamantium unpainted. On the wall were names, tens of thousands of names, Blood Angels all, who had given their lives in service to the immortal Emperor of Mankind. Andriar felt as though the spirits of the dead warriors were watching him as he walked down the hall, judging him with each step he took.

 

They reached the elevator, and entered the spacious chamber. It sped them towards the bridge with amazing speed. When it stopped and the doors opened, the two Blood Angels stepped out, followed by the two Templars. Andriar and Hriad gazed upon the bridge in awe. Where the lower halls and hangar had been very spartan, the bridge was the opposite. The walls were edged with pure gold, and the captain's chair was gilded with jewels. Around a solid silver table, ten captains in Blood Angels livery and bearing ornate artificer armor were poring over maps and scrolls. As the four approached, the captains turned as one and saluted Dante and Mephiston, and nodded in welcome to the Templars. Dante and Mephiston took places at the head of the table, and the Blood Angels captains moved aside to make room for the two Silver Templars. Andriar gazed over the maps that were spread across the table, and recognized them in an instant.

"These maps are of Baal, commander," Andriar said in surprise.

"Indeed they are, captain," Dante said in a low voice," and we study them for one reason alone. The same reason why we as a Chapter have been searching all the nearby systems."

"Why? Has an important artifact been stolen?" Hriad asked.

"Much more important than a mere artifact, Templar," Mephiston said, his voice barely under control. Andriar had never seen the venerable librarian so on-edge," It is the primarch. His body is gone."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aboard the Phalanx, Vladimir Pugh strode through the hallways. His ornate artificer armor contrasted against the power armor worn by his battle-brothers that walked with him. The walls were covered with vestiges of long-finished campaigns. Pugh himself had been present at the forefront of many of those victories. He could remember the smell of the air, so thick you could taste it. He remembered fighting eye-to-eye and blade-to-blade with some of the Chapter's greatest foes. He grimly smiled at the memories of such vivid battles. It had been quite awhile since he himself had taken to the field of battle, and he eagerly waited for an opportunity to arise to test himself in the Emperor's name once more.

 

Unbeknownst to him, he would not have to wait long.

 

As the Imperial Fists Chapter Master approached a large, gold-gilded doorway, the ten-strong squad of Terminator veterans guarding the door stepped aside. The doors opened before him, and he saw the slab of amber which his primarch's body was encased in. He reverently approached the slab, and knelt before it, muttering prayers of thanks and forgiveness to the Emperor and his Praetorian, Rogal Dorn.

 

When he had finished the ritual, he stood, and looked at the amber. Contoured to the shape of his primarch's body, the amber encased his mortal shell and kept it's shape. The skeleton inside of the amber was that of Dorn's mortal remains. Pugh looked closer, deeper into the amber. He could only see more amber.

Where is the body?! thought Pugh. He drew the ceremonial chainsword from his hip, and slashed the amber cocoon with great force. The amber broke away, to reveal empty air where the Primarch's body should have been. The veterans outside entered the room and, upon seeing the empty amber, feel to their knees in despair. Pugh roared in rage, and turned on the veterans.

"Get up! Get up! Activate all defenses, nothing gets in, nothing gets out," Pugh snarled, storming from the room with his twin power fists crackling in righteous fury.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Macragge, Brother Lunicus walked through the open doors of the Temple of Correction, and cast his gaze over the crowds of pilgrims that had come to confess their sins and ask for strength in the presence of the prone, never-changing form of Roboute Guilliman. The hum of the stasis field surrounding the primarch rose above the hushed whispers of the people in the Temple.

 

As Lunicus strode down the centre aisle that leading to the steps of Guilliman's throne, the pilgrims looked at him with awe-filled eyes, and words of thanks flowed from their lips as one of the Emperor's Chosen, an Angel of Death, passed before their very eyes. The sound of his boots padding across the stone floor resonated throughout the Temple, and soon it had come to the attention of every person in the Temple of Correction that one of Mankind's finest defenders was in their presence.

 

Lunicus stopped before the throne, his steel-grey eyes washing themselves over the primarch's body. Forever frozen in his final moment, agony clouded the demi-god's features. His eyes were filled with anger, sorrow, and pain. The vivid red death wound upon his throat brought up a bubbling fury in Lunicus' heart. Lunicus fought to control his fury with his iron will, and bowed his head as he kneeled before the huge warrior.

 

Lunicus' lips parted, and a prayer of vengeance whispered from his lips. Images of battle flashed through his head, reminders of his battles against the Emperor's Children. He continued onto a prayer of hate, steeling his soul against all that was Chaos in the presence of his lord and father when, suddenly, the stasis field cut out. Lunicus jumped to his feet as the pilgrims all around him screamed and wept at the sight they beheld. He slammed his helmet on his head, the air-locks engaging as the gorget of his Mark VIII power armor met with his helm's seals. His bolt pistol was in his left hand, a full clip loaded and a round racked in the chamber, and his blessed chainsword was held in his right, his thumb hovering over the activation rune. Lunicus scanned the area, and readied himself for a fight, though his built-in targeting systems showed no hostiles in the Temple; only Imperial citizens there to worship and venerate the primarch. Lunicus looked at the people. Some were shaking with terror, some weeping, some frozen with shock, but every eye was directed at the primarch's throne. Lunicus turned slowly to face the top of the altar. There, upon the throne, was only empty air. The stasis field was gone, as was the primarch's body. Lunicus hastily activated his vox system, and brought up that of his captain, Cato Sicarius.

"Captain, come quick, and bring Lord Calgar with you to the Temple of Correction. It's the primarch. He's gone," the young marine stuttered. Barely out of his assignment as a Devastator under Sergeant Yuri, he had been gifted with the burden of being an Assualt Marine. He had never known fear in his short ten years as a warrior, and he had excelled in everything. But gazing upon the primarch's suddenly-vacant seat, he felt something that he hadn't known for a long time.

 

He felt fear.

++++++++++++++++++

On The Rock, Belial turned aside another vicious assault from a Black Legionnaire, and slit his tainted brethren from stomch to throat in one swift flick of his power sword. Around him, Deathwing Terminators fought back the precise and blistering assaults with unwavering faith in the Emperor. Storm bolters fired and blades flashed. Belial's storm bolter had run out of ammunition long ago, but not a single bolt had been wasted. As Belial fended of the attack of yet another Legionnaire, he looked around him. Everywhere, Deathwing fought to hold back the tide of Chaos that had assaulte their fortess-monastery several days ago. Every power-armored battle-brother had died in the first few days of fighting, and only the Deathwing still survived. Close to fifty men were still standing as they were pushed deeper and deeper into The Rock, and closer towards Lion El'Jonson's place of rest.

 

In the first few days of the fighting, a large commotion had happened when Grand Master Azrael had reported sighting Abbadon the Despoiler, and then proceeded to engage him in single combat.

 

Neither had been seen since.

 

The Deathwing were now just outside of the Lion's resting place, which had been disclosed to all of them by Azrael before he had left to face Abbadon. Their orders were to defend the area with their lives. Belial knew he, nor any of his veteran followers, would fail these orders.

 

Just as Belial prepared to deliver the killing stroke to a greviously-wounded Chaos Marine, a psychic blast of epic proportions blew out the walls of the Lion's place of interment, and sent Traitor and Loyalist alike flying through the air. Belial's ears were ringign, and he quickly regained his wits and rose to his feet. All around him, the Deathwing were standing up as well, and though they searched for any Traitor Marine seeking to use the sudden commotion to

deliver a hammer blow that would finally destroy the Dark Angels, but no Black Legionnaire rose from the ground. The psychic shockwave had killed them all, down to a man.

 

Belial turned and walked across the rubble into the Lion's crypt. The stone bed upon which the Lion had once occupied was vacant. The Watchers in the Dark that had retreated into the room were gone as well. Belial fell to his knees, his heavy Tactical Dreadnought armor crushing the rocks underneath him. He threw away his helm, and looked at the ceiling, and gave voice to a roar of anger, rage, and sorrow that was louder than even that of the Calibanite lions of old.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sun was setting in the on Mars.

 

A beautiful sight, the light throwing contrast across the red plains. The buildings and forges of the Mechanicus rose high into the sky, as though sprouting from the ground like plants to have light.

 

Fabricator General Sendri led a contingent of Iron Hands through a pair of doors bearing the cog motif of the Adeptus Mechanicus and showed the to an elevator. The roomy elevators was able to hold all ten Iron Hands and the Fabricator General in relative comfort. The Iron Hands had donned their black artificer armor, and they muttered prayers to the Omnissiah and the Emperor at the shuttle flew deep underneath the surface of the forge world.

 

Iron Father Dern hadn't seen Mars in many years, not since his first pilgrimage as a mere neophyte. He was awe-struck at the beauty of the buildings. Glass shone, and architecture that was beyond any other architect's ability to design was common. Dust blew up outside the buildings, the red dust of the surface of Mars kicking up in the vicious winds.

 

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to reveal a sanctum that was only accessed by the Iron Hands themselves and the highest-ranking adept on Mars. It was the tomb of the primarch.

 

Dern strode towards the clear glass case which held the venerable primarch's headless body, and knelt before it. He started to say litanies of faith when he heard a collective gasp from behind him. He turned on his honor guard of veterans.

"What is the problem?" the Iron Father asked. He looked on the ground and saw the Fabricator General passed out on the ground. He looked at his brethren. Their horrified gazes all led to the casket of the primarch behind him. He turned, only to see the primarch's body slowly dissolving into nothing. He watched in pure horror as Ferrus Manus' armor and body slowly de-materialized in front of his eyes.

 

When at last the primarch's body was gone, Dern turned on the Fabricator-General. He grabbed the adept by his throat with one hand and lifted him high in the air.

"Where is he? what have you done to him? Answer me!" the Iron Father snarled. The Fabricator General shuddered in fear.

"I....I...I don't know, I don't know!" squealed the terrified adept.

 

Dern snorted in disgust, and threw the Fabricator General across the room. As the adept tried to struggle to his feet and opened his mostly mechanical mouth to explain himself, Dern raised his bolt pistol and shot the adept three times in the forehead.

 

"Traitor," Dern muttered, venom lacing his words," Come brothers, we must alert the fleet and the Chapter."

[Nacho Wolf]

Mind = Blown

That is all.

 

So are you going to do anything about the wolves? Go on, you know you want to

[Dominicus]

Mind = Blown

That is all.

 

So are you going to do anything about the wolves? Go on, you know you want to

The Wolves will showmup eventually, never fear. I'm pretty sure I got all the Chapter's that have their Primarch's body still...damn, I forgot Manus. Ah well, that's what the edit button is for.

 

Nice to see people are liking it, will put more up soon.

[astartes88]

ohhhh boy mars is in for some trouble......

[calgar101]

Very nice story Domincus. Glanced over it briefly so cannot make a too in depth comment but I like what I see. One thing,

the wall were names, hundreds of thousands of names, Blood Angels

That should be tens of thousands... There wont have been over 100,000 Blood Angels in existence ever, their legion was more than likely 80,000 strong tops and over the last 10k the Blood Angles chapter would not have lost 20,000 marines.

[Dominicus]

Very nice story Domincus. Glanced over it briefly so cannot make a too in depth comment but I like what I see. One thing,

the wall were names, hundreds of thousands of names, Blood Angels

That should be tens of thousands... There wont have been over 100,000 Blood Angels in existence ever, their legion was more than likely 80,000 strong tops and over the last 10k the Blood Angles chapter would not have lost 20,000 marines.

Fixed.

 

Thanks for the feedback all. Hoping to put a Wolves chapter upmtonight, if not tomorrow. Maybe an Ultra after that. We'll see how the story in my head goes.

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER VII

 

Ragnar Blackmane rose along with the other Wolf Lords as Grimnar stood, his enormous hands holding steins of the finest Fenrisian ale. Ragnar played his gaze across the hall, and he reminisced on his past; his exploits as a Blood Claw, his time as a Wolfblade, and his rise to Wolf Lord. He smirked slightly at the memories, tasting the scents of battle in his mind. He looked around him. For the first time in many long years, the Space Wolves entire Chapter had come together for a grand feast, being as it was the beginning of the 42nd millenium.

 

The Wolf Lord, widely believed to be heir to the throne that Logan Grimnar currently held, stared at the enormous mass in their midst. Bjorn the Fell-Handed, woken up for the millenial feast, and to tell the sagas of Leman Russ and the All-Father himself. His voice, distorted by the vox-casters that allowed him to be vocal, wound beautifully told tales of Russ tearing apart foul xenos with his bare hands, and of the primarch's last promise before leaving. The Blood Claws' eyes were full of wonder as they listened, their subconcious painting vivid pictures of them performing similar feats as their legendary father ad progenitor.

 

Grimnar let loose a howl that eclipsed the combined sounds of over a thousand other Wolves chttering and joking amongst themselves. The hall fell silent, and all eyes, even the optic arrays of the mighty Venerable Dreadnought, turned to regard Grimnar.

 

"Brothers, we come together as one only once every thousand years, to pay respect to our fallen, and to hear the sagas of old, when Russ walked and fought at the side of the All-Father," Grimnar said. His voice resonated through the feasting hall, bouncing off the stone walls and into the hyper-sensitive ears of every Space Wolf seated there," and we look forward to this new millennium as a chance to spill the blood of our foes in the name of the All-father and Russ!"

 

The assembled Space Wolves rose to their feet in a clash of ceramite and falling chair, and cheered at the words of the Great Wolf. Blood Claws howled heartily, the Wulfen inside of the begging for release. Grey Hunters clapped and let loose the occasional howl as well, while the mighty Dreadnoughts stood silent, observing their cheering brethren.

 

The main door flew open, and a Chapter serf sprinted through. He was gasping, sweat glistening on his forehead. He had obviously run very hard for very long to get to the hall. He ran up the middle aisle, and stopped in front of the Great Wolf. Grimnar loomed over the serf, standing a clear head and shoulders above the tall man, but if the serf was intimidated, he showed no sign. He handed a data-slate to Grimnar, who nodded his thanks to the serf. The serf sprinted out of the hall as the Great Wolf scrolled through the slate, his eyes widening in slight shock. He threw the data-slate to the side, and as it smashed against the wall, Grimnar turned to face his Chapter.

 

"Brothers, we have been requested of by the Blood Angels," Grimnar said in a grave voice,"it would appear as if there has been incidences of other Chapter's primarchs missing." The Wolves were stunned, their voices taken from the by the surprise that other original legions that had recovered their primarch's body had lost it. The idea was unthinkable.

 

Grimnar turned to Ragnar, his voice low.

"Assemble the fleet. Have the companies prepare for immediate departure,"the Great Wolf sullenly ordered Grimnar.

"My lord, what is this? Why have they called us?" Blackmane asked, his eyes betraying his confusion.

"They have not called just us. They have called all the founding legions, as well as their successors,"Grimnar said in a voice that suggested excitement and awe in equal measure,"Ragnar, the time of ending could well be upon us. We may be heading for the final battle. For the Wolftime. Now, move, we have no time to waste. Ensure all the companies are prepared and boarding their transports in the next hour. We must make all haste."

 

As the Great Wolf walked away with his personal retinue of Wolf Guard, Ragnar thought back to what the Great Wolf had said about the Wolftime approaching, and the final battle. The prophecy Leman Russ made to his legion at his departure, possibly coming to fruition? The Great Wolf thought so.

 

Ragnar couldn't help but agree

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Vulkan He'stan raised the blade to his eye, looking down the flat edge, his enhanced vision searching for any imperfections that could be the downfall of the blade. He could find none. He lowere the blade to the anvil with an inaudible sigh. He glanced around the chamber. The burning fires were blazing away in the pits, their orange and yellow flames a beautiful sight to He'stan. Their glow cast light into even the furthest corners of the chamber, chasing the darkness away. The rock walls flickered with shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

 

The Forgefather stood at the anvil, stripped of armor from the waist up. His bare torso glistened with sweat, and his hands were gnarled and tough. Red eyes glared out of their sockets, in daring contrast to his dark skin. The scars of many battles crisscrossed his face, arms, and body, and ritual branding marks wound their way around his back, neck, and, as a senior member of the Chapter, face.

 

He heard the sound of doors opening behind him, and he grabbed the Spear of Vulkan, which rarely ever left his sight, and turned to face the intruder. Tu'shan slowly walked into the forging chamber, his red eyes eyes matching those of He'stan, the fire-light glinting off of his irises. His hands were raised at his sides, palms out, to show he was no threat. He donned full battle plate, his green artificer armor bearing the insignia of both the Firedrakes and the Chapter. A smile fleeted across his face at the sight of He'stan.

"Brother, relax, it is only I," the Chapter Master said in a sooting voice.

"Greetings, my lord," the Forgefather replied in a respectful tone. He looked into his friend's eyes, and saw his Chapter master and oldest friend deep in thought. "What troubles you, brother?"

"He'stan, we have received terrible news," Tu'shan said in a low voice. "At dawn, we received a astropathic message from the Blood Angels, from Lord Dante himself. He has called the first ever Council of Chapters."

"What is the reason for this?" asked He'stan, his voice betraying his piqued curiosity.

" It would appear that the primarchs, or their bodies, for that matter, have disappeared. Sanguinius was the first, the Dorn, Guilliman, Manus, and Jonson disappeared as well. Every founding legion and their successors have been called together to decide what we must do. This must be a sign," Tu'shan muttered.

"It could very well be, old friend. I always expected the end, but never-," He'stan stopped, shaking his head. "But never like this. What of our primarch? We have not his body. How can we expect him to return to us?" He'stan's hands were shaking with fury, his eyes blazing with the fires of Nocturne's most fierce volcanoes.

"Settle, brother. He will return to us, for it is in accordance with his prophecy. For now, we must go. Don your war plate. The fleet is awaiting in orbit, and all but the Firedrakes have been ferried up. They are awaiting us, "the Chapter Master said in a calm tone. "Here, let me help you."

 

He'stan's world was spinning. After all the years, all the lives spent to try to find all the artefacts left to them by their father, the prophecy saying he would return once all had been found, seemed to have been useless. With the disappearances of the primarchs, He'stan was not sure that Vulkan even was still alive anymore.

"Brother, let's go," Tu'shan said hurriedly, snapping the Forgefather from his reverie. The both exited the chamber, the doors slamming shut behind them

 

Inside the chamber, the newly-forged sword fell to the ground and shattered.

[Nacho Wolf]

Ooh, suspense!

Not bad at all, but its stein, not stine, you could anger alot of wolves by spelling that wrong

[Dominicus]

Ooh, suspense!

Not bad at all, but its stein, not stine, you could anger alot of wolves by spelling that wrong

Yeah, I just figured that out today when I was reading a Stephen King book, I was thinking "I'm gonna get a company of Wolves knocking at my door real soon"

 

But I didn't mean to end it there, I just ran out of time! Gonna edit it soon to get more of the chapter up.

[astartes88]

Sometimes i hate the building of suspense

[Dominicus]

Sometimes i hate the building of suspense

Au contraire, suspense is the most wonderful tool in a writers arsenal. It's what we use when we either can't think of anything more to write, or don't feel like it.

 

Chapter VII updated further, enjoy!

[Nacho Wolf]

Very nice, but is there any reason that the blood angels are the ones summoning the chapters? I cant imagine any one chapter having the authority to sommon all the others