The Blood of Innocence

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

Yea, well, I think Lorgar was a fool, I didnt liek them before, it was boderline hate, now, its full WB hate

[Ufthak]

<_< Well, hardly any one likes the Word Bearers!

 

In any case, here's the next part up. It's a bit short, but I just haven't the time for more at the moment. Hope you like it, and please let me know what you think!

 

Here goes:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Something was terribly wrong. Mayer did not only feel it, he could see it now. Around the Podium, where the World Eaters were brutalising the dead bodies, the pink light was swirling, and it seemed to be building rapidly.

 

Even as Mayer watched, the very air seemed to flicker, as if from heat, though the night mountain air was cool.

 

Suddenly, he heard high-pitched screaming, and he espied Sergeant Dom carving through the group of children, while Sor Salbek shouted in his frenzy.

 

The air rippled. The pink light seemed to pulse. Suddenly, all around the Podium, the very air seemed to warp and flicker, twisting inward in a manner that was not physically possible. Rays of pink light broke from the twisting air, bathing the chamber, already red with blood, in a red glow.

 

The Astartes, even the World Eaters, stood still, mesmerised at the strange sight.

 

“What is this?!?” Captain Holske snarled.

 

Mayer looked about himself and realised that millions of tiny droplets of blood were rising from the floor, slowly soaring upwards. Some struck the Astartes armour, flecking it with red spots. But most of the droplets seemed drawn toward the rippling, warping air.

 

Mayer glanced uncertainly at Sor Salbek. The Chaplain had a surprised, if slightly insane look on his face, his eyes wide open, a smile still playing over his lips.

 

A gauntlet suddenly grasped Mayer’s arm, and he whipped around to see the Librarian Balbacon clawing at his arm with one hand, the other clasping his psychic hood.

 

“I hear them” the librarian wheezed. “Help…me…”

 

The other librarian, Videk Tal, was stumbling around, both hands grasping his head, purple arcs of light dancing around his psychic hood, screaming.

 

Mayer watched in horror as thin trails of blood leapt from the sea of gore filling the floor and snaked through the air toward the warping, twisting air.

Imperial Fists and World Eaters alike backed away from the freakish sight. The rays of pink light seemed to twist with the air, and temperatures suddenly dropped.

 

Through the vox, Mayer suddenly heard Loric Amboss growl.

 

“The stink of Warp.”

 

Inhaling, Mayer could smell a faint hint of ozone amid the stench of gore and blood.

 

His voice calm, he barked commands to his squads.

 

“All squads, regroup on me and fall back, now!”

 

Before the Imperial Fists could move, arcs of pinkish-purple energy leapt from the twisting air with a hideous screeching, wailing sound.

It was the sound of a thousand voices crying out together, in pain, ecstasy, despair and hope. The voices seemed to enter Mayer’s head, attack his sanity. He felt the Librarian Balbacon slump to the floor at his side, screaming.

 

Mayer felt his heart miss a beat.

 

In the air, just above the heap of slaughtered children, the air suddenly rent in an explosion of wailing voices. Unholy, pink fire poured from it, and Mayer thought he could, somewhere in the back of his mind, hear a deep, inhuman voice, cackling with insane laughter.

 

From the rippling hole in reality, a vaguely humanoid form leapt. With incredible speed, it flew through the air, wreathed in pink flames. A split second later, it collided with one of Mayer’s warriors, Battle-Brother Arminius. With a loud thunderclap, Arminius disappeared in a explosion of blood and gore.

Mayer steadied himself, agape at the crimson monstrosity standing over the bloody remnants of Arminius body. The air around the creature seemed to twist and flicker, distorting its shape and making it hard to discern, even for the sensorium enhancements of the Astartes’ battle-helms. Through the strange pink haze and the rippling air, Mayer could make out massive, blood-red muscle-packs, pupil-less yellow eyes, a snaking tongue lolling from a maw full of sharp fangs. Twisted, black horns adorned the monstrosity’s head, and in its talons it grasped what appeared to be a long, black blade, wreathed in unholy flames.

 

For a moment, all Astartes in the room stood, mesmerised at the crazy, irrational, impossible sight before them. The creature took advantage of the moment and launched itself toward the nearest Astartes, a World Eater. A hideous screech echoed through the theatre as the creature struck. The massive blade tore through the Astartes’ armoured frame as easily as a power sword, the two halves of the warrior toppling to the floor.

 

Captain Holske roared in uncontained rage.

 

“KILL IT!”

 

With savage war-cries, the World Eaters leapt toward the monstrosity, chain-weapons whining.

[Ufthak]

Another short part up :huh: Please let me know what you think of it, since I'm attempting to improve on mistakes made in the past. Any crits and comms, whether good or bad, are welcome :P

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Astartes Warriors moved in for the kill. Church ignited his power fist and charged toward the monstrosity, which was skewering a World Eater through the groin with the strange, black blade. The warrior dropped into the gory slush, snarling in rage.

 

Insane laughter echoes in Church’s head. Pink arcs of energy filled the Podium, crackling and fizzling. The creature screeched and roared, lashing about with its weapon. Another World Eater fell, his right arm severed.

 

With a thunderous roar, Church swung his massive fist and brought it down on the flickering shape of the monstrosity. A strange sensation went through his arm, as if his fist had connected with something that wasn’t, well, there. A thunderclap rang out as the energies coursing through the power fist unloaded, and the creature screamed, a long, drawn out wail of a wounded animal. It staggered back, its left arm seeming to dissolve into smaller pieces and drop from its body. Strange, black smoke emanated from the shattered arm.

 

Before it could give another wail, Captain Holske charged up, snarling, his chainaxe a blurr. The creature was brutally cut down, its body dissolving into smaller shreds.

 

Church watched in horror as the pieces of skin and muscle slowly melted on the floor, before shrinking and finally disappearing in small puffs of purplish-black smoke.

 

What is this thing?

 

Just as the body of the creature dissolved, loud cracks, followed by insane shrieks, rang through the chamber.

 

“More of them!” Sergeant Amboss growled through the vox.

 

All around them, blood-red monstrosities clawed their way through rips in reality, bursting from the swirl of air and blood. Their fell blades, wreathed in flames, cut through the finest body armour humanity had to offer with ease.

 

Church spun around and swung his fist, parrying a blow from one of the snarling creatures.

[DarkSavage]

Holy crap, this is really good!

Keep up the good work sir! I'll be tracking this story for sure

[Ufthak]

Thanx Dark Savage :) I'll try to finish it ASAP, though work isn't letting me currently <_<

[Ufthak]

Just found some time to continue :) Here's the next part up! As usual, crits and comments are very appreciated. The following part wasn't easy to write and I'd be really happy if you guys could let me know how you think it turned out! :D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The power field around Mayer’s two-hander sizzled as it cut through the fabric that made up these abominations.

 

A strange fabric that…wasn’t.

 

The creature shrieked, lashing out with its blade even as it started to dissolve into smoke, shreds of its form falling off its frame.

 

Mayer gasped for breath. These monstrosities were unlike anything he had yet faced. He had fought a myriad of alien creatures on countless worlds – he had defeated howling Eldar blade-witches, mysterious, horror-invoking Hrud warriors, massive, brutal Greenskin Warbosses, Q’orl bugs, Tushepta, Strousii, even Demiurg and Zoat.

 

But these creatures were something different entirely. Their very form seemed to flicker, as if what one could see was only a copy, an illusion of the true creature somewhere entirely different. Their speed, their strength and dexterity was unnatural and phenomenal, and their anatomy disturbingly hominoid.

 

For a second which seemed to last for an eternity, a memory returned to Mayer which had long slumbered, forgotten, in his subconscious. He recalled lying in his small, filthy bed in Freeburg Hive as a child. His mother would tell him stories of brave warriors battling monstrous creatures from hell, red, horned, breathing fire through fanged maws.

 

Daemons from hell.

 

Mayer watched his warriors fight like they had never before. Imperial Fists usually preferred to fight with ranged weapons, and engaging these abominations hand-to-hand was galling. Yellow-clad warriors dropped to the bloody floor as flaming blades cut them down.

 

Nonetheless, the Astartes were gaining the upper hand. The World Eaters had flown into a berserk rage, equalling the monstrosities in strength and speed. Loric Amboss and his terminators charged through the deadly blows of the black blades, scything through the creatures with power claws, axes and swords.

 

But one warrior surpassed them all.

 

Calras Dom, the World Eater sergeant, bayed as a wild animal, snarling, spitting, groaning, laughing maniacally as he charged through the melee. The creatures roared and shrieked as his chainaxes cut down two, three, four of them in rapid succession. Dom’s eyes seemed to dance around aimlessly, out of sync. The apparatus on his cranium whirred wildly. His white-blue armour was by now almost entirely crimson, gore coating him from head to foot.

 

In horror, Mayer watched as pink arcs of light seemed to twist around the blurring figure of Dom, enveloping him. The World Eater screamed in insane laughter, felling another creature with swift strikes from his axes.

 

Even as Mayer watched, Dom’s face seemed to twist in unnatural ways. His forehead expanded, one of his eyes shrunk, his mouth distended to one side. What appeared to be a black horn slowly sprouted from Dom’s cranium, followed by a second one, which pushed its way through the ceramite plates covering Dom’s power pack.

 

Every Astartes on the Podium seemed to stand still and stare in horror at the impossible sight as Dom carved up the last of the creatures single-handedly, seemingly oblivious of the horrific mutations which seemed, impossibly, even to affect his power armour.

 

Captain Holske sped over to his sergeant as the World Eater brutalised the shreds of wailing, shrieking abominations slowly dissolving to smoke.

 

Holske’s tone was startlingly gentle and full of emotion.

 

“Calras…brother…what is happening to you?”

 

Dom abruptly ceased his butchering work and glared at Holske.

 

For a split second, Mayer got a full, clear view of the monster that Dom was changing into. The black horns continued to grow, his eyes – one huge, one tiny – had turned yellow, disturbingly similar to those of the creatures he had just slain. Horrifyingly, even his power armour seemed to twist and turn as changes came over it. Now entirely red, it seemed to melt and weld its segments together, while at the same time sprouting spikes and horns. The World Eater badge on the left shoulder pad seemed to come to life, the jaws chewing and rending apart the world they held. Worst of all, Dom’s frame seemed to flicker and ripple, just like the abominations’.

 

There was no recognition in Dom’s eyes as he looked at Holske.

 

With a feral snarl, Dom launched himself toward his Captain, swinging his axes.

[Legio Draconis]

Fantastic brother.

[Ufthak]

As always, Thanx Legio Draconis :D Will try to write some more today or tmoro!

[Ufthak]

Hey folks!

 

Well, thanks to a massive workload plus University application stress "today or tmoro" turned into two months. I'm really sorry I made you all wait :)

 

In any case, I managed to write up some more the last couple of days. I hope you like it, and as usual please please let me know what you think of it! I'd like to know what you think of my description of the Daemons, the Daemonic Possession and whether it's clear what kind of Daemons they were.

Any crits & comments?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Destroy it!” Mayer yelled.

 

Imperial Fists and World Eaters alike swung their weapons and converged on the monstrosity that had once been Calras Dom.

 

Captain Holske stood, transfixed, agape, as Dom charged toward him, cutting down a World Eater who attempted to stop him without even looking his way. The Captain regained a grip on himself just as Dom’s chainaxes came down at different angles. Holske barely avoided them, chain-teeth scraping over his power armour, sparks flying. Dom screeched, a long tongue now lolling from his distended mouth.

 

Mayer watched Brother Haubergas charge Dom. The Imperial Fist rammed his combat blade into the monster’s side, the blade finding a soft spot between the armour segments. Dom roared and swung his axes with such speed they disappeared into a blur. Haubergas, suddenly missing his right arm and left leg, collapsed to the floor.

 

Mayer reached Dom before he could finish Haubergas. The power sword cut through the haft of one of the chainaxes, and the axe-head flew through the air, stuttering. Mayer groaned as he ducked a blow from the other axe and pain shot through his chest.

 

Use the pain.

 

An explosion of energy fuelled Mayer’s next stroke. The monster screeched its unworldly shriek and swung its axe at Mayer again while at the same time kicking Captain Holske, who had charged it from behind, full in the chest. The Captain flew through the air and landed heavily on two converging Imperial Fists. Mayer ducked the axe and put all his strength into the prefect, killing blow. With expert precision, he ran his power sword through the ceramite chest of the creature and straight into its primary heart.

 

It was a wound not even an Astartes could ignore. It was a killing blow which crippled the enemy if it didn’t kill him outright.

 

As such, Mayer expected Dom to topple down dead.

 

Instead, the World Eater merely roared, more in rage than pain. It was something Mayer had not been expecting, and he noticed the punch aimed for his head too late.

 

The next thing Mayer felt was weightlessness as he flew through the air. His vision was black and a sharp pain stung his face. He landed heavily, the impact cracking the bloodied stone floor.

 

For a moment, Mayer lay still, then his enhanced Astartes survival instincts sent a rush of hormones and stimulants through his body. The stars before his eyes disappeared, his hearing immediately returned.

 

All his muscles aching, he felt the front plate of his black MkIV helm. He was still blind – the blow must have destroyed parts of the sensorium. With a grunt, he pulled the helm off.

 

After the seconds of darkness, the obscenity and impossibility of the scene before his eyes almost overwhelmed him. The blood, the bodies of pilgrims and Astartes alike, the swirling pink light, the stench of gore...and, amid it all, the crimson monstrosity.

 

Dom shrieked as multiple Astartes assaulted him, circled him. Holske snarled orders to the surrounding blue-white and yellow-armoured warriors. The Astartes were more cautious of Dom now, evading him, circling him, jabbing at him with combat blades and chainswords.

 

Mayer gazed closely at the creature that was Dom. The power armour was warping more and more, strange horns and mouths with lolling tongues growing out of its segments. Mayer gazed in shock at the impossible sight of his power sword, still embedded in the creature’s chest. The monster moved and fought as though it weren’t there.

 

Impossible!

 

The mere thought of Astartes, his own, battle-brothers, fighting each other, killing each other, was absolutely unconceivable. It went against everything the brotherhood amongst Astartes stood for, against the very creation of the Emperor.

 

But this…this was something so utterly unbelievable, so utterly nightmarish, it simply couldn’t be. No power in the universe could change power armour to flesh, could weld armour segments together or sprout horns from flesh in a matter of seconds!

 

It was the stuff of children’s horror-stories. Invented to scare them. Untrue and fabricated.

 

And yet, here stood the living proof.

 

Daemons from hell!

 

 

 

“NOW!”

 

The Chaplain’s voice, trained to echo and reach even the farthest listeners, boomed through the amphitheatre.

 

Hanas Churchendal staggered back as a blinding flash of lightning filled the podium. Forcing his eyes to peer through the blue-white light, he could make out the two Word Bearer librarians. One, Balbacon, was on his knees, the other, Videk Tal, staggering on his feet. Both were jerking and spasming as if in agony, while their helmets were enveloped in light. Arcs of lightning threaded from their heads to the monster that was Dom.

 

Dom screeched and attempted to dodge the psychic attacks, but to evade something aimed not only at your body, but also at your mind and soul, required more than just speed.

 

The lightning enveloped him, tore at his body and armour, disintegrating the grotesque horns sprouting out everywhere. Dom’s form seemed to flicker and glimmer more wildly, as if being torn apart on some strange, energetic level.

 

A horrific sound filled the podium, and it took Church a few seconds to realise what it was. Through the animalic screeching and roaring of the creature, there was another voice, a man’s voice. It was the voice of the warrior, Calras Dom, being fried alive, his mind being torn from his body.

 

“Finish him, for Emperor’s sake!” Holske snarled at the Word Bearers.

 

The two agonised librarians lifted their shaking arms, summoning psychic power. Then, in one motion, they hurled bright orbs of white light at the dying monstrosity.

 

An explosion of light blinded everyone. The light went beyond the sensorium of Astartes helms and into the minds of the warriors, blinding them even on a psychic level. Some warriors dropped to their knees, others attempted to shield their eyes in vain.

 

Then, suddenly, it was all over.

 

The blinding light fizzled and disappeared; the pink arcs of power rippled and vanished. The amphitheatre was plunged into darkness lit only by the moon, which threw a silver light on the heaps of corpses everywhere.

 

For a few moments, no one moved. Then the two librarians gave a quiet moan and toppled over, onto the bloodied floor.

 

Church glanced over to where, moments before, the creature had stood. On the floor, lying on a fine film of dried blood, lay the burnt and shrivelled form of an Astartes of the XII Legion, his armour bent, twisted and corroded in strange ways, and thin trails of black smoke seeping from the armour segments.

 

The hulking terminator-sergeant, Loric Amboss, was the first to speak.

 

“What in the Emperor’s name happened here?” he growled.

[Darkchild130]

Dom sounds like a warp spawn to me! Long time no see brother, good to see you still writing, I enjoyed this fight scene a lot.

 

Darkchild

[Ufthak]

@Darkchild:

And good to hear from you again, Darkchild :whistling: Thanx for your kind words!

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

yay, your alive!!

 

And so is the story!

 

I enjoyed this, and I cant wait to see more

[Legio Draconis]

Thank you brother for another instalment. I don't care how long I have to wait for the rest of it just keep it coming when you can.

[Ufthak]

Thanks Legio Draconis and Bohemond, nice to hear from you guys :) Good to know you're still reading!

 

Here's the next part up, hope it turned out well. Please let me know what you think of it, ok?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Ignatius Tiretã admired the Sendho priesthood as much as he felt contempt for it. Watching the priests go through the Deviagraha ritual was a lesson in crowd control. The mass of pilgrims hung onto their every movement and every word, entranced, fascinated, filled with emotion.

 

The priesthood’s methods were nowhere near as refined as those of the Imperial iterators. Tiretã himself had spent years in training, studying the works of such great men as Kyril Sindermann, for the sole purpose of bearing the Imperial Light of Secularism to a Galaxy which, on a mental level, lived in the Dark Ages of superstition and false faith.

Dark Ages indeed, since this ignorance and primitivism stemmed from the days of Old Night, the great cataclysm which befell the Galaxy and almost wiped out the human race.

 

And now, from the ashes of Old Night, there rose something vaster, more splendid than ever before: the Imperium of Man.

 

The inside of the massive command vehicle of the Contingent of Urslavik troops assigned to the pacification of the planet hummed and beeped with apparatus, manned by rough men in simple, dark brown uniforms. The feed from the skull-drones appeared on the screens, showing the different sites the Deviagraha was taking place. The main festival was taking place on some mountain-top, and the Astartes had been invited to take care of that one. Meanwhile, the Urslavik troops were to observe the others and remain on standby.

 

The liaison officer of the Contingent, Colonel Leksandr Simyonisk, stood nearby, silently watching the proceedings playing out on the screens. He was a hard-faced man, with ice blue eyes, a lined face, a greying beard and broad shoulders. The tall, traditional Urslavik bearskin fit his murky, dark brown trench coat perfectly.

 

In contrast, Ignatius Tiretã was clad in a bright purple coat, lined with silver, bearing the iterator badge on his chest.

Though he stood perfectly still, arms folded, never moving, Simyonisk seemed impatient. The iterator noted a slight pulsing in the officer’s temple and a clenched jaw which indicated it. Iterators were trained to note these things. It was important to know what others were feeling, especially when talking to a crowd, in order to weigh one’s next words carefully.

 

Though Tiretã did not truly know for sure what Simyonisk was waiting for, he could guess. The Colonel was waiting for the Astartes’ judgment. The Word Bearers would judge the priesthood and then notify the governor who, accordingly, would give orders to the Urslavik contingent.

 

The Urslavik troops had been placed strategically near the sites of worship, ready to react upon receiving the orders.

Ignatius Tiretã had no illusions. He himself had tried, and failed, to bring the light of the Emperor to this world, and the priesthood had systematically stamped out his attempts – a failure which still stung him and had notched his reputation considerably. The chances the Word Bearers would leave the priesthood in place were slim.

 

“Give the order already!” the Colonel mumbled as he watched a green-painted priestess dance across the screens. The iterator could see that Simyonisk wanted to get it over with.

 

 

 

“NO! You can’t do that!” Mayer snarled.

 

Sor Salbek’s face, so easily readable earlier, now betrayed nothing.

 

“You saw what happened. You saw what they did” the Chaplain replied.

 

“We don’t know what happened! We don’t understand it!” Mayer growled. “The stink of the warp is about all this! We need to find out what happened here!”

 

The Chaplain shrugged. “It’s pretty clear to me. Whatever it was, the priesthood unleashed these monstrosities from the warp upon us. That makes them illegal psykers at best.”

 

“We do not know that” Mayer replied through clenched teeth. “Before you order a massacre, I demand we investigate what happened here!”

 

A snarl behind Mayer made him turn. Captain Holske’s face was, in contrast to the Chaplain’s, deeply etched with emotion. Disgust, contempt and sorrow, but above all rage. “It’s not your call” Holske growled, his head shaking with suppressed anger. He turned to Sor Salbek. “But his. Chaplain, signal the governor. Kill them all.”

 

“Don’t do this” Mayer growled at the Chaplain.

 

Sor Salbek smiled.

 

 

 

“All troops, move into position” Colonel Simyonisk spoke into the vox-mic. A series of clicks echoed through the command vehicles vox system, each signalling an acknowledgement from a company or battalion commander.

 

“Are you going to execute them immediately?” the iterator asked.

 

“Of course not” Simyonisk said without looking at him. “Bad publicity. We’ll disperse the crowds and apprehend the priests. They’ll be killed in quiet later at an unknown location.”

 

Ignatius Tiretã watched the feed from the skull drones. Squads of rough troopers in long brown overcoats and bearskins were moving forward toward the places of worship, in plazas of cities, glades in woods, hilltops and houses.

 

A further series of clicks told Simyonisk the units were in position.

 

“All units move in and apprehend. You have your orders” he spoke calmly into the vox mic.

 

Tiretã watched as the Imperial Army troopers moved through masses of jostling, protesting pilgrims in black, pushing the locals aside with their lasrifles and autoguns. Officers used megaphones from the vox units to address the crowd in an attempt to disperse them. The troops moved swiftly, sealing all exits and pushing through toward the priests who were still in the middle of their rituals.

 

Tiretã was an expert at reading crowds. Watching the seething crowd of pilgrims and the soldiers jostling their way through, he realised that things were going to get ugly any moment. Not only were the soldiers violating an ancient tradition, but a religious ritual. And religious fervour could easily turn into violence given the wrong application.

 

“This is going to turn out bad, Colonel. Get the troops out of there and call for reinforcements” he advised Simyonisk.

 

“Rubbish” the officer sneered. “I have my orders, move in and apprehend. If we let these priests run now then we’ll spend the next twenty years stamping them out in the underground.”

 

“Colonel, I seriously advise you to…”

 

The iterator was interrupted by one of the aides manning the vox station. “Group 254 is reporting problems, Colonel.”

 

Dimyonisk turned to the aide. “Lieutenant Voranin? Patch me through to him.” While the aide handed him the vox mic, he called over to another trooper manning the skull drone. “And zoom in on location.”

 

Tiretã glanced at the relevant screen. It was as he had feared. The Urslavik troopers were in the process of apprehending the protesting priests, but the crowd had turned into an angry mob once they realised what was happening. The Imperial Army troopers were being shoved and jostled, pilgrims were attempting to wrest their weapons from them, others had started throwing stones at the increasingly unnerved soldiers.

 

“What’s wrong down there, Voranin?” Simyonisk shouted through the vox.

 

The apprehensive voice of the lieutenant echoed through the vox. It was barely audible through the cacophony of voices and other sounds. “Colonel, the crowd are going crazy! They’re getting angrier by the second!”

 

“Voranin, arrest subjects and leave now, do you get me?”

 

“There’s too many Colonel! I…”

 

The vox suddenly went dead, and Tiretã glanced at the pict-feed from the servo-skull to find out what happened. He thought he could make out the lieutenant and his vox-operator being swamped by a mob of angry pilgrims.

 

“Voranin! You hear me? Voranin!” the Colonel shouted into the vox.

 

One of the vox-aides turned to Simyonisk. “Colonel, we have more distress calls, from groups 265, 236, 237 and 276.”

 

“Damn it!” The Colonel turned to the screens. Riots were unfolding everywhere. The pilgrims were assaulting the Imperial troopers; stones flew through the air, troopers were being pushed into small groups.

 

“What do we do, Colonel?” Another aide asked.

 

Simyonisk glared at the screens for a moment, still as a rock.

 

“The governor gave you full control of this operation, Colonel” Tiretã reminded him. “It’s your call what happens next.”

 

“Orders are to eradicate the priesthood. I’m not letting them get away. They want to do it rough, then let’s give it to them rough!” Simyonisk snarled.

 

He grabbed the vox mic.

 

“All units, you have authorisation to employ deadly force. Gun them down!”

 

 

 

Tiretã had seen the aftermath of an Imperial invasion, had seen the destruction wrought by Imperial Armies on worlds that had not immediately accepted compliance. He had seen the piles of dead, the mass graves, the broken cities, the destroyed temples, entire cultures brought low. He had always gone about his work with mixed feelings – pride and strength at the might of the Imperium, certainty concerning the necessity of such destruction, yet also a certain morbid fascination and horror.

 

This, however, was something different entirely. He had never actually seen the fighting, seen the looks on the faces of people just before they died, or the cruelty, violence and madness that war unleashed. Here, he could see it all.

 

The pict-feed seemed slow, as if everything moved in slow motion. Though he could not actually hear what was happening, he could see. He watched as the Urslavik troopers lowered their weapons and aimed them at the crowd. He watched as the officers bellowed their orders and the soldiers opened fire at the terrified, packed press of human bodies. He watched as troopers held down the priests while officers put pistols to their necks and pulled the trigger. He watched as the Imperial troops advanced, stepping over the piles of dead bodies covering the ground, gunning down the pilgrims as they panicked.

 

The horror of such slaughter almost overwhelmed him. And yet, he could not bring himself to look away. He stood there, transfixed, as thousands of unarmed civilians were slaughtered in the name of the Imperial Truth.

[Ufthak]

So, I'm currently writing the final paragraphs of the story, hopeto finish it within the next two days. Meanwhile, any crits & comments? Anyone notice mistakes? I'd like to get the end done properly, so please lemme know if you find something. And also feel free to coment on the last part :rolleyes:

[Brother Captain Ming]

Awesome read so far!

The horror of such slaughter almost overwhelmed him. And yet, he could not bring himself to look away. He stood there, transfixed, as thousands of unarmed civilians were slaughtered in the name of the Imperial Truth.

 

I just thought that might sound better...be more soul crushing realistic and stuff.

 

Awesome read again, you simply amaze me (and fill me with oh so much jealousy lol)

 

And how are you able to make my skin crawl every time you write about the warp?

[Ufthak]

@Brother Captain Ming:

As always, thanx for your kind words :lol: If my story makes your felsh crawl then that's your best way of telling me I'm doing a good job! Thanx mate!

Your suggestion has been noted and incorporated ;)

 

 

 

 

In any case, without further ado, here's the final part of the story. Though it took me much longer than I had expected or hoped, it was fun writing this story, and I hope all of you faithful readers enjoyed it as much as the last one. Thanx for all the kind words and helpful comments along the way, which have helped me enormously! :)

 

Here goes:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

Loric Amboss’ set of blades cut through the air as if in slow motion, like through water. The pain in Mayer’s chest drove him on, filled him with strength, the strength to overcome the very pain itself. He easily ducked the terminator sergeant’s swing, executing a swift pirouette, bringing up his two-hander in an underhand stroke.

 

Amboss parried the strike only with great difficulty, taking two steps back. Mayer advanced, fury driving him on, swinging his blade with incredible speed, feigning here, feigning there until the moment was right. A quick thrust, and the terminator sergeant grunted as the blade scraped across his torso.

 

In a real fight, it would not have been a killing wound, but it would have crippled most opponents.

 

“You’re better, much better” Amboss remarked as Mayer took up a defensive position. “But is the way you found a good one?”

 

Mayer snarled and charged, springing from his defensive stance, swinging his blade sideways at the lumbering terminator, who dodged the swing only just. Mayer roared in frustration and immediately swung his blade again in rage.

 

Suddenly, he found his sword jammed to the ground, caught between the multiple blades of Amboss’ right gauntlet. He barely had time to grunt in surprise before the sergeant smashed his tank-like torso against Mayer, sending him flying through the air.

 

Mayer landed heavily on the training chamber floor, but even as he hit the ground he immediately rolled himself over and back to his feet.

 

It was a moment before he realised that he no longer had his blade. Loric Amboss still held it, jammed between his claws.

 

“I win again” Amboss chuckled.

 

Mayer groaned.

 

“But I shouldn’t have” the terminator continued. “You are better, much better, and should have easily beat me. But you are letting something cloud your mind, letting something control your strikes, aren’t you?”

 

Mayer took off his helm, recently repaired by the artificers, and exhaled heavily. “You are right.”

 

“Rage can be an asset, but it clouds your mind, narrows your vision” the terminator remarked. “I understand that you feel anger. But we are Imperial Fists, stoic and stubborn. We never let emotions cloud our judgment or guide our actions. You taught me that yourself, Captain. It was you who had us read Zenickar’s De Ira.”

 

“Indeed I did” Mayer answered. “And now, here you stand, old friend, lecturing me, and you are right to. And yet, even we Imperial Fists cannot ignore emotions fully. Whatever happened on Ghe, the Word Bearers only used us, to what ends we cannot know, and the very idea fills me with rage, as does the fact that we were powerless to stop such a colossal bloodshed. The whole operation was a failure at every level. We should not have let it come so far. We lost many good battle-brothers to these…things, and to what end?”

 

The terminator sergeant was silent for a moment.

 

“We may never truly know that. Something was foul, wrong about the whole thing from start to finish, but it is beyond our reach now. It is useless to dwell on it further” Amboss answered.

 

“I think brother Arminius, whose remnants were only recognisable by genetic testing, would disagree. But you are right; it all now lies beyond our grasp. It was the Word Bearer’s call, and whatever decisions they made were theirs to make, however much I disagreed with them. Still, I will file a report for the First Captain. We may not understand what happened on Ghe, but I want it remembered.”

 

 

 

The Imperial Fists had taken their leave, taking the fastest way to the rendezvous point with their reinforcements. Sor Salbek was exuberant. They had played their part well.

 

He paced slowly down the steel corridors of the ship, his footfall echoing through the emptiness. The World Eaters had not particularly welcomed the Word Bearers upon their vessel, and they had been assigned an empty section of the ship’s crew’s quarters. An insult which Sor Salbek might have complained about if it hadn’t played so nicely into his hands.

 

Within these empty chambers and corridors, he and his retinue would remain undisturbed.

 

He stopped before a door to a small, simple chamber of the living quarters and activated the button to open the door. With a slight hiss, the door slid open and the Chaplain stepped inside.

 

The chamber was entirely empty with the exception of a complicated apparatus attached to the far wall. Hanging from the apparatus, bound to it with flexible restraints, were three skeletal beings. Psykers, unsanctioned, illegal. Cables and tubes protruded from their craniums into the apparatus. The air stank of stale sweat, urine and unwashed, soiled flesh.

 

It had been difficult to smuggle the psykers aboard the ship, but once aboard, the beings themselves saw to it that no one detected them through psychic shrouding. And, more importantly, they could cloak any astropathic messages they transmitted from the chamber.

 

The two librarians sat on either side of the chamber, legs crossed, eyes closed in meditation. The faces of both of them looked thin and drained after their ordeal upon Ghe.

 

As Sor Salbek entered the chamber Videk Tal spoke, without moving a muscle or opening his eyes.

 

“Revered Chaplain. We have established the link and are ready to commence. By your word.”

 

Sor Salbek slowly paced up toward the astropathic apparatus, stopping before its holo-casting device.

 

“Do it” he breathed.

 

For a brief moment, the three psykers moaned and twitched, and a shape began to form in the air above the apparatus. The holographic projection was bluish in colour, yet clear and coherent.

 

The noble face of an Astartes loomed up within the projection. Scrolls of writing bedecked his shoulder pauldrons, and runes were etched into every single square inch of his armour.

 

Sor Salbek bowed in reverence.

 

“My Lord Xaphen.”

 

Xaphen, Chaplain to the 7th Assault Company and to the Gal Vorbak, smiled, though his eyes remained icy.

 

“Sor Salbek. What news of you?”

 

“I bring good tidings, my Lord” Sor Salbek answered. “As promised.”

 

Xaphen’s voice slithered through the vox. “Tell me.”

 

“You were right, my Lord. The spell does work. As do the others. Just like you prophesied, we unleashed the power bound within.”

 

“So it is written” Xaphen answered, his voice a mere whisper. “The Gods answer our prayers, our devotion. What happened?”

 

Sor Salbek shivered as he told his tale.

 

“The Imperial Fists aided my plan, my Lord. With their unwitting help, I was able to see the experiment through despite tedious objection by the World Eaters.”

 

“Good. What of the spell?”

 

Sor Salbek felt pride swell within his chest, as well as exhilaration at the memories of the power unleashed. “We conjured up the power of the warp, my Lord. We managed to call upon the denizens of the Empyrean. It was magnificent, fantastic, horrifying. They cut down Imperial Fists and even World Eaters with ease. My Lord, the power unleashed was incredible.”

 

Xaphen’s features were surprisingly stern. “What of control? Were you directing them?”

 

Sor Salbek paused, wrong-footed. “N-no, my Lord.”

 

“Then work on it. Work on the spell, find sources for more amongst the ancient writings. You have indeed achieved much, brother, but we need more. We need to understand how to control this power the Gods grant us. Without control, it is useless in our hands.”

 

“Yes, Lord. I shall continue the experiments. So it is written.”

 

“It is. Anything else?” Xaphen asked, seeing that Sor Salbek had paused.

 

“There’s more, Lord.”

 

Xaphen’s features switched to curiosity for the briefest second. “More?”

 

“Yes, my Lord” Sor Salbek answered. “Firstly, my librarian brothers and I detected a huge ground of potential amongst the rituals of these ancient cultures. The spell was based on blood, on the blood of innocence…but we recognised potential to work this spell with other powers.”

 

“Which are?”

 

Sor Salbek smiled as he recalled the beautiful, green-painted, dancing priestess.

 

“Ecstasy. Lust. Beauty” his voice whispered through the vox.

 

Xaphen paused for a moment, apparently thinking hard, before answering.

 

“We need to worship all the Great Powers. Make it work.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord. But there’s more, which may also interest you. During the ritual, Angron’s butchers displayed a great potential for…possession.”

 

Xaphen’s features remained unmoving, his face a mask, and for a moment Sor Salbek believed the connection had been cut. Then, suddenly, for the briefest of seconds, the holographic projection flickered, and Xaphen’s face seemed overlaid with a second, fanged, horrific, inhuman complexion. The ghost of insane laughter echoed through the vox.

 

It passed as soon as it had come, and after the initial shock Sor Salbek wasn’t sure whether he’d seen it at all.

 

Xaphen was smiling again. “Good work, Sor Salbek. The Urizen will be pleased to hear of these developments. Go forth and do the work of the Word.”

 

“So it is written” Sor Salbek replied.

[Legio Draconis]

Brilliant brother. Leaves us hanging for part three of these tales, perhaps during the actual heresy itself. More I say. When you have the time of course.

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

Nice ending...man...I really really hate WB now. Well done on making me love the Templars more than I already did and hating the WB more than I did!

 

Good story, I enjoyed every word of it ^_^

[DarkSavage]

Well done sir, well done indeed.

I'm looking forward to more of your work!

[Ufthak]

@Legio Draconis, Brother-Sergeant Bohemond and Dark Savage:

Thanks for the kind words, guys :D Hm, a part three? Well..I do have some ideas flying around in that messed up head of mine -if university and work don't completely encompass all my time then I may yet write more :)

 

In any case, thanks again for faithfully reading on, and also thanks for your patience!

 

 

P.S.: Just a quick question: was it clear that the daemons were bloodletters? Coz I hope I portrayed them well...

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

yes, and the blood followed by Daemons helped us as well.

 

If you know the types, then no trouble at all, if not, then, well, your in trouble already hehe

[Ufthak]

Great :P I'm relieved then!

 

Thanx again for your c&c guys!!!