Abyssal Hunter short story

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Abyssal Hunters: Engagment 6173

 

The cold void sucked at the seals on Christen's armour as he walked over the surface of the space hulk. They had been deployed to try and secure a valid landing zone in sector 317.Beta of the space hulk, in order to eventually bring the full might of the Hunt on the filth within the ship. He slowly walked down the ship, where the small glimpse of light betrayed the existence of a hangar, one big enough to hold at least a companies worth of supplies and men. It was also the most likely place for a trap, and so the veteran scouts had been sent in, with Christen and his brothers even now making his way to support them, their mismatching armour hssing as the machine-spirits scented blood.

Christen felt gravity flip over as he grabbed the lip of the hangar and flipped into the massive cavern, landing upside down on the roof. The rest of his squad followed suit, mag-locking their soles to the celing and proceding to the swirling combat in the center. The elite Hunters, in their lightweight scout armour were running rings around the slower mutant horde, ducking and diving beneath and over the mess of old crates and containers littering the hangar.

His squad getting into position, they all disabled the mag-locks at once, letting gravity do its work as they plummetted directly into the center of the mutants, flipping over and loosening weapons as they fell. Christen let his vision narrow, his calm analytical detachment fall in the face of his armour's hunger, as his chainsword and boltpistol joined his awareness, becoming part of the war machine he was born to be.

The mutant s screamed as the squad fell on them, the collision pulping bones and flesh. A instant later, the closest mutants died to the fire of boltguns, while massive dark shadows lept out of the confusing,screaming mass of flesh on the floor, their blades whirring and singing. The first to make contact was Christen, his body swinging to the right and rolling even as the first four heretics died to a pistol shot, a whirring chainsword, a crushing fist to the face and the bulk of the Astartes crushing the soft body of a coward underneath its boots.

Christen felt the hot blood spatter on his faceplate and laughed at the feeling of power rushing through his veins. He and the most reckless of his brethren had dived straight into the fight, and he loved the satisfaction of the machine-spirit in the back of his mind. Slowly, he felt his mind go under the in the thrill of combat and the visceral feel of pulping flesh under his weapons...

Eventually, the killing rage calmed, his mind and vision returning from a simple red curtain to the normal spectrum of colors and depth. He was standing at the edge of the hangar, his armour soaked red in the vitae of the enemy, and his chainsword grinding on the bones and gristle clogging its engine. He stumbled a few steps forward, his body pushing to feel the heady heights of rage and wrath over and over. He almost did too, until a purple clad gauntlet smacked into his helm, making him blink and come fully back to his senses.

"Carefull youngblood. The denial of temptation is the path to righteousness" a gravelly voice spat at him. Before turning, he knew it would be the scarred and sneering face of his mentor, and Hunter, Ranik. Ranik had been the first face he had seen as he had been reborn into the service of the Emperor, and would probably still be there, sneering as Christen bled out.

"Yes sir, i'll serve penitence when we secure the hangar" Christen whispered, hating the wet growl his voice had turned into. His lack of self-control had always been his greatest weakness, and he knew it was going to get him killed. Or even worse, one of his brothers killed. He had been lowering the amount of combat drugs in his armour, and intoning the Litanies of Purgation on the way to the hangar, yet he had still been crippled by his love of blood and war. He had to find a way to fix this, otherwise he could seriously damage the mission. And that could not be allowed.

"Bah, i have a better idea. You're going in the reserve when the Hunt procedes" Ranik shrugged and turned away, looking over the hangar. The Hunters and the youngbloods were pushing the massive containers near the few passageways that led out of the hangar, forming make-shift barricades. The Thunderhawks were coming in hot, contact in five minutes. The rest of the plan was going according to his projections, and he was confident that they could hold the hangar.

"For the Emperor, we fight. For our brothers, we tread the darkness softly, so others may bask in the light. Forgive us, for the deeds we will commit, and those sins we already have committed. In your name, the Emperor of Mankind. Maledictus enim, in nomine Imperatoris" with that small prayer, half blessing, half curse, he stalked off to his brothers, readying the hangar for the Hunt to commence.

 

Comments and critiques welcome, and so are story ideas. Whoever sugggests the coolest, i'll try and incorporate into the story. :(

[DarkCrusader]

Pure awesome. :D u should link this to your IA...Mite get a beter response... ;)

[Azekai]

Short and sweet, with a great feel- you really get to experience the combat through the character. I would just double check your capitalizations.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Will do thank you :)

 

Any suggestions about how i should continue. If not, i'll just make it up as i go along .

[Yaj]

Good, fantastically good!

 

I could give you some ideas for how the story could continue but I'm not going to.

 

Just keep expanding on the excellent start you've made.

 

I look forward to reading more.

[Ring-around-the-roses]

Part two, enjoy!

 

The Thunderhawk slowed as it approached the hangar, its thrusters burning hot as it approached the sole beam of light in the shade of the cyclopean space hulk. Ranik watched as it landed, and more ammunition was wheeled out by the human crew, before they too took up arms and joined their respective companies. So far, there had been no counter attack, and Ranik was pleased at the speed of the deployment. The mortals had been drilled inecessantly in preparation for the Hunt, and the first to land were now proceding slowly into the space hulk, identfying the next sphere of conquest to take place.

The hangar was filled with the whine of thrusters, and the crack of ozone as the mortal auxillaries discharged their weapons, making sure they had survived the travel through the void. Near half the hangar was filled with towering blocks of ammuntion, with solitary racks of weapons dotted throughout the fast growing depot. The hangar was going to be full soon, and the Chapter needed to find a bigger entry point if they wanted to deploy the full might of the Hunt. He needed a squad to recon deep into the hulk and find another hangar. The mortals hadn't found any data terminals, but the Techmarines hadn't landed, making the point moot.

"Christen, gather your brothers, i may have found you a chance to make up for your lack of control" he grated. They were the only Astartes except for Ranik's Hunters, and he couldn't afford to send any more of the Hunters out of the small cordon he had set up. The toehold in the space hulk had to remain strong. Christen and his squad weren't suited towards defence, and at least they could find out where another hangar is and blow off some steam.

"How may we serve the Chapter" Lycon panted, untamed agression rolling of his armour. He clearly had been busy during the interim after the battle, judging by the skulls hanging off his armour. They were still bloody, and Ranik felt a twitch of annoyance as he looked down on the youngblood. The youngbloods had a lot to learn, but he knew that he was ill-suited towards teaching. Quick to anger and even quicker to censure, that had been his way. He looked on as the rest of Christen's squad gathered, their armour still bloody and scratched from the original fight in the hangar.

Hroth, the largest of them struggling to remove a dagger wedged in the wrist joint of his armour.

Bale-Ferum, whipcord lean even in his armour. He was toying with his bandoleer of daggers, no doubt checking for any chips or scratches.

Luposfor, the rock of the squad. Almost machine like, he was the perfect foil for his younger relation, Lycon.

Lycon, firebrand and feral. He had the demeanour of a berserker, and even worse restraint. If it wasn't for his elder brother, he would no doubt be dead at the bottom of a fire-zone.

And finally, Christen. The weak link, the mad dog of the squad. Ranik didn't like blood on his hands, but any more scenes like the one he had seen, and he would be forced to tell the Chaplains. Weakness couldn't be tolerated, not in this crusade. Never could they fail in their duty, for the alternative was vindication of the charge, of Traitoris Extremis, levelled against them. And that could not be tolerated. Ranik felt his Betcher's Gland tense, his body ready itself with vilence at just the thought of the charge levelled against them.

" Maledictii" he swore, spitting on the ground and watching the poisonous concoction slowly ooze down the hangar, irrevocably destined for a inescapable fate of dissolution in the void. A bad omen, it travelling so quickly towards the void. A bad omen indeed. Nevertheless, he rallied himself as the squad gathered itself together into some semblance of order.

"You dissapoint me. You, the future of our chapter, have all the discipline of a Orkoid mob. You have shamed the armour you stand in, some more than others. Their is only one way to redeem yourself for your lack of constraint, and that is in the thrill of the hunt, in the death of champions and the cold kill in the dark. Your mission is as follows; split into three groups, mutually supporting. I want a heavy weapon in their, Lycon. Move along the ships hull and search for hangars. You will be attacked, and most likely, with your restraint, killed. Dismissed" with that, Ranik stalked away, letting a cold smile tug at his lips.

"That should put some fire in their bellies" he grinned, letting his mind drift away to logistics, men and defensive calculations.

[Yaj]

Still good!

[Ring-around-the-roses]

"How long till we get to the frontline" Lycon spat, bringing up the rear with his massive autocannon blanketing the retreating halls in killing firepower. Hroth led the way with his hammer clutched tight in one grip. A leftover from his days as a mortal on a mining colony, he had kept it all throughout his ascension to Astartes, and although is was only the lenght of his forearm now, its enlarged head, made of pure ceramite, was still deadly with his increased strenght.

They had been walking for half an hour, separated from the void by little more than a few metres of bulkhead, thousands of years old and maintained little in that time. Helmets had unanimously been donned, and the glow of their eye lenses penetrated the darkness, showing their position to those who hunted them in the darkness. A amatuerish mistake, and one their leader would of have been critical of. But their leader wasn't here, and the creatures slowly drew closer as the squad crossed a massive storage vault, their pathway a mess of fallen ladders and successive levels of gantries. Treachorous footing indeed.

While the rest of the squad sedately walked along the gantries, Christen was scouting ahead, letting his advanced body taking leaps and bounds. He could feel the exhilaration of his armour's machine-spirit, feel it in the grind of cogs and the sparking of sensors. He jumped, grabbed the bottom of a half-destroyed ladder, and swung his entire body in a tight circle, flipping himself up a level. If it wasn't for the obviousness of the mutant filth hunting them, he would of have laughed. He was the strongest, the best, the elite of the Emperor's eternal armies. It was foolish to let this game go on, but Bale-Ferum had once again qouted the Codex Astartes need for superior ground and lanes of fire, convincing them all. Oh well, he thought, spying a series of tougher, reinforced platforms that looked defensible, and led to a series of doors. It could be another dead end, but they could lead to another section of the hulk. Hopefully the latter, he thought as he ran back to his squad, then i can finally kill something,

 

Gerard Platoon was performing well, and their captain, Gerard himself, was pleased. They had outperformed all the other Auxillaries to have the honour of leading the reclamation. So far, they had cleard the hangar, and were midway through a small cargo ship connected to the main hangar doors by the virtue of having at some point crashed straight through whatever ship the hangar had once belonged to, severing the connection and leaving a kilometre between it and its home ship. The other doors in the hangar had been sealed, and heavy duty las-cutters brought forth to penetrate the skin of the cargo ship. The Techmarine Firbrad would be coming into the system in a matter of minutes, with the rest of the Chapter, and Gerard was practically dizzy with hunger. Hunger for glory, hunger for the reward of duty. And always, he smiled to himself as another report of contact came in, hungry for death. They had so far taken the entire 'spine' of the ship, and the main habitation centres, including the med-bay, cargo holds and bridge. The only problems so far was the rat-run of ghettos and shantytowns that had sprung up in the engine section, the mutants and inbreds there leaching power out of the dormant and damaged engines to survive.

His platoon consisted of three squads of veterans, five heavy fire teams, and four grenadier squads, five untested squads. As per the standard, he had fed the untested into the heaviest fire, weeding out the weak and unfit. They had been recruited as part of the reclamation of Pythis VII, and most of the soldiers culled from the populace had been proven unwilling to advance in the face of heavy fire, or even worse, taking prisoners. Fools. Didn't they know that the Emperor was watching, judging them all? Failure in this life was damnation in the next, and desertion of duty. And that was a sin in itself.

Gerard stalked forward, letting his patched carapace armour mold itself to the tired lines of his body, and take the weight of his heavy, low-grav physique. A brawler by nature and tactics, he was going to break the deadlock if he had to rip the mutant filth out of their den himself. He reached his squad, gathered around a portable seismo-auspex table, a low-grade piece of technology usually used to track mining teams. It was good enough for the purpose of tracking the squads, as long as they stayed in a short distance, and for those that strayed out of the limited range, he had ordered a small group of tables set up, the basic schematic of the ship drawn by hand onto them as each sqauds individual auspex sent its seismo-data to the dataslate plugged into a small band of vox-sets, to increase its power. A fast and ready solution, although the cog-head of the regiment, one of Techmarine Martues' lot, would of have been horrified at the lack of ritual.

With that happy thought, he let out a quick rap on the table, his metallic hand rapping sharply on the steel surface. His squad had no need for words, for fanciful speeches. They had faced unnamed horrors, killed things that didn't even fit into human perception and burnt down alien cities that screamed in pain. They gathered around him, their faces covered by full-face rebreathers, just in case. As thier long experience had taught them, 'just in case' was usually the difference between the constant crusade, and the cold expanse of the void. Life or death, the war or the void. The constant cycle.

"Lets move" he grunted, before strapping his chainsword to his belt and stalking off into the darkness, the hum of his simple augmetics drowned out by the screams and howls of war.

 

In the void, in the cold, cold vacumm, a single ship ripped its way into the void. A glistening corona of aetheric energy trailed off its monolithic sides, tens of kilometres long. Its battlements were half-destroyed, ripped from their holds on the ship. Its guns, broken. It limped into the unknown system, a wearied and bloodied predator. Its name was simply Charnion.

[DarkCrusader]

Its awesome,you've inspired me to get up and write my own story...