Beneath the Hood

[KerianH]

(The following is a short story done in my spare time based upon multiple perspectives. Take note that there will be occasional breaches in canon, and most of them may be accidental. Given that this short story isn't finished, I will be posting them in parts continuously on this post. Be sure to check back to this first post on the thread and give me feedback when you finish reading!)

 

Beneath the Hood

A Warhammer 40,000 Short Story

By Kerian Halcyon

 

 

Blood; a specialized body fluid designed to deliver nutrients and oxygen into the body. It is composed of cells known as blood cells, usually a bluish color unless made in contact with a desired entity such as oxygen and other forms of nutrients that are required to keep the body living. The liquid is thick, and in humans it is a dark reddish color and gives off a coppery taste.

Any descendant of the mighty Sanguinius could tell you that all too easily. The mighty Primarch, whose wings of gold shone like the Imperial Aquila itself, and the father of the Blood Angels Space Marine Legion and its descended chapters. One of the mightiest, indeed perhaps the mightiest, of all of the Emperor’s sons, the great Sanguinius was one of the 20 Primarchs created by the Emperor to be the great progenitors of the Emperor’s Space Marine legions. When the Chaos Gods cast the Primarchs into the warp, Sanguinius stood out from all the rest because of his mutations he received; among them being his signature wings.

The Horus Heresy proved to be the downfall of both the Blood Angels Space Marines and their Primarch. When Horus, the traitor who brought his ten Chaos Legions against the Emperor, prepared to fight his father aboard his mighty flagship, Sanguinius; his powers of foresight already granting him visions of his brother’s betrayal and his own eventual death at his hands; rushed ahead of their father and challenged Horus in battle. Despite his grace of skill, Horus succeeded in doing the impossible; he slew the Angel Primarch in cold blood. Even so, legend has it that this sacrifice was what resulted in creating the dent in Horus’s armor; the dent necessary for the God Emperor to slay his own chosen son and defeat the Chaos Legions where they stood.

That resulting moment that led to Sanguinius’s death was left as a mark to all Blood Angels Space Marines. As a result to the end of the Horus Heresy, Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines Legion, decided that the Space Marines legions should divide into chapters to ensure that no one man could control an entire Space Marine Legion and fall to Chaos again. Undoubtedly, many chapters were made; with one particular chapter rewarded with the original name and structure of their legion, marking them as First Founding chapters. For the Blood Angels, many chapters were made during the famed Second Founding; the Angels Vermillion, the Blood Drinkers, the Flesh Tearers, the Angels Encarmine…but it wasn’t until well after this founding that they discovered The Flaw.

The Flaw, as it was known to be called among the Chapter, was a result of the death of their great Primarch. Somehow, after his death by Horus’s hands, the grief, pain, and, most of all, rage felt by the great Primarch Sanguinius was so strong that it passed on to his sons, the mighty Space Marines descended from the Blood Angels Legion. As a result, the Blood Angels began to grow a very increased desire to drink the blood of others and to tear flesh apart from bones; to cause great bloodshed and destruction. At its height, this deadly flaw grows so that it can drive a Blood Angel mad as the genetic memories of his Primarch are imprinted forever on his mind. His identity becomes no longer his own, and as a result he becomes a deadly and powerful creature filled with rage and a desire to instill terror and bloodshed to his enemies. This dark flaw is known in two parts; the Red Thirst, which instills any Blood Angel and descendant Marine with the desire to drink blood, and the Black Rage, said to drive even the most willed of all Blood Angel commanders mad.

Those who are unlucky enough to become part of those under the control of the Black Rage are captured by the Brother Chaplains of the Blood Angels, and then are taken and given black and red armor with symbols of death and the grief of the loss of their mighty Primarch. The purpose of this was simple; even mad, a Blood Angel’s pride is strong, and any Blood Angel who becomes instilled with the Black Rage would prefer death over madness. These Blood Angels are called the Death Company, and with the Chaplains guiding them they dive headlong into the fray and kill as many foes as possible, destroying many in their path and spilling as much blood as could be spilled before they die. Many victories by these chapters were the result of a deadly charge by the Death Company, despite the numbers lost as a result.

Many chapters among the Blood Angels have since learned well of this flaw and know that there is nothing they can do but embrace it and will it to their control. With the exception of but one man, no Space Marine has ever broken completely free of the Black Rage, and as such every Blood Angel and descendant Chapter knows that they must be vigilant and strong of will if they ever wish to be free of this curse over them.

No chapter knows this better than the Angels Sanguine, one of the Second Founding Chapters of the Blood Angels Space Marines. And no Angels Sanguine Space Marine would know that better than a veteran sergeant like Brother Dantus.

Korinth was one of the worlds of the Segmentum Obscurus under the jurisdiction of the Angels Sanguine. As a Hive World, its gangs were constantly sought out by recruiting Serfs and Battle Brothers who chose only the best of the best of the lot in order to bring them forth as Space Marines. Dantus was among those chosen from this world; an outcast even among his fellow gang members, he set himself apart from the rest by surviving in the deepest and darkest of tunnels and returning a hero after slaying one of the deadly predators of the world’s deep underground; a giant rat as large as the tigers of Ancient Terra. Dantus never knew himself whether the slaying of the beast was purposeful or accidental, but he did know that, as a result, he was made a recruit to the Space Marines and soon joined the 10th Company of Scouts many years ago.

Now, at 100 years old, he had become a Space Marine Veteran Sergeant. It was a great honor; one to carry with pride among many Space Marines; and yet he carried the burden of a minor commander with a sort of melancholy that was unlike a warrior of the Imperium. Of course, most of the Angels Sanguine were silent to begin with; viewed upon with suspicion among mankind for the fact that they never show their faces to anyone; their faces hidden with gleaming masks whenever their helmets were not placed upon their heads. However, Dantus carried a sort of suspicion that measured even beyond normal Angels Sanguine reputation, and as such even his own squad, The Plasma Brothers, were wisely wary of their veteran commander.

“Pilot,” the veteran spoke to the Space Marine behind the controls of the mighty Thunderhawk, the Inferno, “How long until we arrive to the designated drop site?”

“Not thirty more minutes, Sergeant,” the pilot said, “We’ve already received hails that the landing site is cleared. The Imperial Governor will be there to greet us.”

Dantus grunted. His eyes warily gazed through the viewscreen which sat a short distance past his Death Mask. He didn’t understand why his squad had been asked to come to this world just when their Battle Barge, the Blood of the Red, was ready to take the entire Fifth Company on crusade to the Eye of Terror near the Cadian Gate. Of the 100 Space Marines in the Fifth Company, their eight had been chosen to go groundside after receiving a vox signaled to the Captain’s private headquarters. It was no secret that The Plasma Brothers were frustrated at their luck, having not seen action for almost a full year, but Dantus had no choice. He would not dare question his superior officer’s commands. That was borderline heresy.

“Continue course,” he said, “Inform me when we arrive.”

“Understood.”

The large Space Marine made his way back to the rest of his squad. Mag-locked to their stations aboard the large gunship, the five fellow battle-brothers of The Plasma Brothers gazed at their sergeant for a brief moment before returning to whatever conversations they had been participating. Despite being in command over the Plasma Brothers for over a decade, Dantus never once bothered to bond with his underlings beyond knowing their general background and understanding what got them to tick.

Brother Sicarius was a fellow recruit from Korinth. Unlike Dantus, who had been recruited from the gangs below the hive, Sicarius’s father had been a known convict who had been executed by Imperial Guardsmen after being discovered harboring heretics in his home. Sicarius had been lucky enough to be recruited as a young boy when he killed the Commissar who slew his father and escaped into the undercity. Despite the obvious affront to the Imperium, the recruiters saw strength in the boy, and recruited him as an Angels Sanguine. Since then the lone wolf attitude of the boy had been driven out of him in exchange for great discipline over the Red Thirst and a suit of the black and red armor of his chapter. Sicarius was the youngest Space Marine of The Plasma Brothers, and as such Dantus had chosen to keep a special eye out on the Space Marine given his barely two years of experience in the squad.

Adaephon was the squad’s Sanguinary Priest, and as such was in charge of seeing to the Gene Seed and the health of the squad. It was he who carried the squad’s Red Grail, and was in charge of ensuring that his brothers fought against the Red Thirst and conquered it to their will on the eve of battle. Adaephon was the second oldest member of the squad; older even than Dantus; having seen three other sergeants before Dantus lead the squad into battle. Given his experience, Adaephon often would give advice to the younger veteran commander, and as such the two formed an uneasy bond of understanding between one another. Right now he was listening to the conversation of his fellow Battle Brothers and relaying his advice to them the same as he would with their commander, as the more experienced member of the squad.

Battle Brother Joseph was the squad’s designated Flamer Brother, bearing the preferred close-combat weapon of many of the Blood Angels Space Marines and their brother chapters. Born on the desert world of Narisk, Joseph managed to sneak aboard a pirate ship when he was a young boy and hid there as a stowaway for half a decade before the Angels Sanguine boarded the ship and purged the heretics within. Discovered by none other than Adaephon when he was a younger Sanguinary Priest, Joseph was brought aboard the Blood of the Red and was henceforth readied as an Angel Sanguine. As testament to his desire to purge heresy wherever it stood, he bore the Flamer as a symbol of his desire to cleanse impurity clean with the fires of the God Emperor.

Battle Brother Brutus was a void-born, born aboard one of the mighty warships of the Imperium before his parents left him in the care of relatives on the agri-world of Argus so as to continue their lives as crewmen unabated. Brutus had grown to be a strong boy and, despite his mark as a void-born individual, had managed to make a name for himself as a powerful hunter and a defender against the beasts that would otherwise purge the livestock of his home. Had he have been anything less he would have made a worthy Commissar, but when the Angels Sanguine came to this world to collect supply taxes to ensure the success of future campaigns to the Eye of Terror, he proved himself worthy to be a Space Marine by wrestling a Grot Bear, a native greenskin beast of the world, and breaking its neck. It was mostly a stroke of luck that he survived, but his strength and spirit was more than obvious to the Space Marines. They did not hesitate to take him with them and soon he became a promising neophyte. His preference of being strong made him the squad’s designated Heavy Ordinance, and as such he bore the responsibility of carrying the squad’s Heavy Bolter into battle.

The final Battle Brother there was Tykus. Born on the jungle world of Darusk, an Ork invasion of the world resulted in him being the only survivor of his feudal village. “Rescued” by a group of Space Marines of the Angels Sanguine, he stowed away aboard a Stormraven Gunship and managed to survive undetected for a week aboard the Holy Jugular Strike Cruiser until a group of Serfs found him and attempted to care for his needs. His own survival for perhaps months on the then-Ork-controlled world had earned him the chance to prove himself and become a Space Marine, and since then Tykus had proved to be more than worthy enough to bear the winged skull of the Angels Sanguine.

The only other member of the squad besides Pilot Thaddeus was Krom. Krom was truly the oldest member of The Plasma Brothers, and had been a part of the squadron longer than even Adaephon. Krom was at least 400 years old, was ill-tempered, wise, and, most importantly, a Furioso Dreadnought. Having been all but slain by a Dark Eldar Homunculus in single combat, Krom was given the honor of returning to fight the enemies of man as one of the mighty metallic machines of war; gigantic armored walkers capable of bringing death to all in their path. Krom was large enough that he had his own quarters aboard the Red Talon – the squad’s private Thunderhawk that they used for travel to and from the Blood of the Red whenever the Chapter had no specific need for them in battle. Krom was silent for the most part, but would talk when the situation needed it to be, and when he did all of his Battle Brothers listened, even Adaephon.

“As I said, I find it hardly fair,” Sicarius voiced, “that the rest of our brothers among the Angels Sanguine get all the glory while we’re stuck on patrol duty.”

“What makes you think it’s even patrol duty, brother?” Brutus asked, “I sincerely doubt it’s even anything that interesting. Imagine it; our own Captain, Keeper of the Arsenal, sending us to a Hive World while the rest of the chapter goes on crusade? That sounds more like isolating potential weakness to my eyes.”

Joseph glared at his battle brother through his mask; the flames decorating it where hair would be gleaming beneath the strobe light above. “There is no weakness in myself, Brother Brutus. I doubt that the same goes for you, Void Born.”

Adaephon grunted. Unlike most of the squad, he wore a hood over his features instead of a mask. While his hood was dangerous to wear alone due to the risk that a brisk wind could pick up and throw it off, he almost always kept his red helmet on. There were few exceptions; among which included partaking in the Blood Rituals of the Chapter with his brother Priests, along with private time among his brothers.

“Stow the insults, you two,” he said in his gruff voice, “The Captain had his reasons for sending us to Korinth, and I doubt that it would be weakness. The only weakness I see is the failure to keep each other united, instead squabbling like old wives.”

Tykus chuckled at this. Sicarius smiled behind his mask. The two specialists in the squad glared at each other for a moment longer before catching the glare from their commander, resulting in their quick silence. They chose to ignore each other; a wise decision.

“We reach planetfall shortly,” the Sergeant said, “When we arrive, we will be greeted by the Planetary Governor and learn of our mission here. Once there, you all must remember your vows. Keep your helmets and masks on, and make no eye contact with the citizens. This mission should be quick and easy, and if we are lucky we can reach the fleet fast enough that they will not have entered Warp Space yet.”

“If the Emperor is smiling on us,” Tykus stated.

The others nodded. They all were eager to get back to the crusade. It was the duty of the Angels Sanguine, ever since their founding, to stand watch outside of the Cadian Gate and ensure that the Chapter fights dutifully against the forces of Chaos that stem from the Eye of Terror, the most common of which included Chaos Space Marine warbands. The most recent victory performed by the Angels Sanguine was the fight against the 13th Black Crusade, in which they and many other chapters proved victorious against the Black Legion.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Brothers,” Adaephon said, “Captain Julius would not have sent us on this mission without a reason. I sincerely doubt it will not be a long mission.”

“Regardless,” Dantus stated, “We must ensure that, whatever task is ahead, we must perform it with all of the expectation and honored reputation that the Angels Sanguine provide to the Imperium. No more, no less. And as Brother Tykus had stated, if the Emperor smiles upon us then we shall prevail.”

“In his name,” the others murmured in agreement.

No other words needed, Dantus pulled out his helmet and placed it over his mask. The mask easily fit inside, constraining not his respirator, auditory, or visual instruments kept carefully within the helmet’s structure. The other Space Marines followed likewise, their helmets hissing as the mag-locks inside sealed them shut. Soon, they were the honored painting perfect image of Space Marines; the helmets bearing the black left half and red right half of their chapter’s colors.

The honor and reputation as Sons of Sanguinius weighed heavily upon each of them. Regardless of whether this was a routine patrol or the battle of their lives, they would not tarnish that reputation.

 

Governor Militant Kerias Mundamus was an elderly man. He was powerful, strong of will, and was a veteran of thousands upon thousands of battles. For the past 100 years of his time as a general of the Imperial Guardsmen, he had retained glorious reputation for his actions across the stars as an esteemed commander and a brilliant strategist; a strategist who would make his predecessor and mentor in the Cadian military force, General Sturnn, proud if he still lived. He had only been Governor Militant of Korinth for the past thirty years, but in that timespan he had transformed the hive city into a working military center, providing raw recruits from across the world that would be worthy candidates for future Cadian Regiments or existing regiments, as well as pointing out the best places within the Hive’s deepest sectors for the Angels Sanguine to select those who become their stock as future Space Marines.

That being said, for his advisor to be the one to greet the approaching sons of the winged Primarch would be considered somewhat of an upset.

Jacobin Haravus was nothing like his superior. Where the Governor Militant was cold and calculating, he was cautious and planning on the sidelines. Where the Governor Militant had received over a hundred years of battle experience, Jacobin had barely managed to shoot a gun in his life. Where the Governor Militant was ruler over an entire hive world by a combination of force and good judgment, it would seem that he was barely worth his job as a desk clerk. The only reason why he was in office as the man’s advisor was a combination of a stroke of luck and good fortune, given that his father, his predecessor, had assigned the post to him just before he died.

The office of Advisier was an honorable one. It was a position where one could offer advice to the current governor, a position where one was not expected to go to war but one could help influence the course of actions within one even when not on the battlefield. Whenever the Governor Militant had to participate in some military event somewhere on his homeworld of Cadia, he was always left in charge. Dutifully, he could run the city and ensure that everything ran just as smoothly as it did when the Governor left, ensuring that no accident occurred in the system. If something went wrong, his usual reaction was to send his Cadian Guard to find a solution, and then in case if the problem wasn’t solved he usually quietly covered it up and waited until the Governor Militant was well relaxed in his office before the problem could be revealed again, allowing the Governor Militant to deal with it in his own way without once suspecting his advisor for failure.

Now Jacobin wished more than ever to be back at his desk job. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last if he played his cards right.

He had heard stories of the Angels Sanguine and their brother chapters. A Space Marine Chapter of the fabled Second Founding, they were one of many to have been descended from the Blood Angels and likely will continue to have future brothers every time there was a founding. While the Ultramarines were said to be calculating strategists whose first priority was the people, the Blood Angels and their counterparts were swift and decisive, attacking with such ferocious fervor in the Emperor that it was a wonder their armor was not painted in blood. Rumors abounded that the Blood Angels participated in blood-drinking rituals and in feasting on the flesh of their enemies, and while Jacobin primarily deduced those were rumors, the reality that they were all bad tempered was very clear in his mind, and the Angels Sanguine were no exception.

Jacobin was present as the Thunderhawk slowly touched down upon the Governor’s private landing pad. He was used to the powerful engines of Valkyries and other vessels landing and taking off here before, and so the powerful rush of wind coming from this mighty beast was no exception. However, he could not help but notice that there was a particular sting to this wind; almost as if it was heralding the kiss of death that could come shortly to the crafty Advisor if he did not watch his step.

The boarding ramp slowly lowered down like the cavernous opening of some deadly creature thirsty for blood. The black and red color scheme of the vehicle only served to increase its ferocious appearance. Jacobin took a deep breath and swallowed what little saliva was left in his mouth before standing tall, his Kaskrin Guard Squad unmoving beside him. When the ramp finally finished lowering, he could not help but see the yellow, glowing “eyes” within as the Space Marine helmets looked across to his position. Jacobin stood still and waited for them to come, and already his heart was poised to leap into action and flee from the mighty Angels of Death.

They filed out one by one. Each of them bore armor that had the same markings; Black paint covered the left half of their armor where their badge; a white skull bearing large, red wings; sat like a shadow of death upon their left shoulders. The right half of their armor bore the standard red coloration of any Blood Angels chapter, with a five-point teardrop star painted black sat upon the right shoulder; the symbol of the Fifth Company. Yellow Aquilas and Imperialis sat upon the chestplates of their armor, and symbols of purity, nobility, strength of faith, and signs of rank were attached to different points on their armor. Each of these symbols seemed to stare and judge at the Advisor in accusation, who disliked the feeling and turned his gaze back to the others.

There was a sudden rumble once the last of the Angels filed out. He could feel the vibrations through the floor, coming straight from the Thunderhawk no less. At first he thought that there was a problem, but then he could not help but stare, eyes wide in shock and awe, as he saw his first ever glimpse of one of the most honored of all the Angels Sanguine; a Furioso Dreadnought. He had heard only stories of these mighty warriors; Space Marines fallen in battle whose broken bodies were placed within these living tombs so that they could once again fight in the name of the Emperor even after death.

The mighty thing’s red armor was painted black in several places to reflect the Chapter’s color schemes. If the Advisor did not feel dwarfed before by the size of the Space Marines, who were already giants in their own right, he certainly did now. This thing stood at least three times his height if not more, and was glistening with deadly weapons. A Krak grenade launcher’s three nodules sat atop the machine’s powerful chassis, while its twin arms, bristling with clawed power fists, bore a single Flamethrower and Multi-Melta attachment on the arms; the Multi-Melta glistening gold on the Dreadnought’s right arm. The Advisor could not help but feel the thing’s bloodlust; its color scheme giving it the appearance of a black animal covered in blood. The claws attached to the arms only served to further that image.

Finally the last of them came down. He bore the rank of Sergeant, as could be seen on his person and in the color of his helmet, which bore a long, yellow stripe between the black and red coloration on his helmet. His brothers allowed him to pass as he came to a stop in front of the shorter man. The Advisor did his best to keep his cool; one of his best traits, he often found; but he could not help but notice that he was still sweating profusely despite himself. He had a job to do, however, and he wasn’t going to let a bunch of Space Marines make a fool out of him by simply standing there.

He quickly made the sign of the Aquila and bowed. His guardsmen saluted with the standard fist-to-the-heart fashion before bowing as well. When their show was done, the Advisor looked up at the Space Marine and spoke in his quiet, but commanding voice.

“Hail, my lords,” he said, “Welcome to Korinth. I trust your flight was pleasing.”

“Long,” the Sergeant spoke, his voice almost metallic from behind the speakers of his helmet’s audio transponders, “and I doubt the journey will get any shorter. We had expected the Governor Militant to greet us. You are not him.”

Now the Advisor could really feel the fear creeping inside of him. This one knew who the Governor Militant was. Time for explaining…

“Forgive me, my lords,” he said, “but Governor Militant Mundamus is currently participating in an important military event on Cadia. His regiment is receiving a reward of honors for its active duty and he was requested to participate due to his standing. I trust I can be a worthy replacement for the time being, noble sirs.”

“That has yet to be decided,” the Space Marine said coldly, “Your office called for a squad of Angels Sanguine. We are here. What is your problem?”

The Advisor quickly wiped the sweat off of his forehead. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,” he stated, “We cannot speak here.”

The Space Marine waited for the man to make his way down the corridor before he and the others followed. The corridors of the Governor’s Palace were large enough for a tank to pass through quite easily, so the Dreadnought had no trouble keeping pace. The Advisor could feel the rumble of his powerful footsteps as he followed like some gigantic stomping rhinox, and he half expected the metal supports to cave in on him from the stress. Fortunately they held, and the party of Space Marines, Guardsmen, and political advisor made their way to the main office of the Governor Militant on the top floor of the building.

Jacobin was tense the entire walk. He could feel the eyes of the Space Marines boring into the back of his skull, almost as if threatening to shoot him where he stood. His fears were not unfounded, of course, but at this rate he knew that he had to keep them in check better or else it would be seen as weakness. The last thing anyone in this Governor’s Palace needed to see was the Advisor, the current ruler over the planet whilst the Governor Militant was away on business in Cadia, shot dead by Space Marines having arrived to the palace on his request.

Well, not entirely his request.

Finally they came to a stop at the Governor’s Office. It was a large, regal door; large enough for a Furioso Dreadnought to just fit inside. The Palace had been designed to allow even the largest of Space Marines to enter, a combination of convenience and precaution in case if the palace ever was overthrown by rebels. The idea, of course, was that should the palace ever be overrun it would double as a military battlezone as well as a commanding station, as tanks could easily enter in and out, deploying troops or eliminating rebel bunkers placed inside. If there was a chance that a Space Marine Dreadnought happened by as a result of such an event, all the more reason for him to be allowed anywhere without requiring supports and doors to be battered down needlessly.

The Advisor made to open the door, but then turned and addressed the Space Marines. “I’m afraid that only the one called Sergeant Dantus and Krom are allowed within these chambers,” the man said, “What goes on within will be a private matter.”

The Space Marine Sergeant looked at the Advisor impatiently. “Whatever you need to say, you can say to myself and the squad as one. There will be no secrets, and you will not order us around, Advisor.”

Jacobin gave a nervous smile. “I’m afraid that these orders do not come from me, my lord Space Marine.”

He opened the door. As it opened wide, the squad got a good look at the inside of the office. Servitors were busying themselves with the tasks of cataloging and analyzing the many issues and details that were required of them day in and day out. A single desk, made of ancient Cyprus wood brought straight from the holy forest nurseries on Terra itself, sat within the center of the office. This desk was surrounded on all sides by a great many shelves, cogitators, and vox-casters required for a Governor Militant to accomplish his duty. Sitting upon the single chair made of polished black marble, however, was no Governor Militant. It was a man clad in armor, bearing a hood over his balding head, and bearing a large amulet in the shape of a great red letter I around his neck.

It was an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus.

The Sergeant’s reaction was one of surprise. He and the others immediately bent upon one knee and formed the sign of the Aquila. Krom had not the luxury of doing so, but instead stood erect and silent out of respect. The Inquisitor waved a hand for them to stand and stood up from his seat.

“Close the door,” he said, coldly and mechanically like a merciless machine; the kind of person an Inquisitor was required to become.

“Yes, milord,” the Advisor said. He ushered the Sergeant and Dreadnought inside. The giant machine’s footsteps caused the single skull lantern sitting on the desk to dangerously vibrate, threatening to throw itself off the edge. The Inquisitor caught it in his hand and held it in place until the Dreadnought was inside. Before the door was closed, he glared at the other Space Marines.

“There are wards set upon the doors,” he said, “If so much as a syllable of what we say reaches your ears, the Emperor’s mercy will no longer be graced upon you.”

With that, the large doors were closed shut, and the sound of a tremendous bolt-lock could be heard from the other side.

 

 

 

(Part 2 has been released. Part 3 will come around shortly. Dont' forget to comment!)

[Andrew J]

Your story is quite good. You do a good job of giving background to it. Your descriptions are well done as well. I commend you brother on your work thus far. I will look forward to you next installment.

 

Just a couple nagging thoughts as I read.

 

Right now he was listening to the conversation of his fellow Battle Brothers and relaying his advice to them the same as he would with their commander, as the more experienced member of the squad

.

I feel like you do not need that last part. It flows well enough without it and conveys your thoughts already.

 

Soon, they were the honored painting perfect image of Space Marines

This just sounds goofy. It does not read as smoothly as the rest of your story.

 

For the past 100 years of his time as a general of the Imperial Guardsmen, he had retained glorious reputation for his actions across the stars as an esteemed commander and a brilliant strategist

I dont know if retained works well here. I feel like he would have gained? a glorious reputation or maybe garnered, acquired, accumulated. Something that implied that he has worked for an earned it.

 

Jacobin had barely managed to shoot a gun in his life

Sorry, but years of military experience have made me hate the word gun. I would recommend weapon, rifle, lasrifle.

 

Also as I read it seemed as though Jacobin was detailing the look of the marines. I dont remember reading something about how he would know all the markings and such. Maybe mention something about how he has dealt with the Angels a lot over the years and has quickly learned how to recognize them and studied their markings to make sure he did not offend them in any way. Something like that.

 

Hoep that helps. Good luck and I will keep an eye out!

[KerianH]

Your story is quite good. You do a good job of giving background to it. Your descriptions are well done as well. I commend you brother on your work thus far. I will look forward to you next installment.

 

Just a couple nagging thoughts as I read.

 

Right now he was listening to the conversation of his fellow Battle Brothers and relaying his advice to them the same as he would with their commander, as the more experienced member of the squad

.

I feel like you do not need that last part. It flows well enough without it and conveys your thoughts already.

 

Soon, they were the honored painting perfect image of Space Marines

This just sounds goofy. It does not read as smoothly as the rest of your story.

 

For the past 100 years of his time as a general of the Imperial Guardsmen, he had retained glorious reputation for his actions across the stars as an esteemed commander and a brilliant strategist

I dont know if retained works well here. I feel like he would have gained? a glorious reputation or maybe garnered, acquired, accumulated. Something that implied that he has worked for an earned it.

 

Jacobin had barely managed to shoot a gun in his life

Sorry, but years of military experience have made me hate the word gun. I would recommend weapon, rifle, lasrifle.

 

Also as I read it seemed as though Jacobin was detailing the look of the marines. I dont remember reading something about how he would know all the markings and such. Maybe mention something about how he has dealt with the Angels a lot over the years and has quickly learned how to recognize them and studied their markings to make sure he did not offend them in any way. Something like that.

 

Hoep that helps. Good luck and I will keep an eye out!

 

 

Thanks for the reply! Yeah, there's a lot that needs worked on, but the good thing is that I'm trying. This critisism really helps.

 

The purpose of "gun" over weapon or rifle was to imply that he absolutely has no experience, defining all weapons that aren't used to cut and stab and are designed to poke holes into someone at a distance as "guns." It's understandable though - I'll try to note that in the future.

 

The whole painting perfect was because I couldn't think of the term used to describe images that aren't holographic used by the Imperium (pictographs n' such), and since Space Marines are commonly either on paintings, tapestries, or stained glass windows, painting came to mind. I really, REALLY hate using it to describe them...still don't know why I haven't changed it yet.

 

Again, thanks for the review! I'll be sure to post the rest once I get around to finishing it...can't wait to write the action for the story.