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Only Honor Remains

Hyaenidae

By Hyaenidae
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Brother Heinrich Veteran

Brother Heinrich

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Posted
+The Path of Vengeance+

 

http://i1162.photobucket.com/albums/q532/mv8830/Executioners/Executioners_Livery_zpsd2de237b.jpg

 


 

The small red icon on his retinal display pinged as it rapidly counted down towards zero. The icon represented his remaining ammunition, which, at its current level, gave him 5 more minutes of sustained fire. Then it would be down to steel, fists, and blood. His skin itched where his flesh and sweat met the augmetic plating that covered most of his skull. He was acutely aware of the failing servo in his damaged left greave and the pain from the 5 centimeter hole in his abdomen. His steel-blue armor was covered in hastily conducted repairs and recent marks left by bullet and blade. Upon his shoulder was a scuffed and worn image of a crimson shield bearing two black axes laid back-to-back with blades facing outboard. Gunfire flashed in the darkness of the alien vessel as a howling tide of the green-skinned foe stormed towards him and his brothers. An endless sea of scrap iron, scarred flesh, and beady, hate-filled eyes the color of blood. Amon gritted his teeth and braced as he blew three of the closest creatures apart in a shower of blood and viscera. 

 

Orks. 

 

Brutal, vile, abominations of nature that lived for war and fed on conflict, they were seemingly without number and resistant to all but the most horrendous wounds. Orks pillaged worlds and enslaved whole populations, burning everything in their wake. They had delivered ruin to Armageddon, scoured the Forgeworld of Tigrus, and even brought the mighty Crimson Fists, one of the oldest and greatest chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, to the brink of extinction. Amon grimaced again as yet more of the green-skin filth poured through the crude passageway. Extinction. The very thing he and his brothers now faced. 

 

It had been eighty years since Badab. Eighty long, hard years, in which he had seen his axe-brothers die and watched his beloved chapter worn down by the relentless and unceasing conflict. They had known the penitent’s path would be difficult, they had known it would test and likely destroy them, but they had walked it willingly for their sins. They had been led astray by Huron’s lies and the ancient pact of loyalty that had bound them to his cause. They had fought with honor against all the might of the Imperium and by the old gods what a fight it had been! There is nothing alive that fights like an Astartes, and a finer test of a warrior’s skill you cannot find. They had won every bloody battle, but in the end, they lost the war. For their transgressions against the Imperium of man they, along with the Lamenters and Mantis Warriors, had been sentenced to a hundred-year penitent crusade against the enemies of man. Whilst on the crusade they had been forbidden to recruit new aspirants, for their ‘corruption’ had to be cleansed in the fires of battle, lest it taint the generations to come. So the Executioners had bowed their heads, and set their shoulders to the task with honor and determination. 

 

But now they were dying, wasted in the face of the massive Ork “WAAAAAGH!” bludgeoning it’s way in from the eastern galactic rim. The chapter would not survive this, there were too many, even the cold and taciturn Red Hunters, the Inquisitorial dogs set to ensure their loyalty and drive them on to each new warzone, were likely to perish here. Nothing would survive this, no one would tell their tale, and no one would remember the proud name of the Executioners.

 

Amon’s counter blinked on zero, flashing urgently and telling him what he already knew, that it was time to find a good death. Ripping his combat blade from its sheath and giving voice to a wordless roar of hatred, he charged headlong into rampaging green-skins. 

 

http://i1162.photobucket.com/albums/q532/mv8830/Executioners/1554370_10152675644973761_1219288639_n_zps9457d996.jpg

Axe-Brother Amon, WIP.

 

+++To Be Continued+++

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