A Litany of Gore.

[Chiv]

(My first 40k fanfic based on my dark brotherhood of khorne, hopefully Its worth reading )

PART ONE: IN HIS NAME WE SLAY, A BROTHER IS BORN

His ebony robes whispered against the dark black ceramite of his leg armor. Unhelmeted, he walked at a languid pace revelling in the screams, wallowing in the dim flashes of far away bolter fire, savoring the acrid smell of burnt flesh and fresh blood. Amid such chaos the astartes warrior was utterly and completely at home. The sound of a brother speaking through his vox brought the astartes back to the task at hand.

"Brother Apostle, preparations are nearing completion." The equally dark clad brother spoke with deferrence unheard of amongst most traitorous legionnaires. The reverence for which this brother held for the Apostle was almost palpable.

"Very well brother, lead on." The Apostle spoke, his baritone voice had almost a musical quality. The brother disciple turned and headed off, the Apostle followed his hand dancing softly over the ornate dagger at his hip.

* * *

The cacophony of screams crescendoed beautifically as the apostle reached the final tier of the monument, and ceased abruptly as the battle for dominion over the stronghold ended.

The Apostle, robes fluttering with the smoke filled breeze, smiled, baring his fangs, towards the assembled astartes of the sacred brotherhood.

"Brothers! Blood for the Blood God! A mighty victory for our father of skulls, the blood of our foes flows freely over this world blessing and corrupting in the name of our god. Much has been offered up this day to achieve our victory over the corpse emperors subjects who dwelled here. One final offering must be made, as it is when we take any world for our Lord of Skulls."

The Apostle gestured to the grandoise throne his brothers and laboured upon while the final remnants of loyalist scum had been slain or rounded up for the ritual.

Skulls still wet with their former owners blood were stacked lovingly atop one another, with a care only one of the brotherhood could achieve. The throne stood taller than an astartes in full plate, gleaming with a sickly pale light, and steadily dripped a bright crimson blood.

"Approach initiate." A pale astartes, naked but for the blood he had been bathed in, stepped up. The warrior initiate calmly step after step climbed the dias, until he was a tier below the Apostle.

"This day you are made brother, take up thy bolter and join us in the endless war. This day you are to foresake thy given name, and take up the only name worthy of praise. Pledge yourself to the slaughter of your enemies, to provide the blood god his due even in failure. Do you so swear, brother?"

The apostle seemed to grow in size and loom over the initiate as the question was asked. The Initiate stoic even in the face of the Apostle, nodded his aquiescence and spoke.

"Blood for the Blood God and Skulls for the Skull throne, my prayers shall be sword strokes felling all mine enemies sparing none in my path. Honor for Blood, Strength for Skulls, My Life and My Blood for Glory, and all taken in Failure. In his name we Slay!" The initiates words rang out over the assembled astartes, each remembering their own oath to serve.

"In his name we Slay." They responded. "A Brother is born! Blood for the Blood God!"

[deathspectersgt7]

Some Good stuff.

[Chiv]

PART TWO: LITANIAE HERETICUS

 

The landing craft circled astern of the small warship, running lights aglow with an almost daemon-like energy. Lit up by the fell energies the gilded letters of the ships name, picked out in gold, seemed to almost blaze as if on fire. Litaniae Hereticus.

 

The bolter brother, whose name had recently been redacted, looked upon the ship and decided the former owners had picked out a fine name. Recently reappropriated to the Disciples the ship, previously a commisioned Word Bearers vessel, had red paint that was still visible where the ships slaves had tried, and failed, to remove it. The name had remained as it fit reasonably well with the disciples.

 

The landing craft made its final course corrections and easily sailed into the landing bay, plunking itself quietly down next to the other craft. As its occupants filed out the new recruit remained aboard until everyone else had left. The last one off he slung his pack over his shoulder and saught out his quarters.

 

His pack didn't contain much and altogether weighed very little, but the brother bore it with as much reverence as an Ultramarine might bear a Chapter Relic. One black robe designed to fit over his battle plate and a medallion designed to be worn at the waist. The medallion had the emblem of the blood god beaten upon it in brass, and was the only adornment a brother disciple was allowed to wear. The only other item he had recieved during the ceremony was the black robe he currently wore.

 

Eventually the brother found his quarters, a sparse dimly lit space, and seated himself on the sole bench. The only other things in the room was an astartes sized hammock and a locker that housed his battle plate.

 

He was pleased to note that his armor, fresh from the armor cultists, was freshly painted a dark black. The black had replaced his previous colors and warband markings, now no markings were visible, the armorers even seemed to have hammed out dents. The multitude of bolter holes and rents from chainblades patched up, shoddily though.

 

The brother didn't mind or really even care to much about the sorry state of his armor as long as it was functional. His mix-matched plate was the only thing carried over from his life as a renegade. A new chapter in the brothers life had begun and his future had been sworn to the god of war.

 

The rooms vox blared to life with the battle claxion and the brother of the watch spoke, " Battlestations! Battlestations! All brothers prepare for boarding action, unknown ship translated in system. Battlestations, battlestations."

 

The claxion sounded several more times stirring the ship to life, wailing and screams of murderous rage echoed throughout the halls. The enraged ones had heard the call for battle and now they cried for war. The chanting began slowly but soon boomed to the point where it might be heard outside the hull.

 

"LOOSE US! LOOSE US! LOOSE US TO WAR!" The enraged ones screamed in time with eachother. The brother had heard this chant before, the other chant the enraged ones had was far more terrifying for their enemies.

 

When the claxion had sounded two slaves had appeared in his chamber to help his armor on. Between the three of them it took hardly more than a minute or two. The brother slid the smooth black robe over his armor and reverently pinned it in place with the medallion.

 

The bolter brother lit out of his room with astonishing grace and agility for a monstrous hulk in his battle plate. The frightened slaves barely made it out of the way. The armoury was just down the corridor, his brethren already inside preparing their bolters for battle.

 

The brother picked his up from the rack, it still amazed him the nether-glow it gave off. At first glance it might resemble a normal bolter but the brothers new different. When touched by its mated astartes disciple the daemon inside awoke. Furious and malicious, these daemons, and once awoken they could only be sated with blood of the slain. In failing to procure them enemy blood, their masters blood would suffice.

 

The red and green hues of the various bolter-daemon lit the armoury and displayed the arrayed bolter-brethren. A fell thing to behold indeed, a disciple and his bolter were deadly almost beyond compare. The only thing more deadly was a disciple charged with leading a squad of enraged ones to battle.

 

After a minute or so the Apostle graced the armoury with his presence, he led the brothers in their litanies, and began to give orders.

 

"Brothers!" The fourteen brothers came to attention. "Form up, one squad, you eight," he pointed them out, "will be patrolling the ship wary of all incursions. Be vigillant a give our god his due! Squad one dismissed." The brothers of squad one double-timed it out into the corridor and began their sweeps.

 

"You four," he pointed at the new bolter-brother and three others, "Enraged detail." The Apostled grinned showing his fangs and motioned for the aforementioned disciples to gather.

 

"Attack formations will commence in Five 'mikes', take yourselves to the brig and round up a squad of enraged for each of you, board your designated claw and await further instructions, dismissed." 

 

The brother jogged along side his compainions towards the brig, after slinging his bolter and taking up a chain axe and plasma pistol. The axes and pistols being reserved for those on enraged detail, due to the enraged-ones close combat specialty and the fact that they could only be led from the front.

 

The Brig-warden was prepared for the brothers arrival four groups of seven enraged-ones had been neatly chained and armored.

The ones who had been chosen for the assualt radiated their eagerness to fight and spill blood, still chanting. The chant had grown deafening in the brig as all who were not chosen screamed still louder.

 

The disciples grabbed their seven and reversed course back to the landing bay. The enraged-ones would only be handed their bolt pistol and chain axe, or sword, upon arrival to the battleground. This prevented them from slaking their thirst for blood on the various slaves and cultist necessary for maintaining the ship. Even then if one got within greave distance, the slave or cultist did not live long to regret it. Tramplings were common occurence when leading a chain of enraged to battle.

 

As the brother prepared his dread-claw for launch, he glanced around at his squad, he wondered why he had been chosen to lead a group so soon after initiation. Favor of the Blood God he decided, as he chained his group to their launch harnesses. He punched in the code to secure them, and removed the chains binding their hands.

 

The frenzied marines rattled at their harnesses trying to break free and sate their bloodlust. The ferver in the eyes glowed a deep red, pupils dilated, unfocused, and hungry.

 

As the brother looked them over one last time fore strapping into the command harness, he decided he was quite hungry as well. So much for whoever had translated in system, they were dead, they just didn't know it yet.

 

*TBC...*

-----------

(Notes:)

Disciples Command Hierarchy

-Skull Priest (Dark Apostle)

-2 Apostles of Blood (Champion's of Chaos)

-14 Bolter-Brothers (Sergeant's/Veterans/Aspiring Champions)

-Approx 112 Enraged-Ones (Berzerkers)

-Cultists

 

Bolter of the Disciples:

A standard bolter each cursed and inhabited by a lesser khornate daemon.

A blood pact binds the daemons to the bolters and requires a tribute of blood for use.

[Chiv]

PART THREE: BLOOD

 

As the dreadclaw approached the enemy vessel, more details became prominant over the viewer. The black robed brother studied the readout intently trying to discern his enemy before the engagement.

 

Very few markings adorned the hull of the vessel, no visible chapter symbols, only a smattering of over-large aquilas. Obviously Imperial but no other information seemed forth-coming. He turned of the viewscreen in disgust.

 

"The Corpse-Emperors get, eh? Don't suppose it matters what kind. We'll get our god his due." He looked over at his squad fangs gleaming in the hazard lights. The Enraged-Ones still struggled at their bindings, all too willing to bet let loose at any foe. The brother chuckled to himself. "Soon, quite soon, my brothers."

 

*                *                 *

 

The claxion sounded and the hazard lights shifted to battle-light, flashing a dim red into the claws interior. The Claw had managed to close with the ship and now it signaled the time to board, and begin the slaughter.

 

The brother had unlatched himself and began punching in the release code for the other latches. An audible click and hiss sounded his success as well as the renewed howling of his squad. The newly unleashed clambored over one another to reach their weapons stowed in the rack.

 

While his squad squabbled and grabbed their gear, he began punching in the door lock sequence. A ten second countdown began as he completed the code.

 

"Enraged-Ones! Follow me into the breach! Blood for the Blood God!" the brother shouted as loud as his vox would go.

 

"Skulls for the Skull Throne!" they replied heartily.

 

The hatched hissed and opened with a sickening pop, and the brother charged through his squad close behind. The corridor the squad emerged into was almost empty the human servitors who had been cowering in fear did not last long. One swipe of the brothers chain-axe and bodies became seperate from heads, spewing forth a torrent of blood.

 

His squads chain-swords and axes roared to life behind him as they emerged from the claw. He counted them and took off down the passage towards what he suspected might be the enemies armoury.

 

Flood lights lit the passage an almost blinding white, whilst sirens gave warning to the defenders that they were under attack. The squad remained unimpeded for a good bit down the passage, maybe 25 meters, then a blinding flash and explosion around the bend brought the squad back to a brisk walk.

 

The tactical display on his hud showed another squads claw around the bend, and blinking lights for engaged units.

 

"Charge! To our brothers!" the brother cried and sped off around the bend. The brother leapt over the bodies that littered the deck and the puddles of glorious gore. He fired his plasma pistol in the the thick of the enemies rear, the energy consumed its target like a voracious beast and left a smoking husk.

 

The other squads enraged pressing forward slowly but surely with the wanton disregard for their own wounds, swinging close combat weapons in a blur of fury. Their leader no where to be seen.

 

His own chain-axe purred beautifully as it swept aside guardsmen like children, hacking off limbs and heads effortlessly. His own enraged poured in and began their own bloodshed.

 

The platoon of guardsmen didn't last long being assualted from both sides, and soon lay in heaps of their own entrails. The brother looked around and saw his fellow bolter brother inside the claw apparently hacked to pieces by his squad. Bad luck for him, but the Blood God has his due. He smiled at the thought.

 

"To the armoury! This way!" His vox amplified voice stirring the survivors of the two squads, they turned to him as one. As he held their attention he charged off down the corridore screaming his battle cry. The best way to lead enraged-ones was by example, they had to believe you were the stronger or else you died.

 

His tactical display updated to include the vitals of the second squad, fifteen vitals blinking green. Good. Let's kill these whoresons.

The brother sped up, his squad screaming incoherently behind him.

[deathspectersgt7]

A Good Read.

[Chiv]

PART THREE CONT...

 

Within the Guard ships halls, the brother led his madmen forward. The Guard stood no chance within the small confines of the passageway. A wake of blood and bodies fell behind as the halls cleared ahead. Screaming obscenities and nonsense his enraged followed willingly, smelling the guardsmens fear and blood yet to be spilled.

 

The Guardsmens carapace armor little match for a chain-axe. They we rent in half as easily as an man might smash a fly. Brain matter splashed gloriously upon the far bulkhead, and the enraged behind littered the deck with the remainder of the patrol.

 

The brother led on, the armoury within sight its blast doors shut tight. The brother smirked as he saw the futility of the shut hatch. He calmly placed his melta charge on the door, signaled to his madmen to take up breaching positions around the door.

 

He nodded to himself as preparations were complete and detonated the charge. If his helmet hadn't been in place he would have smelled the acrid odor of the melta charge and the smell of burning metal. However he did have his helmet in place, his tactical display adjusting to filter the out smokey haze as he charged in plasma pistol discharging furiously into the interior.

 

The guardsmen staged in the armoury had taken up defensive postions around the door and further in behind some hastily constructed barricades. The blast doors being blown in had wrecked some of the barricades and the guard around the door had been burnt and flash blinded.

 

The brother ignored the few around the door and charged headlong toward the barricades, its guardsmen trying desperately to take cover from the hail of plasma and bolter pistol shots being fired at them. The enraged not slaughtering the doorsmen followed bellowing warcries and oaths to the blood god.

 

The brother leapt the nearest barricade and with a swipe of his axe beheaded its occupants, and continued on toward the next one leaving the other barricades to his madmen.

 

The enraged hacked and slashed at the defenders in proximity and fired sporatic pistol shots further into the fray not caring who or what they hit. The screams of pain and torture crescendoed before failing to an utter silence as the last of the defenders died in a spay of blood and gore.

 

The enraged continued to mutilate the bodies and take skulls as trophys, while the brother made his report to the apostle.

 

"My Apostle, the Guard armoury has fallen its defenders slain. I have assumed command of Squad 3 as the enraged under his command slew him before exiting their craft. Of both squads I have 10 remaining enraged of the original 14, request further orders."

 

The brothers vox crackled as he awaited a reply.

 

"Good work brother, Squads 1 and 2 were assigned the command center, they have encountered heavy resistance, apparently the gaurd ship was host to several squads of scout marines. The scouts have both squads in check currently just outisde the bridge access. There is another route to the bridge as of yet currently unassualted. Commence Operation toward the command center, take it and remove the scouts barring entrance to the other squads. May the Blood God grant you his blessing, and offer him up the skulls of the enemy, Apostle Out."

 

The vox ceased, and the brother smiled viciously. More blood to shed in his name. The enraged would be pleased.

 

"Brothers! There is more blood yet to be spilled our comrades require assistance, which means there are still more opponents worthy of our chain-axes wrath! Follow me to claim more Blood for our God!"

 

"Skulls for the skull throne!"  The enraged screamed.

 

The brother charged back out into the corridor towards the command center, his enraged charged along behind hell bent on killing the remaining members of this ships crew.

[Chiv]

PART FOUR: CHAMPIONS CLASH, A BATTLE ENDED

 

The concussive force of the blast rocked the corridor, spraying debris and dust. The last portion of the blast door crumbled and settled. Clouds of dust and smoke billowed into the interior of the command center. Screaming marines charged the breach chain-axes and swords roaring their hatred and bloodthirst. Bolter pistols spewing blasts of death spraying the blood of defenders on the bulkheads.

 

Every swing of axe or sword rent flesh from bone, head from torso, as the battle raged. A lone figure stood amongst the fallen debris, black from head to toe, robed and menacing as his plasma pistol lit up his dark visage a grisly crimson. The brother spewed shot after plasma heated shot, raining death as he overwatched his companions the wholly mad and vicious enraged-ones.

 

Almost none escaped their wrath and soon corpes were piled high, the defenders blood making the deck slick and treacherous. Amongst the defenders one stood apart slashing and hacking at the enraged-ones nearing his position. A glimmering power sword alight with the blood of the attacking marines. He felled a few of the enraged, this champion of the imperium, before the black brother took notice.

 

The brother's vox blared to life, "A Challenge! My Lord Commissar, a fine showing indeed, a most worthy opponent! My enraged brethren see to the rest of his retinue and look to the other passageway there you will find further bloodshed, and provide aid to our slacking brethren trapped on the other side. Leave this duel to me!"

 

The enraged felled the remaining defenders providing a wide berth of the commissar allowing their own champion to fight.

 

The commissar seeing his fallen comrades and knowing how outnumbered and outmatched he was nodded his acquiescence to the challenge.

 

The two champions circled, wary of footing due to the blood-slick deck. The Imperial Champions power word lit an otherwordly blue, the brother's chain-axe whirring at max revolutions. Dropping his plasma pistol the brother drew his ornate  and lengthy dagger. The ceremonial dagger of the brotherhood, while ment for use in its blood rites had a secondary use for duels. Forged with the blood of imperials by the brotherhoods own dark mechanicum brethren, the blade could wtihstand attacks from a power weapon. This allowed for parrying while attacking with the favored axe of the brotherhood.

 

The dagger, about the size of a loyalists combat knife, took up the glow from the overhead hazard lights. The dark clad brother took up his stance and beckoned to the commissar.

 

The commissar obliged and struck in a downward arc, the brother parried with his dagger and swiped with the axe. The commissar backpedaled leaving the brother to strike air.

 

The champions continued to circle eachother striking at their respective defences, and backing up to preclude the follow-up strike.

A deadly dance had begun, neither giving or gaining ground. A standstill.

 

The brother was impressed with the imperials skills, he would've made a fine astartes loath as he was to admit it, but his mortal weaknesses would tell in the end.

 

Screams and battle cries renewed signaling the relief of his other brothers by the remainder of his squad.

 

The brother grinned, time to die loyalist scum.

 

The chainaxe roared as he swung a tight arcing blow to the midsection, the powersword intercepeted with much wailing and gnashing of chainaxe teeth. The overhand strike aimed at the commissars head missed as he ducked low to avoid the blow. The brother swept his power armored foot tripping the imperial, causing him to stumble backwards flailing his weapon in defense.

 

A swift booted kick to the imperials knee caused a sickening crunch as the bones blew out the back of his leg. The commissar continued to crawl backwards in an attempt to gain space and time. The brother would have none of this nonsense. A low sweeping blow from the axe swept off the commissars unwounded leg in a spray of gore.

 

The brother held off his follow-up attack to allow the commissar time to back up and bleed out. The glorious flow of blood glistening in the hazard lights and tactical readouts.

 

"Well faught, ser, but as fun as its been I now have to sacrifice you to my god, you understand of course, gods being the greedy things they are. I'm afraid it will require your blood and your skull. Don't worry overmuch my friend your head shall adorn my self quite nicely." The brother, eloquent when he wanted to be, spoke over his vox to his victim.

 

His bolter that had been shoulder slung during the entire boarding action recalled itself swiftly to his hands and his chainaxe and dagger fell to the deck. At the brother warm touch the daemon inside lit up with a fell fury, eager for the offering of blood.

 

A single round clicked into the chamber, a single squeeze of the trigger and the bolter roared to life a sound akin to a daemon-prince's warcry. The commissars eyes rolled lifelessly into the back of his head as brainmatter flew out the back of his skull.

 

The only this left to do was the claim his skull, reflected the brother.

 

The brother looked around and spoke into his vox channel,

 

"My Lord Apostle, the ship is yours..."

 

 

 

(Thanks for taking the time to read hope it didn't dissappoint too much, had a lot of fun writing about my personal little cult. Cheers!)