Flesh Maker

[Sheesh Mode]

"Quiet."

 

 

 

The night is cold and stars fill the cloudless sky. The Marine waits as fifteen mortals creep towards abandoned walls, their feet crushing the frost. Clouds of condensation fog their vision and the air is filled with clinking metal. He hates them.

 

 

 

"Quiet or I'll eat your legs."

 

 

 

They go silent; some even stop breathing, and Vosios chuckles. But then liquid splatters across his shoulder and flame erupts through the crowd. The Spawn surges forward, over the stunned survivors and through the gun fire, and he is following. He jumps, crushes castle masonry and climbs to the parapet. A woman stabs him and meets his axe, he jumps down a level before the others react.

 

 

 

Bolts rip across his armor and the stone walls, the Champion ignores it and moves to jump up again, slips, and falls to the ground below. He can hear his men rallying, the Spawn's howls echo across the night. He rises, makes the climb again, and stops at the first floor, midst the ruined masonry. He sees a marine round the corner and aims his combi-melta, it sputters and sparks uselessly. The champion casts it aside and cultists run past to charge the marine, one dies to its bolter, the marine turns to face the other mortals while the champion sprints to catch up.

 

 

 

More Astartes enter the corner, some climbing through the windows. The first marine is on his back now and the champion readies to swing again. The other warriors step in, punching and stabbing at him, ignoring the humans. Vosios falters; he can feel his ribs burning. His vision is going black.

 

 

 

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" He screams.

 

 

 

He is climbing again and women yell in High Gothic: they are running for the generators. The person before him disappears in a cloud of ash and he is running through to the other side where a blonde soldier is praying. She levels her weapon and he shoots it out of her hands, a knife finds his stomach so he cuts her in two. He falls on the floor and catches himself with his elbows. He feels blood seeping through his armor. Someone is shooting at him.

[Sheesh Mode]

"Task Master"

 

The voice fills his mind and he jolts awake, grabbing for his axe. The speaker backs away, hands up. 

 

"Where is my axe?" 

 

The man points towards a red mass in the room's corner. Vosios grunts and releases his axe, then examines its haft and blade. The head is clean to a shine while the haft is caked in dried red and brown. The marine taps and scratches at the substance, discarding the detritus on the body at his feet. He turns upon the mortal who takes another step back. 

 

"How many?"

 

"Master?"

 

"Idiot."

 

He pushes past the mortal and grabs the line latched to the fort wall. Rappelling down, he surveys the courtyard, the burnt corpses and shattered walls. A lone astartes directs the requisition of equipment and burial of the dead, several cultists stand about an armored form sprawled on the ground. The horned marine greets Vosios as he descends, ignoring the gathering cultists. 

 

"Good, you are awake, I have men gathering more ammunition. Our casualties are light."

 

"How many dead?" 

 

"Jogun and four followers." 

 

Jogun. How? 

 

"He... well, he slipped my lord." 

 

"Slipped?" 

 

"Yes. He fell two stories and broke his neck."

 

Volios stares into the distance for a moment, then brings his hand to his face and slowly shakes his head. The horned astartes stands in silence.

 

"God's... Have you readied a grave?" 

 

"I have two mortals digging a grave in the cellar." 

 

"Good." 

 

"One thing Lord."

 

"Yes?"

 

"The assault has stalled."

 

"Khornes Blood, we failed." 

 

"No, lord. The shields were down long enough that the Butcher could enter the city." 

 

"Any connection?" 

 

"Not yet." 

[Sheesh Mode]

They stand in a semi-circle around the grave of Jogun the Blind, weapons holstered or sheathed as respects the occasion. The body is brought towards the space by six mortals and slowly lowered before the grave. Horn-headed Goriel speaks the Words of Passing, and drips a vial's contents unto the body's chest, forehead, and right hand. Vosios steps forward, bearing the deceased's blade, and places it upon his chest. The vial tips a second time. Now the Words of Glory are spoken; the legacy of Jogun the Blind, traitor of the Mantis Warriors, brother of the Cannibal Pact, Cadian Bane, Tau eater, and scion of Khorne. 

 

Vosios feels bile well in his throat. 

 

The new-blood Yom ties rope onto the corners of the cradle and lowers the body in-time with Vosios. Goriel buries Jogun the Blind and the Words of Ending are spoken. Then eight cultists replace the cellar stones and adman-seal them together. Yom and the humans file out, no one speaks. Goriel watches Vosios for a time then leaves him with his thoughts.  

 

Outside the party readies itself for its meal, they are fortunate. In their hurry, the Loyalists left behind their dead. They have an hour before the Sisters return, plenty of time to feed the Spawn and repair their weapons. For Now, as the sun greets the aftermath, they can rest. 

 

Vosios rises from the cellar.

 

"Goriel!"

 

"Lord?" 

 

"My last kill: where is she?"

 

"To the left, at the end of the line."  

 

He steps before the cleaved corpse, its blood dripping on to the dirt. He beheads the carcass and pushes the object aside, then plants his axe into the ground to draw a small knife from a collection in his pouch and makes a handful of cuts to divide the skin. Once finished, he cleans the knife and returns it to the pouch. He discards the skin, feeding it to the awaiting Spawn. He then busies himself with gutting the body and placing the contents alongside the head, save for the intestines which are aggressively sought after by the Spawn. Most of the others perform similar actions with varied success. 

 

Two cultists ready a fire for the growing piles of meat. Vosios pauses in mid-cut. 

 

"Stop. Get the Heavy Flamer and light it now." 

 

"We leave in thirty. The Corpse-God's slaves will return, we must relocate to establish communication with the Butcher."

[Emperors Immortals]

I read most of the fanfic and its generally great.

 

You got me in the second post, now I need to see what happens with the butcher and how the Blinds death will affect the warband.

 

Khorne waits :-)

[Sheesh Mode]

A pan, 3 feet in diameter, centers the abandoned bastion hall. It is surrounded by eight heads, each topped by a burning candle which is the only source of light.  The group sits in a circle around the ritual while Yom and two cultists delicately release the suspended carcass which is then thrown to the spawn.  

 

"Light the candles."

 

4 cultists move to obey Volios's order. The dull orange light casts distorted shadows across the assemblage, even the Spawn falls silent. 

 

Sixteen dead eyes open in unison, and their mouths open.

 

"Speak, member of the Pact." The heads order.

 

"Master. The Sisters have retreated, the generators are destroyed. What task do you have for us?" Vosios kneels before the ring, his head bowed.

 

"Task Master Volios, what happened to the shields?"

 

"My Lord?" 

 

"You did not disable them at the ordained time."  

 

Volios clenches his fists. 

 

"What of the band?" Vosios rasps

 

"It thrives, there is good feeding here."

 

One of the eight heads begins to mimic the sounds of chewing. 

 

"Task Master what were you doing during our assault? The hive shields were not down as had been promised, how did you fail to disable them? The location had already been cleared from orbit."

 

"My lord. The attack was delayed, Sisters of Battle ambushed us."

 

There is a long pause, filled with more chewing noises. Volios kneed's his fists into the floor and glances at Goriel. 

 

"And what of my adviser Jogun? Did you not heed his words, champion?"

 

"Yes, lord. The Blind supported my plan."

 

"Then where is he now?" 

 

"Dead." 

 

"What?"

 

"Jogun the Blind has fallen." 

 

"Who was his better?"

 

"Not a who master, gravity and carelessness took him. He slipped and fell off the fort parapet." 

 

The eight heads burst out into cacophonous laughter, a bizarre mix of light female vocals offset by the deep bass of marine acoustics. The heads spoke as they did in life, even with the rituals power. Volios gritted his teeth. 

 

"Master are you not concerned?"

 

"No. He knew his fate. I appreciate the irony."

 

For a brief time Vosios remains silent. 

 

"My lord, what is your next task?"

 

"Go west Champion. A Thunder Hawk of the Angels of Ecstasy has crashed there, its great age and power is such that the surroundings are infected with the power of the Young God. Re-consecrate it in Kharneth's name and retrieve or sabotage its weaponry, ensure this new infection festers that the Corpse-Worshippers must answer it."

 

Vosios smiled

 

"At once Lord Butcher."

[deathspectersgt7]

Was getting ready to sing Happy Birthday Interesting read so far.

[Sheesh Mode]

:"Commander, incoming vox from Governor Girisha."

 

"Patch it through. 

 

"Knight Commander Amala, salutations." 

 

"Hello Governor, to what do I owe the honor?"

 

"The heretics have breached the hive Amala, you are aware?"

 

Amala stared at his vox operator for a moment

 

"Amala? Hello?"

 

"Ye-yes Governor. Yes." 

 

"Then you know you must drive them from it?"

 

"Yes, Governor Girisha."

 

"Good. I have received word that the Sisterhood is devoting its forces to engaging the traitors. They tell me skirmishers are moving to eliminate portions of my defensive structure."

 

"They have not told me this."

 

"Why? Are you not available at all times?"

 

"I am."

 

"Then what has prevented you from working with them? Is it not your duty to ensure the safety of this hive, and to cooperate with the Emperor's servants?"

 

Amala took a deep breath and slowly released it. 

 

"Amala? Why haven't you spoken with the Cannoness?"

 

"Governor Girisha. The Order of the Blind Defender is non-communicative, they ignore my requests for joint cooperation and proceed as they see fit. I cannot defend this hive under the assumption that they will aid us when they refuse to even tell me their location."

 

"Then you must find them Amala. We must have allies to face this enemy, else the Hive is doomed." 

 

"Yes, Governor."

 

"Good. Closing connection." 

[Sheesh Mode]

He stands, silent. Staring at the vox operator. 

 

"My lord?" The man shifts uncomfortably. 

 

"Vox Colonel Sanjit, get me the status of our sentinels. I want them mobilized within the hour and searching for the Sisters. You."

 

He turns to another officer.

 

"What is the status of the front?"

 

Situation normal sir. The heretics are holding position at the base of the hive beyond our maximum range. 

 

"And the ones behind our walls?"

 

"Also maintaining position, we have set up a defensive cordon and await your order."

 

"Are they mobilizing? Any infiltrators?"

 

"No sir."

 

Amala stands amidst the bustle of his command bunker in silence, absently pulling at his long beard. He turns and leans over the map of the hive, a massive paper covering a table twelve feet in diameter. His army, identified by the mass of green figures that filled the map, easily outnumbers the red interlopers. He shudders as he remembers how little that matters. He realizes his hands are shaking and places them in his pockets.

 

"Mobilize the tank columns, if they will not come to us we will push them out." 

 

"Who shall lead the attack sir?"

 

"I shall. I must know this enemy."

[Teetengee]

ooh

[Sheesh Mode]

Glad you guys like it. 

[Sheesh Mode]

....click....

 

....click.....

 

....click....

 

+++INQUISITOR'S LOG: 255813+++

+++DATE: 998.999:M41+++

+++SUBJECT: THE XORN WAR+++

+++SUB-SECTION: FORCES OF THE ARCH-ENEMY+++

+++SELECTION: CANNIBAL PACT+++

 

<beginning transmission> 

 

Greetings and compliments hallowed lords of the Ordo Mallaeus. I have here compiled a full account of the traitor warband known as the Cannibal Pact, currently active in the Xorn system. It details their observed strategic and tactical doctrine, their rituals, and movement patterns. Know that all information is subject to change due to the nature of evil and the unpredictable insanity of a traitor astartes. I shall now begin. 

 

Reports of the warband now known as the Cannibal Pact was first identified in 745.M33 during its assault on the World of Draeconith. Using primarily armored assault tanks and large forces of human chaff. Upon the destruction of the Adminstratum headquarters the band was observed collecting and storing the dead before leaving the planet. These degenerates are one of many hundreds of piratical warbands that plague the Segmentum Obscuras. Their goals are identical to other scum: the destruction and ruin of the Imperium, and the death of the almighty Emperor.

 

Warband organization: reports indicate there are 10 separate detachments of marines serving a single warlord entitled the Butcher. Each band is populated with roughly two hundred astartes and four to six hundred humans, an approximate 40% of these 'mortals', as they are called, make up the support for combat operations, while the rest are delegated to auxiliary rolls as slaves, smiths, and food. We are uncertain as to the title of the detachment lords, several terms exist including: Chieftain, Harvest Lord, and Task Master. 

 

The pact largely favors the Blood God, befitting their aggressive armored assault tactics. Cannibalism is common, we postulate the majority of the Warband's excursions seek to acquire more food. Furthermore, the band has displayed an uncharacteristic greed, we have direct images of Chaos Space Marines returning to the battle field to pick the remains. Even in the face of significant opposition. We believe it is not - as some would suggest - due to familial loyalty as can be attributed to our own astartes. A warrior of the Great Enemy is incapable of such complex emotion. 

 

Our current focus centers on their on-going engagement with the forces of the Xorn system. 

[Sheesh Mode]

The Leman Russ jostles and shakes as it bulldozes through the ruins of East Opening, a straight-away that leads to the walls of the Hive. Eight more Leman Russes flank it completing the wall of Imperial metal. Behind them trails a convoy of chimeras and sentinels followed by columns of guardsmen and Bullgryn bade forward by the yells of commissars and sergeants. 

 

From inside his command tank, Fire of Divinity, Amala observes the advance his dark face illuminated by the emerald light of the holo-screen. 

 

"Enemy position within 8 kays, Lord Amala." 

 

"Good. Order the dispersal." 

 

Amala smiles to himself as he watches the blocks color denoting his forces separate into individual chunks, slowly forming a line of green. 

 

"What is the status of the heretics?" He wonders aloud

 

"Their position remains the same, my lord."

 

"...Odd. Ope--" 

 

"Enemy forces now mobile." 

 

Amala feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the red mass reorganizes to counter his formation. 

 

"Madar chod"

 

The crews startled faces greet Amala's words. 

 

"What are you doing? Stop staring and give me the vox. All channels, this is Knight-Commander Amala prepare for attack and open fire may the Emperor be with you."

 

Grabbing a pair of binoculars Amala climbs to the entry hatch, opening it despite the startled protests of his subordinates. He is immediately deafened by the thunderous volley of the Imperial line as Leman Russ battle cannons and heavy weapons teams loosed their munitions. Amala's raises the binoculars to his eyes and is greeted with abomination. A vindicator, its hull littered with runes and trophies, spear heads the chaos assault. Closely followed by a Landraider's imposing bulk. Behind them comes a mass of humans, ragged, motley forms supported by the hulking form of a Chaos Dreadnought. 

 

"Emperor preserve me." 

[Emperors Immortals]

I'm liking it very much :)

[Sheesh Mode]

Clouds of dust and snow whip about him and cut at his face as the vanquisher battle cannon fires, he is jolted forward by the kick-back. He feels hands roughly pulling him back into the tank as las-cannon beams trace the perimeter of the leman russ. He is greeted with the face of his pilot, the man is yelling at him. He shakes his head in confusion. The man is pointing to the vox, the operator is yelling something. The tank lurches as it fires again. Amala shoves past the man, pushes the vox-operator from his seat and cranks volume. 

 

"This is Amala to all platoon commanders, report!"

 

Muffled replies of "stable" and "holding position" pierce the numb auditory. A rough hand slaps his shoulder. 

 

"What!?" Amala bellows, turning to the offender.

 

"Inc-----er----att-ck" The man says

 

"I can't hear you!"

 

Amala turns back to the vox. 

 

"All units, heretic armor is priority target. Maintain steady fire."

 

He feels the man slapping his shoulder again. 

 

"WHAT?"

 

"Her---two hun--ed---meters"

 

"Meters?"

 

The operator nods 

 

Before Amala can reply a cheer erupts from the crew, the grinning pilot turns to Amala who pushes past his subordinates to the view-slit. He sees the black plumes of smoke and the charred remains of the traitor-armor. 

 

"Confirm the kill."

 

As the operator relays his order he watches the mob of cultists fall to the wrath of a punisher gatling gun, its fire an incessant popping sound at the edge of hearing. 

 

"Kill confirmed, landraider has been destroyed." The operator chatters.

 

"And the occupants?" Amala snaps

 

"What?"

 

"Are the troops inside dead? No? Then keep shooting! Wipe the ground clean of filth!"

 

"Commander Amala! Incoming hostiles from the front!"

 

"Where?"

 

"From the wreckage lord, they have already engaged the forward platoon." 

 

"Kukarchod. Pull back! Don't let them close with the tanks!"

[Sheesh Mode]

The dying scream, the Astartes bellow challenges, but Ollin is silent. 

 

Battle tanks, Multi-Meltas, Las-cannons, Punishers, Heavy bolters, all beat their staccato into his army, he says nothing. 

 

The command tank, now retreating, swivels its turret towards him as he and his retinue charge forwards. 

 

Hulgar, heavy-fisted, Tyranid Slayer, and companion of two centuries disintegrates beneath the Vanquisher's attentions. Viscera spatters against Ollin's body and a low keening begins to emit from his Icon Bearer. Ollin rushes through it all.  

 

His second, Dorian the Unrepentant, triggers his combi-melta. The heat-ray is backed by two others in the squad aiming to obliterate the offending heavy-tank. Dust and soot become a blinding whirlwind as the mega-heated wave connects with Imperial steel. 

 

Through the gloom, Ollin's auto-senses detect the Leman Russ's immense bulk, still intact despite the punishment. He primes and throws a krak grenade, followed by a handful of others. 

 

They move on, past the wreckage of the Leman Russ and into the command elements of the Imperial Guard. A commissar cries out to the Emperor and readies his powerfist while men with flamers and plasma guns take aim.

 

They began as ten inside of the landraider, gathering as word of the Guards advance reached their ears. They were now five, and account for the deaths of more than forty individuals. Cut through or bolted down by the chosen's mad assault. Ollin feels the Icon Bearer shudder and fall as plasma rips through his abdomen. Ollin raises his axe high and screams:

 

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! 

 

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

 

The cry echoes across the field as cultists, astartes, and abomination alike take up the chant. Even the Helbrute adding to the cacophony. But Ollin sees the truth now, even as he guts the commissar and beheads the platoon commander. In his assault, the massed ranks of guard ripped apart his force, the waves of cultists breaking against the Bullgryn shieldwall. Even now the bullgryns bludgeon and crush the remaining slaves, and more guardsmen rush to meet him. 

 

Ollin is losing the battle. 

 

Yet even as he rallies his men to a final charge against the mortals Ollin is crippled. A lascannon bolt scatters across his squad and vaporizes his legs. Tossing him into the dirt and blood below. Confusion - not pain - fills the warlords mind as his vision blackens and his senses recede, the Butcher focuses on the alien concept now assailing him: Unconsciousness. 

 

[Sheesh Mode]

Disorientation. 

 

The darkness of unconsciousness shattered by the spotlights of a medical. Voices muttering conjecture as masked bodies sway across the edge of the peripherals. Hands waved before his face, fingers snap, and lights probe his pupils. All he can do is sit, silent save for his shallow breathing, and absently stare past the collection of doctors and dignitaries that crowd the hospital room. 

 

"How long has he been like this?" Asks Governor Garisha, his hand repeatedly pulling at his long beard.

 

"Since he awoke two days ago. I am surprised he is alive, let alone conscious. His command tank was on fire when they dragged him out." The chief medical officer replies. 

 

"Can -- Can he still feel?"

 

"He has third and fourth degree burns along the left side of this chest, thigh and some of his face. There are also second degree burns along the entire right side, ending at his wrist. We've had to remove his arm because of the damage, so, no. He cannot feel most of his wounds."

 

There is a moment of silence as the governor digests this information.

 

"Fine. Contact me immediately if he begins to speak." 

 

"Of course." Of course Governor.

 

Governor Garisha exits the cramped room into the bustle of the medical center. He walks with practiced aloofness through the bloody morass of people, wounded survivors of Amala's disastrous offensive. Garisha can feel the sticky sheen of fluids forming on his person as he passes through the crowd, the metallic smell of blood and chemicals, the sound of machinery and talking aides, radio chatter and yells, all under toned by the moans of broken men. Eventually he and his armed escorts manage to thread themselves through the medical chaos into the snow covered parking lot outside.  

 

A Taurox open doors await the Imperial Command as Garisha and his guard exit the medical center, and sets out immediately after its doors are closed. A series of other Taurox accompany Garisha's personal security vehicle and wind their way through the Hivespire's chocked highways. 

 

(/cont)

[Sheesh Mode]

What is it my lord? 

 

Take over in Amala's stead. He wasn't suited for command, that much is obvious after yesterday's disaster. 

 

Ah... I.. why me? 

 

They are useless and insubordinate. I trust you to do your duty, you will do your duty yes?

 

Yes Lord Garishna, only -- 

 

No! It is decided! You will be my eyes and ears Knight-Commander Sanjit. 

 

--------

 

Does he still live? 

 

I know not. 

 

You did not check? 

 

We did not have time, brother! Only enough to retrieve his weapons and drag his body back to safety, no time to secure the rest of the fallen. 

 

Vosios reactively spits upon the ground, turning from the bodyguard in disgust. 

 

How long till the ritual is ready? 

 

The apostle claimed it would be complete by the 4th hour.  

 

Good. I will await with my men. 

 

Frozen mud snaps beneath Vosios iron tread as he makes his way through the Pact's encampment a vast array of armored vehicles surrounded by gangs of cultists working to the direction of marines, some splashing red on the flanks of their vehicles. The air is thick with a coppery stink. Vosios barely notices, avoided by the humans and astartes alike. He stops mid stride as dry auditory calls out his name. 

 

Task Master Vosios. 

 

Smith. 

 

Was the acquisition successful?

 

Yes. 

 

Bring the artifact to the armory we will complete the transaction there upon the rituals completion. 

 

Understood. 

 

Without a word the Warpsmith turns away from the spacemarine and enters the crowd. 

[deathspectersgt7]

Yeah they don't seem to be too talkative do they.

[Sheesh Mode]

Just been very busy lately. This isn't due to lack of interest but simply lack of time. 

[Sheesh Mode]

"In the 5th day of the Time of Gluttony the High Matriarch of the Enlightened Six did bid the teeming masses to partake in elixir of the New God that they might know all the forms of bliss and conjoin in spiritual unity with She Who Thirsts. But one amongst the throng did not harken to the overlord's call, but instead turned away and sought refuge within his holdings, and that one was Hueldor. But the great throng was thick and vast and did waylay him saying: "Where would thou go save here? This is a blessed place and home to all the faithful! Are ye not true to her teachings?" And he was wroth with a great rage and only the promptings of his brother preserved him else his patience falter and he destroy himself a midst the lusting rabble.

And so he continued on, though with much effort, and did eventually return to his own home and set about preparing his weapons and arms, bringing forth the great collection of swords, axes, polearms, knives, cleavers, maces, falchions, sabers, spears, and other weapons besides. His brother then brought forth the armor, the helmets and chest plates, and grieves and gauntlets, and chainmail of blackened metal that still shone in the torch light. Then Hueldor sent messengers to all those faithful and bid them gather with him or else be known as cowards and deserters and worse. Yet many would have denied Hueldor's summons were it not for fear of his claims. Thus the meeting did occur in Hueldor's dwelling and those lords that came were given a place of honor near the head of Hueldor's table. 

And Hueldor said to them "Brothers and neighbors, have we not seen the perfidy of the Matriarch and her ilk and the ruination it seeks to spread through our people? Already a great number go to satisfy her patrons hunger and still she calls for more! What can we do? Are our young-folk and our wealth to be fed to our destroyer? Are we to stand by while evil stalks our land, wounds us, and suckles on our blood? No! I say no! For indeed we must stand against this fog that seeks to consume us, else we be lost." And the favor of Hueldor grew amongst his peers and he was carried atop their shoulders in celebration, yet all was not well in Hueldor's home. For the Matriarch was wise and cunning and had made spies of some of his friends by trick or bribe or cunning. So that, as Hueldor cried for rebellion, some there slipped away and warned the witch of this new adversary." 

 

From the Saga of Hueldor, Oath Holder and Bone Breaker, Chapter 6, page 18

 

They stand in a wide semi-circle surrounding the raised platform in a motley mob of armor and rags, marines stand as lone mountains amongst the clutter of human scum. Mutants, criminals, prisoners, cowards: mortals. Vosios pays small attention to the unruly conglomerate, eyes fixed upon the orator standing before his crippled master. 

 

"Unbeknownst to Huelgor, the Matriarch prepared many snares and distractions to destroy her unwelcome adversary. Sending forth maidens and scum to waylay and beguile the warrior. But he was not swayed! So to our lord --" 

 

Vosios ignores the speaker and rests his hand on his axe, smiling as heat enters his chest and mind. 

 

"In a short while." He says, patting the axe. 

[Sheesh Mode]

Some editing done on old posts along with updated content. I'll be adding more over time as I have returned.