The Hunger - A Descent to Arkhona Submission

[Noctus Cornix]

As I'm sure many of you may know, Eternal Crusade was hoisting up a competition for short stories for their up and coming MMO Eteranal Crusade. So I said fudge it and thought I'd give it a go. Here's what I did. Hope you like it.
 

 

The Hunger
By Alexander Leleux (Noctus Cornix)

 

Men were never meant to be Angels.
An uneasy stillness had come upon the Apothecarium, a void of activity pregnant with a tension that seemed to choke the air. The recycled oxygen from the ship’s ventilation system cooled to maintain a steady temperature in the sterilized chambers, yet he was suffocating. There was little sound save the chittering of the diagnostic cogitator that continued to cycle in its tireless work and the low constant thrum of plasma generators deep in the vessel’s heart, yet each sound was clawing at his brain, ear-splitting in their pitch.
When was the last time he had slept? It was hard to tell, really, each day for the past week bleeding into one another until all that remained was a blur of fragmented memories and a single word that pressed itself into his mind. That sole word whispered in his ears, plucking the strings of his thoughts until his mouth would run dry and all else seemed of little consequence. Food, drink, slumber, training, even the consolation of his brothers and Master. It was all irrelevant. Only one thing mattered.
Blood.
It always had to be blood, didn’t it. The history of his brothers was marked by it, stained with the crimson life fluid of men until it had become the very signature of their title. ‘Blood Angels’. And yet, there was that other word that completed the moniker of his Chapter, the symbol by which their blood stone signet was wreathed in. The Angel, wings of the purest white, a marking of ancient and forgotten religions purged from the face of humanity’s Empire. To humanity they were those angels, the Angels of Death consecrated by the Emperor to destroy all that cowered from the light of His will. But they were not the angels as they were claimed to be, merely men. There was but one Angel, and only one, and he his fall had brought upon them this curse.
No Angels, only Blood.
“Apothecary Nylis.”
It took several seconds for him to register that his name had been called, the dull monotone rasp of a mono-purpose servitor calling his name. The Apothecary raised his head, gazing up to the spindly limbed creature, what was once a man now turned into something of steel and pistons hidden beneath wrinkled and stitched skin mounted into the diagnostic cogitator so that it might perform the task of tissue and blood testing with the efficiency that only a machine could provide. Hanging from the ceiling the servitor stared down upon the Space Marine with lifeless glazed over eyes, only the thick grinding rasp that crackled breath through the industrial respirator grill bolted to its lower jaw offering any sign that it was still living, if one could even call such an existence ‘living’.
Nylis brushed a gauntleted hand across his brow, wiping the sweat from forehead and combing his hair back from his eyes. It was hard to tear away from his notes, the vast pile of tomes and medical records mounted across his personal work station standing as testament to his restlessness. With a great audible sigh he slowly rose from his seat, the servos of his marble white power armour purring with each step as he paced across the empty chamber.
“Blood sample analysis 73 is complete.” With delicate pincer mandibles the servitor plucked a thick vial of rich crimson fluid from the tray of test samples, offering it to the approaching apothecary. “Of the fourteen samples tested, diagnostics register no changes. Red blood cell count is stable. White blood cell count is stable. Platelet count is stable. Plasma measurement is within acceptable parameters. Hormone and protein levels are measured to be in accurate alignment with each sample’s medicae records. Diagnostic search for any anomalies within test samples remains negative.”
For a moment the Apothecary merely stared upon the vial of blood, gazing into that rich crimson fluid as it seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the lumen-strips overhead. Across the metal sealing of the test tube was a label, marked with the name ‘Anorath Nylis,’ a name that for a moment seemed so distant to him. He felt nothing at first, cold and dispassionate from yet another failure, no, yet another inconclusive test.
That calm demeanor did not stay for long. With each pulse of his twin hearts his grip seemed to tighten, eyes narrowing as his lips peeled back taut to bare his teeth that grinded together. His breath was labored, venting in a low snarl as the reinforced glass began to crack beneath his gauntleted grip. With a single roar of fury, he hurled the vial across the room, the already splintered glass shattering into fragments, cascading across the floor as crimson life fluid splashed along the smooth surface like some grotesque abstract art.
Having vented his frustration the Apothecary was able to wrestle control of his senses, panting lightly for air in the cool sterilized chamber in puffs of thick smoke that exuded from his lips. For a moment he turned his attention over his shoulder, gazing into the blank stare of the diagnostic servitor that hung from its perch. It said nothing in response to his outburst of rage, its eyes devoid of judgment and compassion. The machine cared nothing for his torment, only waiting for its next orders.
Yet what he saw in those glassed-over eyes disturbed him far more. The reflection of himself, his lips parted in an unyielding thirst, the quivering hunger in his eyes, the anger in his twisted expression. Uneasy with what he saw there, Nylis turned away, pacing across the Apothecarium chamber where his narthecuim lay, sanguinary extraction kit at its side.
He would try again.

“Warp transit clear. Passage into Arkhona high orbit in thirty-three minutes. Auspex register no immediate threats. All crew report to battle-ready stations. Sons of Sanguinius report to Thunder Hawk bay 6-7B. May the Emperor be with you.”
Brother Apothecary Nylis of the Blood Angels Chapter walked alone down the vast hallway, the only other souls he came to cross being that of scribes, serfs, and crew of the proud Strike Cruiser ‘Ardent Faith’. Each of them bowed their head low at his passing, a sign of affection and subjugation he had always been uncomfortable with, but he offered a weak smile and his silence in return.
The warrior-priest marched now in his full battleplate, a gleaming marble white, decorated with deep crimson inset and polished gold linings. Upon one shoulder lay the blood stone of his Chapter though devoid of the white wings his brothers displayed so proudly; on his other shoulder lay a double helix encrusted upon the golden chalice of his order, the Sanguinary Priests of Baal. Power axe and bolter maglocked to his harness, the Apothecary moved with a measured calm, his helm cropped beneath his arm in waiting.
This was his first venture outside the Apothecarium in some time, having closed himself in during the transit to the Kharon system despite the pleas of his brothers and his Master.
The Kharon system. He had never even there before yet already he loathed it. Pausing for a time, the warrior came to a halt, standing before the vast window pane that stretched to one side of the hall, gazing out into the void beyond. Three stars danced in unity with one another, a beautiful trinity of light that bathed the hallway in a natural glow of warmth. He could see the planets that circled around them in orbit, playing to the tune of the stars like some ancient celestial performance. And there, just to his right he could see the seething miasma of cloud. Arkhona.
“The warriors of Ultramar have already made planet fall.”
Nylis’ head turned at the sound of a voice so acquainted to him, realizing that he was no longer alone. Another stood before him, a warrior clad in the deep crimson regalia of his Chapter, shoulders imprinted black, the leering silver skull upon his helm. It was a sight he was all too familiar with.
“Sergeant Crieghton.” He snapped to attention, perhaps out of habit alone and bowed his head in respect to his former mentor.
With a low chuckle the Sergeant raised a single hand, waving off the Apothecary’s sign of respect.
“Now now, boy, you know there is no need for that.” He paused, a warm smile stretched upon the aged warrior’s features. “You are part of the blessed brotherhood now. The honour is all mine.”
With that the Sergeant, a veteran of over two centuries and a grizzled survivor of hundreds of battles bowed his head in return to the apothecary, a gesture that made the young warrior uneasy despite its common occurrence since his induction into the priesthood of Baal.
“So then the Ultramarines have already brought the fight to the enemy.” Nylis averted the subject, gaze turning away from his former tutor to the planet far below.
“Aye, so it would seem. Their ships and the Imperial Navy have pushed the fleets of the Greenskins and the Great Devourer away, for a time. They’ve bought us the opening we need to make our assault. We were first to enter the area. The ‘Maria’ and the ‘Spear of Antioch’ will follow shortly, along with the vessels of the Imperial Fists, the captain tells me.”
Nylis listened though he said nothing in response for a time, a sense of unease slowly sinking into his stomach.
“The transport bays are in the opposite direction, Sergeant.” The Apothecary paused, now staring intently at the veteran warrior devoid of the uncomfortable quiver in his eyes that had been there only moments ago. “Why are you here?”
“Nothing ever gets past you, does it, boy,” Sergeant Crieghton allowed a faint smile to flash across his lips but now it was marred with a worried expression. “I was asked to speak with you.”
“By my Master?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” Nylis’ expression curled into one of disgust, the grip on his helm tightening after a moment. “And what, did High Priest Mikhael ask of you that he cannot do himself?”
The Sergeant had not allowed his jovial demeanor to fall quite yet, an obvious attempt to soothe the matter lest it turn ugly. “The High Priest is concerned for your well-being, as are your brothers.”
“And if he is so concerned for my ‘mental health’, why does he not report me to the Chaplain for consultation?” Nylis spat his words with evident scorn, not for the man in question that he called Master, but for the way he was being treated, like neophyte to be coddled.
“Were he to report you to the Sanctity,” Sergeant Creighton paused, seeming to think of his words carefully. “He feared that they may detain you from the coming battle ahead where your skills will be needed most.”
The Apothecary scoffed at such an idea, his temper slowly boiling beneath his skin, knuckles whitening as his free hand balled into a fist and the other grasped to the rim of his helm as though for dear life. Without a word he began to move past his former Sergeant and mentor, belaying all protocol and tradition of respect in the wake of his spite.
“Anorath.” The name was voiced, causing the bearer of that name to pause in his stride, though he still would not turn to face the one who used it.
“You are no older than 4 centuries, my boy.” Sergeant Crieghton began, resting a hand upon his former student’s shoulder. “You are among the youngest to be inducted into the Sanguinary Priesthood and a prodigy of your craft. You cannot allow our curse to defeat you.”
At that Nylis finally turned to face the Sergeant, teeth clenched together in a slow grind as he tried to retain his rage, that inevitable hunger for violence that festered in his heart. “This curse?”
“This ‘curse’ you speak so calmly of is killing our Chapter, our brothers. We are bound to this bloodline that is slowly eating away at our sanity until eventually we will have nothing left, shallow husks of our former glory. I gave myself to the Priesthood, Sergeant. I forsook the honour of combat against the enemies of the Emperor to protect and save my brothers. I can mend wounds, I can stem the flow of poisons and drag my brothers from the cusp of death back into life and service to the Imperium once more. But yet for all my efforts, for all my searching and my testing. I can do nothing to save them from this ‘curse’.”
“Anor-,” the Sergeant began to speak but was cut off before he could use his closeness with the Apothecary to his advantage. With all his anger and rage brought to the fore, Anorath Nylis would let his voice be heard, damned be to the consequences.
“What’s more is this death sentence of a campaign we have consigned ourselves to. As we have drawn closer to the Kharon system, more and more of our brothers have been suffering from the hunger that lies within our hearts,” the Blood Angel spoke, raising up his gauntleted hand and pressing it to the golden Aquila displayed proudly on his marble warplate. “I know because I have felt it. With each day the cases of our brothers suffering from the effects of the thirst have increased. Three mere weeks of transit without a single sign of combat and already I have watch two of my beloved brothers chained up like dogs and painted black as though they are no longer one of us. Our brothers are dying from within, Sergeant Crieghton, and something down there on Arkhona is the cause of it. Does this mean nothing to you?”
The hallway was left with an easy silence for a time, serfs and crew members having faded as the drop time drew near. Neither of the warriors spoke for a time, though it was the Sergeant who looked away, Nylis’ gaze fixated upon his former mentor in waiting for his answer.
“Anorath. You must believe me when I tell you that-.”
But once more the Sergeant was cut short, yet this time it was not from the Apothecary. Nylis saw as his mentor’s eyes widened in surprise, following his gaze as he stared through the observation window.
In the void, in that black endless darkness, there was a tear. It shimmered with incandescent light, arcs of crackling energy bursting from the seams. From that rift in the very fabric of space something came forth, a great lumbering beast of dark crimson metal and rusted steel. It tore into reality itself like a blade, ripping into the world on a tide of warp energy that seemed to surge around it, a leering, screaming horned skull emblazoned upon its prow.
Only one sentence escaped Apothecary Nylis before the ship’s claxon counters filled the air.
“Oh merciful Emperor.”

[Lysimachus]

A good story, nice insight into the BA character. The only thing that threw me was how busy this planet was. IF, UM, BA, Orks, Nids and Chaos?? Feels a bit unlikely.

[GrandMasterAralia]

Wow! That gave me chills, and a sudden urge to start a blood angels army! Wonderful read!

[Noctus Cornix]

A good story, nice insight into the BA character. The only thing that threw me was how busy this planet was. IF, UM, BA, Orks, Nids and Chaos?? Feels a bit unlikely.

 

To be fair, it is based around the planet of Arkhona  which is the setting of the Eternal Crusade MMO. In it, we have Space Marines (of UM, BA, DA, SW, and IF) along with Guard, Eldar, Orks, Nids, and Chaos all on this one planet. I agree it seems unlikely but I have to work with what I've got.

 

 

Wow! That gave me chills, and a sudden urge to start a blood angels army! Wonderful read!

 

Thanks man, really glad you like it! :)

[Lysimachus]

Ah, I've not really looked into the MMO. In that case, my apologies and please continue!

[Teetengee]

I like it, one nitpick though, do the Blood Angels refer to their Sanguinary Priests as apothecaries. It just seemed odd that Nylis would think of himself with a term that Blood Angels don't use. Although maybe his experiences as a medic/doctor have led him to strip away the spiritual side of his job in his own mind.

[Tyrannicide]

The internal struggle he's wrestling with has been set up nicely. I like the line you use of him forgoing the glory of combat to save his Chapter. Very noble.

 

Will you be continuing the story? 

[Marshal Rohr]

That was absolutely great! Very well conceived and executed.

[Noctus Cornix]

Ah, I've not really looked into the MMO. In that case, my apologies and please continue!

Honestly, neither have I. Hell, I don't know if I'll be even playing the game when it comes out. But I just couldn't pass upon a writing competition.

I like it, one nitpick though, do the Blood Angels refer to their Sanguinary Priests as apothecaries. It just seemed odd that Nylis would think of himself with a term that Blood Angels don't use. Although maybe his experiences as a medic/doctor have led him to strip away the spiritual side of his job in his own mind.

Well, honestly I thought about that a lot during the brain storming phase and it just seemed to me that the chapter would use the terms seamlessly, though I suppose regular brothers would likely offer a more reverent approach. As for Nylis himself, I didn't specifically note on it, but I had hoped that his lack of a spiritual nature was conveyed through his actions. He did not believe that they were Angels, only men. He had no wings upon his Chapter symbol. He was even visibly uncomfortable when he serfs bow to him and especially when the Sergeant does so. Hope that helps.

The internal struggle he's wrestling with has been set up nicely. I like the line you use of him forgoing the glory of combat to save his Chapter. Very noble.

Will you be continuing the story?

That was probably one of my favorite lines to write out too. Honestly I would love to, if I can. It may all depend however on if I win or not.

That was absolutely great! Very well conceived and executed.

Thank you, my friend. That means a lot to me.

[carpediem]

You had my curiosity, now you have my attention. Continue....