Sanguis Extremis

[Papewaio]

This is essentially how my current lord gains captaincy during the Heresy. I haven't done very many fight scenes before, and this one was written when I was sleep-deprived, so it might feel a little bit forced.

 

NOTE: This is unedited, having been written because I can't seem to get to sleep. It's very very rough. That said, enjoy and critique away!

 

SANGUIS EXTREMIS

 

His mouth is dry. In stark contrast to this, the hand that loosely grips the short-bladed axe is slick with sweat. For the first time he could remember, Husfar is not looking forward to a fight. 

 

'Are you sure you want to do this, Bekru? Third blood is fine by me. You're a valuable warrior, I'd rather not kill you today.'

 

The words come out confident, strong, almost dismissive. Husfar hopes that they would convince the crowd that had gathered to watch. Most of the 27th Assault Company of the War Hounds are here. No, not War Hounds any longer. World Eaters. No World Eater of Husfar's company wants to miss this bout.

 

One-on-one fights had always been a staple of the Legion, usually to keep both discipline and weapon skills sharp. Ever since the Primarch was found, though...

 

'You won't kill me, Captain. Do not worry about that.' Bekru's voice is gravelly and distorted, a harsh growl that echoes through the fighting pit. The chainglaive he is holding is thinner and lighter than the roaring monstrosity he usually carries to war. Husfar remembers when the Sergeant was given the weapon he holds now.

 

The 27th had been fighting alongside a detachment of the VIIIth Legion, and Bekru's squad had been cut off, the Sergeant the only survivor. He had linked up with the Night Lords, and fought with them for several days. Impressed by his savagery, they gifted him with one of their Legion's signature weapons.

 

Husfar sways under the roaring teeth, the first thrust of Bekru's missing his left shoulder by inches. He lunges forward, knowing he must get in close where the haft of the glaive will be an impediment rather than an advantage. A savage kick sends him staggering back.

 

Bekru had been proud of that honour, of his new weapon. He had trained himself nearly to exhaustion every spare day he had, mastering it. He had changed with the coming of Angron, however. Like everything else. 

 

He turns the stagger into a roll, finding his feet and charging forward with his axe. Bekru is too slow, and takes the blade in his forearm. A quick spray of blood, and then his genehanced blood congeals. Husfar grins; he'd found an artery. The trepidation he feels towards this fight lessens somewhat as his bloodlust rises.

 

Husfar was of Terran blood, where Bekru had been recruited from one of the many worlds the War Hounds had conquered. Husfar supposed he felt an affinity with his Primarch because of that, whereas many of the senior officers were Terrans. Except he'd fought alongside Bekru for years, trained him, watched his sharp mind grow. For Bekru to embrace such a beast as his gene-father, along with all the madness that Angron had brought to the XIIth... it was insanity. 

 

The chainglaive growls, Bekru gunning the trigger as he slashes down, moving forward. Husfar drops, bats away the teeth of the weapon only to receive an elbow in his own. Reflexively, he tries to bury his axe in the body that logically should be in front of him, but there is nothing there. Bekru is behind him, slashing as he moves. The captain drives forward, trying to evade the glinting head of the glaive.

 

Captain Husfar had forbade any of his men to undergo the psych-surgery that the Primarch had brought to the Twelfth. It made uncontrollable monsters out of his deadly warriors, by all accounts. When he found out the sergeant had volunteered for the cranial mutilation, he had been furious. Bekru had argued that it was faithfulness towards their Primarch, that all War Hounds – no, World Eaters should have the 'Butcher's Nails,' as they were known. A Legionnaire could not be as effective with them, but the sergeant would not listen. And so here they were. A death bout, for command of the company. The first fight to go to Sanguis Extremis in the history of the 27th. All because of the thrice-damned Primarch.

 

The blade cuts deep, and Husfar feels the lower part of his spine shatter. He collapses forward, unable to move his legs. He rolls himself over, only to have his right arm removed in a gory spray of blood. Bekru is howling now, the glaive forgotten, and sets upon his captain with hands and teeth. 

 

Instead of the usual din that accompanies a gladiatorial fight, the warriors of the 27th are silent as they watch the carnage. They've all heard tales of what the Nails can do, but this is the first time they have seen it.

 

Husfar is proud he does not cry out. His vision starts to black out, and breathing is difficult now that Bekru has torn out his throat with his teeth. And then, suddenly, the sergeant stops. From his position upon the blood-slick floor, Husfar watches Bekru wipe his mouth and turn to his audience.

 

'I claim command of the 27th Company of the World Eaters by right of my victory. If any of you wish to challenge me, now is the time.' The guttural growl is met with dead silence. Bekru stalks back to the bleeding and broken Husfar, picking up his chainglaive as he does so. 

 

'This... this is faithfulness at its finest.'

[Allart01]

Not bad. :)