Broken Wings

[Cpt_Reaper]

Foreword:

I was hit by inspiration for this one only tonight and just wrote. It's been a while since I've managed to write more than a few lines on any of my stories and while this is short I hope that it is still enjoyable.

 

 

 

 

'Tell me a story grandfather,' the young child asked. The star set on the day of his tenth birthday, it's golden glow casting long shadows. When he was younger the child fancied he could see the Angels standing watch over his family.

'Certainly my boy, but I fear you have heard all of my stories,' his grandfather replied, his wizened face set with a near perpetual gentle smile.

'Surely you have another,' the boy pleaded. 'I want to hear of your time walking beside the Angels.' The old man pondered for a moment, searching his weakening memories for a suitable tale. Young boys so loved stories of heroism, of action, of valour.

Then one memory rose from amidst the old man's many, as vivid now as the day it happened. He looked the boy in the face and judged that he was mature enough to hear it.

'Come closer my boy and listen well. This story is one of the many times I marched alongside the Angels.' He paused, wondering where to begin. 'We had held our position for over a month, and we held it dearly. It was as if the Emperor himself stood at our backs, willing us to stand for just one more day. Men and Angels stood side by side, facing the enemy. We faced not Greenskins nor Tyranids, and to this day I wish we could have. I would have happily stood alone against their hordes rather than stand with my men against the enemy that day.'

'What enemy grandfather? What did you fight?' The boy leaned closer, determined not to miss a single word.

'Men. We faced men. Not noble warriors of the Emperor but pathetic excuses that had forsaken their duty to fight for the Great Enemy.' He paused, watching the child's reaction. A mixture of shock and anger washed over the boy's face, but still he listened. 'I don't know how many I slew. My rifle at times glowed with fury as I fired again and again. For every one I cut down, my men cut down three dozen with every volley. For every one of those three dozen we felled, the Angels slew a dozen again.

I ran out of cells for my rifle and drew my pistol. My men weren't far behind, but we had stood firm in the face of endless slaughter. Unlike the Greenskins the enemy was not an endless tide of flesh and anger, it was like us. Corrupt, weak and debased but they were still men.

The leader of the Angels stood beside me. That giant blade he carried shone brilliant emerald, like your mother's eyes. He told me the enemy would make one last push to dig us out, and we would push back. He handed me his knife and told me to return it to him bathed in the blood of the enemy. I would not let him down if I could help it. This was a blade of the Angels, and it would purge the unworthy.

I gathered my men around me and stood at the lip of the trench. The Angels stood among us, our brothers in battle. I have never felt more honoured, save for the day your father was born and again when you were.' He stopped to ruffle the child's hair, smiling his loving smile. Then, for the first time in many years it vanished, replaced with a deep melancholy birthed from deep loss.

'We saw the enemy leader, a perverse mockery of the Angels. Where their war plate was the black of night and the silver of starlight his was like mouldy parchment and the gold of false idols. The sight of him made me gag, and even now I feel my mouth drying out. But the Angel, he didn't waver. He was made of stronger stuff, the stuff of legends. They locked eyes, across the battlefield, and I knew there was something personal. Not just between good and evil but something deeper. Something that hurt the Angel in a way no Angel should hurt.

We took off, my pistol blazing. I must have shot nearly ten of the enemy, maybe fifteen. I wasn't just running at them though, I needed to bury the Angel's blade in the leader's eye. How could I call myself a soldier of the Emperor and let the hurting of His Angel go unpunished?

The Emperor didn't hear my battlecry, how could He? One man amongst untold billions. But when my men yelled He stirred,' the old man paused, stifling a quiet sob, 'and when the Angels cried out the He most certainly heard. He parted the dwindling sea of the foe so that I may face their leader, reaching out with the shells of mighty Basilisks and Malcadors. Fire and vengeance cleared my path and I ran. Oh did I run. Nothing could stop me. I lost even the Angel from my sight, so focused was I. I was no fool, however, and I knew I could not stand against this mockery of our Angels. I screamed as loud as I could at the enemy. I called him liar. I called him weakling. I called him pathetic. I swore at him with every curse I know, still he did not turn. When I called him dishonourable he turned. I saw his face clearly from where I stood and it will always haunt me. It was the face of an Angel, not dissimilar to our own but with proportions far grander.'

The old man stopped, chocking back tears. He held up his hand to silence the boy, shaking his head. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath.

'I had stopped for so long that another Angel had joined us. His title was the Third Champion, and he was the greatest swordsman the Angels could provide. He stood before me, shield and sword presented in challenge. I was certain that the enemy would decline the honourable rite but he did not. He drew his own blade, a chipped and worn thing, and their duel was met.

The Third Champion was indeed masterful, every stab and slash calculated with utter perfection. His shield met every thrust and cut, blazing with the light of the Emperor. Twice the Champion's sword pierced the armour of the enemy, both of his hearts were damaged.'

'Both hearts? Grandfather, how did he have two hearts? Only the Angels have two hearts!' protested the boy.

'Aye my boy. This foe was an Angel. His wings were ripped and his light was extinguished but he was still an Angel. Like men Angel can fall too.

The Champion knew how to slay fallen Angels for that was his duty, to slay the greatest foes in the galaxy. He had slain many in his countless days, sending fallen Angels to the Emperor to beg His forgiveness. This fallen Angel would need to beg particularly hard for his forgiveness.

I don't know who screamed louder. Myself or the Angels' leader that stood beside me. He might not have even screamed at all.'

'Why grandfather? What happened?' The young boy leaned closer, his grandfather only whispering now as he held back the torrent of sadness.

'The Third Champion fell. It happened so fast I barely saw it. The fallen Angel clove his head from his shoulders. The Angel beside me charged, that emerald blade flashing with a vengeance few have ever witnessed. I charged too, caught up in his grief and fury. The fallen Angel barely had time to act, too busy marvelling in the dark deed had committed. The Angel struck first, his blade exploding with light brighter than the brightest star and yet it did not blind me. The fallen one was already dead, slain by the Third Champion moments before, he just hadn't realised it yet. As his head and shoulders slid from his body I crashed into it. My duty was clear. The last thing this fallen Angel would see was the steel of the knife I carried. I buried it deep in his eye, as deep as I could. For the smallest of moments I saw a tiny spark in those cold eyes. He wasn't looking at me, he was looking at the sky.

I looked up and saw them. The Angels were coming to the world, descending from the shadows of the heavens. The livery of the Angels of Shadow and the Angels of Absolution shone proudly on their vessels.

I joined the Angels' leader as he knelt beside his Champion's body. He ripped his helm from his head and for the first time I saw his face. It was Kronos Nightshade, my great grandfather. His face, in all it's angelic magnificence, was soiled by bitter loss. He prised his Champion's head from within his helm to face his brother, eye to eye. Kronos met his forehead to his brother's, a final goodbye. I was told Angels do not feel the loss of their brothers because they can be born again. They do feel loss as you or I do, and Kronos had lost a dear friend.

He threw his head back and let that loss be known. He screamed louder than the din of battle around us, so loud that the fires in the enemy's breast were extinguished. So loud that the Emperor heard and wept for his slain Angel. So loud that all other sound died away in respect for his loss.'

The old man could hold it no more and buried his face in his hands, weeping. His young grandson held him close, comforting him. The old man looked up, tears streaking down his wizened face. Once again his old smile was back, the same as it always was.

'Grandfather, why did you tell me this story if it upset you so?'

'Because it is a story that needed to be told. You look at the Angels and see warriors that feel not loss nor sadness, and that is a lie that dishonours them. They feel the cold sting of loss as sorely as you or I, but they stand firm despite it and do so constantly. They have to. They are our protectors and can not afford to falter. We lesser men need to remember that the Angels sacrifice much for us and we need to honour for all that they lose.'

The young boy looked out of the window at the sky as night fell, staring at the uncountable stars. Somewhere up there the Angels of Shadow looked down upon their world and he knew that he was safe. He vowed that the next time he saw the Angels standing upon the ground that he would thank them for all they had done for him. Words were all he could offer in return for so much but he knew that it was enough.

Outside in the cold air of night stood Kronos, his augmented hearing easily allowing him to listen to the story the old man had told. Clad in but a simple robe of dark green, he had come to seek an aspirant for the Chapter. He looked at the knife in his hand, the same knife that he had pulled from the skull of the traitor that day. He sheathed the knife, pushing back the pang of sorrow once more. This was not a day to lament, but one to look to the future. Kronos gently rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. A moment later it swung open and the young boy gasped.

'Grandfather!' he called, running to the old man's side. Kronos stepped in, ducking under the frame of the door. The old man shuffled into the hall of the house to face the giant Angel.

'Hello old friend,' Kronos said in a deep voice that reverberated with the weight of centuries.

[deathspectersgt7]

Ran out of likes , a Good read.

[Cpt_Reaper]

Cheers. That means a lot.

[Warlord Torvold]

Nice story.  I like how you gave a human perspective on the Astartes.  That some how makes them seem greater than they are and yet still some how so very human.  They may not know fear but can still feel sorrow and regret.  I like this.

[Cpt_Reaper]

Thank you very much. I was worried I'd make them too human, something I don't like in some black library novels.

[mcme]

i really loved this story

amazing!!! keep them coming!

[Cpt_Reaper]

I don't mean to gloat but so far everyone who has read this story (both here and when I posted it to facebook) has only had good things to say,

 

Seriously, thank you all. It means so very much.