Emergence (a BA "fan fiction")

[Servant of Dante]

Man I hate the term fan fiction. I write 40k stories to try to share the emotional power the game's universe has for me, and I think fan fiction does not have that connotation, but maybe I'm just being silly. Either way, here's a thing I wrote. I'm not sure if it needs more, and I'm not entirely happy with the ending , but here it is.

 

(not this, this is a proper introduction) I have always been drawn to a certain interpretation of the Black Rage. I can't rightly remember if it's supported by the current codex, but this story assumes that the following is true:

The Black Rage is insanity, but more than that, the effected marine truly believes he is Sanguinius the night before he dies at the hands of Horus, and being Sanguinius, he knows he is going to die, and that there is nothing he can do about it, because the Emperor cannot defeat Horus without the sacrifice of Sanguinius (cue about 100 people telling me I'm wrong on some detail. I know I've read this, and I like it, so...) Naturally , the Blood Angel who has fallen to the Black Rage is rather pissed at Horus. The problem is, everyone looks like Horus, so he goes on a righteous rampage against the arch-traitor. Enjoy!

 

Emergence

            Screams of pain and joy flow into my ears, but I do not heed them. There is nothing but the rage. I flail wildly as I push my way out of my stasis unit and onto the battlefield. My mind is red. I scream my defiance to the enemy, and he answers. His delighted laughter in the face of death heightens my fury. I remember my enemy’s betrayal. I see his face and know my doom, but I will not waver, I will kill them all! Horus’s face leers back at me everywhere I look. I cannot think for the madness that blinds me. My brothers and I rush headlong into the enemy, heedless of the bullets glancing off our armor and tearing through our flesh. There is no escape from our vengeance, for us or for them. There is only the rage.

            Somewhere deep in my mind I know it to be false. I did not know it before, but I do now. The mutilated form I hack in half with mad abandon is not the Archtraitor Horus. I suddenly become aware of the weight of my armor. It is holding me in, but it is also my strength. I remove my helmet and place it carefully on the ground next to my weapons. I do not remember dropping them. I call to my brothers,

            “Clear me this space, my brothers!”

            They respond in a deafening roar, “SUFFER NOT THE TRAITOR THE GROUND ON WHICH HE STANDS!” They form a circle around me and march outward, slaughtering all that would reach me. I begin to remove my armor and place it before me. As I place the ornamented ceramite plates on the earth so the madness falls away from my mind. The anger, the hatred, the rage does not. It burns all the more pure in my soul. It takes every scrap of will left to me to not scoop up my weapons and join my brothers in the destruction of the heretics.

 

            Chaplain Phedius turns to confirm that the Death Company brothers are still behind him, but they are not. Uncertainty rises in his mind. A maddened cry rips through the air,

            “Clear me this space, my brothers!”

            In an inconceivable moment of clarity, every Death Company Brother turns and shouts, “SUFFER NOT THE TRAITOR THE GROUND ON WHICH HE STANDS!”

            Then, the impossible happens before his eyes. They form a circle and begin fighting in organized unison, slowly advancing outward. The tide of Slanesh cultists breaks against the wall of ceramite and madness. In his stunned state Chaplain Phedias is nearly decapitated by a cultist with a demonic axe. Centuries of experience dispatch the attacker with contemptuous ease and a flick of the wrist. The Crozius Arcanum produces a sickening crunch as it crumples the cultist. As the chaplain attempts to approach the ring of maddened fighters he is almost struck by one of them. His only option is to remove himself from the vicinity and find a place from which to observe.

 

            I finish removing my armor and look around. My brothers have cleared a sizeable area around me, but the integrity of their defense is reaching its limit. Suddenly an incorporeal scream rips through my consciousness. Then come the voices. They promise power and wealth and things much darker. I repel them with my all-consuming rage, and it is deepened. I wrest power from whence the voices came, and the very earth shakes at my command. I call once more to my brothers, and my voice thunders across the plain,

            “Let us smite the foe with righteous sword, and drown them in our fury! Let not certain death give us pause! We are the lost! No longer are we Avenging Angels. We are the true Angels of Death! We are fury incarnate, and through our deaths others will live!” The others scream their assent and seal it in the blood of the heretics.

            The power flows through every part of my being as bullets melt against my skin. I am unscathed. I conjure a weapon in my hand, a red spear glistening with gore. It flies true, impaling all those before me. I turn the blood of my foes against them while it is in their veins, ripping them apart from within. My eyes glow and my sword is a blur. A hulking monstrosity looms before me, its surface covered in profane markings. I burn it with my rage; its flaming hulk falls backward, crushing those behind it. The enemy breaks before me, and their flight turns into a full rout. I gather my power and skim across the surface back toward the landing zone. Several former-brothers attempt to block my passage. I knock them gently aside, which sends them flying a dozen yards to either side. When I reach the center of the landing zone, I call to the fighters around me. My voice burns through their minds and tears into their souls,

            “Blood Angels, servants of the emperor, hear me and remember! The Emperor protects, but there is no protection for us. Through our deaths humanity lives, through our suffering humanity prospers, and through our struggle for purity humanity finds peace. We are the saving light of the Emperor, and WE protect.”

 

Brother Lendiel fell to the ground. He recovered quickly, but said he had no memory of anything after he fell to the Black Rage over a month ago. The sanguinary priests confirmed that there was no trace of the Black Rage in his body. In fact, there was no evidence at all of The Flaw. Unfortunately, some part of the experience had damaged his Progenoid Glands*. Brother Lendiel is now a member of the Blood Angels 1^st Company.