Liber Milia Verborum - Old Hatreds

[Erasus]

Hello! So first I'm just going to quickly explain the Milia Verborum bit, I'm going to start postng VERY small stories and excerpts just to practise my writing skills and hopefully work up my appetite for my larger projects. Milia Verborum is a Thousand Words, which is what the minimum requirement is, most stories will probably go over that a little bit. Feel free to post your own Milia Verborums. Here's the first one, Old Hatreds, enjoy

Old Hatreds

‘Get down!’

The missile streaked overhead, slamming into the barricades and blowing the sandbags apart in a shower of sand and dirt. Sergeant Crassus stood up and locked his sights onto the attacker, his bolter barked twice and two bolter rounds detonated against the armour of a traitor. The Iron Warriors kept coming, the accursed renegades clambering up the slope to assault the Imperial positions.

‘Brother Verinius! Unleash your fire on the right flank!’ Crassus shouted over the vox. His squad occupied one of the lower levels of the battlements, he was tasked with keeping the enemy away from the armoury located further into the citadel and by Dorn he would ensure not a single Iron Warrior set foot on his section of the ramparts. Verinius’ plasma cannon belched a ball of lightning blue energy and a group of chaos marines were engulfed in its destructive embrace. Brother Targus unclipped a krak grenade from his waist and hurled it against one of the hulking mechanical abominations that formed the focal point of the assault. The grenade bounced against a chunk of broken masonry and exploded next to a metallic leg, the abomination collapsed as it tried to step forward again. The sickeningly humanoid structure tried to aim its arm-like cannons at the squad’s position but a blast from Verinius’ plasma cannon vaporised its upper body. These damn Iron Warriors were abhorrent in the extreme; their continued existence could not be allowed. Crassus rallied his men and directed their concentrated fire on the worst threats. Five bolters, two heavy bolters, a heavy flamer and plasma cannon could deal with many threats; the Iron Warriors were learning that the hard way.

Crassus could feel hatred flood his veins as thick as the various stimulants that sharpened his skill. He detested the traitors; these space marines who had turned their back on the Emperor. They deserved inglorious deaths, he was proud to come from a lineage that had dealt this fallen Legion such fates through the ages. The Imperial Fists had fought the Iron Warriors for millennia. Crassus was determined to add to the tally of pain delivered to the renegades, Dorn would be proud. Hatred for this scum ran deep in the Chapter, it was an old hatred and old hatreds ran so deep it became a part of a person’s identity. The Imperial Fists hated the Iron Warriors in such a way, and many outside the Chapter knew it. Dorn and Perturabo, curse his name, had been rivals before the Iron Warriors had succumbed to their deviant nature. Their fall from grace was not a surprise to the Fists, instead it was a welcome challenge to settle old scores with blood and finally rid the galaxy of the shame that Legion brought. Dorn would smite these vermin, so would Crassus.

A bolter round clipped Peracles in the neck, arterial blood spurted out in great arcs, blood pouring out through his fingers as he tried to cover the wound. The Larraman cells quickly clotted the gaping hole but Peracles was severely wounded; he collapsed to one knee and fell against the chest high barricade. Targus and Pollux were thrown aside by a forceful explosion as another missile hit the squad’s position. Crassus mentally reassessed the situation and directed his brothers accordingly; Brother Daelios covered Peracles’ position ensuring he would have the chance to rejoin the fight, Targus and Pollux had only suffered minor injuries and already both Zosimus and Crassus himself were reinforcing the gap in the line. Bolter fire from desecrated weapons bit into the barricades around them; the Warriors were drawing closer. Crassus levelled his bolter and fired into the enemy; his controlled bursts of fire tore the leg off one Iron Warrior and punched through the helmet of a second. The second Warrior hit the floor, a dead weight, but the first retaliated with fire of his own. Crassus felt a bolter round pang off his shoulder guard, no threat, and finished off his opponent with another volley to the chest. The rounds exploded against ceramite at first but then hammered into the softer flesh beneath and detonated, obliterating the Iron Warrior’s internal organs completely.

Daelios’ heavy bolter roared, the thumping of its payload almost drowning out his mighty cry for vengeance and honour. His yellow armour was muddied and cracked from enemy fire but he cut an impressive figure; one foot on the barricades as he fired into the oncoming assault. In that moment he perfectly embodied the Fist’s stalwart endurance, their stubborn ability to stand to the last, never taking a step back, never surrendering to the odds, they would not break.

A gust of heat and dirt washed over Crassus as he continued to direct his brothers. He didn’t need to turn to see what it was; the readout on his helmet display told him everything. The sudden streams of assault cannon fire confirmed it; the Stormtalon Domitor had arrived and was unleashing hell on the attackers with its fearsome array of weaponry. Lascannon sponsons launched spears of crimson light, impaling the metallic abominations still clambering up the slope, their metal hides no match for the weapons as one by one they were slain by the Domitor’s efforts. Its assault cannons still tore into the Iron Warriors as they took cover. One darted out and fired a missile into the sky, but the Domitor was a nimble machine and weaved past the missile before levelling both cannons against the traitor. Thousands of rounds punched into his armour, stripping away the ceramite before ripping through the adamantium and tearing into flesh. Torn apart by the cascade of fire the Iron Warrior was nothing but shreds when the Domitor moved on to its next victim.

As the Domitor continued to savage the enemy, Crassus made the most of the reprieve and re-established his hold on the ramparts. Brothers Targus and Zosimus cleared lumps of rubble while Daelios and Astor set up the firing arcs for their heavy bolters.

Crassus’ voxed over the squad link, ‘Brothers, the enemy cannot last much longer. He is weakened by his own efforts to break us. We cannot be broken and so he has wasted his strength, soon we will counterattack. When I give the order, sweep down the slope and rid this planet of their treacherous taint.’

The battle would soon be over, Crassus was right about the Iron Warriors having weakened themselves. The Imperial Fists would slaughter the last of the renegades. Blood would be spilled and the chance to fight an ancient enemy would end, but the old hatred would remain.

Old hatreds always remained.

wc:1,105

[ThatOneMarshal]

I always love a good story about the iron warriors and imperial fist!

 

Awesome!