The death of a nightmare, and the return of a monarch

[Manchu warlord]

My story is actually very long, so I will post it in intervals, or parts.

 

 

So it takes place after the Plague Wars, where Mortarion pulled away from Ultramar because he had to deal with a Khornate incursion elsewhere.  Well, turns out (in this fantasy), the one leading Khorne's legion was none other than Angron himself.  So the two daemon legions clashed, and their sires duelled one another. 
So the two daemon primarchs fought one another for sometime, both recieving tremendous wounds, but in the end, Angron was better off than his brother (as you can see), but still significantly wounded.
And now the story begins...   

 

 

​Excerpt I

 

 

Victory.          

Angron, the Red Angel, and prince of the blood god, looked into the yellow eyes of its brother:  Mortarion, Deathlord, and grandson of the pestilence god.  Broken and battered, his chest cavity caved in, foul obscene organs spilling out, his legs and right arm are broken beyond even his gifted ability to heal.  He is a pitiless and pathetic site, very much liken to the god he serves.  The sound of their minions slaughtering one another makes for a sweet background music.

‘Did you really think you could best me?  Brother.’  The damned prince of the blood god asked in an eerie calm voice.  ‘I have always been the greatest of us at killing things, and at one another.’  Its toned turned into that of disgust.  ‘I once had Russ on all four.’  It gave a slight chuckle, which sounded like glass crushed under tank treads.  ‘You should have seen it, our father’s Lapgog crawling and bleeding like a mewling dog.’  Its downed brother tried to say something, but his words are indiscernible.  ‘What?’  Angron demanded.  ‘You... will, die.’ Mortarion’s words were agonized by his collapsed lungs.  Angron laughed again.  ‘I also had Roboute on all fours.  He was pathetic, even worse than you.  I’m surprised you didn’t kill him while you were polluting his kingdom with your foulness.  Almost makes me regret bringing my forces here, so as to draw you away from his petty realm.  Or perhaps my presence here was an excuse so you could run from him.’  That sent a spark of rage at the downed brother, who struggled and cursed despite every attempt bringing a stroke of agony.  Angron, smiling in delight, placed its boot on Mortarion’s shattered chest, sending further agony.  ‘Time to end this.’  It raised its axe high above its head, pausing, ready to chop off its brother’s head.  Then it sensed it.  They both did.

The victor momentarily forgetting its prize.  First they felt it in their skins, then they sensed it, and they smelled it.  Mortarion, only recently encountered this sensation, but Angron, not in millenniums.

Overhead, the sky is filled with Imperial gunships and drop pods, hundreds of them.  They came like a downpour, very sudden and hard, a vengeance deserved.  It was an impressive sight, the warriors in avenging sapphire dropped from the sky and into the mouth of hell to wreak havoc.  The spectacle would be enough to quell any defender into surrender.  But to Angron, it simply grunted, and for Mortarion, no emotion was shown. 

 

The first of drop pods hit the ground, disgorging warriors in cobalt blue of the Ultramarines.  Then many more followed, pouring forth an assorted mixture of warriors in red, white, silver, green, and many other colours, all denoting themselves as the scions of Guilliman.  They came and started killing their daemonic foes with wanton abandon, and shouted oaths they have been shouting for ten thousand years, and more...

Courage and honour, they fired their weapons into bloated green monstrosities.

We march for Macragge, they slashed and clove down fiendish red beasts.

And we know no fear, they shot and stabbed at the daemons; the true enemy of order and all of creation. 

Very soon, the battlefield became a tri-way strife.

Then there leader came, on wings of azure fire.  The thunderhawk touched down, and as the ramp lowered, the lord commander the Imperium charged right at his foes, the eagle wings at his back shining, the flaming sword of the Emperor in his right hand, and the powerfist, Hand of Dominion, in his left.  His veteran first company warriors in hulking terminator armour followed in his walk, their guns blazing, their powered melee weapons roaring.  Then the rest of his retinue followed:  The three surviving custodians, ten of the Silent Sisters, and the honour guards of the chapter, lead but Marneus Calgar himself.  Veterans, all them, there skills honed from countless campaigns in the Indomitus crusade. 

Roboute Guilliman, the Avenging Son, had his eyes only on his two brothers; of the horde of daemons standing in his way, he swatted them aside with the fiery sword as easy as a man waves the air.  They thrash in agonized immolation as they disintegrate into oblivion, and the ones that slipped past the azure warlord, his warriors dispatched with an all too professional ease. 

A savage hunger played its way across the daemon primarch’s ravaged face, his body tense, ready for the coming charge of its brother.  But it never came.

 

A stormtalon gunship flew right into the fray, like a sapphire eagle and unleashed its hellish payloads: assault cannons, missile launchers, Heavy bolters, all aimed with with servitor-guided precision at the creature of hell below it. 

Caught entirely by surprise, and without any adequate protection from an aerial foe, the daemon primarch can only tremble and shriek as the bullets and bombs progressively tear his armour and skin apart.  Chips of bronze warp-metal fell like hail, chucks of skin and black blood fell like rain.  Had Angron still been mortal, he would been obliterated outright, but as it is, he is simply down to one knee, his axe acting like a crutch.  The gunship continued to pound out shells at him.

 

Guilliman’s charge was only a distraction, albeit a glorious and an entertaining one.  He never intended to fight his brother in a duel, he knows he can’t win, even with his veterans lending there lethal support.  He remembered fighting Angron in the past, another age ago.  It did not end well for him.  And he still remembered his face off with Fulgrim in all too vivid detail; he would not repeat that mistake again.  

 

Six seconds into the stormtalon’s relentless assault, all seems like it is going well, when out of nowhere a heldrake flew through, like a storm of red rage, and crashed into the gunship.  The stormtalon was pushed off course, the entire left section of the craft in ruins, but it was still airborne.  It turned around to face its attacker, but the heldrake was on it before it could turn its weapons to bare.  One of its warp-steel claw dug into the assault cannon mounted on the nose, and with a wrench, tore it out.  It’s razor teeth bit down into the cockpit section, the glass cracked with a sound of an ice lake breaking, but it held.  The daemon engine lunged its head back, ready to bite down again, with a surety that will break the cockpit, and eat the pilot inside.  The gunship struggled frantically, like a fish out of water, but the heldrake held it in a firm clutch.  It sunk its teeth again, this time, shattering the cockpit glass and its draconic head plunged into the controls.  But just before the end came, some last moment altruistic instinct kick in the pilot’s iron discipline.  He had the controls reconfigured, activated the missiles in their hold, sent a thought-pulse to have the entire payload detonate.  One big explosion later, in the air where the blue gunship and the red metal dragon were, was a nebulous inferno of fire and raining shrapnel.  

      

Relieved, the daemon primarch roared at its challenger.  Guilliman judged the damage dealt to his once-brother, and makes a quick assessment.  Theoretical, though Angron is beyond my ability to slay, he is tremendously wounded, and much reduced.  Practical, I have my veterans with me, and I have my father’s sword.  I can slay him.  With that in mind, they charged. 

Edited March 1, 2018 by Manchu warlord

[Tarvek Val]

I like it! That said, I was distracted by a few minor spelling errors that popped up throughout; if you wished I would gladly read through again and post them here! 

 

Some thoughts: 

 

I wasn't quite sure why you would refer to Angron as "it" instead of a "he". Not that you can't do that, I just wasn't sure why.

 

I like Angron's speech to Mortarion, it serves to remind the reader that Angron wasn't just a psychotic butcher. He was able to have a conversation, when the Nails weren't biting too hard, as you eloquently showed. 

 

I love the part where the heldrake brings down the Stormtalon, that was very well written!

 

At the very end, I like how you look into Guilliman's thoughts; however, just a gentle reminder that

Angron once survived getting stepped on by a Warhound Titan.

As such, I'm not sure that even a barrage from a Stormtalon would plausibly be enough for Guilliman to reasonably think he could best Angron in single combat. I honestly wouldn't rate very many primarchs highly against Angron in single combat, even when wounded. As you yourself pointed out, he managed to best Russ, who was probably one of the more fearsome fighters of the primarch group.

 

 

My story is actually very long, so I will post it in intervals, or parts.

 

Story begins:

 

A stormtalon gunship flew right into the fray, like a sapphire eagle and unleashed its hellish payloads: assault cannons, missile launchers, Heavy bolters, all aimed with with servitor-guided precision at the creature of hell below it. 

Caught entirely by surprise, and without any adequate protection from an aerial foe, the daemon primarch can only tremble and shriek as the bullets and bombs progressively tear his armour and skin apart.  Chips of bronze warp-metal fell like hail, chucks of skin and black blood fell like rain.  Had Angron still been mortal, he would been obliterated outright, but as it is, he is simply down to one knee, his axe acting like a crutch.  The gunship continued to pound out shells at him.

Guilliman’s charge was only a distraction, albeit a glorious and an entertaining one.  He never intended to fight his brother in a duel, he knows he can’t win, even with his veterans lending there lethal support.  He remembered fighting Angron in the past, another age ago.  It did not end well for him.  And he still remembered his face off with Fulgrim in all too vivid detail; he would not repeat that mistake again. 

Six seconds into the stormtalon’s relentless assault, all seems like it is going well, when out of nowhere a heldrake flew through, like a storm of red rage, and crashed into the gunship.  The stormtalon was pushed off course, the entire left section of the craft in ruins, but it was still airborne.  It turned around to face its attacker, but the heldrake was on it before it could turn its weapons to bare.  One of its warp-steel claw dug into the assault cannon mounted on the nose, and with a wrench, tore it out.  It’s razor teeth bit down into the cockpit section, the glass cracked with a sound of an ice lake breaking, but it held.  The daemon engine lunged its head back, ready to bite down again, with a surety that will break the cockpit, and eat the pilot inside.  The gunship struggled frantically, like a fish out of water, but the heldrake held it in a firm clutch.  It sunk its teeth again, this time, shattering the cockpit glass and its draconic head plunged into the controls.  But just before the end came, some last moment altruistic instinct kick in the pilot’s iron discipline.  He had the controls reconfigured, activated the missiles in their hold, sent a thought-pulse to have the entire payload detonate.  One big explosion later, in the air where the blue gunship and the red metal dragon were, was a nebulous inferno of fire and raining shrapnel.        

Relieved, the daemon primarch roared at its challenger.  Guilliman judged the damage dealt to his once-brother, and makes a quick assessment.  Theoretical, though Angron is beyond my ability to slay, he is tremendously wounded, and much reduced.  Practical, I have my veterans with me, and I have my father’s sword.  I can slay him.  With that in mind, they charged. 

 

 

I would love to see a bit more of a transition at the red-marked segments, from Angron's thoughts to those of Guilliman. At the very least, you should consider throwing in a line break; as it was, I was very confused the first time I read this segment because I didn't realize that the point-of-view had switched.

 

Great start, can't wait to read more! 

Edited February 28, 2018 by Tarvek Val

[Bjorn Firewalker]

An impressive start. I also wish to read more.

 

By the way, why were Angron and Mortarion fighting before the story began? Do I have to read 'Dark Imperium' to know the answer?

[foamy248]

As the others have said, looking good so far  In terms of C+C, you probably want to figure out your tense; the switches from past to present are a bit off-putting? There's a lot of deus ex machine stuff, too (e.g. Angron is just about to kill Mortarian... but in the nick of time, the Ultramarines fly in and save the day). That's personal preference tbh, and probably a fair reflection of GW writing atm.

 

Keep up the good work 

[Tarvek Val]

foamy248 I almost feel bad for Mortarion 

 

He gets stomped into the ground by Angron and then Captain Firesword just has to show up... This is probably almost as bad as the day that he finally got blessed by Nurgle's touch...

[Manchu warlord]

Thanks for taking the time to read, enjoy, and critique on it; theres a lot more comming.

 

So, I apologize for not making things clearer, and just started the story off from... well, nowhere.
So it takes place after the Plague Wars, where Mortarion pulled away from Ultramar because he had to deal with a Khornate incursion elsewhere.  Well, turns out (in this fantasy), the one leading Khorne's legion was none other than Angron himself.  So the two daemon legions clashed, and their sires duelled one another. 
So the two daemon primarchs fought one another for sometime, both recieving tremendous wounds, but in the end, Angron was better off than his brother (as you can see), but still significantly wounded.

And now the story begins...   

Edited February 28, 2018 by Manchu warlord

[Manchu warlord]

Guys, I accidently created this post, and I don't know how to delete/remove it; but I do know how to edit it lol.  

 

Please tell me how I can remove/delete a post?

Edited February 28, 2018 by Manchu warlord

[Manchu warlord]

I like it! That said, I was distracted by a few minor spelling errors that popped up throughout; if you wished I would gladly read through again and post them here! 

 

 

I wasn't quite sure why you would refer to Angron as "it" instead of a "he". Not that you can't do that, I just wasn't sure why.

= No reason really, I was just being creative, I wanted to depict Angron more as a monster than a man.

 

 

I love the part where the heldrake brings down the Stormtalon, that was very well written!

= Gratitude, kinsmen.

 

... however, just a gentle reminder that

Spoiler

 

 

= After reading so many Horus Heresy novels, you kind of question how tough primarchs really are.  Look at Vulkan in The Unremembered Empire, even Mortarion himself in Venegful Spirit, and Guilliman in Know No Fear where Kor Phaeron -  a mere old man, had a primarch by his knees.  But the fact it, Angron is significantly wounded from his fight with Mortarion, previously.

 

 

 

 

Chips of bronze warp-metal fell like hail, chucks of skin and black blood fell like rain.  Had Angron still been mortal, he would been obliterated outright, but as it is, he is simply down to one knee, his axe acting like a crutch.  The gunship continued to pound out shells at him.

Guilliman’s charge was only a distraction, albeit a glorious and an entertaining one.  He never intended to fight his brother in a duel, he knows he can’t win, even with his veterans lending there lethal support.     

Relieved, the daemon primarch roared at its challenger.  Guilliman judged the damage dealt to his once-brother, and makes a quick assessment.  Theoretical, though Angron is beyond my ability to slay, he is tremendously wounded, and much reduced.  Practical, I have my veterans with me, and I have my father’s sword.  I can slay him.  With that in mind, they charged. 

 

 

I would love to see a bit more of a transition at the red-marked segments, from Angron's thoughts to those of Guilliman. At the very least, you should consider throwing in a line break; as it was, I was very confused the first time I read this segment because I didn't realize that the point-of-view had switched.

= I can certainly do that, I shall indeed edit some of it.

[Manchu warlord]

An impressive start. I also wish to read more.

 

By the way, why were Angron and Mortarion fighting before the story began? Do I have to read 'Dark Imperium' to know the answer?

You should certainly read 'Dark Imperium', it serves as an unofficial prequel to this fan-fiction of mine.

 

As the others have said, looking good so far  In terms of C+C, you probably want to figure out your tense; the switches from past to present are a bit off-putting? There's a lot of deus ex machine stuff, too (e.g. Angron is just about to kill Mortarian... but in the nick of time, the Ultramarines fly in and save the day). That's personal preference tbh, and probably a fair reflection of GW writing atm.

 

Keep up the good work 

I understand, it was a challenge.  It certainly appears as if Guilliman has come to rescue Mortariond doesn't it?  Well, stick to the end, and you'll find out and decide.

 

foamy248 I almost feel bad for Mortarion 

 

He gets stomped into the ground by Angron and then Captain Firesword just has to show up... This is probably almost as bad as the day that he finally got blessed by Nurgle's touch...

 

It will get worse for him, I can assure you.

[deathspectersgt7]

Liked this. it would be about the only time I would Root for a Traitor  . Not a Big fan of mister fancy pants Gman.

[Tarvek Val]

 

Thanks for taking the time to read, enjoy, and critique on it; theres a lot more comming.

 

So, I apologize for not making things clearer, and just started the story off from... well, nowhere.

So it takes place after the Plague Wars, where Mortarion pulled away from Ultramar because he had to deal with a Khornate incursion elsewhere.  Well, turns out (in this fantasy), the one leading Khorne's legion was none other than Angron himself.  So the two daemon legions clashed, and their sires duelled one another. 

So the two daemon primarchs fought one another for sometime, both recieving tremendous wounds, but in the end, Angron was better off than his brother (as you can see), but still significantly wounded.

And now the story begins...   

 

 

It's definitely nice to have this added context, this certainly helps make the start of the story clearer to me. You could even add it as a foreword to the beginning of your story, if you so wished.

 

PS: I honestly have no clue how to delete a post... Sorry!

Edited February 28, 2018 by Tarvek Val

[Manchu warlord]

Excerpt II

 

 

Not appearing gleeful anymore, Angron met its brother’s charge.  Guilliman lept and struck down with the fiery sword, which Angron blocked with its axe.  Without losing rhythm, Guilliman spun and punched out with his power fist at Angron’s exposed obliques, drawing a welter of blood.  By way of reply, Angron smacked his face with the back of its hand and sent him reeling away.  Guilliman’s retinue finally arrived and together they danced to the song of death.

Guilliman struck again, and rather than block, Angron moved aside and slashed out with its axe, which Guilliman intercepted with the Hand of Dominion.  Then the custodians were by his side.  Colquan plunged his guardian spear into Angron’s side, firing the bolt gun attached to the haft as he did so.  Burek swung his sword and chips off chucks of Angron’s thigh armour.  Skjor flanked the daemon primarch, from the vantage point, he jumped onto its shoulders and plunged his spear down the exposed muscles in its neck, also firing bolt rounds after bolt rounds in the corrupted flesh.  

 

From the distance, Calgar, the honour guards, and the first company terminators were firing a steady stream of volley at Angron, it won’t in anyway bring down the daemon primarch, but enough to hurt and annoy it, leaving their commander and the Emperor’s guardians to slay the beast.  They would simply be in the way of their lord if they took part in the melee.  The sisters were likewise, keeping a fair distance from the unequal duel.  They stood away from harm’s reach, but just close enough for there warp anathema to have effect; but three of their number, led by commander Aphone went to stand over the broken body of Mortarion, so as to prevent the tormentor of Ultramar from conjuring any cheap tricks.

 

Like a wasp being stung by a hundred bees, Angron is slowly being sliced apart, chunks of flesh by chips of metal.  With a cry of pain and rage and anger, the daemon primarch unleashed a plosion of shockwave warp energy at its attacker, sending them flying.  All were knocked off their feet, even the custodes - especially Skjor, who flew high into the air and landed heavily far away with a sound that suggested broken bones, but not azure warlord, whom - though was repelled some great distance away, remained on both feet firm on the ground, the fiery sword roaring.  That blood nova blast have drained pretty much the last of the daemon primarch’s strength, who is now down on all four.  He seems done for, Guilliman though, and charged again with a vengeful zeal.  That was when the sky broke apart, and an even greater hell descended.

 

A wound in the physical universe; the fabric of all creation, the very air was cut open, like a knife slit, which continues to expand, exposing the other side of order and sanity.  From there, an ocean of the warp’s denizens came flooding out into reality.  They were red skinned monsters, skinless bull things, winged wolfish fiends, serpentine cyclopes, and many more, that hissed of eternal carnage.  They were - literally - dumped right onto the heads the Imperium attackers, and whatever green daemons of the plague god are still left.  The greatest concentration of this outpouring of chaos was where their master is, lying bloody and near death.  

They fell on their prince, killing each other and ripping flesh off in the progress.  The gargantuan winged daemons chopped their minions to meaty bits with their axes, and the lesser ones that aren’t slaughtering there mates, turned self wards and ripped chunks out of their own flesh.  Their were so many of the daemons, too many, in so small an area, but every single death form there self-suicide, serves a purpose.  Everyone of them that perishes - there life essence; the stuff of the warp, gets sucked into the open maws of the daemon primarch.  Which each of their death, Angron regains more and more power.  Realizing situation, Guilliman reacted with new found vigor, and stuck his way into the tide, his warriors following.  But they might have been pressing a solid wall, for the press of red unflesh was so thick, and no matter how many monsters the primarch clove down, it did not relent.

 

He lost all sense of direction.  He could not even see his warriors, he could scarcely see the custodians, their gold armour - more red now, all but blended in with the carnage, and the sisters’ null effects are as good as useless in this situation.  How many of his warriors are still standing, he wondered.  

Then, as if a tidal wave have shifted from day to night, the press of corrupted bodies start to relent, he could swing is entire sword arm now.  Regaining his bearings, he sees some his honour guards and terminators, so as Colquan and one other custodes, as well as some sisters.  Almost relieved, he searched for his damned brother, and wondered what to make of him.  His relief turned into horror as revelation kicked in.

Where before was a wretch and broken beast licking its wound, now stood a monarch of hell.  Its bronze armour, all healed and polished and without a single scratch.  Its wings, bat like, unfurled high up into the air.  Its face is a leering nightmarish hound, and dirty strands of medusa cables trail the back of its head.  Still not satisfied with the cannibalism of its minions, it plunged its hands into the torso of bloodthirster that is a metre taller than itself, and ripped it in twain, sending the two bloody red halves away in an explosion of blood.  Of the lesser ones that aren’t eaten yet, it waved its hand at the air, and their bodies burst apart, spilling fountains of blood everywhere.  Now the press has truly relented.  

 

Staring at this newfound abomination that is the epitome of hell’s avatar, Guilliman uttered words for the first time since landing.  ‘No.  No, it cannot be.’

Angron laughed, the sound like an avalanche of abused metal.  It raised its axe high up into the sky, jerked its head back and roared with a noise of such primal anger that could shatter adimantium.  

‘Stand back!   All of you.’  Guilliman ordered his men, the ones that aren’t fighting for their lives.  Calgar was by his side, two of the custodes, and the warriors that could safely pull away, came to stand by his side:  Less than six honour guards and terminators combined, out of twenty, and four of the ten sisters, remain.  This monster is an entirely different thing from the one he just fought with.  And for the first time since the intervention of the Imperium, Angron charged.

Edited March 1, 2018 by Manchu warlord

[Tarvek Val]

What were the numbers of Guilliman's warriors prior to the attack? In the first passage, you describe a "sky filled with Imperial gunships and drop pods, hundreds of them", but in the second segment you number Guilliman's remaining warriors as "less than six honour guards and terminators combined, out of twenty, and four of the ten sisters". What happened to everyone else? If they are still alive and fighting elsewhere, a quick sentence detailing that would't hurt. 

 

I like the fight scenes between Guilliman and Angron, they capture the spirit and energy of the fight well! 

 

I love the description of Angron at the end as a renewed and restored daemon prince! Very well-written piece, it's probably my favorite segment of the story thus far.

 

I'm excited for the next segment!

[Manchu warlord]

What were the numbers of Guilliman's warriors prior to the attack? In the first passage, you describe a "sky filled with Imperial gunships and drop pods, hundreds of them", but in the second segment you number Guilliman's remaining warriors as "less than six honour guards and terminators combined, out of twenty, and four of the ten sisters". What happened to everyone else? If they are still alive and fighting elsewhere, a quick sentence detailing that would't hurt. 

 

I like the fight scenes between Guilliman and Angron, they capture the spirit and energy of the fight well! 

 

I love the description of Angron at the end as a renewed and restored daemon prince! Very well-written piece, it's probably my favorite segment of the story thus far.

 

I'm excited for the next segment!

Is my writing really that confusing?

 

Well, in the "sky filled with Imperial gunships and drop pods, hundreds of them".  That was the overall force that deployed on the planet to fight the two daemon armies.

 

As for the "less than six honour guards and terminators combined, out of twenty, and four of the ten sisters".  This refers to the specific group that Guilliman chose to ledd the charge at Angron.  And after the hell-dumping-on their heads, that's all that is left from when they first ran down the gunship.

 

It might be more confusing when you reading my story intervals, you might perhaps forget what has already happened.  Maybe when the whole story is posted, and read it again in one long session, It might be less confusing.

[Manchu warlord]

Excerpt III

 

 

It was less than a blur, only a suggestion of motion where previously stood Angron, then the axe came smacking the lord commander full in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground twenty metres away.  Ignoring the survival of Guilliman’s warriors, another blur of bronze and crimson, and Angron was on him as he tried to rise.  He barely stood straight when the second blow came right at his face, shattering his cheekbone and breaking his jaw.  Guilliman spat out a few bloody teeth.  Defiant, he tried to rise up a third time, but senses the blur, and raised his power fist to act as a shield and stuck his sword straight out.  As a reward for his preternatural prediction, the daemon primarch fell right into Guilliman’s ourstrech sword.  No matter how unnaturally resilient Angron’s hell armour is, the long lost science and archaic technology that makes up the sword, pierced through it just like silk, and where it made contact with warp flesh, it sent a pulse of searing agony.

Despite the pain he was feeling all over his body, Guilliman grinned in satisfaction at his brother’s agony.  But that was all he is getting.  

 

Angron punched him in the face with the force of a titan’s fist, breaking the lord commander’s nose.  It followed up with another punch to his right eye, cracking the cheekbone, and a third blow on left side of his face, further breaking his already broken features.  But before it could land a fourth blow, chapter master Marneus Calgar jumped into the fray and wrapped himself around the daemon primarch’s arm, like an iron snake coiling its body around its nemesis.  Guilliman was reminded of Phratus Auguston, his temporary first chapter master, long long ago, in an unremembered age.

 

Letting go of its brother, Angron dealt with this distraction by slamming Calgar hard onto the ground, but the chapter master had a very firm grip.  It lifted its arm high - with Calgar attached to it, and slammed him down hard onto the ground again.  Blue ceramite armour cracked and the sound of bones breaking could be heard, but the chapter master still won’t let go.  

 

Guilliman launched himself at Angron, and the monster met its brother’s blow with its axe.  Hand of Dominion slips free and Guilliman punched his brother in the solar plexus, while at the same time, Angron kicked Guilliman in the between the legs - and it was sure it heard armour cracking.  Down on his knees, Angron swatted him with the flat side of the axe, knocking him to the ground.  

 

Standing above its brother, it raised its left arm, where Calgar is still attached like a leech, and placed him inside its mouth, biting into the chapter master’s head and ripping it clean in a shower of blood.  Angron shrugged its arm, dislodging the headless armoured body free.  

 

He was in so much pain and grief that he could not even scream his rage and despair at the death of his chapter master.  Carlgar, my son.  Dead.  He shuddered with untold fury and the pain of loss, the pain of failure, the pain of defeat and knowing you have failed in your duty.  Even if all the warriors he brought with him were not fighting for their own survival, it will not be enough to defeat Angron, it will never be enough.  He has failed.

 

He was reminded horribly of Calth, the betrayal, the untold destruction, so much loss, so much suffering.  His lost warriors:  Antoli, Vared, Atreus, Aethon, Luciel...  His poor sons, dead by the hands of treachery.  

Then he sees his brother, Fulgrim, all terrible and beautiful, reeking of corruption, his violet grin, promising of eternal pleasure and pain.  The pleasure of pain.  His life blood, flowing like a river out of his body, and he sees, or hears, - he can’t remember which, - Andros’ head fly off his body, his life blood leaking out just like his father’s.

The pain keeps coming, the pain of old memories and old failures.

He wakes up, finds his home overrun by heretics, and learns of the hard truth of the current state of Imperium.

Is his life flashing before his eyes?  Then he sees his father, smiling.  Not the one that created him, with the intention of exploiting his supernatural prowess to conquer the galaxy in His name, not the Emperor of Mankind; but the one that raised him, cared for him, and loved him like his own, his real father, Konor Guilliman.              

 

His brother stood over him, all glorious in its tartarean fury.  An ugly smile sliced its cheeks, exposing sharp rusty razor arrowheads for teeth, with the chapter master’s blood still stuck to them.  ‘Roboute’.  It spoke.  ‘Roboute, brother.  Nuceria all over again eh?’  It continued to smile as it spoke.  ‘So glad of you to come, that I could finally finish what was started, ten thousand years ago.’  His previous encounters where he faced his traitor brothers nearly saw him dead in all of them.  As Angron said, on Nuceria, his sons had to pulled him away, throwing their lives at the maw of hell so that their lord might retreat to safety.  On Macragge, Konrad Curze rigged the temple to detonate in an explosive hellhole that would have immolated him, but for the rescue of the Iron Warrior and the Imperial Fist.  And on Thessala, Fulgrim, his malign poison coursing through his veins, promising to pollute his blood and halt his heart, but for his sons intervention again.  This time, there is no one that will come and save him.    

‘Mortarion turned your little empire into Nurgle’s little playground.  I don’t have to remind you do I, that this is history repeating itself again.’  Its smile turned into something much more sinister than previously.  ‘Remember the time that lorgar and I made target practices of your worlds.  Yes.  And that I had you down on the dirt, bleeding like a pig.’

Guilliman can only look into those eyes, black orbs of damnation, and hold back the tide of fury, less it consumes him before his brother’s axe would.  ‘I am finished with you, brother’  It raised its axe up high.  ‘Time to die.’  This is the end.  Even though he has not given up - he would never do such a thing - he is helpless, and even if Angron gave him an hour, he doesn’t know if he will be able to stand up straight.  The weight of physical pain, and the pain of defeat is holding him down on the dirt.  

Than suddenly, a shadow fell over them, dark and imposing, like a spectral shroud covering the ground.  The axe still raised in the air, the prince of the underworld looked up, so did the fallen monarch.  

Edited March 1, 2018 by Manchu warlord

[Tarvek Val]

Oh I love this third piece, absolutely brilliant!

 

Also, I don't find your writing confusing as such, I merely wanted to clarify the numbers; many of the honor guard fell against 

Angron, whilst the rest of the force battled the daemons. That is what I assumed, but I just wanted to make sure! 

 

Also, apologies if I come across as nit-picky or overly critical, my degree is in English and I tend to delve into other people's writing with a very analytic mindset. Your writing is very good, and I am having a great time reading it!

[Bjorn Firewalker]

The cliffhangers are getting annoying, with deus ex machina and diabolis ex machina appearing on the battlefield at ridiculous intervals. I think Angron and Guilliman's strengths should be more equal, to minimize the need for a deus ex machina to save Guilliman's life before one Except ends, or for a diabolis ex machina to save Angron's.

[Tarvek Val]

I am in agreement with Bjorn. The first deus ex machina makes sense, with the arrival of the Ultramarines breaking up the conflict between Mortarion and Angron. I personally would argue that the diabolus ex machine even makes sense, when the Blood God's minions sacrifice themselves to restore Angron. I would suggest limiting yourself to those two occurrences though, and finding some other way to even the fight between Angron and Guilliman.

[Manchu warlord]

The cliffhangers are getting annoying,   with deus ex machina and diabolis ex machina appearing on the battlefield at ridiculous intervals.  I think Angron and Guilliman's strengths should be more equal, to minimize the need for a deus ex machina to save Guilliman's life before one Except ends, or for a diabolis ex machina to save Angron's.

So, is their simply to many deus and diabolis ex machinas in my story so far?  Or simply the way how I end my excerpts, which happen to be cliffhangers, that annoy you greatly?  After all, lot of HH books do have 

deus and diabolis ex machinas.

 

I am in agreement with Bjorn. The first deus ex machina makes sense, with the arrival of the Ultramarines breaking up the conflict between Mortarion and Angron. I personally would argue that the diabolus ex machine even makes sense, when the Blood God's minions sacrifice themselves to restore Angron. I would suggest limiting yourself to those two occurrences though, and finding some other way to even the fight between Angron and Guilliman.

 

​What I said you Bjorn also applies to you, magos linguistatus. 

[Tarvek Val]

I personally would argue that there are too many cases of dues / diabolis so far; I understand that you are writing in experts and cliff-hangers are, in my mind, acceptable in such a format as this. Dues / diabolis are typically used when there is no alternative; when there is literally no other way for the hero to prevail or for the villain to make a comeback. "It's often used as the solution to what is called "writing yourself into a corner," where the problem is so extreme that nothing in the established setting suggests that there is a logical way for the characters to escape." I think the main way to fix it would be to balance the fight between Angron and Guilliman; I again personally support the first two instances. The Ultramarines showing up whilst hunting daemon primarchs is plausible, though it is perhaps unlikely that they would show up at just the right time to interrupt the fight between Mortarion and Angron. Also, bloodletters and Khornate daemons sacrificing themselves to aid Angron makes sense. However, I think the third use is just a bit of a stretch, and it makes the story seem almost repetitive: Angron defeats enemy, gets distracted, enter new enemy, start new fight. Y'know?  

 

Again, this is entirely based off of my reading and my opinion. This is your story, and the most important thing is that you are satisfied with it! I have very much enjoyed the tale so far, and I like the ideas you are presenting. I am happy to offer my opinions and I hope that I am doing so in a manner that is open and constructive. 

[Bjorn Firewalker]

These excepts are short, which make the deus ex machina and diabolis ex machina stand out far more than they would in longer works, e.g., novels. If the confrontation between Guilliman and Angron were delayed, e.g., the Ultramarines Primarch had to fight his way through Mortarion's sons and summoned Daemons BEFORE he could even get within arm's reach of Angron... or if Angron returned to the Warp so the Sisters of Silence wouldn't cut him off from the source of his power, leaving a frustrated Guilliman accusing the World Eaters Primarch of cowardice...

[Manchu warlord]

Except IV

 

 

​

Two titanic things were happening in the heavens.  

First, was a starship of monumental scale, from bow to stern it would measure some twenty five kilometres.  It is of the same family of starship-class as the Macragge’s Honour, but where the lord commander’s flagship is blue and gold, representing Imperial might and Invictus, this one is a paragon of hell.  Where once its hull was the dull grey of unpainted adimantium, now it is a red wall of solid blood and flesh.  During the Great Crusade, its name would provoke fright and dread that could force an entire noncompliant world into surrender without firing a shot.  Centuries later, its name would be a predatory nightmare among the Imperium’s citizens living along the frontier worlds.  Conquerer was its name.  Was.  Because now she is falling gracelessly, nose first through the atmosphere of this dead world.  Its hulls are covered in thousands of cratered holes, some the size of city blocks, like a giant water beast, being bit to death by a thousand smaller predators.  The two gods continued to stare, its descent looks so slow it feels as if it’s suspended in midair.  However, the warriors in the battle need not worry about this giant void cancer fall on their heads, the calculation arc puts its estimated landing target at two hundred kilometres to the north east.

 

The second thing happening above is the bigger of the two, and is responsible for the momentary eclipse.  Positioning itself in front of the sun, and encircling the entire battlefield in its umbra.  To the mortal eyes and even those of the adeptus astartes, it looks like an immobile planetoid has blocked out the sun.  But to the two gods, lucid details could be made:  rust brown coloured stratas of terrestrial formation marks its aged-dead surface.  Buried in the cracks and crevices, a mighty citadel stood proud and high, bastions upon bastions lined its ports, and hundreds of ship-killer cannons and other terrible guns are arrayed side by side.  It is still covered in a hazy ectoplasmic residue from warp translation.  Reminiscences dawned upon the lord commander instantly, he recalled setting foot in its gothic halls not long ago, and providing it with the much needed warriors.  The Rock.  The last remnant of lost Caliban, and the mobile fortress monastery of the Dark Angels chapter.   

 

Seconds went by, its axe still raised in the air, Angron wass as immobile as the functioning planetoid in space.  Is it shock?  Perhaps.  Whatever is it, its appears to be unable to move.  Not letting this chance go to waste, Guilliman reached for the Emperor’s sword, and with all the vigor he could muster, swung it right across his brother’s left leg.  

Whether his strength is still unbowed, or his father’s sword is remarkable beyond comprehension, the blow was true.  It sliced into Angron’s shin guard from the left like paper, melting flesh and bone like butter, and exits at the right.  The leg came clean off from halfway between knee and ankle.

It fell down on its left side like a tree that is chopped three quarters of the way.  It somehow did not scream; the blow must have been that clean.  

Rolling away to the side, Guilliman struggles up to his knee, using the sword with its tip pointed in the ground to help prop himself up.  Likewise, Angron got up, but uses the pommel of its axe as the prop.  

They stare at each other, an incomprehensible emotion weirdly played its way across Angron’s face.

 

Forty metres to south of the two wounded gods, dirt particles are defying gravity as built-up pressure trembled the ground, and a searing white light accompanied by exploding icy aetheric vapours mark a teleportation strike.  One hundred hulking terminators in ivory livery materialized into being, an insignia of a winged sword proudly displayed on there right shoulder guard, their frames covered in aetheric frost, and in their centre, knelt another god.  

 

Its armour is black of the darkest nights, with gold, silver, and red trimmings along the edges, with a hint of dark green.  Its helmet portrays seraphic wings jutting from the side of its temples, a knights circlet crested above its red eye lenses, and a portcullis grill covering its nose and mouth section.  Angelic wings splayed across its back, and a bone-white cloak, the same in colour as its warriors behind, hang from its broad shoulders.  In the centre of its breastplate and on both its shoulder guards, the head of a snarling beast is displayed in artisanal detail.  Runes and glyphs of a lost language ran in red along its vambraces, and carvings of a great mythical tree are etched on both its shin guard.  In its kneeling position, a diamond tipped spear of pure adimantium, four metres long - is held blade pointed up in its right hand; and at its back, twin swords are kept in their crosswise scabbard.  

This terrifying figure, this god, this Knight Lord, this Angel of the Darkness, pointed an armoured figure at the daemon primarch.  The hundred warriors behind it -  all bearing apocalyptic weapons:  Assault cannons, auto cannons, plasma cannons, cyclone missile launchers, open fired at the champion of the blood god.  

It did not move quite as fast as it did when it was killing the lord commander, it’s hard to move with only one foot.  When the first salvo was unleashed, the daemon primarch managed to dodge a good amount of the projectiles, but thousands of rounds more came striking at it.  A hellstorm of fire and force, ten times more powerful than the stormtalon is being unleashed upon it:  Missile rounds buckles and blackens its armour, plasma bursts melted it; auto cannon shells ripped out watermelon sized chunks of flesh, likewise bolter rounds flays it.  More pieces of its armour and flesh are on the ground than attached to what is being left of it.  The smell of the daemon primarch’s spilled body parts were unbelievable.  It would be on its knees by now, or on all fours, but for the force of the projectiles keeping it jerking up right.  Then, as if rehearsed, the terminators ceased fire.

 

Their warlord primed his spear, arms folded, took a nanosecond to aim, and hurled it with the force of a pointed blank volcano cannon blast, at the monster.  It hit the lower portion of the monster’s defiled chest, just above the solar plexus, and the tiny tip of the spear protruded from its back.  Without pause, the newcomer drew the twin swords from his back, holding them out to the sides, and literally like a shadow, a tempest, he charged.  At the last ten metres, he lept into the air, the two swords pointing towards their prey, like an insect’s mandibles.  

 

The Lord of Red sands made a last attempt to brace itself against the oncoming tempest, but it is all futile, because at that moment, the fiery sword suddenly protruded from the centre of its chest, and at the back, the azure warlord held a steady grip on the hilt.  Without losing any momentum, the Black figure plunged his swords into the chest, in an angle to the sides of the fiery sword, piercing Angron’s twin hearts, as his feet touch the ground.  

 

The bellowing of the blood god’s son was a defilement of nature; the very stuff of nightmares.  It is the sound of a tortured animal, a skinned man, a boy on fire, a love lost, a dream dead, skulls cracking, blood splattering, and a thousand other insanities issued from its mouth.  The very air seemed to twist and turn making a vortex of debris littering the field:  armour pieces, flesh bits, vehicle shrapnels slowly rose above the ground.  The temperature was rising significantly, making the warriors in armour sweat inside their suits.

The agonized cry continued until the lord commander pulled his sword free of the monster’s back, and in one fluid move, beheaded his enemy.  The head flew like a kicked ball to land somewhere far away, leaving a tail of black blood sprays.

The painful sound stopped; the ascending debris fell back on the ground.  The daemons in their thousands perished almost instantly.  Some fell to the ground, there corps rotting by the second.  Some turned to slush and liquid.  Some burst apart, like a bolt round detonating inside their bodies.  Some simply vanished, leaving no trace.  The daemon lord, headless and impaled threefold by its vanquishers - is clearly dead.  

Shockingly, its body starts to shudder, rocking to the sides despite being held on two swords (the spear still lodge there) by the Black figure.  Then with a very high pitched sound - like a mother screaming at the lost her child, but a hundredfold - purple dark energy, like a trapped nebula, came pouring out of the neck stump and flowed into the blade of the sword of the Master of Mankind.  The fire shone brighter than Guilliman has ever seen it before, turning from the combat orange-yellow into pure gold as it consumes the damned soul of its lost son.  The nebulous cloud continued to pour out for a few more second, then very suddenly, it stopped, rocking the sword in Guilliman’s grip and making him recoil slightly.              

The Conquerer still has yet to hit the surface.

 

The newcomer braced his left foot against his dead foe, pulled his swords out and sheathing them in their scabbard.  He left the spear impaled, and the corpse toppled face first, but the long haft of the spear kept it slightly upright.  

He and Roboute Guilliman stared at on another for a long moment; both their faces unreadable, but his is hidden behind a mask.  

He is slightly taller than Guilliman.

The surviving warriors gathered themselves and limped towards the two gods.  Guilliman nor the newcomer paid them any heed.

The newcomer reached his black and red gauntlet hands towards his black helmet, undoing the seals, and pulled it clear off.  Long, vibrant, golden mane roll down.  Sharp emerald eyes stare out from a sculpted face.  He is majestic and nerve-racking at the same time, like a wild beast, caged behind the face of the most beautiful man.

There was silence.

The green-eyed newcomer smiled.  A phenomenon so rare, like a rainbow in a perpetually cloudy realm.  

The lord commander looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

‘Lion.’  Was all Guilliman could say.

‘Roboute.’  Replied Lion El’Jonson.  ‘Brother.’

The crowd started on at the suspenseful silence.  Then Roboute Guilliman flung his arms over his brother’s shoulders, and the Lion replied with a bear hug of his own.  They laughed with joy, their sons cheered and the other warriors roared a background music of approval, of reunion, of victory, and of hope.

 

 

Epilogue

 

The absence of the music and the fly buzzes from Grandfather’s garden was almost as painful as the physical agony on his body.

Broken and battered, Mortarion, bastard son of the Emperor, grandson of the pestilence god, have been observing the unfolding drama in its entirety.  His duel with his former brother nearly ended him, indeed he should have died, but for Angron’s desire to toy with its prey.  Then Guilliman arrived.

He should have escaped then and here, vanish in a wisp of stinky cloud and shadow, just like when he fought Guilliman on Parmenio not long ago.  But to do so requires a lot of warp energy and oneself has to be saturated in it, but Angron’s assault weakened him greatly.  The Khornate fire burned away the Grandfather’s immunity, which prevented his body to self-heal in seconds;  given time, he will heal, he will recover, and he will be whole and strong once more, but he will never get the chance.

He should have escaped, he would have, but for a ring of four anathema psykana bitches standing over him, muffling the warp connection in the material realm with there repulsive auras.  The survivors of this terrible battle walked over to him, along with the two surviving Custodes, and lastly, the two Primarchs.  

The lord commander of the Imperium looked over his nemesis, his former brother, in silent judgement, the Emperor’s sword held to the side and the fire whooshing relaxingly.  By his side, the Lion’s face was unreadable as it always has been.  Then Guilliman sheathed his sword.

He is not going to execute the tormentor of Ultramar.  A much worse fate awaits him.  

 

[Tarvek Val]

I really like integrating the death of the Conquerer, though the thought of a Gloriana-class ship being destroyed is a sad one indeed. I would love to see some of the details of the void battle that preceded its death; what kind of ships both warfleets consisted of, duels between capital ships, maybe a boarding action or two... 

 

However, I think adding in the Lion and the Dark Angels is simply too much. It went from "Angron and the World Eaters v. Mortarion and the Death Guard" to "Angron v. the Ultramarines" to "Angron v. the Dark Angels"; that's about a fifth of all the original Legions fighting it out on one planet. It just doesn't really make sense why everybody would show up out of the blue like that. I would advise keeping the story confined to Angron, Mortarion, and Guilliman. You definitely should still keep the void battle and the Conquerer's death, but I would have it done by the Ultramarines fleet instead of the Rock (which I am hesitant to believe the Dark Angels would risk committing to a direct assault). 

 

I cannot really see the Lion rushing to save Guilliman; the Lion can be really proud and arrogant, and he and Roboute didn't always see eye to eye on a lot of issue. At one point, the Lion practically got banished from Ultramar for bombing Guilliman's people to kill off some rebels he believed were hiding Konrad Curze.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

So the Emperor reclaimed Angron's soul, preventing the World Eaters Primarch from returning to Khorne's realm to await rebirth?

[Manchu warlord]

So the Emperor reclaimed Angron's soul, preventing the World Eaters Primarch from returning to Khorne's realm to await rebirth?

That is entirely up to the reader for interpretation.