Angels and Ghosts

[Isghamor]

Hi everyone, I am fairly new to writing. Hope you'll enjoy and every critic/ advice is more than welcome.

 

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The towers in front of him stretched towards the snowy sky framing a bulky wall with a gate carved in its mid. Azriel, sergeant of the Blood Angels, looked back at his unit. Three brothers; less than half of what he landed with. They have gone through mines, traps, ambushes and who knows what else this planet will throw against them. For weeks they hunted ghosts, every step plagued by the thought they were just dancing to their music. A new track or lead would fall into their lap at the exact time they were thinking of turning back. They were the angels of the Emperor, though. Failing wasn’t a luxury they could afford. Be it a trap or not it was still the only way they had to fulfil their mission. Azriel picked the banner from the top of his reactor and extended the pole, planting it into the ground. The fabric danced in the winds of the blizzard. He looked at the winged blood tear painted on it and spared a though for the man who used to carry it, Gabriel.

 

“Brothers, look at this banner. Look at how it struggles against this fiery wind. Did you think it will break? No. This is what we are. No matter what they throw against us we shall not break.” He unsheathed his power-sword and pistol shouting "For the Emperor and Sanguinius!” as he set on his way through the fortress’ doors.

“Death” chorused his brothers falling in formation behind him.

 

***

 

 

The electro candles cast a diffuse light on the stone walls. The smell of incense and paints filled the air. From a piece of cloth laid on a stand, a banner was taking shape under the expert hands of it’s maker. He felt a breeze on the back of his head.

 

“Yes?” he didn’t turned

 

“Do you think this will be ‘the one’”

 

The painter turned around as soon as he recognized the voice, he stood up from its stool and put a hand on his guest’s shoulder.

 

“Azriel, I’ve hoped you would come. I saw you too were drafted for Vitrus.”

 

“For how I loathe this, it’s still our duty.” Between them fell silence for a little while. “Anyway you haven’t answered yet.”

 

He looked back at the unfinished banner. “I hope so. Every time I think I have finally caught our true spirit I realize my work is still lacking something. Either way this banner must not be brought with us. I want it to represent our noble side not some systematic murdering.”

 

“I agree with you on this one. There is little a silver mask can do when you are your own witness.”

 

“It should be ours, the sacrifice at the foundation of tomorrow.”

 

***

 

 

Behind the gates opened the parade-ground of the fortress. Azriel pointed his sensors to the balcony stretching throughout the entire perimeter of the plaza. He had learnt at his expenses that using too much caution is exactly what this enemy wants but the lack of it was their true objective. He wasn’t surprised when the scans returned nothing. The only movement beside theirs was a banner in the centre of the plaza, flying in the wind.

Without any imminent threat he focused on the banner. A silver moon inscribed in a black circle all painted on a white fabric.

 

“Brother Sergeant, is it me or that banner looks a lot like ours?”

 

On a closer inspection, Ezekiel was right. The banner had indeed some similarities to theirs but it was a common design among Astartes.

 

“Be careful brothers, we might be dealing with kin of ours. Do any of you recognize the heraldry?”

 

What crept him out the most was the High Gothic numeral “XI”, 11. The unsettling thing was that almost all but the oldest banner had the name of the chapter written on them instead of the legion’s number, and that was leaving aside the fact that 11 was the number of one of the two lost legion. That meant that either this banner was very ancient or somebody was toying with them. While the second option was the most probable, he had to check.

 

“Eyes on the balcony, I am taking a closer look at that.”

 

He cast his auspex on the ground around the banner checking for any trap as he got near. He had a trained eye in painting and he saw plenty of ancient paintings at the monastery. He concluded that, while not being as ancient as the heresy’s time, It had his fair share of years. This however didn’t relaxed him one bit. Who in the name of Sanguinius was trying to pass for a lost legion? Not in all of the archives on Terra there was anything about a second or eleventh legion. Who wondered why the numbers were skipped got the same answer: they were an unfulfilled project. Now his thirst of knowledge added to vengeance and duty. He would not stop until he would get at the end of this story.

 

“Brothers, let’s keep adv-” he was interrupted by a rumbling noise processed by his transhuman brain just nanoseconds before the very stones broke under his feet.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The Thunderhawks flew on the city like a flock of blood red eagles. The smoke from the AA guns covered the sky. Azriel wondered how could they not know that this would have happened? How could they have hoped to defy the impirium and survive? The pilot told them they were in position. They launched from the hatch, descending upon the city. He marked a place for his squad to land. It was in a small plaza. One lucky shot caught one of his brothers. He simply fell in silence.

On the ground soldiers were crawling like ants seeking to find shelter with the little notice they got. Foolish, no cover could save them from the flames. When he was approximately one hundred meters from the ground he ordered his squad to throw incendiaries grenades on the farther barricades. They were welcomed by a storm of lasers. Pity they could barely scratch the paint on their armours. As they touched the ground each astartes opened fire with the flamers in different directions. Soon all was reduced to a pile of ashes. The smell of burning flesh made it past the filters of the helmet filling his nostrils. They split in groups of two and each took a different path burning everything in their trail. Gabriel was the one to make couple with him. He drew some kind of comfort from knowing that his friend was there beside him. They went door by door, setting everything on fire. The satellite feed showed how, from various points of the hive, the fire was spreading in circles as other squadrons did their job. He would very much rather have being assigned to the assault squadron. That way he would be fighting armed foes not burning undefended civilians.

To his regret this wasn’t the first time for him and experience had taught him to shut his mind and act mechanical. They were going towards the outskirts and there they were at least met by some resistance. Not that it could do anything but it felt less dirty. As many times before, they entered one of the building and for each apartment they burst the door open with a kick and released a jet of promethium inside, before moving to the other. Except on the last one. His auspex picked up a metal plate which had become visible under the dissolved carpet. He lifted the incandescent hatch and found a pair of eyes looking back at him in terror and disbelief. He heard another child “Get away from there!” She didn’t move, her eyes going from the flame at the bottom of the flamer to his silver mask. In different circumstances he could have even inspired the girl. ‘I am sorry’ he thought and the eyes vanished in the blaze.

 

 

Neither the fall nor the rubble landing on him were enough to kill him however his helmet was damaged. He unsealed it and threw it aside grasping for the air that fled his lungs in the impact.

Just before his vision cleared he heard the high pitched sound of a plasma gun charging. He saw an astartes, standing in front of him with the gun pointed at his head. His mind processed the images at a faster level: from the white and black paint at the core to the water green loin cloth and the parchment reading

Ours must be the blood at the foundation of tomorrow; written in High Gothic.

 

“Gabriel? What are you doing here, why is your armour dyed in those colours?”

 

The marine stretched one finger towards a point where the white cloth of the banner rose from the rocks.

 

“We are wraiths from the past.” the astartes’ voice sounded cold and distant even through the distortion of the helmet.

 

“You and this Gabriel mercilessly killed my sister on Viter. I am now here to exact vengeance. Even if you don’t remember her among the countless innocents you burnt.”

 

“You were on Viter during the rebellion?”

 

“Yes, I was hiding as hell had been unleashed around me. I saw you casting her in the fire of your flamer. You would deserve the same anonymous death but it wouldn’t satisfy me.” The astartes threw a kick on Azriel’s sword making it slide to his feet. The greatest surprise though was when the marine removed the helmet. Red hairs framed kind features hardened by a warpaint made of blood. Half of her face was an ugly mess of burns. She unsheathed her chain sword challenging him to a duel.

Azriel felt no pity for her. She had slaughtered his brothers too and on top of it she killed Gabriel.

He felt rage building inside him. He felt the thirst. With a shout he picked up the sword and dashed in front of her, carrying a strike from bottom up aimed at her ribs. He cursed at his impulsive assault as she spun past his blade trying to land a horizontal strike to his head. Ducking and rolling away he dodged the blow and now the two duellists were locked in a circular dance.

 

“This speed is not human. What kind of mutant are you?” said Azriel baring his fangs in a grimace.

 

“The same as you” it was her turn to show the fangs with a sarcastic smile.

 

He dashed again feinting an enraged overhead strike which turned into a pommel strike hitting her chest. Capitalizing on her stagger he used the momentum of the previous strike to rotate the blade into her shoulder. He felt the resistance of ceramite and the much tender flesh below but only for a fraction of time before the sword went all the way through, like it was slicing a ghost. It was her turn to capitalize on him by striking at his hand as he was passing through her body. The two swords entangled and flew away in separate directions. They both rushed towards the chainsword, being the nearest. Azriel was the first to clutch its grip and released a violent strike which she avoided by dashing back at the last moment. She hit the wall. Her cat-like eyes, full of fury were fixed on Azriel. He blocked her way of escape. He relaxed a bit as a rivulets of blood poured from his opponent’s mouth and eyes.

 

“I see, that wasn’t a trick you can pull off many times.”

 

She was cornered and disarmed. He pressed the trigger making the blades spin faster as he entered a stance ready to deliver the final blow.

 

“We are the Emperor’s angels. You will regret turning away from His light.”

 

Just as he lifted the weapon he felt something hot and painful making its way through his chest starting from the ribs. The woman dissolved away into mist in front of his eyes. A second later he felt the tickle of hair on his neck and heard gasping breath in his ear.

 

“We have not turned from His light. He was the one to cast us into the shadows and we have returned to haunt Him.”

 

His strengths were abandoning him and his vision was blurred. He fell to the ground as soon as the blade was removed.

 

His backup heart kept him conscious long enough to see two figures landing in the pit. The tonalities of red gave him hope but one of them had a huge hole torn in its armour.

 

“You’ve been reckless, sister.”

 

When he managed to focus the image better he realized it was Ezekiel.

What did it meant? Why? Where they truly... ghosts?

 

His vision faded to black.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

An okay start. You have to be careful when posting, as the tabs used to indicate a paragraph's start in a *.txt file are automatically omitted when the text is posted as an *.html, e.g., on a webpage, rendering large portions of this story a difficult-to-read "wall of text."

 

Nitpicking:

What crept him out the most was the Roman numeral “XI”, 11.

Considering the humanity's history- or lack thereof, as too many records were lost and/or outright destroyed during the Long Night and the Dark Age of Technology- Roman numerals are more likely to be described as "High Gothic numerals."

“Gabriel? What are you doing here, why is your armour died in those colours?”

I think you meant, “Gabriel? What are you doing here, why is your armour DYED in those colours?” (emphasis mine).

[Tarvek Val]

This is an interesting story. I enjoyed reading through it, but did have some questions.

 

What exactly do Azriel and the other Blood Angels encounter in the fortress? It sounds as though the spectral Astartes are some form of warp ghosts - I was put in mind of the Legion of the Damned. However, this didn't tie into the concept of the XIth Legion as well as it could have; the fact that the mysterious banner was marked by the numerals 'XI' didn't seem to have an impact on the storyline. If expanded, you could make a strong plot line and throw in some hints as to the nature of the XIth Legion as you see it.

 

The imagery throughout the piece is good and it showed imagination and creativity. Looking forward to future written pieces!

[Isghamor]

To make the XI i based on the little we know about the lost two. One of them was a psyker and the 11th was purged due to mutations. Therefore i though that emps might have tried to experiment with phasing as relocating safely relocating troops across obstacles on the field could prove decisive. That's why they are able to "disappear" though it's an extremely straining task and it's not certain one can be back while still human. Plus they can craft illusion and stuff. Last but not least since they are officially nonexistent they must gather equipment by looting(and seeing your brohter personalized armour in the neemy rank could be pretty confusing )