# Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 12-04: Annihilation



## Boc

Welcome to the year's fourth Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories (HOES) Challenge!

For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totaled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread.

*Theme
*
The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

*Word Count*

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you either fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:

*Annihilation*

Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight US Eastern Standard Time (-5.00 hours for you UK folks)*Sunday, 22 April 2012*. Voting will be held from *23 April - 30 April*.

*Additional Incentive*
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Participation - 5 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 10 reputation points
2nd place - 20 reputation points
1st place - 30 reputation points

If you have any questions, feel free to either PM me or ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!

*Table of Contents*

Adrian - "But the Food!"

Mossy Toes - "To Comprehend (It Matters Not)"

Jonileth - "Hidden Doom"

Demonlord24 - Pride

Andygorn - E’en in the broken traitor's breast, hatred’s fires still burn deep and bright

Gothik - The Gods Know Best

Adrian - The Eyes of the Dead

Davidicus40k - As You Command

Dicrel Seijin - "Only War"

Zinegata - "Victory or Death"

Kaiden - "Shadow of the Hydra"

Brother Emund - "Annihilation"

BlackGuard - "A Burden to Bear"

KjellThorngaard - "Doom of Many, Doom of One"

Serpion5 - "To Face Such a Beast"

Dave T Hobbit - "Clear Skies"​


----------



## VixusKragov

Hmm...I've been wanting to do something with the Sisters of Battle. Maybe I could use them in mine..

Anyways, looking forward to reading everyone's stories!


----------



## Ambush Beast

*‘But the food!’*

‘But the food!’

Has the end come so soon? Is it what we expected or what we had feared? I do not wish for a new beginning because the new beginning has already begun. 

The plagues began nearly two years ago; swept by the wind and transferred through touch and proximity. The lucky of us died quickly, but the unlucky were immune to the disease for whatever reason and were forced to see all they had ever known and loved suffer and parish in horror filled nightmares and the decomposing of their minds.

***


‘Watch the streets, Glasper. They are sure to come that way if we make too much noise.’ Dam said while working on the lock. Glasper was a thin wiry man, but strong and a fierce fighter. Most of his family had suffered from the plague and he had been forced to watch their deterioration. His long red hair was matted down by sweat and dirt and hung across his face and neck like vines on a tree. His green eyes were filled with old hurt, but they were focused as he watched the street.

Dam and Mica struggled with the lock as silently as was possible. The contents of the building were very necessary for the survival of the small group. They would have gone in through a window, but they had been barred; would have gone in through the roof but the fire escape had long ago rusted, the lower portions of the ladder having fallen to the ground sometime last winter.

Mica was a bigger man who used to be fat but the lack of exquisite delicacies and heavy meals along with the forced exercise of running and fighting for his life had left him lean and bitter. His long black hair hung in oiled strands loosely tied in dreads made from mud and blood. His massive hands pulled at the lock and forced the doors to give a little. Dust fell and the doors creaked loudly, echoing in the darkness. He cringed.

‘Please do not do that again Mica.’ Dam whispered. His eyes were almost black and the pupils were wide as they sought to pull the light from the swollen moon. The shadows danced slightly as the men shifted their weight from foot to foot. Dam was short and stocky, heavily muscled and angry looking most of the time. He was not a dwarf by any stretch of the imagination, but he was not much taller. 

Glasper looked back to the doorway and frowned. He did not say anything, he did not need to. (The noise had been too loud, don’t do it again.) He looked back to the street and continued his vigil. 

Dam produced a thin pair of bolt cutters and placed the cutters around the locking arm and applied pressure. His arms flexed and strained. These cutters were not designed to fight so big of locks. Mica grabbed the handles of the cutters, his hands easily overlapping Dam’s. Dam had not thought about the significance of the action until Mica’s hands began to tighten. 

It was all Dam could do to hold in the pain from the strong force of Mica’s will upon the cutters. He nearly went to his knees as Mica squeezed the handles together in an effortless display of strength. Mica smiled as he released the cutters and Dam’s hands.

The lock was useless now and Dam’s hands were nearly so. He glowered at Mica in his pain, but was smart enough as to keep quiet. Making a gentle giant angry was not advised. Instead he smiled as best as he could and said, ‘Thanks.’

As the doors were pulled open Dam and Mica breached the entrance of the food pantry with flashlights on; the light cutting through the darkness in white cones revealing the emptiness beyond. Pallets of canned goods and powdered milks and bread mixes were stacked against the walls. The men smiled. It had been a long time since they had a feast before them, hungry was an understatement. Dam went back out to the entrance and got Glasper’s attention. Motioning Glasper inside he had a tinge of sadness.

Glasper nodded acknowledging Dam, but he continued to stay there watching the street. Dam almost asked him what it was he was looking at, but he knew what. His heart began to pound quicker as his adrenaline began to pump. From his vantage point, Dam could not see down the street, so he had to rely on Glasper for information. He hoped there were not many of them.

Glasper had seen movement at the end of the street. The moonlight was helping, but it was still dark. The movement was slow and shambling and at first he was sure there was only one or two of them. But as the minutes passed by their numbers grew from two to seven, to twenty and more. Now there was over a hundred and the shadows held many more, Glasper was sure. 

He cursed under his breath when Dam had got his attention; at least he was smart enough not to speak. In the darkness they meandered like a confused river, unsure of where they were headed in their search for the living; it would only take the slightest noise to alert them to the small group. 

Mica exited the doorway of the pantry warehouse lost in his own little world. He was smiling as he lofted an open can of beans and sipped from a dark bottle. ‘Hey, they got whiskey and beans in there! I fekking can’t believe it!’ 

Dan and Glasper nearly shot him as they turned. ‘What?’ he asked. Glasper fired his las-gun as he ran past the entrance of the pantry and kept on going. As he ran past Mica he jammed his las-gun into his face. The blow bloodied his lips and broke a tooth and staggered the big man. He dropped his whisky and the bottle broke upon the moonlit ground, breaking and spilling its contents. 

Mica started to go after Glasper, but he was already out of grabbing range. Dam fired his shotgun and cursed before running past Mica, ‘Come on you dumb grox!’ he yelled. 

‘But the food!’ Mica bellowed. 

‘Leave it!’ Dam yelled back. 

‘Fekk that!’ Mica hollered. ‘I want to eat tonight or I’m gonna die anyway.’ 

The stench of the dead hit him before they rounded the corner. He grabbed his massive wrench and slammed it into the head of the first one he saw. It fell but behind it the river overflowed. 

‘I lost my appetite anyway. Fekk.

1,100 words not including title. I edited it the best I knew how to do. I wanted to make this about three men surviving in a world annihilated by plague, not necessarily about zombies. This is just a snap-shot of their lives. Who knows, I might write about them again sometime.


----------



## Serpion5

Hmmm. Boc, how the hell am I supposed to work with this theme? :scratchhead:


----------



## Davidicus 40k

Trololol, Serp. I set you up with my comment on your story last month: "If the next HOES theme is 'SLAUGHTER!', then you've set things up perfectly."

You're welcome!

I wonder how I can work this. Should I try to look at annihilation in a creative way, or just focus on writing the best action-packed story I can, one that's worthy of the 40k title? Well, I've got time to decide!


----------



## Boc

And let the bolter-porn ensue...


----------



## Mossy Toes

My story is definitely not bolter porn. It's closer, thematically, to my past HOES entry _Apotheosis_. I have a rough draft at about 700 words, and am looking for ways to stretch it out to 900.


----------



## Davidicus 40k

I don't think mine will be bolter porn either (though I suppose that could be a fallback option). Testing out a few ideas now...


----------



## Zinegata

Did someone say "Bolter Porn"?


----------



## Mossy Toes

+

_To Comprehend
(It Matters Not)_

Wordcount: 1094

+

Society is a curious thing. It is not only made up of that which can be listed on a page: the simple numbers of manufactoria workers and listings of industrial output; the cultural quirks and ethnic make-up; the size and purpose of each major hive on a planet's surface; or the particulars of the ruling houses of the uppermost caste.

Society is human interaction. Sex, laughter, and commiseration. Shared ideas and values. Aggravations people inflict on each other out of sheer spite. Vigils whose purpose has long since been forgotten by the vigil-holders. Numberless conversations, schemes and collaborations between billions of citizens—society consists of these systems of civilization, these deeds that are empty and worthless to all but those who enact them. All humans alive interact with those that surround them.

Put yourself in their places. You are the aging Imperial Guardsman pensioner whose bones ache in the morning. You are the single mother feeding her three children as best she can. You are the lonely clerk who considered suicide, but couldn't quite pull the trigger. You are the successful entrepreneur, struggling to retain your storefront license. You are the petty thief. You are the child, the man, the woman, the elder. You are a member of this productive society and you have this bond with all others: you are not alone, even in your deepest desperation and desolation. It the nature of this bond, this unity of experience and emotion, that makes society strong.

Now, let us take this nameless planet's society. Hold these ten billion lives, if you can, in your mind.

Erase them.

Those people are gone; dead. Wipe clean this populated slate. Let the skies open in your mind's eye and allow a bombardment to rain down from the heavens. Plasma and melta torpedoes, biochemical gasses, lance strikes, cyclonic charges. Any of them. All of them.

The earth shakes, weeping blood and crumbling beneath the pitiless punishment. Fault lines crack open into chasms that stretch a thousand kilometers, vomiting rivers of lava across the planet's fertile plains and valleys. Buildings, cities, hives, and all the edifices of man slough away and are washed from its surface like layers of dead skin. The innocent blue sky is gone, swallowed by a roiling, red-tinged darkness. The sun is a faint, guttering ball, choked out by soot and despair. Fire rains. Destruction reigns.

Hear this world's inhabitants crying out in terror as they die: All the prostitutes, junkies and scum; all the devoted parents and lonely people trying to make their way in an uncaring galaxy; all the nobles, priests and politicians. All of them gone, each tiny world snuffed out.

Vast tracts of land, thousands of square kilometers each, are laid to waste by the orbital bombardments and left to smolder. Above these build massive heat-cyclones of overwhelming fire and ash. Smog-black clouds spill outward from the epicenters of destruction, accompanied on the ground by a wave of heat hundreds of degrees strong. Vegetation withers and dies. Bracken and loam spontaneously combust, causing raging, unchecked wildfires across the planet.

The world's ecosystems sputter, gasp, and die. Forests burn away to knots of blackened, twisted trunks, and animals of all species are roasted by the million. Gulfs, rivers and oceans boil, or become so polluted by ash and ruin that they run black. Shoals of fish float belly-up in the effluence that cakes the waters.

On the lips of the victorious Imperium, whose ships have crushed this petty tithe-based insurrection, whose might has quashed this pathetic revolt masterminded by a handful of nobles, there is but a condescending sneer.

And the world is ruined; and the world is empty; and the world is dead. Millions of unique species have been rendered extinct. Billions of humans have been scoured from its surface.

Can the mind of a single human encompass this so-total destruction? Most members of the Imperium know only their home planet, nothing more. They live self-centered lives—can they truly imagine the potency of a million deaths? Ten million? A hundred million? A billion? Ten billion? Every person you have known, loved, hated, met in passing, heard about, passed on the street, and seen in a thronging crowd—can you imagine all of them dead? Not only that, but that everyone that everyone you've ever seen has ever seen is dead too, and is an inconsequential fraction of the whole?

No memories remain of those that are lost. Those who would mourn these multitudes, these billions, are themselves dead. There is no native seed that can sprout anew from this scorched earth. There are no scars that time will mend, because no living flesh remains that can be scarred.

This planet's death is a finite bubble; the small illustration of a grander theme repeated anywhere across the vastness of this galaxy, and repeated endlessly along the long voyage that is time. For every death here—incomprehensible as they are to consider in the vastness of the event's magnitude—the event itself is repeated a thousandfold; a billionfold. From the Dark Age of Technology, when man warred with his iron progeny, to the Horus Heresy, where brother slew brother and father slew son, to the Age of Apostasy: man turns on itself, and the galaxy dances to the same tragic waltz.

In a thousand years, or two, or five, this planet will be resettled. Once tectonic activity calms, once the atmosphere purges itself of the toxins that choke it, once the surviving species evolve to fill now-empty ecological niches.

Perhaps the settlers will be the monolithic, ten-thousand-plus-year-old Imperium—if, in its crumbling decrepitude, it survives that long. Perhaps it will be settled by another empire of man, or an alien and unknowable race. But settled it shall be, for life in this galaxy of wonders searches ever to expand and grow.

They shall not find any trace of these lost billions. They shall not know that the air they breath is the dust of lost humanity, so tragically and abruptly severed. They shall not know the loves, the frustrations, and the accomplishments of all those erased in this cataclysm.

But then—what did the souls lost in this cataclysm know of all who lived before them? What did they know of the lives lived, and forgotten, in the whispering dawn of man, when the rising ape met the falling angel? Will those who now die be known to those who come after any more than those now dying knew of mankind before it stepped out into the endless sea of stars; than they knew of life on Ancient Terra?

+


----------



## Boc

*Adrian's "But the Food!"*
A good story, as it kind of causes me to reminisce on a short that I wrote. Ah... memories. However, I do have some improvements for you. Word choice in a few places was iffy, for example:



> Most of his family had suffered from the plague and he had been forced to watch their *degradation.*


I wasn't a huge fan of "degradation" here, as it doesn't feel like it's the right word. Maybe something like "deterioration" insead could have fit.

Additionally, there are a few spelling mistakes (apatite - appetite was the most glaring) and grammatical mistakes (commas at the end of quotations that are followed by 'so and so said rather than a period)

In my mind, HOES is about getting the maximum story out of the minimal space, a feat at which you have historically performed well. However, this time, I think you wasted a few paragraphs doing unnecessary descriptions of the characters themselves. Does Glasper being a thin, wiry redhead further the story? What about Mica's black hair? I think the extracts at the beginning of the story that go into detail into their actual appearance detract from the punctual nature of HOES. While you fit it all into the word limit, I feel like you could have done more with that limit than you did.

As far as applicability to the theme, I feel as though it was very liberally (though acceptably) applied. It's an interesting look _post_ annihilation (or utter desolation) of this planet/town, and all in all, a fun little story.


*Mossy Toes' "To Comprehend (It Matters Not)"
*First off, I chuckled a bit when you said "vast tracts of land." The Monty Python reference was probably unintentional, but amusing nonetheless.

On to the story. Wow. Melancholic look? A very interesting all-encompassing narrative about really the futility of existence, and how easily and utterly it can be wiped out. Quite philosophical, really, mixed in with very vivid imagery of the death of a world brought on by the Imperium. I liked the extract:


> On the lips of the victorious Imperium, whose ships have crushed this petty tithe-based insurrection, whose might has quashed this pathetic revolt masterminded by a handful of nobles, there is but a condescending sneer.


It was powerful in how true it rings to the 40K universe. An Inquisitor declares Exterminatus for the fault of a few, wiping billions from the face of a planet, only to be resettled later and the cycle starts over again.

Thoroughly enjoyable, albeit very different compared to what I was expecting.


----------



## Mossy Toes

Erm, rereading my story, I think I quite clearly wrote "tracts of land," not "tracks." Unless I wrote it twice, in which case I messed up the other time. And, ah, I'll say that any Python reference was wholly unintentional, since I really don't remember anything skit there related. Were I to mention that the forests burning up consisted largely of "the larch" on the other hand...

That paragraph that you so liked was almost excised when I was trying to cut the story down by a hundred words. Others got dropped instead, because I figured it was important to have some reason why the planet was being slagged. And, well, it's a cool little paragraph.


----------



## Boc

Mossy Toes said:


> Erm, rereading my story, I think I quite clearly wrote "tracts of land." Unless I wrote it twice, in which case I messed up the other time. And, ah, I'll say that any Python reference was wholly unintentional, since I really don't remember anything skit there related. Were I to mention that the forests burning up consisted largely of "the larch" on the other hand...


I meant tracts...

It's from The Holy Grail, when the key is describing the singing prince's bride to be as having vast... tracts of land.


----------



## The Meddler

I'm liking the stories so far, although Mossy Toes was a bit unnerving. Time to think of ideas for my first HOES entry!


----------



## Mossy Toes

Right, riiiight, I remember that now. And one of the knights slaughters the wedding guests, etc. Right.

Welcome to the party, The Meddler. I am glad to have elicited such a response; my aim was to unnerve, by bringing up an uncomfortable subject that not many people have considered in great detail while simultaneously sticking close to a very valid and core aspect of 40k.


----------



## Boc

The Meddler said:


> I'm liking the stories so far, although Mossy Toes was a bit unnerving. Time to think of ideas for my first HOES entry!


Excellent, more skulls for the throne  Welcome to HOES!


----------



## jonileth

Hidden Doom​
“For the Emperor!” Sergeant Silinus of the Raven Guard Chapter called out as a rallying cry to his fellow Astartes as he charged forth with his lightning claws at the ready. The rest of his squad surged forward with him, bolters flashing angrily in the direct of the foes that had been arrayed against them. The target of their wrath was a host of Ork who had infested a temple that was the object of Inquisitor Andiron’s visit to such a desolate world.

Several of Silinus’ squad took flight, launched into the sky by powerful jump packs that carried them aloft without apparent effort. Some were equipped with lightning claws while other wielded bolt pistols and chainswords. As they came crashing into the host of Orks, they cleaved the green flesh laid out before them with a fury that was unmatched by the aliens they fought against. Even when one Ork would find himself in a position that might otherwise prove to be the end of one of the Raven Guard, a sudden rush of air could be heard followed swiftly by an Orkish head exploding in a fog of gore and brain matter.

Brother Terenis, unlike the rest of the Raven Guard, was much better at ranged combat, and generally held himself away from the battle. This was by no means a product of cowardice; Terenis would often score more kills from some obscure location on the battle field than his brethren would fighting an enemy face to face. This was one of those times. The Astartes had already depleted several magazines from his stalker bolter before his brethren had taken down half as many Orks in close combat.

“It’s a damn shame,” Terenis muttered as he reloaded his stalker bolter within earshot of the Inquisitor that was leading their little excursion.

“What is?” Lucian asked the Space Marine.

“I thought we were going to have some measure of challenge on this mission. So far, these Orks fight like scared pets… not even worth the rounds I have put in their skulls…” the Astartes grumbled.

“Better we slaughter them then they do the same to us,” The Inquisitor remarked before turning to his Eldar companion, “Remind me what it is we’ve come here for.”

Aeliel, an Eldar Lucian had ‘recruited’ on an Exodite world several months ago, pulled a large book from a sack hanging over her shoulder. The woman pulled open the cover and flipped through the pages of the large manuscript until she found the proper entry for the world they were standing upon.

“It is said this place houses a weapon of the ancients, one that can warp matter utterly and with devastating consequences,” Aeliel replied, turning to the Inquisitor with a frown, “And it was your idea to come here, not mine.”

“So true…” the Inquisitor chuckled. As Lucian turned to regard the battlefield, there wasn’t much left of it to behold. Nearly a hundred green skinned corpses were cast about the ground, most of them eviscerated or their heads blown completely away. The temple entrance was clear of obstructions, given the Inquisitorial entourage ample time to regroup and reclaim some of their expended ammunition from the bodies and weapons of the Orks.

The group of Astartes laughed at the entire ordeal as they entered the temple. Even in the moment of jovial banter, the squad was alert for any further resistance from their enemy. They still cleared the corridors and rooms like a well-orchestrated raiding party should have. The only deviation was the banter, a never-ending string of insults and chiding born from the closeness of the team. Even the Inquisitor and his Eldar companion were included, as they had served a great deal of time together in the months since their first meeting.

The small squad reached the large vault without incident, something that even Lucian was weary of. The last time they had made it to a place of significance they were not long ambushed afterward. Lucian motioned for Aeliel to fulfill her part in the mission, and the Eldar quickly went about unlocking the doors that kept them separated from their prize. Heartbeats later, the door his and groaned in protest before sliding noisily apart to reveal what they had been search for.

Lucian approached the device and found it to be rather… anticlimactic. It was no bigger than a lasgun, and though it looked rather sleek and elegant, it didn’t scream out to the Inquisitor ‘weapon of great destruction.’ Nevertheless, the Inquisitor retrieved the weapon and nodded for his Raven Guard companions to lead the withdrawal. Sergeant Silinus nodded and led the advance, following the same route they had used to enter. All went well until they arrived at the entrance, where an Ork Warboss stood among the bloodied corpses of his horde.

“You humies are gonna pay for dis!” the massive Ork roared.

Sergeant Silinus was about to charge the thing when Inquisitor Andiron stepped out in front of him. Lucian leveled his new weapon against the Ork, engendering quite a bit of laughter from the Warboss and his accompanying troops. Terenis moved up beside the Inquisitor and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“What do you think that little thing is going to do against that massive Ork?” the Astartes asked.

“No time like the present to find out,” the Inquisitor said with a shrug before pulling the trigger mechanism. The weapon began to hum loudly, several points along the device suddenly bristling with light and energy. Before the Inquisitor could even depress the trigger, a beam of light surged forth from the thing, slamming itself into the Warboss. The blood curdling scream that escaped the thing before he became a ball of light himself was both horrifying and gratifying all at once.

As the Ork dissolved, for lack of a better description, the light began to leap from Ork to Ork, coaxing scream after agonizing scream from each of them until there wasn’t a single bit of green flesh left. The entire host had been taken down in a cascade, and then the light just dissipated. Lucian nearly dropped the weapon in shock at just how powerful it was.

“What in the name of the Emperor is that thing?!” Sergeant Silinus asked.

“I haven’t got a clue… but I doubt the Emperor had anything to do with it. We’d all have one if he did…” the Inquisitor remarked, staring out over the field of gore that had once held hundreds of their enemies, “How about we name this thing an Annihilator?”

“Disturbingly appropriate…” Silinus agreed.

This is 1099 words minus the title.


----------



## Mossy Toes

Not so much bolter porn as Annihilator porn. 

Adrian: I read your entry, and it really feels like a fragment of a larger story. The detail with which each character is described--like Boc said--coupled with the abruptness of the ending made it feel like there was more story waiting to be told. The ending didn't seem desperate enough to imply that the characters were about to be, aha, annihilated, though I suppose Boc's interpretation of the theme works. Still, it's an atmospheric and decently enjoyable piece.


----------



## demonlord24

*Pride*


Guardsman Fjorn Windcaller knew he was in luck. After his little encounter some eldar patrol that had tried to scout out his exact position, he had found himself a pretty little prize. Farseer Linia, or baby elf as Fjorn called her, found it had to control his mind. "I do not know what tricky you have used to block my powers, but I will get through in a matter of time!" Fjorn sighed to himself, whatever she was talking about doing to him would never happen. "I think that was the fiftieth time you've said that, baby elf." Fjorn couldn't help but smile, feeling the burning glare of the Farseer burrow into the back of his head. It had been ten hours since the capture of the Farseer and he has already noticed the increase of eldar forces, looking for the Farseer. He heard a little crackling out in the snow covered woods, a footstep of a woman with a small figure and little armor weighs her down. 

A banshee.

"Well then, it looks like we should start moving again..." Fjorn mumbled to himself. The Farseer looked back up. "You will not put that foul object in my mo-" Fjorn shoved a dirty sock back into her mouth and put some spices under her nose to put her to sleep. "One day, I'll be in my warm cottage in Dren'vinal and I'll forget all about this stupid situation." he pulled out a strange bow with two carved in wolves eating a snake. Fjorn readied his bow and arrow and donned his hood."If the old gods are here with me now, then hear my prayers." 

"Farseer! You're alive!" Zelian, a banshee exarch was running towards a half dazed Farseer along with three of her banshees. "Is...is he gone?" Zelian shook her head but smiled. "He will not even try and attack battle tested banshees! And as long as you are still here, we will not stop until you are back to the craftworld." Linia smiled, "Thank you, but now we must leave, I fear he might be bold enough to attack us head on." A second after Farseer Linia said that, an arrow struck one of the banshees in the neck as her two other comrades screamed out her name. One ran into the forest, yelling out profanities. Another second past as the yelling stopped.

"Hold, Arnelia; do not let him draw you into his trap. Proceed with caution, but protect the Farseer with your life."

"Yes, exarch." Arnelia said, trying desperately hard to keep in her sorrow.

As the banshees edged into the forest, they attempted to keep their steps and their weapons silent and hidden. Lenia followed in their footsteps as she tried focusing her powers and feeling the forest around her. "Farseer, what do you sense?"

"He is near, though he is keeping himself hidden very well." 

"Exarch, look!" a few meters away was the banshee that had ran into the woods, looking for her comrade's killer. She was laying against a large oak tree gripping her sword and pistol. Her comrade began to run towards her comrade in order to help her to her feet. "No, you fool wai-" it was too late. A second later, a large, wooden spike lay on top of her head. Slowly, she turned to face her exarch, taking a few steps towards her beloved leader and friend as if she could help her and her comrade, then falling as he body twitched. 

"Damn that mon'keigh!" the exarch yelled. She dropped her shuriken pistol and gripped her sword.

"Come out, you cowardly demon! Come and face me in combat!" 

As if he was commanded by Zelian, he jumped out from behind the Farseer, pushing her aside and thrusting a small dagger towards the exarch's face. Zelian dodged with little effort and went to slice Fjorn in two. Fjorn parried with his second blade and was forced back by her blade. Fjorn threw his dagger at her leg and ran off behind a tree. Zelian sidestepped and laughed as she chased after him. 

"You can kill from the shadows, but you cannot kill honorably? You mon'keighs are pathetic!"

"We sure are smarter than you, though." Zelian laughed as she began to home in on the source of his voice.

"I'll give you credit, though, you are a very smart guardsman. If only you were born as an eldar, you could have been the greatest of our kind!"

"Doubt it, but tell me, banshee, what do you know of the hall of warriors?" 

"Another of your races pathetic myths? Tell me about this Hall of Warriors." she heard his voice grew louder. She was getting close.

"It is where warriors, generals, kings, and heros go when they die in combat. Where the mead is endless and the grand hall is filled with songs and stories of the olden heros of ancient times! Where only the greatest and the bravest warriors are allowed to sit at the table of the great king, Odin. Oh, how my father used to tell me the stories of how my ancestors, even before the great clans of ancient Terra were even created, fought in massive battles and their deeds were spread throught the lands of how courageous and ferocious they were in combat." Zelian knew where he was, behind the large tree in front of her.

"And this is where you think you will go, mon'keigh?" she readied her sword and prepared for the satisfying death of this guardsman.

"No, it is hardly my time, far from it actually. My father said that a man knows when he will die when he sees a woman he has never seen before washing his armor. I haven't seen anything like that. But, tell me banshee, do you think only the bravest and the strongest warriors get to see the great halls?" 

"If so, your out of luck!" Zelian leap behind the tree and struck...

Wood?

She heard the tug of string and slowly looked behind her to see the guardsman with a bow and arrow.

"the smartest and fastest are allowed in there too, kill counts also help your chances getting in as well." Fjorn let his arrow fly. Zelian had no time to duck or dodge, only wonder if she would ever she her comrades again. Pain struck her head, as she feel into a deep sleep. It was funny, though, she thought she had heard her name being called and songs where being sung. Maybe the human was right, maybe she would apologize to him when she sees him.

Moderator edit: Word count 1100


----------



## andygorn

Great stories so far...impressive writing here indeed.
As ever, this is a set of thoughts and conversations which came to me from the ether (for want of knowing what else to call it). The theme, characters and inspiration are from there, the words are just my limited brain trying to make sense of them.

As always, the tales could be -or are- part of something bigger, but (because I can't predict the visions and I never get a look at 'the full picture' anyway) please don't hold this against them.

Please let me know if there's any glaring spelling mistakes/paragraph errors/etc...my hope is to improve, but moreso to make this an enjoyable read for you guys.

[I think this is 1096 words, not including title...if it's over, please let me know and I'll amend].
****************
*E’en in the broken traitor's breast, hatred’s fires still burn deep and bright*

“When you pass, who shall mourn, alien?”

Its bestial speech grates harshly upon the ears of the tormentors before the translation programs come into effect, language transformed into High Gothic:
++_expletive_, _expletive_, feral animals fit only for _expletive_ slaughter++

“Ah, it seems it has not yet learnt after all...increase the voltage.”
Screams of pain yet again resound through the speakers, emitting childish whimpers and sighs when the agony is eventually lifted.

“We know your ship is on a mission from your debased masters. We know you are a renegade amongst even your own kind...the lowest of the low.”

A gasp of surprise from the captive -something the gaolers never thought they might hear- and they share a victorious glance: one of the galaxy’s most aloof and elusive predators, now shackled and broken, heeding their every beck and call.

“You may cease your incredulity. The sigils upon your craft are known to us...they mark you out as a traitor to your whole race...discernible even before you were inside our weapons’ ranges.”

+++++
A time before, long past, yet memories as fresh as yesterday:

“Your time is over, Lord Anshlar. Your warriors are brought to heel or destroyed. There is nothing for you now.”

The prisoner tries to approach his captor, yearning to rend him limb from limb, yet is unable to take more than three steps before his body freezes; rendered immobile by some unseen power.
Although his teeth grit in exertion, he can make no progress towards his foe.

“Ah yes..._that_ would be the poison in your veins: A neat little venom, happened upon by accident after eradicating some _mon-keigh_ priests.

"Psychically charged, it makes you incapable of any hostile actions against me, but your thoughts remain intact and imprisoned within your puppet-host body...no doubt you are eager to see my wishes fulfilled, yes?”

Knowing there is no escape, yet railing against how his Kabal could have been brought so low in less than three years by this upstart, Anshlar still has enough energy left to hate with all of his soul. Whilst attack is prevented, his voice is not:

“I shall do your bidding...for now. But Psykers are banned within the Dark City! Their talents would open a rift for She Who Waits Beyond to devour all of our kind!”

The other’s reply drips with the full level of arrogance and supreme disdain for which their species is rightly feared:
“Did you think yourself still in Commorragh? You have been tortured for months!
"In your pathetic weakness, you divulged all of your innermost secrets, allowing me to take over your remaining slave-factories and to sample the juiciest morsels amongst your wives and followers.

“The poison’s psychic components were rendered down upon this ship, too far away to imperil our beloved domain, but I was...assisted:”

A spotlight of harsh cyan rays bathes not only the pair, but a former captive.
With it’s sundered ribcage and unnaturally angled limbs, the torn and rent body is only just discernible as female.
Both garrotted and chained to a wall through the remains of it’s wrists, it’s helmeted head sags low...death did not easily claim her.
Gory tattered green rags which only just mask it’s nudity mark her as a former Warlock of Biel-Tan.

“No doubt you recognise our cousin’s form. Your lover, I understand?
"We actually _only_ needed Lafariella’s spleen and three powdered rib-bones to activate the toxin, but I always harboured suspicion that some of your...sorry, *my*...Wracks were over-zealous.”
The smile speaks of a certain amount of pleasurable personal involvement in the Warlock’s demise.

“Your top tooth contains a vial of red liquid: purest matter, extracted from the glands of a thousand species.
"The blue liquid contained in your bottom tooth is something...other.
"Relatively stable and inert, but potent when mixed with the former.” 

Leaving the captive sobbing upon his knees as his mind finally shears and splinters at the atrocities visited upon him, the new master of the Jaded Claw Kabal spares not a thought for the former General.

“When the time comes, we shall see whether you have any of our race’s righteous vehemence left in you, or whether you continue to choose the way of the traitor and once again save your miserable skin.

“There is nothing for you now, save what I order; your family were enslaved weeks ago.

"Go, board your ship. One of us shall be watching and -if you are lucky- your end might even claim my own passing interest before She licks and swallows your screaming essence.”

*
With nothing left to live for and no hope of escape or release, Anshlar's wasted and wounded body finally has no more effort left to give: holding out against the pain was almost more than even his degenerate’s senses could handle.

Gobbets of vitality slip from his mouth and coat the rockcrete with scarlet stain, the results of the hacking cough encompassing his whole body and which speaks of broken ribs and internal bleeding. Not all of these were inflicted here by such foolish beasts.

Propping himself up on his left hand, he at least has enough hatred and strength to turn to his torturers and make one last enquiry (this time, there is no need for a translator, for he knew their blunt and brutal lanugage all along):

“When you pass, who shall mourn, alien?” his shattered mouth smiles at his tormentors, before he grinds his remaining teeth against one another.

The Techno-priests in the observation room laugh at his last futile gesture, then turn to regard one another with a feeling long ago removed in favour of cogitation-engines, machinery and gears; something others might have called dread.

There is no warning; no alarm; no time to run...
No time to feel the icy grip of death’s hand, nor think of loved ones, nor life’s labours...
There is not even a clamour to herald the cataclysm, nor a roaring inferno, nor a bright light encompassing all...
For the new-born chemical abomination negates everything, absorbing even sound and fires and light.

The mass of mixed fluids devours the corpse, expanding in all directions faster than the speed of sound, and the molecules of the planet collapse inwards upon themselves, voraciously eaten by the maelstrom unleashed at the Forge World’s core.

*
Decades later, an astrologus deep within the bowels of Mars dispassionately acknowledges the loss of the astronomical signal from Dirall Secundus.

Orders are issued for an Explorator Fleet to divert to it’s location, little realising that -by the time they arrive- the planet will have been annihilated centuries before.


----------



## demonlord24

Wow, really nice story. Other than some past tense errors, it was a very good story.


----------



## Ambush Beast

*hi*



Mossy Toes said:


> Not so much bolter porn as Annihilator porn.
> 
> Adrian: I read your entry, and it really feels like a fragment of a larger story. The detail with which each character is described--like Boc said--coupled with the abruptness of the ending made it feel like there was more story waiting to be told. The ending didn't seem desperate enough to imply that the characters were about to be, aha, annihilated, though I suppose Boc's interpretation of the theme works. Still, it's an atmospheric and decently enjoyable piece.


Thanks guys. The reason why my spell check did not pick up apatite as a mis-spelled word is because it was not mis-spelled as in a word not spelled correctly. Apatite is the right spelling of a mineral in the earth. Hmm, who knew?

I was going for a character development of the men to create a greater picture. Though the world was not destroyed as it was in Mossey's great story it was Annihilated by plague. I will go back through and fix what I see. I'm glad you guys liked the overall of it.


----------



## gothik

The Gods Know Best​
Word count 1028

Sit, sit children and let me tell you the story of our heritage for it is a rich one, filled with battles before we were awakened to the true masters, how our culture is shaped by being loyal to the mighty warriors, some of whom you young men will soon join the ranks off when the time of choosing comes once more. 

No Answar, questions will be answered at the end so sit and listen. Now there was a time when we followed the words of one who was the supreme being, those who brought us into the light told us that he was to be adored above all other. For my children what other being other than a god could truly be divine? 

However, there were those who did not agree with this speculation and sought to hound our masters into submission and do as they had been ordered to do by the very god they revered. For their own father was a son of this god. The master discovered that there were other gods, other beings far more worthy of praise and sacrifice then this man in gold and so, conferring with those he called brother did he bring about the great cleansing. 

Those that believed what he had spoke off took the great jihad to those who did not, it was only through the death of the mighty Warmaster that these infidels achieved a small victory, but my children there is always setbacks, and in this setback our great master achieved his victory. They came to rest on our world, already set in the ways that the master had lain down and taught us that all they had been led to believe was a lie. 

The master himself told us that we would be awakened to the new dawn and, so when the infidels chased our masters to this world, we freely laid down our lives for the master, so much so that, in honour and recognition of our supreme defence and sacrifice against the demons in blue armour, he took our strongest sons and daughters to serve in his army. 

No Casala the daughters cannot be warriors in his legion but, they served in other ways, upon his vessels, as hand maidens to the great overlords and every ten cycles they return for more warriors and this, this is what we gladly give them. We of Scarthara will continue to fight for our master, for now the gods have truly blessed us by making our master a prince of princes. 
When the Black Cardinal last set foot upon our world he told us that the master had gone. Oh how we had wept to hear such news and yet he raised his hands and told us that our master, our father and the chosen son of the gods had ascended to his rightful place. 

He had become one with the gods and how we celebrated, how our hearts lifted to hear the news that our father had become that which he so richly deserved. For our ancestors came from another world, a world that had been dear to the hearts of all who serve in that mighty legion, we had followed our prophets who had told us that we must make a new home, a new place for the mighty warriors to settle should the time come. 

This is why, my children, this is why we hold such an honoured place within the sons of the word, for we are the last of Colchis. We are the last remnants of a world long dead to them; yes my children weep for the news, hold each other and know that your sadness touches the mighty Lord Sal Ragorth who sits in custodianship of our world. This is why we are chosen to provide new blood for the Legion; this is why we will always be children of the word. Perhaps Lord Sal Ragorth will come when the time of choosing arrives, from his palace upon the Mountains of Mourn and join in the choosing. 

Perhaps he will come to speak with you himself, but for now it is my job to tell you off our master. Prince Lorgar, and speak his name with great respect children, do not doubt that he can hear you for he hears all, as only a young god can. He will return as he has so long promised to deliver us from this madness that has engulfed the stars beyond the stars, that like us, all of humankind will rule the universe with help from the gods and the other faithful sons of the gods, they will cast down the disbelievers and, when the final battle comes they shall stand together, side by side, brothers and cousins in arms as they once had been. 

Old debts will be settled, old hatreds will be renewed and ended when the sons of the gods march in all their glory upon the world that was once called Terra and now called Holy Terra by those hypocrites who once chastised our master for the one thing that they now do. Remember children that our master was punished for daring to call his father a god, and now they worship him as one; such hypocrisy is the creed that we nearly embraced. 
When you sleep tonight remember that we are safe in the hands of the gods, and safe with the eyes of Lorgar, lord of all that is true and right in the world. There are none that can touch us, now, say your prayers to the gods and one to the master.


Slowley, like a great predator the strike cruiser approached the world of Scarthara, its batteries primed for attack, the gunmetal grey of the strike cruiser would have made other worlds shudder and perhaps the people here would have done had they the chance. The Grey Knights had come to enact the Emperors Justice and there would be no escape and no surrender, a world of demon loving humans was an affront to the laws of the Emperor. Annihilation was theirs to deliver and deliver it they would.


----------



## Ambush Beast

*The eyes of the dead*

The eyes of the dead


These are the torments that have befallen me. The plagues of the mind; the horrors of sights unimagined; the horrors that have ravaged me since I was a young man have finally come into the reality of my futile life. I am alone in the world of my mind and though there are billions of people who populate this world, none can save me, for I am a fleck of dust, a deposit of excrement upon the heel of the Emperium. 

Excerpt from the Chronicles of the Forgotten.

***

Tasabar Oklees walked through the war torn city streets. He was not alone. Although those who surrounded him were familiar to him, they did not know him anymore, nor did they understand the basics of humanity. They were as dead as the corpses that still burned in the city square. However as dead as they were, they still walked, shambling through the shadows of a fallen world that no longer remembered its name. 

Shotgun in hand, Tasabar stalked through the streets trying not to make any noise, but failing miserably. Broken glass and spent shell casings were everywhere and it was impossible not to step on them. He knew the art to staying alive was not to shift his weight once a step was taken, for to do so was to invite death by the breaking of the fragile clear splinters. Each step was a threat to his existence, each breath taken too loudly could be his last.

Tasabar was tired, almost too tired to even think, but his survival instincts kept him from giving up. His faith in the saying, “The Emperor protects” was non-existent, for he had seen too many times that the Emperor did not protect. The doctrine of the Emperor was a lie.

Tasabar’s home world had been besieged by the plague monger and try as humanity might; the plagues that ravaged everything and everyone could not be cleansed from the tainted world. Nearly everything had been burned in an attempt to stymie the spread of the plague, but in the end all the survivors did was deprive themselves of stable shelter against what was to come.

From the burning flesh-pits the corpses not rendered to skeletons pulled, clawed and tore at the blackened earth. They stood and walked and ran and jumped upon any who were not quick enough to escape or strong enough to fight them off. There was no hiding from them. It was as if they could see through walls or smell the living no matter where they hid. 

Screaming mothers were torn apart as they attempted to keep the dead from their children; blood and flesh, intestines and lungs, broken skulls and gnawed bones were all that was left of the mothers and their children. 

Many of those who survived attempted suicide but for reasons unknown they could not die by their own hands. Instead their wounded bodies were torn apart and consumed as the cowards screamed and begged for the end to come. 

It had taken only a few short years for the plague to do its job. The night the commit slammed into the ocean no one could have known or imagined the horrors that would befall humankind; complete annihilation of every living thing, complete breaking of sanity as loved ones tore into limbs, faces, necks, arms and legs.

Tasabar Oklees had been there at the beginning and he had seen firsthand his father crush the skull of his infected mother before shooting himself in the head. He had seen his father writhing on the ground, half of his head missing from the shotgun round; unable to die until the dead consumed his screaming agonizing flesh. 

Tasabar had run from the scene as fast as he could. He could hear them behind him; chasing him, stalking him, hunting and haunting his every movement. Tears had come from his eyes and ran down his cheeks even as he gasped for breath and held his cramping sides. 

That night the city burned; flames leapt into the air like daemons fleeing hell alight by the flames of damnation. The fires cast illuminated ghostly shadows through the streets, crackling and popping and screaming in abject terror for even the flames were horrified of the damned who stalked the streets. 

A woman cast herself into the flames in hopes of escaping the flesh-eaters. Her hair burst into flames along with her cloths. Her face and flesh bubbles and popped; fat and piss and shit spilling into the flames, but she did not die, she could not die, she could not escape the judgment of the plague god. She screamed and fell from the flames of the burning building only to be met by the dead who smiled down upon her writhing frame with lipless mouths and decomposing flesh. Milky white eyes filled with worms and puss stared hungrily at the burning woman even as Tasabar ran by them. They did not notice his passing because they were focused on the burning screaming woman. 

Tasabar exited the alley and was thrilled to see the P.D.F. standing tall against the shambling masses. They fired las-guns, heavy bolters and flamethrowers and charged through the thronging corpses with Chimera and Leman Russ battle tanks. Tasabar jumped for joy as the P.D.F. killed the dead and crushed their skulls under foot. 

The wind changed direction and with it the smoke from the burning buildings rolled in like the thickest fog obscuring vision and blinding sensors; crippling the effectiveness of long-range weapons. With the smoke came the dead, thousands of them, crawling, loping shambling, walking and running through the picket lines of the P.D.F.

Screams could be heard until morning light and even then the living wept as the wounds of the corpses poisoned their bodies. Those who had not been killed in the darkness suffered from scratches and bites. The dead were unable to kill them. They could not kill themselves, but the infection would finish what others could not.

Twelve hours later Tasabar Oklees walked the streets alone, tormented; the last living witness upon a dead world. He wept when he realized the dead had surrounded him. Terror filled him anew. Why did they not attack? Why did they leave him alone? They were all around, but they stayed their distance from him. A shattered mirror lay upon the ground and he looked down into its battered frame. 

Looking back at him was a fleshless face and the milky white eyes of the dead.

1,090 words.


----------



## Ambush Beast

*Hi*



Mossy Toes said:


> Not so much bolter porn as Annihilator porn.
> 
> Adrian: I read your entry, and it really feels like a fragment of a larger story. The detail with which each character is described--like Boc said--coupled with the abruptness of the ending made it feel like there was more story waiting to be told. The ending didn't seem desperate enough to imply that the characters were about to be, aha, annihilated, though I suppose Boc's interpretation of the theme works. Still, it's an atmospheric and decently enjoyable piece.


I meant for it to be a pict in the moment of the lives of three survivors of a world annihilated by plague rather then a complete story. I may bring a continuation to the story next month or sometime... who knows. :shok:

It has since been edited somewhat under the advisement of you and Boc. Thanks again.


----------



## Davidicus 40k

*As You Command*
(1,099 words, including title)

In the world of time long passed, there is a house. It is a simple, two-story dwelling, devoid of ostentatious decoration. It’s sturdy, constructed of dark timber upon a foundation of rockcrete. The windows are rectangular, tall, and tinted so that the outside world cannot peer inside, but there is little reason for privacy; the house occupies an area of twenty acres, yet most of it is unused, preserving the natural beauty of the planet. The house stands in stark contrast to the extravagant estates that neighbor it, but that is its purpose.

The house belongs to Inquisitor Titus Savannus. He is nearly a century old, hardened and resolute in his duties to the Ordo Hereticus. Yet a moment of culmination in a long-brewing relationship with a beautiful woman in his retinue – before a particularly perilous mission - led to the birth of his son, Caius. Embarrassed, Titus searched for a way to raise his newborn without abandoning his obligations.

He found the answer in Conatus, a paradise world favored by Imperial nobles from a hundred nearby star systems. Soon after its discovery, they erected their lavish retreats and opulent mansions across the planet, basking in the eternally temperate climate, pristine atmosphere, and agrestal, undulating landscapes. Some were responsible, only visiting Conatus periodically while attending to their duties, while others were so seduced by the lifestyle that they appointed subordinates to handle their responsibilities for them and remained on the world year-round.

Titus knew the dangers of excess and pleasure in a wealthy, relaxed environment. He’d seen too many planets gripped by the soft, entangling hand of Slaanesh. Constructing a home that lacked the overindulgence of its peers, he set to raising Caius and finding a way to save Conatus before it was lost.

Thus, Caius is taught from an early age to be an Inquisitor. He’s told about the Inquisitorial creed and how serving the Inquisition is serving the Emperor. He’s shown examples of alien tyranny and treachery, instilling a deep revulsion of them in his heart. He’s given no delusions about the bleakness of the galaxy beyond Conatus.

Despite Titus’ efforts, Caius is a gentle soul, and he grows to be hesitant and questioning. He’s intelligent, but he finds fault with his father’s ideology. He’s dexterous, but he desires to use his hands to build rather than to destroy. He’s receptive to his father’s education, but he’s distracted by the fact that he is friendless and alone, trapped in the sheltered residence.

Titus has no choice but to forge Caius through fire. House Savannus is an old, proud line of Inquisitors, and he’s determined not to let it die with him. When Caius turns twenty-one, he’s placed under the wing of Inquisitor Rendorath, one of Titus’s oldest and most trusted friends. The Savannus patriarch is sure that Rendorath will shape Caius into the man he needs to be.

While Caius serves as an Acolyte, Titus spends two years investigating the extent of the taint on Conatus. What he finds is troubling. Nearly eighty-five percent of the population is, in some way, touched by Slaanesh; he can see it in their subtlest actions and behaviors, despite their best efforts to deceive him. Even more troubling, he comes across foolish Inquisitors who have lingered on the paradise world too long. Most have remained pure, but there are some who harbor Chaos.

Titus is at a disadvantage. The signs of taint are too repressed to warrant anything more than an Inquisitorial investigation that will simply discover what he already knows. He forwards his findings to his superiors, but they don’t act on them; they claim they’ve been keeping a close eye on Conatus since its beginning, knowing the danger that such a world naturally poses. Titus dares not question their words, though he silently doubts them.

The Savannus patriarch spends his final days contemplating ways to save Conatus, though as he ponders, he’s drawn to the conclusion that it will soon become irredeemable. He prays that the corruption manifests physically and that the Chaos worshipers show their true colors, warranting the purest punishment available in the Imperium of Man. He is killed when the Savannus home is leveled by a screaming missile, launched from an unknown noble’s estate.

Caius does not learn of his father’s demise for seven years. He spends his time as Rendorath’s scribe, kept out of combat until the veteran Inquisitor deems his resolve strong enough. He struggles to abandon his weak nature and embrace the Inquisitorial doctrine. Rendorath searches for a way to aid Caius until an order for the purgation of Conatus is issued to him.

An idea forms in the Inquisitor’s mind.

He requisitions a strike cruiser, the _Glory Resplendent_, from the Silver Stallions Chapter of Space Marines, then instructs Caius to travel to Conatus with his full authority. Caius is curious, but does as he’s commanded. When the_ Glory Resplendent_ translates into realspace, the Acolyte beholds the contemptible state of the planet he once called home.

Chaos had taken full control shortly after Titus’s death. The nobles had brought their personal armies and slaughtered anyone still loyal to the Emperor, then reveled in orgasmic bonfires, promiscuity, and obscene rituals that defaced Conatus. Dark purple clouds, throbbing with flashes of lightning, pollute the once-clean atmosphere. These clouds reflect sunlight, giving the world a sickly violet pall. Caius feels a range of emotions – disbelief, repulsion, rage – and he tries to control them all.
The _Glory Resplendant’s_ Marine captain, standing beside Caius, turns to the dumbfounded Inquisitor on his throne in the center of the bridge.

“This is what we fight, Inquisitor,” he booms through amplified vox. “Until you experience Chaos firsthand, you cannot comprehend the horrors it works.”

Caius turns to the towering captain and nods. He has never killed a man; how can he bear the guilt of millions slain by his hand? He closes his eyes and imagines the secluded home; the endless hours of study and indoctrination; the secret desires he’d harbored for freedom. Then, he reflects upon his time with Rendorath; how weak he felt as a simple scribe, how he wanted to serve the Emperor…

How he came to be disgusted with his early self.

He’d changed since he left Conatus, but his metamorphosis was not complete. Something still held it back. A physical link he could destroy.

“Cyclonic torpedoes armed and ready for launch, captain,” announces one of the bridge serfs triumphantly.

Caius opens his eyes and, with his face locked in a grim visage, nods once more.

“As you command,” says the captain. “Torpedoes away!”


----------



## Boc

TOC updated, one story with no word count (and word count out of tolerance) identified and author notified, in case anyone was wondering if I paid attention :laugh:


----------



## Dicrel Seijin

*"Only War"*

*Expeditious Stories 12-04: Annihilation
“Only War”
Dicrel Seijin
Word Count: 1,100*

Deep within the Golden Throne, mechanisms that had toiled for ten millennia failed with a sudden finality. With a mighty shudder, the thrumming baroque archeotech stilled. 

_Light. So long had He been in darkness, He did not realize it for what it was until He felt its influence upon Him, a near-physical pull._ 

Below, in the catacombs the red-robed priests of Mars faltered in their litanies and prayers; their mechadendrites pausing above ivory keys set into wood-and-brass consoles. As the import of the enduring silence registered on their augmented minds, the tech-priests renewed their chants as they cast to one another in Binary seeking solutions.

Within seconds, the Companions, three hundred Adeptus Custodes acting as the Emperor’s bodyguard, clad in their black cloaks and brazen helmets sealed off the Sanctum Imperialis. As they arrayed themselves in serried ranks around the Golden Throne, their guardian spears set, the air thickened to treacle with the susurrus of a half-remembered language promising every desire.

In the waiting silence, there was one last whispered exhale. 

Before the Companions’ horrified eyes, the Emperor’s body, so long in stasis, disintegrated. The desiccated flesh settled as dust.

_With a sudden release, that sense of binding disappeared. And He was free. Thoughts long ago slowed to stillness, quickened to the speed of light. Such was the time spent imprisoned, He no longer remembered his name. The Emperor of Mankind felt the world fade around Him as the Immaterium folded Him into its embrace. He was still too weak to struggle._

The Golden Throne followed the Emperor into annihilation as an explosion hurled the adamantine foundations into the Outer Palace. The ranks of the Companions scattered as the vaulted roof rained down among them. It was in this chaos that the daemons burst from the Webway. Flagstones shattered, oozed, bubbled, or burned beneath their feet, hooves, and claws as the first daemons stepped onto Terran soil. And they would be the last. Even as Companions’ blades met daemon claws, existence around them rent and tore. 

Energies, which human eyes and minds could not imagine, obliterated demon and Companion. Terra shook as the Warp energies fractured the crust, forcing tectonic plates apart. Billions died in countless, immeasurable earthquakes and firestorms; these were the fortunate ones. Even as the planet ruptured, new mountains and volcanoes shouldered their way into boiling dark clouds sundered by lightning. 

And in less than a nanosecond, He understood and returned the Warp’s embrace. Chaos created gods… but not by itself. Trillions of souls had paved His way, consecrated the space, and crafted an empyreal realm. All for Him. He had but to accept His apotheosis.

Throughout the Milky Way galaxy, sanctionites, psykers, witches, and other humans with any psychic ability screamed as their minds burned with the true birth of their God. For those that survived, there was little mercy as their souls were seared with a touch of the divine.

_“All this time, there were far too many hands clasped in prayer…and all to me! What did I always say I was? Just a man! But you all believed… I could watch over you, listen to you. And so by your faith, through your belief, I was compelled… and tormented by my impotence. You deserved far better than guidance through Tarot cards. Now I can be the God that you deserve.”_

Millions wept and were driven to suicide as the divine departed their souls and left a wrenching void naught could heal.

Where Terra and Luna once orbited, a new Eye opened. Its horizons rushed toward neighboring Venus and Mars. Fleets and battle groups that had watched the death of Terra attempted to flee and were shattered upon the new shoals of this anomaly. Asteroids from beyond Mars spiraled in to ring the still growing Eye. Onwards the Eye grew, toward Mercury and the shipyards of Jupiter. Tendrils of the Warp began to consume and corrupt the Sun, even as it reached for Saturn. It was not until five hours later when the gases of Uranus and Neptune and the pieces of Pluto colored the nebula around the Eye that a flicker of incandescence—a pinhole into another universe appeared. 

The God-Emperor of Mankind stretched forth his hand and bade the hunger of the Warp be still. Though it was too late for the Sun. Wrenched apart by titanic forces, its fusion core went nova, igniting the gases of the destroyed gas giants. Celestial fires raced across the heavens, setting this new Eye burning. 

Though now a master of creation as those preceding Him, He would not undo what had been wrought. Instead, turning from the burning Eye, He bestowed His Light and Way once more upon His children. And so that all could rejoice in His coming, He blessed His children and bade them see truly, removing the veil upon their eyes, minds, and souls. Each man, woman, and child came into his or her power then. And in this act, all of humanity ascended, becoming children of the Warp. He called to them then, cajoled them to cast aside their mortal coils. And as beings of pure psychic energy, all of His children passed into the Immaterium and were no more.

The passage of so many unraveled the materium as only the rivalry of the Old Ones and C’tan had done before. At the hearts of countless hive worlds, other anomalies opened, laying waste to systems with their hungry maws. In the centuries after, the Eldar would remember and curse the memory of humanity; the Tau would rail against warp anomalies severing them from the rest of the galaxy; and the Orks unchecked, would loot forgeworlds and, while searching for the enemy that destroyed humanity, clash with waking Necron tomb worlds and hive fleets.

And elsewhere, upon an infinite plane forged by His Will, the serried ranks of His children, illuminated by their smoldering souls, stood awaiting His Word. 

_“To exist in such times is to be one amongst untold trillions. It is to have lived in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. That is at an end. Now My children, forget the power of technology and science, for such ancient marvels cannot exist in the Empyrean. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in this grim dark future there is only war. There will be no peace amongst these stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter.”_ He laughed then. _“Come My children, let Us war in Heaven!”_ 

And through a wound in the horizon, the Emperor led the children of Mankind against the Ruinous Powers in their empyreal realms.


----------



## Zinegata

Bolter Porn time 

1,100 words, not including title.

*Victory or Death*

The Imperial trenches were almost overrun, but Battle-Brother Felix felt no fear or concern. He was still too busy killing greenskins.

His bolter was set to single-shot, and his last five rounds were profitably spent. Five mass-reactive shells were sent into the heads of five different Orks. One somehow survived, ready to fight on despite losing an eye and a quarter of its skull, only to be decapitated outright as Felix switched to his Brennic Psi-Sword.

But another group of Orks quickly appeared to replace the ones the Space Marine had slain. Without hesitation, Felix charged them and began hacking away at the fresh mob. They stood little chance before his fury. Hearts were pierced. Spines were severed. Arms, legs, and heads were lopped off.

Felix simply would not stop. He could not until victory was achieved. And he knew that the only way to defeat the relentless greenskins was complete and utter annihilation: Kill them all and burn the bodies until nothing was left but ash.

Even more Orks suddenly appeared behind him, intent on putting an end to his stubborn defiance. Felix ignored them and continued hacking away at his current targets, for the auspex revealed that he was no longer fighting alone. The Imperial Guard had finally found its backbone.

Led by a red-haired Commissar, two platoons of Akkadian infantry joined the fray and enveloped the fresh mob of xenos foes. Despite having only lasguns and bayonets, the Akkadians gave their all and slaughtered the remaining Orks. Felix raised his sword to salute them once the last of the enemy was dead.

"The Emperor Protects!" Felix shouted.

"And the Omnissiah watches over us!" replied the Commissar, familiar with the standard greeting of Felix's Chapter. The Astartes smiled under his helmet, briefly wondering about the Commissar's background and education, but he knew that there were more pressing matters at hand.

"More Orks will come," Felix said simply, "We must restore the defensive readiness of this sector immediately."

"My apologies, but we must withdraw," the Commissar countered firmly, "Army command has already given the order. All units must fall back to the landing zone."

Felix shook his head, "We have a full company of reinforcements enroute. A hundred Steel Wardens, with heavy armor and air support. My squad was sent here to ensure the Imperial positions were held until they arrived."

The Commissar sighed, as though preparing to argue with the Space Marine, but someone else spoke before he could begin.

"Incoming!" shouted one of the Akkadian troopers, before his head was taken off by a shoota round. Felix muttered a curse as he peered over the trench. The endless horde had found them again.

This was a much larger mob than the ones they had already destroyed. At least five hundred strong, with light vehicle support. The Akkadian troopers were already shooting, but they were outnumbered over ten to one, and their lasguns infamously lacked enough killing power to reliably kill greenskins with one shot.

For a brief moment, Felix allowed his mind to experience disquiet. The Estimates for this Quest had proven completely inaccurate. The Pontius Team was supposed to observe and inspect the Imperial lines in preparation for 2nd Company’s arrival in two months. Instead, they found themselves in the midst of a desperate fight as the Orks launched their grand offensive earlier and more fiercely than expected. Felix didn’t even know if any of his squad mates were still alive, as he was separated from them early during the fight.

Gripping his sword, he reminded himself that none of this mattered. He was a Space Marine. There was only victory, or death.

Before the Akkadians could stop him, Felix clambered over the top of the trench. Discarding his empty bolt gun, he raised his sword and shouted the war cry of his home world.

“Vae Victis!” 

To his surprise, the Orks seemed dumbfounded by his foolhardy bravery. They recoiled in terror as he ran towards them with his sword drawn. Five hundred Orks were seemingly afraid of a single Astartes.

Even brave Battle-Brother Felix knew that this was impossible. Orks did not scare easily. A moment later, he understood why.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” a voice noted dryly over the vox. Smirking, Felix stopped in his tracks and jumped down the nearest crater. He made it just in time.

Flying low overhead, a Thunderhawk gunship unleashed its fury on the Orkish horde. Heavy cannon shells and dazzling beams of light struck the enemy formation, shredding dozens of greenskins to pieces. Among the dead was their warlord, whose death started a precipitous flight.

It was over in less than two minutes. Nearly half of the enemy force was destroyed before the rest managed to escape. Felix ran towards Thunderhawk as it landed, grasping the hand of the first Warden to emerge from the front ramp.

“It is good to see you sir,” Felix said warmly, “I may be hard to kill, but I was definitely stretching the Estimates before you intervened.”

Brother-Sergeant Pontius seemed relieved to find his last missing trooper, but grew concerned as he noticed the Akkadians cheering in the trenches.

“We must leave. Immediately,” said Pontius, dragging Felix up the ramp.

“Leave?” Felix asked, surprised.

“This world is lost,” Pontius said over the secure vox, “The Inquisition has initiated Protocol Omega. It begins in ten minutes.”

“Sir, we cannot leave the Akkadians!” Felix answered automatically, though at least having the sense not to broadcast his reply for all to hear, “They fought bravely and aided me. I owe them my life.”

“We cannot carry them all,” Pontius pointed out, “And we do not have time for them to draw lots.”

“But sir…” Felix started, before catching the look in his Sergeant’s eye. Pontius didn’t want to leave the Akkadians either, but it was clear that he was already grossly violating their orders by coming to rescue Felix. The Logis had undoubtedly already censured him for risking an entire squad to save one Marine.

“… Give me a moment to say farewell,” Felix decided instead. Pontius stared at him grimly, but nodded his consent.

Turning to face the Akkadians, Felix saluted sharply. The Guardsmen – their Commissar included – were caught off guard, but quickly returned the gesture.

“We must leave to reinforce another sector,” Felix told them, his voice amplified by his helmet, “But other Steel Wardens will soon relieve you. Hold this position until they arrive.”

The Commissar nodded, before saying, “I never got to ask your name.”

Felix never answered, so bitter was this "victory". 

Instead, he turned to board the Thunderhawk.


----------



## Brother Emund

Great. I might be able to post this time. Work permitting..


----------



## Kaiden

Hey guys great stories all around this month. This is my entry, it is the prologue to much larger story idea which I will post independantly, but the theme was such a good fit I couldn't help but submit. Having said that it is my first writen piece in well over a year so c+c is always welcome.

*Shadow of the Hydra*​
_Fate is a curious thing. To some who spend their lives running from it, fate becomes as solid and relentless as an avalanche at their back. To those who struggle and push against it, fate becomes the weight around their neck or the shackles at their feet. And to others who accept it, fate is the path underfoot and the stone upon their tomb.

But to those few who understand it, fate becomes a path ever-changing. To tread the shifting sands of fate is to control one's own destiny and the destiny of others. However it is also a most perilous path, for a missed step along the shifting road may set the unwary adrift, and spell doom for unnumbered souls.
Farseer Yr'Telara._

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feluna dodged as another of the snarling creatures lunged at her, its bladed limbs unnaturally quick. Throughout the craftworld, the children of the Bein-Fae were fighting bravely against these savage beasts, fighting and dying. The Hormagaunt charged in again, fangs bared and talons raised high. Feluna narrowly sidestepped a horizontal slash and the overzealous tyranid was sent skidding across the blood slicked floor.

Holding her ancient spear in a two handed grip Feluna rounded on the beast and brought the weapon down in a fluid, practiced arc, severing her attacker's head neatly; adding the stain of black ichor to the wraithbone floor.

Dozens more of the creature's foul brood scrambled over the bodies of the dead, hissing and growling, cold hunger in their eyes. Reversing her grip on the singing spear Feluna braced herself, the runes on her gore-soaked armour began to glow. Eldritch energies danced across her fingertips, she channelled them into the psycho-reactive spear. With a grunt of effort she slammed the haft of the weapon into the ground, unleashing a storm of raw psychic power. The charging Hormagaunts were smashed aside like leaves in a hurricane as the psychic bolts engulfing their chitin plated bodies, leaving nothing but ash.

With the immediate area temporarily secure, the exhausted Farseer took cover behind a broken wraithbone pillar. Breathing deeply and forcing her mind to slow, she closed her eyes.

_'Lileath guide my steps.' _

In her mind she could feel the heat of the battle, the pain of her kin, the shadow of the hive mind. She slowed her thoughts allowing the familiar calm of her trance state to wash over her, soothing the ache of her muscles and calming her mind. As she breathed deeply the world around her slowed to a crawl, seconds became hours, then days, the sounds of battle fell away and for a few precious moments she imagined there was peace.

Reaching out with her mind across the sea of infinite possibilities, Feluna saw the whole battle. She saw the brave sacrifice Excarch Haldur would make forty two seconds from now, she saw the Trygon beast poised to strike at a weapons team, the hundreds of termagants that in less than two minutes would overrun the last barricade. Expanding further she saw the hundreds of thousands of tiny ripper creatures burrowing through the Craftworld's vast irrigation system, and the vampiric Zoanthropes that even now fed on the immortal souls of her ancestors.

Straining the boundaries of her sight she saw the Craftworld itself, a gleaming jewel upon the unending void, and the monstrous hive ships the held it in their deadly embrace. Feluna searched the threads of chance and fate, a thousand battles unfolded before her sight, yet each outcome was the same. The death of a Craftworld, its soul broken and lost under a tide of claws and teeth.

Returning her mind to the her immediate surroundings, she cast a last lingering gaze at her home and felt the deep sting of loss in her heart. Mere hours ago this place had been a haven, a paradise even. Bein-Fae was a Craftworld that adored nature, its halls once displayed the most beautiful and exotic plants and wildlife of the Maiden worlds, its great forest cities were a marvel throughout the Webway. Now it was a corpse strewn warzone, dust and spores clung to every surface and the air was full of the scent of blood and death. Where once there had been bird calls and the songs of maidens, now there was only the sound of battle and the screams of the dying, and she was powerless to stop it.

Feluna cast a vengeful eye upon the beast leading the swarm, a massive Hive Tyrant. The sands of time moved so slowly through the hourglass, the beast seemed frozen in place, it's giant leathery wings spread wide above it as it impaled a brave guardian with its talons. Just beyond the physical at the very edges of her mind she sensed the cold, dread intelligence of the hive mind, vast beyond measure, devoid of pity or mercy...and it sensed her.

Feluna's eyes shot open, blood filled and wide. She instinctively erected the strongest metal barriers she could muster, it was not nearly enough. The cacophony of battle once again assaulted her senses, her head swam in a sea of agony as her synapses overloaded and she registered the hot coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Her vision darkened and she struggled to breathe, her body felt heavy and unfamiliar, and every nerve sung with white hot pain. Gasping for air she removed her ghost helm, letting her long black hair fall free, dust filled her aching lungs, causing her to cough up more blood.

Using the ornate spear as a crutch, the weary Farseer slowly rose to her feet and prepared to face the end. 

'I will meet my fate with.....' Feluna felt a sudden impact and had the faint sense of falling. The molten pain that coursed throughout her body began to ebb away, along with the last of her strength.

The broken Seer forced her head up, determined to look her killer in the eye. The last thing Feluna saw as her eyes finally closed, was the maw of the Hive Tyrant descending upon her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

_In the place bioluminescent glow of a low hanging Kaevyr plant, Farseer Feluna of the Bein-Fae Craftworld bolted upright in her bed. Her silk robe was drenched with sweat and it clung tightly to her rapidly moving chest. She crossed to her water basin and saw terror reflected in her own emerald green eyes. The rune tattooed on her forehead was aglow with a fierce blue light.

Understanding and resolve began to form in her mind, once again she would walk the ever shifting road, for this fate must not come to pass._

1,100 words excluding title.


----------



## Brother Emund

*Annihilation*

*Annihilation*
By
*Brother Emund*
1098 words​
GARBANOWSKI HAD SEEN planets die; pounded to dust my massed fleet actions or ravaged by life-eater spore and burnt in the blink of an eye.

Today he had earned the right, to witness the annihilation of a race.

His internal chronometer recorded that it had began eleven, point three hours ago (Terran adjusted).

* * *​
+ MY LORD, SCOUTS CONFIRM, IT IS THE _Stel-Uit _CRAFTWORLD +

Silence oozed through the bridge like quick frost, and all eyes turned to the tall figure standing beside the command chair. He was a marine, like most of them gathered on the bridge, but unlike the blue and gold livery of the Ultramarines, he wore the colours of the night.

Captain Cortez Ramirez, _Komtur_ of the Black Guard,

+ SQUADRON _Damocles_ REQUEST PERMISSION TO BEGIN THEIR ATTACK RUNS +

+ _La Gloire, Plongeur _AND _The Vauban _HAVE TARGET AQUISITION, THEY REQUEST… +

“…I am well aware of the situation. Order all vessels to hove to and await further instructions”

Garbanowski moved his head slightly, so he could examine his Komtur’s mood and reactions. As part of the Commanders body guard, he was in a unique position to watch history being made. 
A nudge from the rear meant that Brother-Sergeant Mittoo had seen him move.

+ Eyes front Garbanowski. You should know better +

+Yes Sergeant+

“Tactical?”

“All groups await your orders Lord”

“The… enemy?”

“No reports of any movement as far as the Kravitz Nebular”

Ramirez slammed a fist into his palm and the loud crack caused a faint gasp from all of those assembled.

“By the Throne of Terra, we have them”

Garbanowski felt the confidence flow through him like a physical wave, and for a brief second the great man’s eyes looked into his soul.

“Has Admiral Worf’s diversionary attack succeeded My Lord?” quizzed one of the Ultramarine’s, wearing tactical markings of second company line officer.

“We shall see Captain Jorvan, we shall see” He turned to a small group of naval officers who were huddled around a hololith.

“Admiral O’Connell, You may begin the attack” 

* * *​
Rarely does one witness such a sight.

Three Battleships, six Grand-cruisers, eight cruisers and thirty-two escort ships of every mark, opening fire in unison. 
Seconds later, the first lance fire struck home, followed by lines upon lines of heavy ordnance. 
Even with the flash shields lowered, the sight was blinding.

+ _Falconidae_ to the torpedoes +

Garbanowski felt a reassuring gauntlet on his shoulder guard and was surprised to see _Komtur_ Ramirez. The Commander’s face, usually solemn and serious, had broken open into an infectious smile.

“Ready to kill some Eldar, Garbanowski?”

“Always Komtur. For Corax and the Black Guard”

* * *​
_Stel-Uit_ was dying. Whatever the material it was that made up its structure, was slashed and blackened by a thousand strikes. Fires and smoke billowed from a hundred wounds and debris floated in great shoals around its frame.

Garbanowski could just about see the effects of another heavy strike before the torpedo twisted slightly to one side.

+ ONE MINUTE TO IMPACT +

+ Standard spread, you know the drill +

+ THIRTY SECONDS. THE EMPEROR PROTECTS +

White flame, molten metal and intense heat blinded Garbanowski’s senses.

+ Starcannon +

+ BREACHED, EMERGENCY BRACE +

The marine in front of him was cut in two and Garbanowski instinctively jerked left to avoid a jet of super-heated plasma. His harness snapped and he was ingloriously thrown to the deck, falling heavily against the legs of his comrades.
He felt his body moving and realised that he was now at the mercy of zero gravity. The servo’s in his boots had failed and he could not gain a hold on anything nearby. 
The torpedo had been neatly sliced in half, killing all or most of the crew.
He was lucky; he was still alive and could survive the void. Sooner or later he would be picked up.

_Komtur Ramirez? He was on the second tube._

Garbanowski turned, and the _Stel-Uit _Craftworld was revealed in all its glory.
The Eldar world was a mighty vessel to be sure, larger than the mightiest Imperial ship, bigger even than a Planetary Defence Platform.

+ So Vast +

Swarming around the top of the Craftworld, where Garbanowski identified the topsail, were groups of small craft. Retreating rapidly away from the behemoth, trailing smoke and fire were the contrails of hundreds of Imperial fighters.
All around him, in patches and lines, were the detritus of a vast battle. Frozen corpses wearing the black and blue of the Imperial fleets, floated alongside slim figures in yellow and white. Box-nosed Marauders jostled for position next to the remains of sleek, arrow-like xenos machines.

Garbanowski grabbed a piece of debris and was shocked to find that it was the head and shoulders of a naval officer.

A vast shadow blotted out the _Stel-Uit _and he winced instinctively. The huge bladed bow of an Imperial Cruiser rolled by engulfed in flames and debris. Electrical fires and bolts of lightning arced from its ruptured sides and small explosions pumped out debris and body parts in all directions.
In seconds the wreck had passed and Garbanowski turned back towards the Craftworld.

+ Terra save us +

The Imperial Fleet had gone, pounded into a trillion fragments of metal and flesh. The majestic Grand Cruiser’s _La Gloire _and _The Plongeur _had been surrounded by hundreds of smaller attack craft, and like stricken beasts upon the plains, surrounded by hungry predators; they were bitten and nipped until they slowly turned over and died.

_The Vauban_ lasted a little longer, but the superior sleek weaponry of the enemy, quickly wore her down too. Seconds later her magazines were struck and she went supernova.

Annihilation

Garbanowski chuckled to himself. 
_The Glorious Imperium of Man._

He saw death when it came for him, and smiled. A small craft, half the size of a Stormbird glided alongside and a beam of white light struck him like a las-shot. A hatch opened and he saw the figure of an Eldar warrior clad in their colourful livery. It cocked its head as if studying him. Green lenses glowed inside its coned helmet.

“Kaput Marine” came a voice through an amplifier, “You are all Kaput”

Garbanowski could have killed the figure as easy as breathing. It would be one more dead enemy, and one less xenos. His bolt pistol ached on his hip.

+ One day we’ll find you again, and when we do, we will destroy you all. Time, we have all the time in the Universe, but your days are numbered… xenos +

.


----------



## BlackGuard

*A Burden to Bear*
*by*
*BlackGuard*
1068 words, excluding title​

His vivid emerald eyes stared at the world below, it was called Caxis IV. He had studied the world for hours upon hours prior to his mission there and knew every detail of it with the exacting nature of a scholar. Caxis IV had been discovered during the Great Crusade by the warriors of the Raven Guard, and it was rumored that Primarch Corax even walked upon its temperate continents. It had, unfortunately, betrayed the Imperium during the Heresy of the Arch-Traitor Horus Lupercal and was put down by a contingent of the Imperial Guard supported by elements of the Salamanders. Since those days Caxis was the model world for which every other in the sector would have done well to stride to mimic. It was temperate, yet maintained a healthy degree of industry and a strong standing planetary defense force. Its governor’s was essentially a hereditary monarchy but each one was extensively and carefully groomed to assume the role whenever their appointed time came and it was said that their genetic-purity was amongst the finest in the sector. 

Its people were also a prime example of the Imperial Cult and the population maintained a solid faith in the God-Emperor, kneeled when told, and asked very little in the way of questions. They were content to live their lives as the Imperium deemed fit and to die with the knowledge that by gracefully accepting their roles in the vast galaxy that they were aiding the God-Emperor in more ways than they could imagine. He had enjoyed their company during his stay on the world, albeit it was done purely in the name of business and faith. Many a noble house welcomed him with open arms, with a noticeable degree of distance kept – only fools enjoyed his presence completely. The Governor Barthal, or rather King Barthal, had been just as welcoming as his nobles giving display to a great parade in his honor and showering him with honor and prestige. His profession did not often dabble in such pleasures of the flesh but he had found it refreshing that they assisted in his work, speeding it along and allowing him to root out the necessary evils that lurked in their society.

Of course, as his master often said, the life of an Inquisitor is never an easy one and anything that seems easy is often equally deadly. Those words had saved his life on Caxis IV too many times when he delved just a little too deep. To an unwary soul his probes into the nobility and the population would have seem adequate to insure compliance with Imperial Law – he had even burned a few select individuals from all rings of society and executed a number of less-than-faithful individuals with the full assistance of the people and administration. That was their first mistake. Far too often in his line of work when he had to employ the Emperor’s Mercy upon those whom had fallen from grace it was often resisted and required him to show even more brutal tactics to get the point across. In the off chance that the governor showed no resistance, they were often cold towards him afterwards and did everything they could to usher him off-world promptly. Governor Barthal had not and in fact offered up a string of other names that his and the local Ecclesiarchy had agreed upon. Barthal now laid dead upon the steps of his own palace, a bolt-round pulping his skull.

He was not surprised that there was a reaction to his killing of the governor – he’d have been truly frightened if the planet continued along its calm demeanor after that. He was surprised by was had lurked beneath the surface – a genestealer cult. Within an hour of Barthal’s execution the entirely capital hive-city was in flames as the genestealers rose up in a bloody tide. He had attempted to organize a resistance, and met with limited success. That limited success quickly became crushing defeat and he had been required to turn the capital city into a funeral pyre by overloading its subterranean reactors and sending it up in cleansing atomic fire. 

Per Imperial Protocol a request for assistance was sent out and within weeks the Imperial Guard arrived and descended upon the world. He had been there every step of the way, absolutely refusing to yield the world to the Tyranid filth. The 288th Jagite Regiment, the 290th Gholgothian Artillery Regiment, and the 59th Redolin Armored Division had followed his strong suggestions to the letter. The campaign to save Caxis IV was nothing short of legendary. The Jagites had held the line across the Bleak Plains, with the Redolin cracking every genestealer attempt to break their lines and the Gholgothians singing their war songs over the vox system as they rained fire upon the xeno. Though inch by inch, yard by yard, and mile by mile they were ground down by the billions strong Tyranid. Their last remnants had fallen back to the space port where he had launched off into space upon notice of his master’s arrival in system.

Now he stood above Caxis IV with his heart thumbing quietly in his chest as the burden of his oath to the God-Emperor tightened around his soul and mind. He had fought for this world from the very beginning and he could not attempt to descend into self-loathing, for he had done all that was in his power to cleanse it … but some cancers are simply too vicious for even the more resilient of treatments. 

‘Do not burden yourself Mikel,’ said the stern voice of his master, Inquisitor Halmen, ‘The death of a world is never an easy thing to bear … the death of good men even harder.’

‘There is more I could have done master … if only I had seen clearer … if only I ha-‘

‘Though you did not and you have learned a valuable lesson, and you will not repeat this mistake again.’

Mikel nodded and kept his eyes upon the world below, where even now soldiers died awaiting a rescue that would never come, ‘Admiral Yanis … by my authority … begin Annihilation Protocol, by the Grace of the God-Emperor.’

Below them the Imperial Guard never knew why they died – only that the blackened war-torn skies above them opened and it was not drop-ships that blessed them … but the Emperor’s Mercy.


----------



## Boc

BlackGuard please include a word count with your story. Thankya :victory:

I'll get the table of contents updated presently...


----------



## Brother Emund

Spooky. My story is about the Black Guard, and who wrote the next one... *BlackGuard* :scare:


----------



## gothik

yeah i was just thinking that myself "shudder"


----------



## KjellThorngaard

Doom of Many, Doom of One​
+++ Transmission received and recorded at monitor post Alpha 68.+++
+++Source unknown. Date stamp of origination unreliable.+++
Accessing…Accessing…Accessing…
Record Found.
Opening File
+++Transmission Begins+++

They don’t just kill you. (And they are masters at killing.) Once you are dead, they kill your world too. And consume it all. Every scrap of biomass is taken into the fleet as nourishment for the void. As fuel and material to push the hive to a new world and build the army that will consume it.

How do I know this? Because it happened to me. 

I was there when they came. I avoided them for days and days. The brave PDF fought a valiant yet hopeless battle. There were simply too many of them. Far too many. For every bug that fell ten more would stalk out of the sticky rain. And behind those came a wave of biting, chewing things.

Gorgers, I named them. Gorgers because they would gorge on any biomass they could find. When they were full they would deliver that biomass to the rendering pools. Everything ended up in the rendering pools. Everything.

I did. Seventeen days, six hours, twenty-three minutes after the first bug burst from its spore I was delivered to a rendering pool. I hadn’t even been consumed yet. Some beast of a species not yet in Imperial taxonomy stung me with some venom that left me limp as a bonefish. It happened so quick I barely felt the sting. The venom raced through my system shutting everything down, but not ending my life. 

Terror. So much terror. Did venom freeze my body or was abject terror holding me tight?

Either way I was fully aware that a Tyranid beast carried my unresponsive corpse to a pit filled with digestive fluids. Carried me to the pit and unceremoniously tossed me in. Unfortunately the venom did not free me from pain.

And pain I felt.

Burning, searing pain. Consuming fire. I was hyperaware in that pit of fluid. I could feel my skin dissolve, my muscles slough off. 

Tyranids. No other name in the Imperian can cause such abject terror and despair. Even the threat of the damned legions didn’t carry the same hopelessness. The Legions could be fought by the Astartes man to superhuman man. The traitors were no match for the might of the Imperium. Orks are a plague, but a manageable plague. The necrontyr were such a new threat and so scattered the populace really had no comprehension of they are a threat. Even the Eldar and their dark kin were warring races too finite in numbers to be a real and total threat. But the Tyranids, they were the worst of the worst.

Tyranids. ‘Nids. Bugs. Hive fleets. The Great Devourer. Whatever they were called the fear was the same. Even though most of the Imperium had never faced the Tyranid threat, or even seen the effects of a Tyranid invasion, the threat was enough to bring insanity and hysteria.

There was no warning when that horrific doom arrived. No warning at all. At least no warning for the common citizen. Now I know that the warp shadow had given a significant warning. Enough time to lift thirty regiments of Guard troops off world. Enough time for the wealthy to escape with their lives and their wealth. Enough time to rescue the Titan legion that called Danuvius home. Enough time to clear void space for hundreds of thousands of kilometers. Enough time to save all those that wanted to and doom all those they choose to leave.

I was left.

No one even had the courtesy to tell us we were doomed. Life proceeded as normal until they came. Until they rained down on Danuvius in wave after vile wave. I now know that all I knew about the Tyranids was not horrifying enough. Not even close.

It is one thing to fight and die when facing an enemy. That’s it. You are dead. The Tyranids take it to the extreme.

My organs liquefied. Then my bones turned to ooze. And still I was aware. Aware of my demise, aware of my doom, aware that I was no more.

But still aware.

Was it my will? My mind that was one in a hundred billion? Who could tell? 

From that pit my essence was funneled into the void through a towering construct of chitin and bug flesh. From surface to vessel the trip only took a few hours. From a pit to a sack, or so it seemed to me.

I lost all track of time in that sack. Eventually I realized I was no longer in the sack. I was in a bug. In it. Part of it. Absorbed as nourishment.

But still aware.

I was losing what was me though. I didn’t begin to dream bug dreams like I feared in the beginning. I didn’t sympathize with the thing I was part of. My essence was strictly me. Yet I was less of me day by day.

At some point the thing I was in ended up in a pit. Another pit filled with those same vile fluids. Into the fluid, back into the sack, into another thing.

Three more times I repeated the cycle. Each time I lost a little more of the essence of me.

For a time I tried to count the cells that were still me. My mind was still strong enough to do it but when the total was less than a thousand the shock nearly wiped out what was left of me.

And then I was but one cell. Channeling all that was left of my will I sent this accounting of doom by Tyranid.

Of annihilation.


+++Transmission Ended+++
File closed.

Word Count: 956 not counting title


----------



## Serpion5

*To Face such a Beast*

To Face such a Beast
1050 Words, excluding Title. 

----------

It was one thing to know when a foe had been defeated. But it was another to insist that the process be seen through to its extremes. Following Mithrahc’s order, the Necron legions had been sent to the planet once known as Kathaakras, a once luxurious world that formed the hub of entertainment for the nobility of the necrontyr. Following the Immortalization process it had been rendered into neutral territory where negotiations had taken place. When the great sleep had been initiated, the world had been abandoned altogether. 

Until this day. Nemreth felt the presence of several thousand Necron minds tied to his own as he ordered the descent to the planet’s surface. Behind the Fleet, the Dolmen Gate shuddered and screamed at the unwilling transgression of the unloving aliens but the intrusion could not be halted. With the Phaeron’s authority, Nemeth would scour the krork colonies that had taken up living here, and he would capture the creature that dwelt among them. The C’tan shard that posed as a warboss in order to escape the clutches of god hunters. 

‘Begin landing.’ Nemreth ordered. ‘Deploy beacons at the co-ordinates to follow.’ He initialized a scan of the world beneath, locating the hub of krork activity. With a malevolent chuckle, he transmitted the co-ordinates to the several dozen ships behind him, and looked down upon the doomed world in anticipation. The Flayers would be down there in moments, that lunatic Re-Kyt among them. 

‘We’ve been sighted.’ Arakyr said at his side, looking to an outer orbit where several junk heaps had begun to move in their direction. Nemreth had to look twice to make sure the hulks of random scrap were in fact space faring vessels. 

‘Good.’ Nemreth nodded. ‘If they come to us, we can eliminate them that much faster. Order all craft to return fire and prepare a mass teleport to the surface.’ 

‘Yes My Lord.’ The Lychguard replied. 

* * *​
Leaving the battle in space to the ship commanders, Nemreth joined the teleportation attack. One moment he was surrounded by Lychguard, including Arakyr, and the next he was amid a sea of green skinned savages. Their ferocity was seemingly undimmed by the hordes of Skin flayers already running rampant among them, but bravado alone was not enough to stay the Necron attack. As the freshly teleported warriors and immortals began to open fire upon the krork, metallic cries of anger and frustration could be heard from the flayers as their potential trophies were reduced to subatomic ash before they could be harvested. 

_‘Lord Nemreth, I believe I have a lead.’_ The familiar voice of Socous sounded over the Tomb matrix, and the acting Nemesor reacted immediately. 

‘Report!’ He ordered, ignoring the carnage around him as his guars fought doubly hard to keep the roaring greenskins from reaching their charge. 

_‘It is just as we thought.’_ The Deathmark relayed his report from out of phase, where he scoured the battlefield completely unmolested by the barbarians that infested this rock. _‘It is a C’tan shard, posing as the krork warlord and manipulating them to its own will. I will attempt to identify it... and...’ _

‘Socous!’ Nemreth bellowed. ‘Report! Report at once!’ 

It was too late. _‘It has... seen me...’_ A garbled though escaped the assassin’s mind. A sheer malevolent force momentarily disrupted the entire Necron assault. Across the battlefield, Necron screams of pain and fear could be heard as a force like no other attacked the Tomb Matrix directly. Nemreth fell to his knees, his bodyguard doing likewise. One of the Lychguard was cut down in the moment of weakness, a crude metal axe separating head from torso in a hail of sparks. Nemreth tried vainly to resist the onslaught but was as powerless to resist as even the lowliest Necron warrior. 

Then suddenly the pain stopped. Through it all Socous had been doing everything he could to sever himself from the others, to allow himself to perish alone without being responsible for the doom of an entire Legion. Nemreth was stunned into inactivity for almost a full ten seconds as he slowly rose to his feet. Socous... He had been a loyal servant of Nemreth for millennia now. Even the creed of the Deathmarks he had cast aside in fealty to the Lord he had deemed worthy of exclusive service. 

It had been so long since Nemreth had felt an emotion such as this. What was it? Sadness? Certainly not. Regret? Possibly. But one thing was undeniable, the burning desire he felt to imprison this foul creature was now strengthened a hundred fold. 

‘Forward.’ He uttered simply. Without a word, his legion complied. Across the entire ork settlement, glittering Necron warriors scythed down krork brawlers without mercy. Flayers tore the flesh from those that tried to flee. Enormous Monoliths and ponderous Doomsday Arks unleashed utter destruction upon the war machines and structures of the crude city. Little by little, they grew closer to the target that lay in the city centre.

Nemreth knew who it was now. There was only one C’tan who was so well versed in the laws of the materium, able to bend every facet of the physical universe to its whim. Only one C’tan had ever been able to exert such a degree of control over the most minute functions of technology and machines. And when it had been shattered alongside its brethren, each and every shard had inherited this insidious power. 

The Beast of the Void... Mag’ladroth... The Void Dragon.

Socous had looked into the mind of this creature. And he had suffered the ultimate price for such a transgression. The once feared assassin had been taken apart at more levels than could be understood by a creature born of the universe itself. But even knowing what he faced would not dissuade Nemreth from taking vengeance for his fallen comrade. Vengeance for... 

...

Had there been another reason? 

It didn’t matter. His warscythe cut a bloody path through the krork as the structure that housed the Dragon Shard came into view. He rested one hand on the cubic device at his waist and paused for a moment to reaffirm his grip on the situation at hand. He was facing down a Star God. 

_Only a shard,_ he reminded himself. ‘All Necron units, prepare to move in.’


----------



## KjellThorngaard

Interesting short Serpion5. For a Necron to nearly feel fear makes a cool twist to the common Necron writings.


----------



## Dave T Hobbit

*Clear Skies*
HOES April 2012: Annihilation

Admiral Tarsias Fallik attempted to work the muscles in his neck without tangling the command connections. Even after promotion to command it all it was still a case of hurry up and wait he mused wryly. Giving up the unequal effort against fatigue he studied the holotank again. The enemy were still just grey-green spots representing probable positions and vectors. Pulling the image back he checked the fleet disposition again and confirmed again that they were deployed in a bowl facing away from Kriuper. Ready to react to the enemy, once someone could discover exactly what sort of enemy they were.

* * *​
"Admiral, long range scans place the enemy fleet at fifteen ships. We have resolved a scan-capture of the lead ship."

Tarsias summoned the image to his holotank, relieved to finally see his enemy. The ship was like an ugly arrow. Although it was angular and covered in what could be spikes it lacked the disturbing grace of Chain Wraith craft, so appeared to be something new. Maximising resolution the grey-green blur revealed a structure toward the rear that could be shaped like one of the occult totems his briefing had mentioned.

"Mr Semid. See if you can get me an image of the sides."

"The angle is acute," replied the sensor technician, "I am trying to unify our readings with the fleet to create a workable image."

"Get me what you can. Mr Derns signal the fleet to advance Pattern Epsil."

"Commencing Deployment Pattern Epsil."

Tarsias watched as Captain Aurin took the Croestus surging forward alone to communicate the offer of truce. Meanwhile elements of the fleet swung away from the orbital plane while the remainder advanced in a crescent to take advantage of the enemy's tight deployment. If all went to plan the enemy would identify themselves and depart peaceably; if not they would soon see that they could not bear on all elements simultaneously and be forced to surrender.

* * *​
"Captain Aurin reports he is in range Admiral. Initial communiqué transmitted."

Tarsias leant forward. Would they agree to terms immediately, or would there be a show of bravado? Hopefully the pre-recorded messages and basic dictionary would cover enough situations to start a dialogue.

"Sir, Captain Aurin reports he is under fire. Some sort of prow-mounted weapon... Sir sensors have detected a surge consistent with a reactor overload. We have lost the Croestus"

Tarsias racked his brains for anything he might have missed from the initial contact that could help now. He remembered the excitement when the colony on Agrendon released its report stating the Barnhof Belt had ceased to exist and the parties when the Navy deployed a group to investigate. The concern when communications became patchy followed by silence. Weeks turned to months without word. He lobbied for a rescue mission but was told the fleet was needed in-system.

Maybe if they had listened this could have been avoided. Maybe if they had listened Agrendon would still be alive.

The first sign had been anomalies in communications, then reports of unexplained astronomical events. The group deployed at Agrendon managed to get off a message confirming attack before going silent. Then a final garbled message from the planet containing images of dropships and copies of harsh sounding broadcasts.

Analysis of the transmissions had revealed them to be a very degraded but recognisably human language. Translation combined with study of the images had shown the invaders to be as degraded as their tongue. A warrior culture following a bloody god. He had expected bravado, but attacking without even trying to talk?

* * *​
For a moment the wings of the fleet paused in honour of their comrades before moving to combat speed, surrounding the oncoming ships in overlapping fields of fire.

"Confirm that fleet to Engage Mr Derns. Target their engines."

Tarsias watched the holotank gain definition as data from the vanguard fed back to his station. The enemy started to spread to face his vanguard; however, their ships seems slow even by the standards of void craft and were still covering each others flanks preventing most broadsides from coming to bear. His second wave approached on a lazier curve, overshooting the engagement before firing thrusters hard to swing back.

With Kriupan ships now on all sides, using the vicious prow batteries would require the enemy to turn their engines toward the enemy and soon more than one began to drift. However, as the fleet came to close quarters the enemy revealed an almost suicidal disregard for their own men, firing across the decks of their own ships to rake the vanguard with punishing broadsides. Even the increased manoeuvrability of Kriupan ships could not avoid it all and several ships suffered system failures.

"Mr Derns order the fleet to pull back and deploy medical ships to evacuate damaged ships. Broadcast the prepared message offering a ceasefire."

Watching the holotank Tarsias was stunned to see signals fading out.

"Admiral, they appear to be targeting the medical ships!"

Tarsias bowed his head, unable to watch the fragments of the support ships go dark.

"They were trying to save them! Why did they attack?" Ensign Semid tailed off.

Pirates would always honour a temporary ceasefire while a disabled ship was rescued, and even Chain Wraiths did not target the non-combatants. How degraded did you have to be to attack medics? Tarsias gripped the arms of his chair as he tried to wrestle the facts into even partial sense. Would a people that violent even accept that they had lost? In the end protecting the lives of his own people must come before saving the lives of aggressors.

"Mr Derns, I feel this is an appropriate moment to remind you that any bridge officer is obliged to place his commanding officer under arrest and assume command if that commanding officer displays conduct unbecoming." Tarsias watched his second turn from his station with a puzzled expression. Forestalling the inevitable question he continued, "Order the fleet to re-engage. Target priority bridge and life support."

Silence fell across the bridge before each officer stood and saluted.

* * *​
The rest of the fleet had returned to dock but the Agamemnon had remained, Tarsias forcing himself to watch until the last hulk guttered into darkness. He knew he would never fully reconcile the order with his conscience; however with the annihilation of so many ships even if this Imperium did not see Kriuper vastly outmatched them they would not have the resources to attack again.​
- 1074 words


----------



## Ambush Beast

*Hi*

I thought that this was going to be a story about the Alpha Legion. Great story though. not disappointing at all.


----------



## Dave T Hobbit

Adrian said:


> I thought that this was going to be a story about the Alpha Legion. Great story though. not disappointing at all.


Assuming that was meant for me: thank you.


----------



## Ambush Beast

*Hi*



Dave T Hobbit said:


> Assuming that was meant for me: thank you.


Sorry, my friend. The comment was about Kaiden's "Shadow of the Hydra" :biggrin:


----------



## Dave T Hobbit

Adrian said:


> Sorry, my friend. The comment was about Kaiden's "Shadow of the Hydra" :biggrin:


Damn you.:ireful2: Now I have to be unpleased to balance out my earlier pleased.

However, it does stop me puzzling about why my story might make anyone expect the Alpha Legion.


----------



## andygorn

Just because someone has to say it:

"_No-one_ expects the Alpha Legion!"
(That's the point, shhh...don't tell anyone - lol).

Great stories here, all.


----------

