# Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 10: Deliverance



## Boc

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.

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 each 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:

*Deliverance*

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)*Saturday, 22 October 2011*. Voting will be held from *23 October - 29 October.*

*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.

Partipation - 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: What price can one put on deliverance?

gothik: Deliver Us from Evil

ThatOtherGuy: The Thing

C'tan Chimera: Barry's Last Broadcast

Brother Emund: The Emperor Protects

Taliesin: Deliverance

Todeswind: Savage

Andygorn: Upon Brotherhood...

Shogun_Nate: From the Depths of despair I cry to you, O Lord

VulkansNodosaurus: From Oneself


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## gothik

hmmmmmm apart from the obvious this is gonna be a good one


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## andygorn

@gothik: Do you mean like 2 Noise Marines squaring off against each other and playing "duelling banjo's"? (lol)


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## gothik

LOL andy i was thinking more two raven guard walking the field of battle to the tune of Delierance by the mission lol


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## Ambush Beast

*‘What price can one put on deliverance?’*

‘What price can one put on deliverance?’


Daemon-engines marched. They moved with dread steps that shook the earth to its very foundations with terror and corruption. Twenty-five death machines replete with screaming souls bound to their very essence wailed for their deliverance from the endless torments they endured. 

Chaos had come to Verialious II, damnation from the shadows now moved freely into the light of day. All the prayers of a faithful world of the Imperiam had fallen upon ears both deaf and uncaring. Void-shields burned bloody-red around the two-hundred-fifty foot murder-monsters as they absorbed the firepower coming at them from the capital city’s all but useless defense platforms. 

From their horns they made their intent known to a world that already quaked with mind-numbing abuse. Fire and blood along with cones of smoke fifty meters long erupted from the cannons of the corrupted Titans as they released their ordinance. 

In the far distance super-novas bloomed like melting suns as the cursed shells decimated whole quarters of the capital’s cityscape. Buildings that had stood for five-thousand years collapsed in heaps of smoke and ash while their iron skeletons melted with the heat of the screaming blaze. 

The Princeps of the Apostate writhed in his amniotic bubble issuing commands to his moderati while blaspheming the Emperor’s name and laughing maniacally with insane abandon. Argon the Mindless watched through mechanical eyes, surveying the battlefield with ten-thousand years experience lending him information and purpose. 

‘Death to this world!’’ he shouted through the war-horn. ‘Death to his beloved; to the faithful followers of the corpse-god!’ At his voice the souls bound to the Titan screamed in horror as whips of psychic lightning raked them. Their eyes were open to the spirit realm and they shuttered as they watched the winged shadows pour from the ether.

The sky turned black with smoke and flaming debris as the Titan’s fired their weapons again. Death had come to Verialious II and there could be no escape from the wrath of Chaos. 

Planetary Governor Bartos Coble stood behind darkened plate-glass windows shaking with fear and desperation as he watched his world collapsing around him. His oversized body was clothed in purple-red robes that bore rings of sweat that stained the rich fabric. 

His voice shook as he called for help that would never come from vox-casters that no longer carried a signal. Governor Bartos fell to the floor as another blast tore a city block asunder before his very eyes. ‘Emperor have mercy on us!’ he wailed, his voice like a child’s rot with all the emotion of a helpless victim.

Around him the air grew stale and feted as rime-frost began to crawl up the plate-glass window. The wallpaper curled like extra long fingernails; blackened and fell away from the walls to lie useless upon the green marble floor. 

Around the Governor shadows thickened as webs of smoke began to form in the air and swirl like ink in a glass of water. Through the warp-portal a man walked clad in simple robes of black, head covered in a deep shadowed hood. 

He spoke with boldness and held himself in contempt of the Governor’s authority. He was not here to play games, but to offer his services to assure the survival of Verialious II. Outside another blast brought down a skyscraper and tore the air with screams of daemons intent on decimation. 

The Governor shook and hid his face, but the man clad in black robes moved without fear to stand before the prostrate fat man on the floor. ‘My name is Tobias Malicar.’ he said. His voice was like fire burning in the Governor’s mind. It burned away everything else except the person standing before him.

‘You have two choices before you. Employ my services or die.’ The Governor looked up from his terror, but could not see the man’s face. He imagined that if he could he would die from fright. Somehow he knew the man before him could bring his world deliverance, but at what cost?

‘Do not tarry. I will bring you deliverance.’ The man said. ‘What price will we pay for your help and how can I know you can deliver us from the hands of Chaos?’ the Governor ventured.

‘Do not put me to the test or I will leave you to your doom! Me or death!’ the cloaked man shouted into the Governor’s mind. Blood fell from his eyes and flowed from his mouth as his teeth shattered. The Governor submitted, ‘You.’ is all he could say.

Tobias Malicar smiled and walked back into the whirling miasma from where he had come. Moments later he emerged from the warp-hole with lightning flashing and a tsunami of energy that shot forth and annihilated the void-shields of the lead Titan. 

The Princeps of the Apostate screamed as the psychic feedback slammed him like a hammer within his skull. Blood swirled in his amniotic fluid from the burst blood vessels behind his eyes. Blind, Argon the Mindless screamed, his voice echoing from the war horn. The souls bound to the daemon-engine echoed his voice with screams of their own. 

All across the landscape the other twenty-four Titans stumbled as the earth below them rippled for no apparent reason. Before them the Psyker shouted. Unprepared for his power, two smaller engines burst into flames and fell onto their backs, the souls held within, freed from the wards that bound them.

The Psyker thrust forth his hands and the rest of the void-shields protecting the Titans imploded with reverse energy that cracked the hulls of the mighty war-giants. With a final shout Tobias Malicar screamed into the minds of those operating the machines and tore them apart. Clenching his fists he broke their bones and reaved their flesh from them as well. 

With a breath slowly escaping from his mouth, he broke the remaining wards and brought deliverance to those who had been bound. The freed souls wept with relief as they escaped their chains. Verialious II had also been delivered, but at what cost? Tobias Malicar smiled as he thought about it. 

In the distance fires burned, the smoke billowing in the ancient sky. Blood-red beams of light from Verialious’s sun pressed through alighting upon Tobias Malicar as he thought about the price he would demand. ‘What price can one put on deliverance?’ he said to himself. 



1,063 words including title.


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## gothik

Deliver us from evil

A story of Deliverance

Word count 1067 excluding title


The coastal village was like any other across the length and breadth of the Empire. Suspicion hung high in the air as the lone rider wearing all black made his way into town on the back of a magnificent black steed.

He did not look at anyone nor did he deign to acknowledge anyone he just kept his eyes front and centre, his destination his own affair.

Kelisan was a fishing town that had fallen on hard times, the fish no longer swam here and when they were did they were foul, inedible and worthless. It had been that way since the wreck of the Manathlans Spear, a boat belonging to the elusive and secretive Sea Elves.

That was three years ago and whilst no one had been brought to trial for such an act the bad luck followed. There were those that wanted the guilty ones named, shamed and hung for murder, whilst there were others that snorted it was Mannan who had brought the wealth the town had lived off and if them there Sea Elves thought they had the right to travel the seas then they had the right for salvage.


The horseman got off his horse at the end of the street, he motioned a stable boy over, paid him some silver and walked into the Inn, the boy lead the horse into the stable and wondered who the stranger was.

There were no makings on his clothes or his saddle to even suggest if he was from the army, navy, or temples. Curiosity struck the youth and he snuck into the back and sat in a corner, making himself look as small as possible so that he would not be seen.

In the corner sat the priest of Mannan and the priest of Sigmar, both the principle deities of this village and on pretty good turns. Beside them sat their enforcers. Gruff brutes that were paid to ‘take care’ of complications aroused by the priests own lusts and actions

The stranger took a seat at the bar and waited until the room had gone silent as always happened when anyone unknown rode into town.

“Tell me, Priests” He almost spat the words in contempt “Why is it that these waters are poison to the fish that would be so bountiful here”

Both Priests looked to each other wondering why this stranger would dare address them in such a manner. Did he have no respect for their positions?

“Tell me good sir who are you to be talking to us in such a manner” The Priest of Mannan snorted in derision.

“I asked you a question did I not?” The stranger picked his tankard up; the youth could make out the pale hand that gripped the tankard, as pale as death. “Perhaps I can answer it for you.” He turned in his seat his hat covering his face like a shroud.

“The vessel wrecked here three years ago was a vessel of the Sea Elves. Their cargo spilled into the ocean like unwanted bauble. Now, why did such a vessel with such an experienced crew wreck themselves?” 

The Priest of Sigmar went to answer but was silenced by the strangers raised finger.

“I have been up and down this coastline and can see no possible reason for it, unless the lights on the rocks warning sailors to stay away on dark stormy nights was changed from red to green”

Everyone in the inn lowered their gazes to tables or floors. This Coast was well known for the murderous act of wrecking, deliberately changing the lights on the cliffs from danger to safe.

When the ship was foundered the crew would be murdered one by one and their cargo would be taken and sold on. Everyone knew it was that, no one knew who had done it but they had not been truthful about why such sea born children, as Sea Elves would misjudge the waters they knew so well.

“You are mistaken sir, for that is a crime punishable by death” The innkeeper, a portly man who might have been handsome once until age and too much good living caught up with him, explained to the stranger. 

He glanced out the window as the sea fog came in low this night and the eerie light of Moorslieb followed with it.

“You have until midnight to bring those responsible to the beach head where the lights were turned off…. or you all die” 

The stranger got to his feet and walked out the inn.


The fog swirled around the stranger as midnight approached and only the stable boy came to the beachhead where the lights had been changed.

“Please sir, I – I don’t want to die”

The hooded stranger looked down at the boy and cocked his head to one side. He asked the boy if he knew who was responsible for murder.

The boy looked around him and told him what he knew, he told him that the Priests, tired of the money the Sea Elves earnt for fishing in waters inaccessible to human fishermen and jealous of their fabulous cargo arranged for the vessel to be wrecked with the Burgomaster and his henchmen.

The stranger listened and told the boy to leave the town and never come back. Later that night the screams started.


The boy watched from his hiding place the stranger sat atop his horse and did nothing as the sea fog brought the drowned back to life and the murdered to extract their revenge against those responsible. 

Blood filled the streets and those caught in the tendrils were pulled back into the whirling whips of cloud to be disposed off by the dead.

The boy closed his eyes as the fog moved back towards the sea taking its grisly cargo with it. The stranger looked over to where the boy sat cowering and made his way over.

“The evil was in the town itself” He explained “I have delivered you from a life of sin had you stayed here.”

“Who – Who are you?” The boy asked.

“I am Mannans Deliverance, for murder on his domain I deliver him those responsible” and with that he rode into the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves. 

The village was empty and after the boy relayed his story it remained that way as a reminder to those who did not heed Mannans words


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## ThatOtherGuy

The Thing.


Horatio was coughing and wheezing as he slammed the massive rusty vault door shut behind him, locking it frantically after. It was a selfish move to do to his retinue, but the primal scenario of flight forced him subliminally to forsake any sort of human compassion in the act of saving his own hide. Behind the massive door, he could hear the faint screams of death, sending a shameful shiver down his spine as he listened to the deaths of his servants. He knew he should have waited at least for a moment to let some of his members in on with him. But alas, even an inquisitor can be thoughtless at times of extreme horror and conflict.

When the last of the tormented cries dissipated, Horatio slowly walked over to the corner of the vault and slumped down next to the wall. Without a moment further he began to weep bitterly, the grief of failing to be honorable and courageous in the face of danger was too much to hold back. But then again, how could he be courageous against that… _thing_. How could one, save for the Emperor, could bring to bear the bravery against such a malicious creature like that? Even Gergan the boastful fled from the scene as well, a man who has shown never to run from the adversary.

As Horatio mentally tried to come up with some shameful reason as to justify his cowardly move and behavior, a large and terrifying clang echoed from behind the door followed by an ear piercing scraping. Horatio’s fears went into overdrive at that horrid sound and began to believe that this was the end of him. He scrambled through his coat and pulled out his dormant inferno pistol and prayer book, deciding that if this was truly the end of the line for him, he might as well redeem himself in front of the Emperor by fighting to the death. Igniting the flame within the pistol, he aimed the ancient weapon at the door, ready to unleash a fury of melta at the thing once it broke through.

“In the blackest day and darkest night…” Horatio began to whisper.

Horatio jumped a bit as the vault door bent inward, the creature on the other side making a forceful blow to come in. The cacophony of scratching claws and gnashing teeth sung horrendously on the other side as the creature braced itself for another attempt. 

“None can withstand the Emperor’s light…” 

Another slam against the vault door and the main lock blew off, only the emergency lock still standing strong. The thing behind the door began to growl even more fiercely and Horatio heard it.

“For it is the Emperor’s light protecting us…”

At last the door exploded off, the monstrosity from the other side proving that no barrier could hold it back. Horatio screamed once his eyes laid upon the… thing. A gibbering mass of amorphous flesh and gnashing limbs, it was a monster of unnatural and abominable construction. Horatio pressed down on the trigger and a torrent of sub atomic heat exploded out. 

“And is shall deliver us!” Horatio screamed fanatically.

The pistol did its damage as it was designed, burning away at most of the monsters flesh and mass. While it did scream out in wild pain and agony, the damage that Horatio dealt really did nothing at all. Instead the creature’s wounds morphed into mouths of wicked nature and grew into weaponized appendages of both boney and lucid build. The thing flailed and kicked with these limbs as it slowly moved towards Horatio. 

The Inquisitor grabbed his holy book and threw it at the monster and sprinted off behind it as a last minute attempt for survival. While the action with the book did nothing, Horatio’s flight did. He managed miraculously to pass by this nightmarish thing and sprinted down the hall back towards where he and his crew made fall upon the hulk. But the thing pursued Horatio, growing grotesque limbs from its fleshy body and sprinting after him. Horatio could hear the beast up from behind and ran faster. But it too picked up the pace. Horatio could see at the very end of the hall their boarding ship, invigorating him even more as to escape. But as he was only ten paces away, a fleshy tentacle grabbed his foot and dragged him towards the beast.

Horatio looked up and saw that the entrance of the boarding pod growing smaller and smaller as he dragged screaming. He kicked and flailed as to break the thing’s grasp, but its clench was too strong. The abomination then lifted the inquisitor high off the ground and dangled him above it as if to tease him. Horatio looked below and could see the mass coughing up some hideous pillar of flesh from its exposed bowels. Horatio was absolutely speechless at the sight of this mutation, for when the bubbling pillar of flesh reached to his eye level, it split in half to reveal a mimicked head of Gergan.

“Pray all you want organism… for it will do nothing to save you from my appetite.” It spoke emotionlessly.

The parody head then exploded into clawed feelers and devoured the inquisitor wholly, shredding his body into a bloody mess save for the cloths. Once the servant of the Emperor was finished, the thing compressed itself and transformed to appear exactly like his recent meal, taking the form and shape of the inquisitor. The mimicked Horatio then stood up and dressed himself in the former’s cloths and whistled to itself as it headed off towards the boarding ship, eager to leave this empty hulk in search of new food with the help of this… new disguise.


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## C'Tan Chimera

* Barry's Last Broadcast*
1100 words excluding title​
----------------------


[Last Known Records from Stygies IV] :: Innocence Proves Nothing::​
=Begin Transcript=​

*++*...Da-n machine spi---[total static], quit toying around an-[static continues] Ah! Haha, it’s like a little holiday *++*

*++ *This is sergeant Tarin Shebast of the 193rd regiment of the Iron Wings…What’s left of it, that is.*++*

*++*Got a better look up there? If that’s not enough to give you an idea of what I’m shooting for, I’ll spell it out*++*

*++* We are _fucked_. *++*

*++*I’m dead either way, so I’m just gonna go ahead and take a few liberties to properly lay the facts straight.*++*

[Static briefly returns as Tarin goes offscreen, sounds of heavy lifting as the camera appears to be hoisted up]

*++ *Yeah… I’m carrying around the remains of communications officer Barry and his vox gear like a camera… Just a torso and head- I call him Torso boy! Guess duty doesn't end with death after all. *++
*
*++*[Heavy static interference, sounds of a storm raging in the background]-nids showed up like we expected*++*

*++ *-ould- -th just the Ne- Work, dammit![Sounds of bashing] Much better. Tyranids aren’t a problem anymore… [static as pict screen is readjusted, revealing a landscape of dozens upon dozens of dead tyranid rippers and gaunts].*++*

*++* -was that Earthshaker bombardment they did awhile back when the whole fleet showed up. Blew a hole so big surprised even the bombardiers- figured we’d scared them silly at that point.*++*

*++* Nononon_ooooh noo_ we didn’t.*++*

[Tarin shows up onscreen, battered and bloodstained]

*++* [static surge]-gured they were charging, had all sorts of giants, some four stories tall. Dunno if you have any of them logged in your Ordo Xenos Book of Weird Shit or whatever.*++*

[Image clears up a little- Tarin’s covered in bruises and blood]

*++*-lmost there now, don’t wor--- Damn throne! Not a----*++*

[Picture resumes at a new location, the remains of what appears to be a barracks with corrupt geometry not endorsed in any standard construction template]

*++* Get this. They were charging alright, all of them, deathleapers, screechers and all. But not at us, nono. *++*

[Tarin props the vox and remains of Barry against a nearby structure, revealing even more bodies, including guardsmen]

*++* They charged past us. That’s right. Even the critters they shoot out of their guns ignored us. Ever heard of that caliber of BS anywhere except _this?!_*++*

[Tarin pulls out his Imperial Guardsman’s Uplifting Primer and spits on it]

[Tarin hurls it at the screen, causing a surge of static and the vox, presumably Barry’s helmet still fastened to his head, to tilt]

*++*Bugs don’t run. Never run. At least we thought. Remember that unidentified object directing the Hivefleet’s movement? Codenamed the Dyson Sphere? Yeah, I know about that- and it definitely wasn’t Tyranid.*++*

[Slinging the voxcaster’s remains over his shoulder, the pict shows Tarin’s legs stepping over bodies, Tyranid and Guardsmen alike, all with agape mouths and anguished poses]

*++*-- pent a good afternoon working on this just for you*++*

[Vox drops to the floor and is propped against a hallway wall, revealing a pile of decorated bodies]

*++*The bugs were running from something, hot on their scuttling heels. Guess what? It showed up too! What we did was stumble between a predator and its prey. Now guess who was the prey…*++*

[A dead hormagaunt’s head is dragged onscreen, taking up most of the pict space, Tarin’s hands moving its jaw up and down, laughing]

*++*That’s right! Big bad bugs oughta been called the jitterbugs! HA.HA. Sorry Torso Boy, gonna have to manhandle you a little more… _Nnnggh_*++*

*++*You’re gonna love this part*++*

[pict feed focuses in on the bodies, revealing them to be Commissariat Officers]

*++*That’s _riiight_! Take a gander! We got a whole Legion’s worth of dead commissars! Cause of death?*++*

*++*No, not Tyranids.*++*

*++* Nope! Not traitors… They did it themselves. [Tarin holds up the arm of one body confirmed to be Commissar Fenris, pistol in hand] That’s right- death grip so tight I can’t get his laspistol out of his fucking hand! A commissar commits suicide! But not just one… All of ‘em! I compiled a whole mound of bodies- hangmen who needed deliverance from the sight of this nightmare so badly that they checked themselves out prematurely. That’s how *FUCKED* we are!*++*

*++*…Can’t pretend to know what it looked like- got lucky and managed to close my eyes long enough when we all heard it coming. Oh man, the sound of that thing… My brain can’t handle it. I can’t begin to describe it. Howling… But not. Howling and talking, talking from all angles. Crying, laughing, roaring… I’d say ask the others for clarification, but they’re all dead. I just kept reciting prayers over and over to drown it out, and kept doing it after it was gone and still kept at it until the prayers meant nothing. Then I hid*++*

*++* Those that did get a good peep either butchered each other screaming or went so crazy they made out with their own flashlights instead*++* 

*++*It’s just me now, and I’ve seen enough to be labeled a heretic twice over. Ever stop to think what could ever make a Commissar kill himself just because he saw what it was?... Oh, yeah- failed to mention that part. It didn’t even attack us. It just glided right on past us after the bugs. This? All of this? Just from _LOOKING AT THE GODDAMN THING!_*++*

[Tarin storms off screen, cursing profusely]

*++* Nuke this place.*++*

[Tarin comes back into view, tears rolling down his bloodshot eyes, biting into his lip so hard that blood is drawn]

*++*I’m not crazy. No I’m not. Had to dismember Barry’s corpse to make it movable, yeah, but I’m not nuts. Not like those guys. You couldn’t tell now since they’re all quiet, but they all died screaming…Barking…Begging. Commissars handed out the Emperor’s mercy left and right until even they cracked too.*++*

*++* Annihilate it. Even the bugs wanted deliverance. The freaking _bugs_!*++*

*++*If you’ve got any access to the HQ’s vital stats, you should see me on there. Look my location up on a satellite and drop the bombs right on top of my head. Everything’s quiet now, but it’s still out there…that thing is still out there somewhere, oh throne…*++*

*++* I-[static from audibly growing storm]care---luable these forgeworlds are and you won’t either if that thing comes knocking...*++*

*++*-ree birds with one stone----- [More static discharges]a hive fleet… a cosmic monstrosity AND a heret---*++*

*++*Turn this whole goddamn system into space dust*++ *

[Deafening thunder]

*++*_Nuke it_.*++*


=End Transcript=​

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

Oooh man, that felt cathartic after weeks of academic writing. Figured I'd do something spooky since the results come in just around the time of Halloween, no? 

Anyway, back into the meatgrinder!


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## Brother Emund

*The Emperor Protects*

*The Emperor Protects
1075 words​*
“Why do you continue with this charade?”
“Ceesay, Corporal….”
“Open your mind Corporal Ceesay”
“Two-four-six…”
“Yes, yes… Army number two-four-six-one-one-nine-seven-nine. Four-thirty-first Norcium Rangers. 
Corporal Ceesay, your resilience is a credit to you, but you can save yourself the trouble. We know all about you and the unit you are in’ the interrogator paused for several seconds ‘your comrades have already told us everything”
“Ceesay, Corporal…”

The interrogator glanced to his left and the machine began to hum again.
“Save yourself the agony Corporal, open your mind, and release yourself to the embrace of the true God. We will enlighten you; show you another way, another life. Just relax and let us in. Become one of us”
“Spell this out pox head. Go-and-fuc….”

Pain. Raw, undiluted pain. Burning, scolding, incredible….

Ceesay passed out.

* * *


*Germinus Obscura
Day one hundred and sixty two
Main Entrance, Green Street Bastion*​

It had been three hours since the last attack. That was unheard of. The enemy had always attacked on the hour. 
Corporal Ceesay lifted his magnoculars and swept the open streets in front of him. For as far as the eye could see, the ground was an anarchic tangle of blasted rockcrete, smashed vehicles and the detritus of a battlefield hotly contested. 
The enemy were consistent, he would give them that. The hundreds of red-armoured bodies that littered the field showed their determination to take the fight to the Imperials. Their rank, decaying corpses, looked like beetles laid out in the sun. Only their shape would tell you that they were actually human.

Human? 

Ceesay used the word loosely. Perhaps they were once, but now? When they sold their souls for the price of immortality, they lost the right to the title ‘human’. Now they were anything but, mere shadows of what once was.
Ceesay remembered the first encounter he had with them, the day he killed the first of them. 
The Arbites compound had been overrun and their bodies had been skinned and hung from the Precinct walls. There were frantic calls from help coming in from all over the district, people were dying everywhere and the local PDF locked themselves up in their barracks and screamed at the regulars to do something about it.

Ceesay and his men… 
_We were on leave for Thrones sake. _

They had just started a well-earned stretch of R and R after six months of chasing Eldar reavers all over the system.
_We had earned a break. And now this._

Ceesay and his section had found a muster point and confiscated weapons from the ill-trained PDF troopers, before commandeering a transport bound for the Space Port.
The planet had gone mad with gangs of doped-up civilians attacking anything that moved and the rule of law crushed under the weight of a million iron-shod boots.
They had got to the Port just as the first enemy transports landed, disgorging their cargo of the red-armoured troops.
Chaos troops. Servants of a corrupt God, bound to the destruction of Humanity

Ceesay’s driver had accelerated and then ploughed through a throng of the enemy, its eight wheels crushing them easily, and scattering the rest. They had reached the main gates and Ceesay could see some of the defenders frantically signalling to them to move.
The Corporal jumped down from the cab, just as one of the red-armoured enemy stepped in front of him.
This was very wrong. It was a man, but not a man. Where once was a face there was now a bulging open wound that was not caused by injury, but for a purpose.
Chaos.
His enemy bellowed through sutured lips and brought up a long-barrelled lasgun with a wicked curved bayonet attached.

Ceesay was quicker. 
He had fought Reavers and had won, beating them at their own game in hand-to-hand combat, using only his boot knife and lots of raw, unadulterated aggression. He struck low and hard into his enemy’s groin, opening up the femoral artery and castrating it in one swift move.
He twisted the blade and struck again, coming in an arc and digging deep into the soft area below its left ear. It dropped, barely making a sound.
And they ran.

And now, over five months later, he was standing, defending the last place of resistance on the planet.

_Help was coming _they said. _Hold out _they had said, and they fought the red Chaos troops. Matching their bestial fury with a ferocity borne out of desperation.
Then the tanks had come, and line upon line of robotic monstrosities that screeched obscenities at the defenders before the defences finally collapsed. His men died, he lived. 
That was the way of things. 

* * *​
Ceesay could hear firing outside and the dull thumps of explosions. The atmosphere in the cell immediately changed. He felt a deep dread come over him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He was about to die.

Suddenly his interrogator slumped forward, his twisted face, now a gaping hole. Ceesay was covered with gore and brain matter, but despite it all, he suddenly felt elated.
The gigantic form of a Space Marine stood at the entrance to the cell with a smoking Stormbolter in his right fist and a large rectangular shield in his left.

“Thanks be to the Emperor” Ceesay muttered through cracked teeth. The marine stepped inside and surveyed the interior. 
“Are you alone?” came a metallic voice. Ceesay grinned.
“Not any more. A Space Marine? You are the last thing that I expected to see”. 
Ceesay could tell that the marine was communicating with the others outside. He sat back and laughed aloud. He had made it, he had beaten them all, he had prevailed, and now he had been saved.

“Soldier?” asked the Marine. Ceesay grinned.
“Yeah, Corporal Ceesay, Jack Ceesay, Norcium Rangers”
“Do you see me?”
Ceesay blinked rapidly, his eyes suddenly focussing.
“An Astartes?”
The huge figure moved closer and bent down. A rugged face, scared from countless battles, and with eyes that had seen too much, was studying him closely.
“I am your deliverance”
“A rescue?”
“Deliverance. Your pain and suffering is at an end”
“But, I don’t understand”, Ceesay was frantic now.
“You have seen too much, things that should not be seen”
“Them?”, he nodded at the dead creature that lay at his feet.
“Yes”
“You are a brave man Corporal. Now be at peace”

The Emperor Protects


----------



## Ambush Beast

*Wow*

Great stories so far. Real great reads.


----------



## Taliesin

*My Trite, Humble, Cliched Contribution*

*Deliverance - 1092 words*

In the darkness, they waited. 

There were six of them. Each and every one a scarred and vicious veteran of the Heresy’s most savage battles. Life-weary warriors with cold eyes and tragedy beaten into their bones. Each a hero who by rights out to have been out in the void, ripping the hearts from aliens and traitors. 

Zhaven, the furious captain of the Twenty Fourth Assault Company. While fighting the Emperor’s Children in the Shield Worlds he had taken to staining his gauntlets white to the elbow; punishing himself if at the end of the day the polished enamel had not been fully stained arterial red. 

Artos the Unseen, who counted four hundred and thirty six confirmed kills of Sergeants or higher, (he himself had lost count of common soldiers) and of whom it was said once bested an assassin of the clade Vindicare in a contest of sniper-craft. 

In the darkness, they watched. 

“Only in death does duty end.” So the saying went, and so said the creed of their brotherhood. And though many others disputed it -- demanding their presence elsewhere in the Imperium’s neverending wars, calling them selfish or fearful or even cowardly -- each of them knew that his highest duty was here, to his lord. None spoke of the particular reasons that held them; their presence and devotion was enough. Besides, they had never been given over to garrulousness like some of their more outlandish cousins. But some had more obvious reasons than others. 

The flesh-spare apothecary Orvix, who lost three limbs in the course of one battle and yet still dragged himself from corpse to corpse, operating his reductor with his one good arm and his teeth. He stood clad in silver and crimson-trimmed armour, a tribute to the Mechanicus adepts who had fashioned his prosthetics at the Primarch’s special request. 

Old Ivril, one of four brothers who had been with the Primarch even before the coming of the Legion and the Emperor’s Light. When the Heresy had broken out he and his brothers had each commanded a squad in the Twenty Ninth Company. Ivril was the only member of that lamented unit still breathing.

In the darkness, they listened. 

They stood to their posts by the Primarch's door, relieving each other every seventeen hours for a brief respite for contemplation, study, and rest. Only then did they break their silence. Only then did they speak. Only then did they dare to give voice to the desperation that lurked within their hearts:

“He will come back to us.” A whisper. An affirmation. A hope. A pleading prayer.

Sergeant Grisot was the least sanguine of them. He was Terran-born, of the Old Guard. A living relic. Even though he could have worn one of the new suits of Tactical Dreadnaught Armor as a member of the elite echelons of the First Company, he shunned the honor. Instead he still wore his ancient suit of Crusader-pattern plate. He kept the left shoulder painted the old colors; navy-blue with bone trim. A memorial to half-forgotten years long past. The news of the Emperor’s fall at Terra had broken something inside him, and ever after he was imbued with a cold and mechanistic precision that barely seemed sentient. Whenever any in their impromptu little band spoke to him, he shrugged them off with a bitter grunt:

“I’ve only sworn two oaths in my life; my life for the Emperor, and my life for the Primarch. The Emperor’s dead, or as close to as makes no difference. The Primarch isn’t. I honor my word.”

But there was a hollowness in the voice; a shadow around the eyes that said far more.

Then there was Jax of the Sixth, called “Eyeas” after the young raptors of legend because he had risen to command of a full battle company after a paltry twenty years as a full-blooded Astartes. The previous Captain and most of his staff had been killed in a xenosbreed ambush. In the following days, Jax rallied his brothers and over the next three months eradicated every last one of the vile creatures. Later, amidst their stinking and burning corpses, the Primarch had patted him on the paudron with a wry grin, saying “So hatchlings are flying these days, eh? Alright, little eyeas. Let us see how far your wings can carry you.” 

Of all the Legion, Jax had been the most deeply shaken at the Primarch’s retreat into seclusion; his humours thrown out of balance and he himself left a shuddering grey wreck. But he had quickly rallied and now stood sentinel over his lord’s retreat with a steadfast assurance that bordered on fanaticism. He alone smiled behind the black ceramite of his helm, invincible in his faith in his master and liege. He alone spoke of the Primarch in the future tense, and he alone could smile when uttering his name. Though as the months passed unbeknownst to all the others his smile had begun to come a little unhinged...

In the darkness, they waited.

Out in the void the Imperium set about cleansing itself of its shattered dreams. Out in the void the Astartes set about rebuilding their shattered ranks with thin-blooded recruits. Out in the void small men and petty tyrants knocked down the last shattered remnants of greater predecessors. Out in the void the galaxy passed them by, laughing at the notion that supermen could do aught but betray and destroy; that grand ideals could do aught but fail and disappoint.

The thinblood First Captain -- no, _Chapter Master_, the strange words burned in the throat like acid -- had reproached them all, pleading the Legion’s -- no, _Chapter’s -- _desperate need for leadership. A visiting delegation from Terra had scoffed at them as hidebound fools, wasting away in self-indulgent exile when the new Imperium of Man needed building. And after all, wasn’t it the Primarchs and their superhuman follies which had brought about the death of the Emperor’s dream in the first place? The serfs even whispered of rumors that Roboute Gulliman himself was going to come coax them into the fold. 

But none of that mattered. Through it all, stonefaced, they listened, shook their heads, and waited. Deep in the Ravenspire - deep in the darkness - the shattered husks of heroes remembered the cousins they had killed, the brothers they had lost, and the sins that stained their immortal souls. 

Deep in the darkness, they waited for their lord. 

It was all they had left. 

It was all they knew how to do.


----------



## C'Tan Chimera

Wow, Taliesin- I don't think I've seen you around before, so I must say that's one hell of an introduction! That was a great piece of work- I usually scoff at all things Marine related since it's easy to play them up as super duper heroes, but you did it incredibly well there. You actually painted them up as strong, but flawed and wounded in ways that go beyond the flesh. In other words, you made Space Marines appealing even to a Xenos fanboy.

Well done!


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## Shogun_Nate

Excellent stories all around fellas! Really good stuff! I'll be sorting my own out soon and posting it :biggrin:. You won't like it C'tan... It has super duper Space Marine heroes in it! :biggrin:


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## ThatOtherGuy

Let me guess... A story about the Ultramarines?


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## C'Tan Chimera

Nah, I doubt I'll dislike it- I'm not a fan of the marines, but to each their own. So long as it tells a great story, I'll enjoy it.


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## andygorn

Wow everyone, great stories and amazing descriptions...really believeable characters too!

<Andygorn puts his own efforts into the bin because they're nowhere near half as good as these>


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## Shogun_Nate

Negative! It will feature my own chapter. I'm not a fan of the boys in blue (unless they have crimson fists!) :biggrin:


----------



## Todeswind

*Savage*

It had been foolish to leave the settlement unaided and unguarded. He'd spent so long cooped up in the abby within the burgeoning colony of New Ooelsnitz that his urge to explore entirely overwhelmed his common sense. He snuck out of the abby with only a week's provisions, a heavy burlap rucksack, and his prized books. He took a small blade with him, better suited for cutting back the thick brush of the forest than for defending his person. 

Even the Abbot did not know where he'd gone. 

He was alone in the wilderness. 

No... not alone.

They'd ambushed them as he was examining a particularly fascinating circle of stones. Each stone was covered in an uncontrolled mass of vines and centuries of mos but each was unmistakably perfectly carved into a square that would easily have impressed the Imperial Architectural Institute in Dietzenburg. 

A swift strike from behind and an agonizing headache later he'd awoken to discover his arms and legs bound and his body suspended above a cook fire. The gash across the side of his head did not hurt the tenth part as much as watching page after page covered in lovingly written notation fall into the fire, wisdom used for kindling.

The bronze cook pot bubbled cheerily, wafting a mouth watering scent of boiling stew spiced with the exotic flavors of Lustria. Bright colored lizards the size of Wagner's thumb were tossed into the pot with glee by the skink chef with casual aplomb. The small lizards flailed as they flew in little arks in trying to avoid the bubbling liquid, dancing in the air. 

The other members of the tribe gibbered and hissed in the sibilant serpentine language of their kind, ophidian words warbled with a forked tongue as they bartered for trinkets and baubles. They growled in a low warbling staccato seemingly disconnected from their conversations over the cook pot, a rhythmic rumble, grr-ribbit-creek, grr-ribbit-creek, grr-ribbit-crack.

It was the first time Wager had ever even heard that the Lizardmen society had music. Few written accounts of the Lizardmen's culture dealt with anything other than warfare. The great lizards of the dark continent had little patience for the intrusions of mammals. They tolerated humans at best and loathed their very existence by some accounts. All analysis of their motivation was little more than speculation though. 

The Lizardmen apparently felt neither the need nor the inclination to explain their actions. Some speculated that they even lacked the capacity.

Under different circumstances Brother Phinieas Wagner would have been thrilled to catalogue this newfound knowledge into one of his many leather bound diaries, taking care to write his notes in the margin with a careful hand so as not to smudge the ink or waste paper. Every sheet of paper cost a thousand times its weight in gold. 

However at the moment his academic interests in the skinks was secondary to a burning desire not to be suspended above a bubbling cook pot. And his books! How could anyone do that to books?

He could mourn the loss of his books later, he had to remind himself, now was the time for action. It was a good though, a proactive one. But for the life of him he couldn't think of a way to do it. He was no adventurer, no Celle of Danme with bulging thews and a sword blessed by the will of Sigmar. Wagner was an overweight scholar from Heilsbron with a fondness for breeding racing pigeons.

Play to your strengths Wagner, he grumbled to himself, play to your strengths. He thought of everything he knew about he Lizardman, he needed something anything that he could use to his own advantage. Most of the Lizardmen could understand the speech of men, even if they couldn't speak it themselves. They were superstitious and prone to mysticism, with a great respect for magic.

_Wait... magic_Wagner grinned wildly as he thought to the date. It was mid day and the chaos moon was moving into alignment with the sun in a matter of minutes. These savages would soon be at his mercy,_ You're a clever man Wagner. Use your knowledge against them. _

He sat and hoped, staring towards the heavens and hoping against hope. He waited and watched in glee as the sphere moved across the sky, blotting out the sun from view. His heart leapt with joy even as smoke filled his nostrils. He looked down and glared into the eyes of the largest and oldest of the tribe.

“I'm a powerful mage,” Wagner threatened, “You shall let me down from here. I warn you not to test my power. See how I've blotted out the sun.”

The skinks ceased their conversations and stared from him, to the sun, and back again. Wagner prayed that the reports of Lizardmen's comprehension of human speech were correct and continued, “Let me go. Just let me go and I will bring back the sun.”

The skink chief nodded to one of his underlings and motioned to the rope suspending him, before turning back to Wagner cheerfully, almost lazily amused. Wagner felt rush of of elation and victory as the lesser skink pulled out an obsidian knife and lowered him to the ground only a few paces away from the cook pot. 

It was gone as quickly as it came. The chief snapped out, grabbing Wager's throat with a slash of razor sharp claws. A stream of hot arterial blood shot out and spurted across the skink's face, sticky red prominent over pale blue scales.

As the world faded into blackness the skink chief's lips ground out a rough approximation to the human language with his forked tongue, explaining the movements of the planets as was cataloged and predicted by his peoples for generations. The movements of the celestial bodies, as the chief put it, were regular predicable acts upon which there lay little in the way of mysticism only the simple collection of cause and effect. 

He described the teachings of those who walked before. How each star and moon and planet was simply another ball of rock or pocket of gas nestled into a spot much like the one they lived upon, each spread out many millions of miles from each other. 

Wagner died watching his books tossed to the fire that would roast his flesh, wishing only for a scrap of paper and a quill to write with.

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

Word count (1078) 
A/N: This was inspired by a story I read in college about a Conquistador.


----------



## gothik

now theres an image, the boys in blue verses the boys with the red fists lol


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## andygorn

_Great stories here once again.
I've no idea whether this stands up to any of the ones so far, but here goes.
(I don't think there are any glaring typo's, but I'm tired atm, so can amend):_


*“Upon Brotherhood...”* (I think it's 1097 words, not including title).

Surrounded by ruined buildings and the rent carcasses of friends and foes, Lucian and Marius faced each other across the blasted landscape; the last two survivors of the shattering firefight and wild melee.

However, ‘survivors’ was a moot -point as each bore grievous wounds, leaking vitality onto the blackened and twisted earth...

Lucian limped to the right, victim of an overhead swing from the other’s multi-headed power-flail that had ravaged away nearly half the armour on his left side.

Marius held his arm -and that weapon- closer to his side than usual, trying to protect his armour and side, torn open by Lucian’s powerfist.

As they circled for position amongst the ruins, Lucian’s hate-filled voice called out:
“Look at our brother Hector: still standing sentinel over lands blasted by your betrayal and warmongering!"
"All his noble deeds and long history count for naught, buried under your blood-greed and madness!”

Marius regarded the corpse, noting that it was slit from the head almost to the groin, so that each side furled outwards like a flower. The perfection of the single strike which had achieved Hector’s demise was the only thing that kept the body from falling down.

The wildly hissing screeches greeting Lucian’s words almost overloaded his helm’s audio receptors and he realised that it was incredulous laughter from Marius’ corrupted voicebox:
“Hector..? Oh, _that_ one..! He was nothing."
"No, he was ‘weakling number 74’, mere meat-for-the-beasts.”
“Marius does not acknowledge any brotherhood!"
"Marius is no longer here, Lucian Margrave!”
“Now there is only Scareth...” it promised sibillantly.

Retreating, Scareth followed slowly and taunted him; perhaps former-Marius’ injuries had not been as damaging as Lucian had hoped.

The whips of the flail entwined over and under, writhing excitedly against each other, wetly, like snakes in congress, eager to taste his pain once again.

Taking cover at a corner wall of burning scaffolding, Lucian hunched down to present less of a target. Yet still the enemy’s bolter spat out a volley of rounds which drummed maniacally upon his armour like a deluge of rain:

It shredded the flimsy protection Lucian had tried to shelter behind, as well as coring several minor servomotors -which accentuated his limp- and drove him back into the relative safety of the flames; obscuring detection, but promising a slow roasting death as temperatures rose to infernal levels.

Shielded from view, Lucian attempted to make a rear strike, but Scareth turned at the last moment, whipping the flail into his midriff; a series of glancing blows which nevertheless made him almost double over as agony shot through him.

A backhanded swipe freed himself, staggering away to what he thought was a safe distance, yet Scareth pursued.
The latter’s melta howled and a beam of ravening energy seared forth, carving a great furrow from the earth towards him and further incinerating pipework and a barricade, as it’s main strength missed by inches. However, Lucian still winced as a section of leg armour was vapourised.

Before the charge hit home, there was just enough time for one of his plasma guns to spit a volley of cerulean bolts at the foe, punching hard into the reinforced armour, tearing it away in places and scattering it’s circuits across their battlefield.

Scareth’s momentum was sufficient to carry him into Lucian, sending them crashing into the rockface behind. The dull _crump_ of an explosion told that one of Lucian’s armour systems had just ruptured from the impact.

Scareth’s whip lashed out once again, tearing free one of the plasma guns which had inflicted so much agony.
However, the cruelly-barbed heads of the weapon careened off his shoulder armour and caught, stuck fast into the cliff’s granite.

Scareth initially howled in frustration, yet the screams suddenly stopped and Lucian saw a momentary flash of understanding in his foe’s blood-shot eyes and was granted the briefest of nods.

Lucian almost cried out in anguish at the profound sense of loss ushered by memories from centuries ago -when his brother was taken by Chaos- and he knew what he had to do.

Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of Scareth’s armour cabling, ripping them free in a cascade of bright orange sparks.
Although the motor-drives to the arm and powerflail were now destroyed, with Scareth now back in control, the enemy kicked out, hitting Lucian's left ankle-joint, which he felt buckle and almost give way beneath him.

Punching out again, he grabbed hold of Scareth’s warped chest armour, pulling his opponent downwards as the muzzle of his surviving plasma gun rose.
Closing his eyes, the weapon discharged with a thunderclap, obliterating the traitor’s head and most of their upper body.

A fountain of baleful daemonic energy gushed outwards from it’s ruined chest cavity and Lucian threw away the falling carcass, so that it’s foulness gouted away into what was left of the refinery.

A second cyan bolt lashed out to ignite the last storage tower still standing.
The blast bathed the entire area in the supernova of flash-fire, before quickly dulling to a furnace-glow orange sea which covered the remains.

Approaching the inferno, Lucian reached out and parted the melted ceramics and twisted metals until he found the item:

Sensors strained against the glare at first, then filtered out the flames to see the plaque with the Titan’s completion date and Forge World, identical to the one which graced _Honoria’_s flank.

Although it tested the heat-tolerances of his foot actuators, Lucian forced himself to watch for long seconds after the bronze engraved plate was consumed.

As it melted to slag, it joined the rest of the detritus that had once been _Scareth_; it all flowed through the ravaged streets, being consumed by intense heat as he limped away.

_++Status updated, 53rd founding, Legio Ignatum:++
++Barbarius Fortis, Princeps Vax Delarien, Warlord. Status: Decapitated, Seige of Fortress Malbadon.++
++Vulpens Armorate, Princeps Garrat, Warhound. Status: Sheared in half by Baletitan Supurrus Maximus, Legio Tiger Eyes.++
++Talon and Ferrox, Princeps’ Kian and Trajor, Warhound Twin-Team. Status: Vapourised during Great Enemy’s deliberate eruption of Hope IV volcano chain.++
++Hector Imperius, Princeps Janvier Flores, Reaver. Status: 74th victim of Scareth -formerly Rex Invigilium, Legio Ignatum- Thane’s World.++
++Honoria Justae, Princeps Lucian Margrave, Warlord. Status: Active. Thane’s World.++
++Rex Invigilium, Princeps Marius Ingoll, Warlord. Status: Delivered from Chaos. 35th victim of Honoria Justae, Thane’s World.++_

The monitoring servitors noticed a miniscule increase in the saline content of Lucian’s amniotic tank before mindlessly purging it’s impurity from the Princeps’ system:

One last tear shed for a brotherhood between Titans which had -even at the end- proved to be forged stronger than adamantium.


----------



## Shogun_Nate

_Legio Ignatum_...the Fire Wasps! Love the use of them in your story! :biggrin: They are my favorite titan legion!

More excellent work folks! :biggrin: Now I'm definitely going to have to gett of my butt and get to work!

Good luck and good gaming,

Nate


----------



## Shogun_Nate

*From the Depths of despair I cry to you, O Lord*​
Word count: 1,034 (including title)

“_We are doomed…, _“thought Nathaniel. The portents were clear; there would be no victory here. His cry for aid had gone unanswered.

Each card lay where he had set it. They remained unchanged, the bleak future written across their faces glaring back at him… mocking him. In times past, he had taken succor in reading the Emperor’s Tarot but now Inquisitor Nathaniel knew only despair. He looked at each in turn. The _Beast Ascendant _marked the coming of the Ruinous Powers that had laid siege to the world of Antioch. Its position above the _Sundered Citadel _foretold the defeat of the planet‘s defenders. The _Warrior of Darkness _stood proudly beside the _Beast_, his corrupted armor replete in debased glory signaled this was but the beginning of what would be a long and bloody path carved through the Imperium. The final card still lay face down. Nathaniel had not the heart to turn it over. 

A shout cut through the din of the command center, pulling the old Inquisitor from his despondent reverie. 

“Commander! Auguries report a shadow in the Warp! Fleet-sized. Throne of Terra… Sir! They’re breaching from the void near Dacos!”

Nathaniel frowned. He turned from the small shrine dedicated to the God-Emperor to General Hertz, the man in command of the world‘s defense; his face cast in a sickly green hue from the flicking image on the holo-mat he stood before. He found his look mirrored in the scarred general‘s face. Only a fool would attempt something so dangerous as exiting the Empyrean so deep in the system, especially so close to the world’s single moon. 

Hertz, unperturbed, spoke. “Can you identify the ships, Corporal Tines?”

A brief moment of silence fell over the command center, the only sound coming from the young corporal typing furiously into the cogitator unit. The floating pict image on the holo-mat changed, reflecting the new data pouring in from the surviving sensorium satellites spread through the system. 

“Sir. Sensors report two vessels. Two _Murde_r-class cruisers. The _Eternal Damnation_ and _Fist of Hate_, last reported belonging to the traitor astartes of the Warp Ghosts,” fear evident in the boy’s voice as he replied. “The other ships are obscured sir. They remain in the warp…”

“Sir,” the vox operator breaking in. “Massed broadcast, all frequencies! It‘s coming from the lead cruisers!”

The vox squealed, distorted screams of pain filtering through hissing pops and shrill shrieks of feedback. Over and over the broken lines came.

“air…tors…they have come!”

Corporal Tines spoke once more. “Lead cruisers powering towards the renegade fleet, sir. Remainder of enemy vessels still in Warp space.” All watched as the two blips representing the ships moved closer to the planet. The sped forward like a pair of damned heralds, signaling that the end was nigh.

Nathaniel returned to the Emperor’s shrine, his heart heavy. He could take no more. He knelt before the small altar, closing his eyes. Whispered prayers spilled from his lips. Hope was gone now. Left in its place, the knowledge that this world would, indeed, fall. 

“_From the depths of despair I cry, O Lord. He who sits on the Throne of Man, hear my plea. Deliver us from this terrible fate, O God-Emperor_…,” Nathaniel repeated to himself.

The image on the holo-mat shifted again, the cruisers’ course taking them deep into the fleet. General Hertz leaned across the table, scowling at the ships as they continued onward. The blips flared brightly before blinking out, bathing the old general's face in bright light; causing him to step back in surprise. 

“Corporal Tines! What’s going on?,” Hertz called.

“Sir, sensors report massive detonations! The ships have been destroyed!”

Nathaniel opened his eyes. He found his gaze drawn to the cards laid out before him. They began to flicker, the psycho-reactive material coating them changing as the skeins of the future remolded themselves. The _Beast_, once ascendant, was now bound in chains, cast into the pit by the _Angel of Retribution_. A chill passed through the Inquisitor. The _Sundered Citadel _reformed, becoming the _Fortress_. 

“The Fortress… Impossible…” 

The _Fortress_ was the first of three portents so ancient they pre-dated even the Imperium. They were said to have preceded the birth of the Emperor himself and marked men of noble purpose. 

Nathaniel’s heart raced as the _Warrior of Darkness_ became the _Blind Knight_. In one hand he bore the Scales of Justice. In the other, the Spear of Destiny. He was the second portent.

Tines’ voice came again. “Sir! Ships breaching the void!”

Nathaniel’s hands shook as they reached for the final card that still lay face down. With great care, he turned it over. His heart stopped.

“The _Lion_…” The final piece. The _Lion Rampant_. 

“Lead ship identified. Astartes battlebarge, designation _Blade of the Lion_. Wait, logic engine reclassifying. Ship designation _Kamisaiban_.”

“_Kamisaiban_…”

“Divine Justice…”

His message had reached them after all.

++++

The daemon screeched in agony as the warp drives detonated, the energy released from the explosion channeled through the psyker’s wards, burning his soul from existence. The mortal-creature had told him that both he and his brother-daemon would die this day. The mortal-creature had spoken the truth. To banish a daemon back into the Warp took phenomenal amounts of power. To destroy one utterly required such vast quantities of power that no mortal could match unless one augmented it with the raging inferno of a miniature star; the same vast power bound within the warp drives the very vessel he had infested all these centuries. The librarian had used his void-spawned powers to weave a net around the twin daemons located deep in the cruisers’ hearts, bringing about a great conjunction that would see their ends, forever. 

As he died, the daemon could hear the wails of his brother through the vastness separating them. The cry was echoed by the voices of those survivors who had worshipped him. They had been chained in kneeling positions, their heads bowed in supplication. The librarian had burned away his followers’ consciousnesses, replacing them with one mantra that they spoke over and over as they burned with him. 

“Despair traitors for they have come…”


----------



## VulkansNodosaurus

:O at Taliesin's Deliverance. That was just amazing.

And there have been quite a few other strong stories, too.

EDIT2: I apologize for the confusing mess this has created.


----------



## VulkansNodosaurus

Looking back on the story, I'm very dissatisfied with how it turned out.

As such, here's my final submission:

*Heresy Online Expeditious Stories 10: Deliverance
VulkansNodosaurus
From Oneself
985 words*​
"The Emperor does not tell you to destroy the very authority keeping his rule in place! Listen to Him on Terra, but do not destroy us on Hexeril!"

Narpekl put down the amplifier. No great cheer came from the gathered mob; only a slow hiss, as if steam from the rebels' minds was escaping through their mouths.

All in all, this insurgency had the right reasons for rebelling, which was why Narpekl had for a long time supported the movement. Loyalty to the Emperor was never a bad thing. Despite that, the looting and demonstration had gotten out of hand eventually, and when Governor Kramm had tried to restore order, the looting had spread to government buildings.

Now, Narpekl was trying his best to prevent the situation from imploding completely.

"Please," he thought to himself, "let them listen."

But they didn't. Rough hands pushed Narpekl's back, and as the officer tried to find his balance, they knocked him down. Turning around, Narpekl saw a priest.

"Kneel! Your material government is nothing next to the immortal divinity of the Emperor. Your attempts to stop justice will not be tolerated!"

"Don't you see what you're doing?"

"We are doing the Emperor's will."

There was nothing Narpekl could say to stop the madness, and so he said nothing.

For a few minutes he lay there, mildly dazed, as the rally continued. He watched as Kramm's PDF appeared from the surrounding buildings and as the rebels refused to stand down. He saw the battle spill out, quickly turning into a massacre. He heard Kramm himself shouting orders, even as the last protesters were either shot down or running away. He observed the tumultous melee finally ending.

It brought tears to his eyes. Here was a movement, a true wave of faith in the Emperor- and here he was, forced to help in its destruction. There was no other way, though. The events of the last hour had shown that.

"We got lucky."

Narpekl turned to Kramm. "Perhaps."

"Why did you go to these "negotiations" anyway?"

The sub-governor had no answer. Thus, the two leaders of Hexeril walked back to the governor's palace in silence. Only as they entered the back doors did Kramm restart conversation.

"Narpekl, you were a fool. Now that that's over, though, we can focus on actually winning this civil war. Do you have any more ideas on what to do?"

"Kramm, we've talked about this. We need to send for help."

"I already have."

"Really?"

Kramm grinned. "The Astartes were close by, and apparently someone suspects that the uprising is Chaos-linked. We're getting Space Marines in twenty days."

* * *

It was "in twenty days".

Narpekl gazed outside his iron-barred window. There, the capital burned. Hymns to the Emperor and Terra were being sung on the ruins of shops and houses.

Civilization was no more.

In many places, the wandering mobs were being held back by dedicated militias. The capital had not been as fortunate. Only the palace still stood, its gold-tipped, force-fielded spire a monument to human failure and divine inaction.

Kramm stood at the room's entrance, no doubt with some important news. Narpekl didn't have to let him in. He could just as easily simply stay locked in, meditating on his failures. But he couldn't- not when there was any hope he could yet right them.

"Come in."

The governor tested the door, found it unlocked, and entered.

"The Astartes have arrived."

"Let's go meet them, then!" Narpekl sprang up with somewhat more excitement than he actually felt. It was necessary that the ambassadors believed themselves to be welcome, after all, no matter how hard it was to welcome someone to a castle after twenty days of siege.

"This way."

Narpekl went, tracing the corridors to the Great Hall. Here, near the collapsed ceremonial entrance, two giants stood. It was immediately obvious something was wrong with their blue-green armor; it was rather more worn than Narpekl would expect, but more importantly, it was anointed with dark and illegible symbols, and the helmets were topped with twin horns.

"Kramm, are you sure these are the Astartes we wanted?"

"These certainly are the Astartes we wanted," said Kramm, though his tone was a worried one. "Narpekl, I hope that you-"

"We have come to deliver your planet to the light of Chaos from the madness of the False Emperor," one of the Space Marines said, "and you will join us or die."

That certainly made it clearer.

"I hope you join," the governor mumbled.

"What have they done to you?"

"Nothing! But this world has had a great impact on me. It's interesting, Narpekl, how little I have truly changed, even with the Legion's help. An assassination here, some fiery demagoguery there, and then the rebellion appears. Yet the result will be completely different from where this planet started." Kramm was far more relaxed now. "I hope that you will remain in this new order, Narpekl."

Kramm. Kramm had orchestrated all this!

"Don't overvalue yourself, "Kramm". We did most of the work, and you know it."

"You are the masters, of course."

Narpekl knew now. He had to tell! Running towards the somewhat cleared exit, the official zigzagged, two lazily fired bolter shells screaming past. Tumbling through the damaged opening, the sub-governor screeched out onto the street. There were no more rallies outside: only the fires, and sanctified criminals running around. One of them appeared, for a second, in the top window of the building across.

The lasbolt from his gun impacted moments after.

As the last drops of Narpekl's blood flowed onto the ground, he saw the governor- now shirtless- follow him out, escorted by the Astartes. Above, the atmosphere burned with what Narpekl guessed to be drop-pod trails.

"Farewell, friend," the traitorous Kramm said, but Narpekl's eyes focused on the hydra symbol tattooed on his shoulder. Then, they closed.


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## VulkansNodosaurus

From Oneself, the second one.


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## ThatOtherGuy

Then delete the first story. Just go to edit, delete it, and write something like "story is on the next post due to my self loathing".


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## Boc

There's nothing saying you can't enter more than one story, fellas.

However, it would be rude to vote more than once for the same person, regardless of how awesome both of their stories are.


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## Brother Emund

How's the voting going..... no pressure!!!! opcorn:


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