# Heresy Online Expeditious Stories 3: Betrayal



## 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 that will be posted with the completion of the first month's competition and, hopefully, stickied by the moderators

*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:

*Betrayal*

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).

The deadline for entries is Midnight US Eastern Standard Time (-5.00 hours for you UK folks)*Sunday, 27 March 2011*. Voting will be held from *28 March - 3 April.*

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​*Dark Angel - _Betrayal_

Doelago - _Artefact_

Stephen_Newman - _The Purging of Slis'thrak_

C'Tan Chimera - _By the Blood of the Wronged_

Gothik - _Kannada_

Mossy Toes - _Survivor_

Bane_of_Kings - _The Tower_

Boc - _Are You Ready, Brother?_

Vulkansnodosaurus - _Should be Expected_

Shogun Nate - _Iron Within_

Ckcrawford - _Put to Rest_


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## C'Tan Chimera

No rest for the weary, huh?

I can't jump right into this given as I got plenty else on high priority, but expect something from me in the future k:


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## Mossy Toes

Now THIS is a theme to which I can write!


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## Boc

C'Tan Chimera said:


> No rest for the weary, huh?
> 
> I can't jump right into this given as I got plenty else on high priority, but expect something from me in the future k:


That's the perk of making it a three-ish week window, to try and give you enough time to squeeze it in 

And good, Mossy, need to get your arse in here!


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## Bane_of_Kings

Well, I'll defiantly get around to doing this one then.


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## gothik

got a 13 hour shift today but will def try and get something done over the next few days.


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## dark angel

First entry into both the competition and this months theme - This should be familiar to those of you who have read by latest fiction, and it builds up on the primary character's backstories somewhat, or moreso their actions during the Schism.

It will be confusing for some - And it jumps between time, place and characters. But please, bare with me. 

Word Count Including Title - 1048.

*Betrayal​*

‘Traitor.’ Grunted Michael, one hand placing pressure upon the ghastly wound in his side, the other clenching the bejeweled pommel of his blade.

‘True,’ Admitted Lucifer, a knife-thin smile etched upon his sullen features, despite the deep laceration along his chest. ‘Better to shatter false oaths, than live by them.’

‘You shame my honour, _brother_.’ The Archangel spat, emphasizing the last word. His voice trembled with scarcely controlled anger, the muscles on his jaw flickering beneath porcelain-perfect flesh.

‘Yes, again, you speak words of wisdom.’ Lucifer conceded, flickering his blade - A show of feline, undaunted dexterity.

Around them, the Golden Citadel groaned in protest. Tapestries withered and marble blackened in the uncontrolled flames, and ashen rain fell around the pair. Distant, eddying sounds of battle rang out.

‘Our Father-’ 

‘Yours, Michael, not mine.’ Interrupted Lucifer, lips peeling back into a horrible, mischievous grin.

Michael did not reply. He merely stepped closer, teeth gritted in pain. His blade swung. Once.

***​
The rebellion had been birthed from jealousy and neglect. Lucifer and a considerable amount of his followers, known as the Grigori, had tired of the Almighty’s newest creations - Humanity. 

They had tired of their new roles as guardians and guides, and soon the Grigori’s numbers had swollen with such intensity that traditional housing methods were abandoned in favour for expansion.

In total, a third of Heaven’s Host, an huge percentage, had dedicated their arms to the cankerous cause.

And thus the Great War had ignited. 

***​
A great, ululating scream pierced the tranquility. Upon the seaside boulevard, where lovers and artists flocked, Raphael turned his head towards the source of the cry. 

Along the marble roadway, a figure lay sprawled on the floor, blood leaking profusely from his form. Above, sword-in-hand, was another of the Angelic Host.

Behind the swordsman, dozens of black-robed figures followed. They held a collection of weapons and torches in hand, faces shadowed beneath the folds of their robes. 

As they encroached on the downed Angel, a series of blows rained down upon him; and limbs fell away wetly, sinuous strands bridging between the torso and the broken appendages. 

Zealous cries of ‘Murder!’ arose, and an opposing crowd began to grow, wielding makeshift weapons - Tools, utensils, broken chair legs.

Raphael drew his blade with an horrified sigh, a miraculously forged thing, and advanced on the crowds.

***​
Beelzebub led the slaughter through Heaven’s art districts, hacking and slashing, showing no skill in his actions - Merely brutality and unquenchable bloodlust. 

Figures in shimmering armour opposed him, glaives and halberds held in shaking hands, shock writ upon their features.

One charges, crying out in tremendous rage. Beelzebub sidestepped the pathetic blow, twirled his blade once, and punched it into the Angel’s neck. Blood jetted and muscle squelched, gnawed at by the sword’s jagged length. The Angel fell away, eyes glazed.

Another three rushed him, and with a cold calmness, Beelzebub felled them. They were not opponents; they were distractions. 

Advancing up a set of black-veined steps, Beelzebub drew himself to an halt. A curator ran to him, going down on his knees and embracing Beelzebub’s armoured legs, sobbing. 

‘Please, leave the art.’ He begged, mewling louder. Black-winged Grigori began to crowd around, holding torches in hands.

‘Burn the galleries - Destroy the precious art!’ He cried, and the Grigori lifted into the air, chuckling madly. They threw torches in through windows and decapitated statues, reveling in the orgy of destruction.

As flames arose before Beelzebub, he struck his sword down into the curator’s skull, cleaving him in two.

This would be a good night.

***​
Lucifer’s grin was torn away from his face, replaced by a pained twitch. Slowly, his vision drifted from the emotionless face of Michael and acknowledged the sword lodged firmly in his chest. The tip, and a considerable portion of the sword’s length, protruded from his back; dripping viscous blood.

‘No..’ Lucifer breathed, his breath erratic and agonizing. ‘It cannot end this way..’

‘Repent, Lucifer.’ Michael commanded, staring.

‘..I will not allow it!’ 

‘It is over, brother. I am sorry.’ Michael said, eyes sparkling.

‘Do not shed pity on me!’ Lucifer raged, casting his own weapon away with a clang, taking the pommel of Michael’s in a two-handed grip.

‘Lucifer, stop.’ The Archangel growled, gripping his dagger.

His brother, blinded by anger, did not comply.

Michael’s dagger came about with an hiss of metal-upon-metal. 

‘I am truly sorry..’ He whispered, and plunged the dagger into Lucifer’s neck. No blood drizzled from the almost-invisible cut.

His brother’s form collapsed, and Michael sagged onto his knees, weeping as the Golden Citadel finally avalanched into the crystal ocean, taking thousands of warring Angels with it.

***​
Glass and bone crunched beneath Beelzebub’s feet as he picked his way across the ruins of the Golden Citadel, looking for something. Broken blades, spears and arrow shafts poked from the debris, some still clenched in skeletal hands. He had crept back into God’s territories, searching for one thing which would give him absolute power in the Grigori’s new realms. 

Ahead, four charred pillars still stood. In the centre lay his prize - A single, winged necklace. Once, it had belonged to Lucifer himself. But now the Arch-Traitor was dead, laid low by his brother.

Beelzebub’s pace quickened, greed overtaking the rest of his senses. He ducked beneath a spar, and reached out towards the charm. 

‘Yes,’ He smiled, eyes flashing. ‘It is mine.’

His fingers slipped around the chain, the beads of which were crusted with dry blood and ash. He lifted it into the air, staring up triumphantly. His wings batted once, and twirls of ash climbed into the air around his form. His uncanny looks to Lucifer - Almost twin like in fashion, incited a new hope for the Grigori. Many believed that if the medallion could be returned to them, the war could continue into a new age of prosperity. 

‘No,’ Came a sudden voice, croaky but strong. ‘It is mine.’

The red-winged form of Lucifer, blackened by soot and stained with irregular dashes of congealed blood, burst from the rubble beneath Beelzebub. Gauntleted fingers seized Beelzebub’s throat, clenching until purple bruises blossomed. 

‘The Betrayal was a failure.’ Lucifer growled, his voice quivering until it was purr-like. ‘Now, we wait.’


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## Doelago

Damn you Dark Angel, finally something I can write about, and then you come storming in and write a masterpiece that ruined my day, lol. 

Still going to try... But failure seems to be the only option.


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## Doelago

And thus the story is finished... Word count: 992 

___________________________________________

Artefact​
Varas Halden burst through the door, and aimed his bolter down the corridor in front of him. Nothing. There had to be more pirates aboard the ship than the pittiful few that had tried to hold the boarding party off at the airlocks.
He did not lower his aim, even tough no enemies were present. A drawn weapon demanded blood, and one did not draw a weapon if he was not inteding to use it. 
He took a few steps into the corridor, and four of his brothers followed after him, all wearing a plain grey suit of power armor. Together they were known as _"The infinite sacrifice"_, the second companys first squad. Varas had named his squad so in respect of the four battle brothers that perished defending the breach at the siege of Ecteneus. The made their way past another bulkhead, and turned to the left. Nothing. The remaining pirates must have retreated deeper into the core of the ship, preparing for an last stand. Or an ambush. 

_"Cowards,"_ grunted brother Darius behind him. _"They have not the courage to face us, no, instead they keep running away from us."_ Darius was always the one who was eager for the taste of combat, and these sorts of missions were less than suitable for his kind. 

_"We will face them, rest assured brother, but for some the path of cowardice is easier to walk, that is for granted. They fell from the Emperors light, and they will pay the price."_ replied Varas, turning to the right and entering a new corridor, with his squad hot at his heals. At the end of the room he saw a black door, with with blue letters saying "Core". From past experience Varas knew that ships of similar class usually had their core levels at the rear middle of the ship. They had to be close. A daring position for a last stand Varas thought, for there was no way out aside from the corridor.

_"Forward!"_Varas shouted, and as one the squad broke into a run towards the door. Brother Joran sprinted up to Varas side, and hurled a melta bomb in the direction of door. The door exploded, and from behind it came several other explosions, accompanied by the hissing sound of broken venting cores and electric cables. Headless of any possible danger, Varas charged into through the smoke covered entrance, and opened fire with his boltgun. The gun barked twice in his hand, and it was followed by the sounds of las fire and screams. The four brothers of his squad were now standing beside him, spraying a flurry of bolter rounds through the smoke, every shoot followed by the sounds of screams and the sound of exploding bodies. As he marched forward red beams pattered of his armor as if they were mere flies, he fired short bursts, until there was no more return fire, and as he came through the smoke caused by the explosion, he could see a floor pattered with the bodies of the dead. Seven dead, he thought looking at the floor. That could not be all, he thought. The initial scan before the boarding action had revealed over a hundred life forms aboard, and they had met a mere fifth of that number. Where were the other hiding?

_"Joran, Heptas. You two stay here, keep the entrance clear. Darius and Metist, with me"._ After a few minutes of walking through empty corridors, they entered a new room. This one was small, but it was merely a entrance to their objective. They entered a chamber, and in the middle of it, was a ornate table. The table was covered in gold lettering, letters from a language which he did not understand. 

_"There it is."_ said brother Darius, pointing at an ornate staff laying on the table. 

Varas removed his helmet to examine it. The staff was unlike anything he had seen before. It was made of light blue metal, and at the end of the staff, was an eye. He looked at the eye, and it moved. Varas recoiled backwards, and dropped the staff down. Holy throne of Terra, what sorcery is this? As he gathered his thoughts together, there was a scream of anguish behind him, and the whining sound of a chainsword. Varas drew his own, and turned 180 degrees, only to be faced by a flurry of bolter fire that blew his right arm of. Varas, dropped to his knee, and looked up, to see brother Darius standing there, above the body of brother Metist, with chainsword and bolter in hand. 

_"Darius?"_ Varas spitted forth, and his former brother smiled towards him. 

_"Your kind could never understand this, brother. There is more at stake here than you could possibly imagine."_ replied Darius, and followed it up by kicking Varas in the face with the sole of his armor. 

-----

Varas opened his eyes, and in front of him he saw the armored form of brother Joran. 

_"What in thrones name?"_ asked Varas and rose up breathing heavily. He looked at his right arm, or the placed were it used to be. Instead there was a crude bionic arm. 

_"There was no better replacement to get on the ship."_ said brother Joran, looking at Varas arm. 

_"What happened?"_ asked Varas.

_"Darius sent a request for aid, he said that the pirates had attacked and you were pinned down. We found you and the body of brother Metist, but we could not locate brother Dar-" _

_"*No!* I remember now. We were never attacked by pirates, brother Darius betrayed us, he killed brother Metist, and he almost killed me." _

_"Impossible, brother Darius would never..."_ Joran went silent, and his eyes were filled with hatred. 

_"We must find him. He took the artefact. With it..."_ Varas hesitated for a moment, before continuing, _"With it, he could unleash such terrible horrors that generations yet unborn would scream out in anguish._" 

___________________________________________


It is to serve as a prequel for a story in my chapters, the Vigilant Icons, background, and that is the reason for the odd ending.


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## Stephen_Newman

Here is my entry. It sounded intriguing and currently runs at 1056 words according to my word count, discounting title.

The Purging of Slis'thrak

A small task force sent by the greedy, uncaring agency of the inquisition for just one simple task. Eliminate the Daemon Prince Slis’thrak.

The task force, consisting of 5 Ultramarines Honour Guard were led by Inquisitor Joishan Membrance. They were following tracks believed to have been laid by his followers from the burnt out remains of the town in the hope they would lead to the main villain himself.

“Just how far do you think their main encampment is inquisitor?” asked Artorious, the leader of the Honour Guard and one of its most promising members to be promoted to captain.

“They are not too far now.” Replied Joishan, stroking his beard at the tracks arrayed before them. “See how they are more careless now since they believe no-one will have followed them this far”.

What the noble inquisitor had no idea of however was that their every movement was being watched.

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

Sorcerer of Slaanesh, Bliss’thera, contemplated this new set of arrivals. Clearly these honour guards and their inquisitor would prove to be a worthy challenge for him but he knew he must not be too overconfident. He summoned a member of the chaos marines under his command.

“Kill the men who seek the head of our beloved master”

“How many should be sent out my lord” asked the chaos marine.

“All of your squad and send Glorium the defiler as well. Not one of them has meltabombs so they will not defeat you. In fact I shall join you as well. No need to alert the master at his meditations when we can deal with this.”

They left to set up the ambush.

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

Inquisitor Joishan felt uneasy. So far their mission had gone easily, almost too easily. However he soon cast these doubts aside when Brother Maxim returned.

“My lord. The chaos camp and their damned master has been sighted over the next ridge”.

“Good, let’s move in with a general advance and despatch them whilst they have not seen our pre.....”

“FOR THE GLORY OF CHAOS!!” A chaos marine jumped out from a nearby bush. Followed by others.

They were mostly armed with close combat weapons although the warriors of the imperium noticed many other armaments on their person. With practiced precision enacted over many centuries of battle the Honour Guard opened fire with their bolters before drawing out revered power weapons. Inquisitor Joishan unleashed the fury of his psycnnon at the traitors and when they came too close beat them off with his sacred daemonhammer. The poorly disciplined warriors fell apart within a few moments. Although their victory was short lived. A Defiler burst through the foliage. At the same time Brother Artorious was dragged along the floor towards the defiler by an ethereal, whip like, energy lash.

“They have a sorcerer!” screamed Joishan as he cast his thoughts on how to deal with both of these unexpected nightmares. He never saw Artorious in his struggle with the defiler. Unfazed as he was dragged towards the mad machine, noticed a meltagun from a Chaos marine who had been shot before his brethren charged. Using fast reflexes he grabbed the weapon from the floor and had wielded it around just in time for being winched in front of the cursed machine. Praying in his faith to the immortal emperor the marine discharged the melta gun and managed to hit the defiler with its volcanic-like blast. The machine keeled over, torso separating from its legs. The legs, unable to operate slumped to the ground. The torso kept growling however until Artorious unleashed a second blast which blew the thing into many tiny pieces. Then he was hit from behind on the floor and lost vision.

Bliss’thera was not happy. These interlopers had defeated his secret weapon but he knew he was going to kill one of them before escaping. However as he stood over the powerless marine, about to unleash a planned monologue his head suddenly exploded.

Inquisitor Joishan had just dashed to where Artorious lay. Brother Maxim noticed the inquisitor grasp a piece of jewellery before the sorcerers head exploded.

“What happened just now Inquisitor?”

“Do not ask that question because there are 3 answers. Each of which is horrifying and true to know” countered the Inqusitor.

“Let’s move from here. We must reach Slis’thrak before we meet others.” The other Space Marines agreed and they swiftly advanced into the camp.

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

The Inquisitor was able to locate his presence quickly and at a big cave. However soon upon arriving at the cave the rest of the Daemons warband arrived to protect their master.

“You must confront the Daemon Inquisitor! You are the only one capable of defeating the monstrosity!” Shouted Artorious.

The Inquisitor nodded and advanced into the cave. Robes trailing.

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

Joishan reached the centre of the cave. However he was most surprised to see the Daemon confront him.

“Well. It seems that not any normal Inquisitor has come for me. I am impressed with those brought here. You truly are great at your craft.” Growled Slis’thrak.

“You will die here Slis’thrak!” Bellowed the Inquisitor.

“Drop the rhetoric dear *Inquisitor*. I know who you *really* are.”

Joishan once again grasped his jewellery. And charged the daemon.

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

The 2 Chaos Marines stood outside the cave. They had charged the Ultramarines along with their many brethren and after long fighting had defeated and killed every one of them. However many of the warband had not survived and it was deemed necessary to leave this planet before more enemies arrived.

As the 2 marines began arguing about who was to report the losses to Slis’thrak the first marine was blown across the camp by a powerful force of lightning. He died nearly instantaneously and the second marine saw the thin, lithe figure responsible for the carnage emerge from the cave and charged it. His head exploded soon after his desperate charge.

The Eldar Farseer looked over him with a passing curiosity. He cared nothing to the rest of the panet. Only that his own agenda had been completed. He grasped his spirit stone and psychically opened communications with the craftworld.

“My job here is done. Both Slis’thrak and Artorious, the biggest threats to our craftworld have been neutralised. Extract me immediately.” Farseer Calvyn’eia smiled beneath his helm as he walked away from the charred remains of the camp.

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

Hope it fits requirements. I thought it would be funny to have an Eldar Farseer masquerade as an Inquisitor to gain access to valuable tools and in this case betray his allies so that his craftworld survives. A double betrayal of sorts. It was certainly fun to write.


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## Scathainn

Watch this space :wink:


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## Boc

Nice, getting a good turn out this month! I've got an idea formed, but the wheels are still slowly churning, as the hamster that powers them is quite fat and out of shape...

Expect something from me ideally by the weekend!

Also, for people who have been unsatisfied with my prior themes (and I'll admit, this one has the possibility of being much more fun!) feel free to send me suggestions of what you think you'd like to see!


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## C'Tan Chimera

*By the Blood of the Wronged *
By C'tan Chimera 
1,099 words.

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


_I am brother Lykas of the Salamanders and I have been betrayed. _

My squadron and I were sent to quell a cultist uprising on our very home world of Nocturne. The town was ironically called Faith’s Homestead, but they simply called it Faith. I knew this because I had grown up there. I remembered little, but you could feel it deep down in you when you walk upon familiar grounds.

We traveled on foot for days, not out of necessity, but because we were new. We…_I_ was young in comparison to my superiors. We wanted to prove to them our hardiness, our determination. We would come to this troubled village and we would prove that we could stop this uprising without a single drop of blood being shed. 

We did just that. When we came into town, many of them praised me and my four other brothers as heroes. The hearts beating within my chest swelled with such a feeling. To come back to the home that bore you, to see the faces of adoration and joy on faces that knew and loved you while you could no longer know for certain… It is a bittersweet thing, but I am a Marine. Bitterness is nothing, and despite Nocturne’s immense heat there is never too much warmth to be had. 

Despite ghostly sensations of nostalgia teasing at me, we had a job to do, and we would do it. Much of the youth had turned to childish rebellion as was in the nature of the young and hot blooded that had not qualified to walk the path I do now. 

The elderly had no trouble telling us where they had gone. Those that had still the self control of the well disciplined had stayed back at the village to repent upon our arrival as we had forewarned them. We could sympathize with their feelings, and they were forgiven without trouble. Yet the more stubborn had abandoned the village, holing up in a nearby mine that had once served the people. That is where we went next.

A week had past and the skies grew darker, heavier. The ground was frequented by tremors and the sound of raging tides was never too far away. When we finally reached the rugged, crudely fortified entrance of the mine, we were fired upon by the heretics. The firefight was brief, but harsh. It didn’t take long for the others to surrender. As we approached the mouth of the cave to meet them, the skies darkened totally, and disaster struck without announcement or mercy. 

The Time of Trials had arrived. 

The cave collapsed in on itself as the mountains ignited in cascades of magma, their thick plumes of smoke constricting and blackening what little was left of the sky. Within a day, the world was coated in darkness, save for the illumination of blazing fire. 

At first, we were content to leave the heretics to their fate, sealed within the cave they chose to stage their defiance in. But after a day of walking, the creeping feeling of guilt in the back of our minds turned us back to the site, and we soon unearthed the group. They had abandoned their ghoulish masks and handed their weapons over to us, one display of might having been all it took to cease their foolish behavior. We stayed within the cave to endure the Time of Trial until we could safely return to Faith’s Homestead. As time went on, we came to know them all the better and before long, we were learning a little from each other. We took their childish, rebellious nature and filled it with faith and nobility. They taught us of life amongst the village and reminded us of who we had been. Before long, I considered them part of my own.

Weeks passed and gave way to the equally unforgiving winter, but we could no longer wait. We took the walk back, all five battle brothers and 20 young men, given a chance to seek redemption. Along the way back, they made time to show us how to mine the ore and plunder from the Trial’s unearthed bounty so we could bring it back with us to ensure prosperity in the coming hard times. Yet despite this, the winter proved cruel to them and we lost many to hunger and the cold’s lash.

We returned to Faith’s Homestead to find it burned to the ground. Snow mixed with ash. Withered timber jutted from the mix, bent and twisted under the weight of the earth. When we had left, it had been a place of life, promise and the Emperor’s hope. 

Now it was a silent wasteland, yet no amount of silence could hide the barbarism that still lingered in the air. We all were overwhelmed with grief. It is true there is no such thing as true innocence, but this… 

We thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then they attacked. Fellow Astartes Salamanders struck from the hazed horizon. They fired upon us first, taking two of my brothers with sniper fire from the rear and putting several of the surviving young ones through the torture of the promethean flamer. We burned as well, but with the rage of all the unjust death and our wrath was true. My fellow battle brothers and I lead our weary friends into the fray, our anger and ferocity quickly overpowering their own as we dug into them with bolter and chainsword. The gray ash ran red with the blood of the savages. 

Why they attacked us, I cannot say. Perhaps the Chapter was corrupt and the whole mission had been a trap all along. Maybe they were simply arrogant and impatient enough to label us as deserters who had joined the rebels to make a profit off the mines. 

No matter their reasoning, they had become mere animals in our eyes, and so we treated them as such. We mounted their heads upon the gnarled, agonized bones of scorched buildings and my brothers were buried along the other dead, adorned with the raw beauty of the jewels we had brought back. It had meant to serve them and bring happiness in life…But perhaps it might bring them some tranquility now still…

The people I grew up with and left were killed by those I had abandoned them for.

_I have been betrayed not only by my Chapter, but by the Emperor himself. The proverbs say “Give the traitor what he deserves”, and by the blood of all those wrongly spilled, I will see to it!_


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## Bane_of_Kings

Nice stories so far, great work all of you. I unfortuantly, am still struggling for an idea, not knowing whether I should write about my _Iron Hands Uprising_ or something do do with another idea...

hmm, choices, choices, choices... :shok:
.
Bane of Kings Out


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## gothik

Kannada

word count 1062


The sounds of battle raged round the township like mighty gods fighting over their territories. Deafening booms of the attack craft seared the skies above as they dove for the enemies logisitical posisitions.

Tanks rumbeled over the once green fields leaving their track marks imbedded deep, heads turning to let loose their mighty salvo at an enemy that was in dissaray. The battle for Kannada was soon to be declaired victorious and that is what the warmaster of the Mersenian cluster desperatly wanted.

Every other battle had been lost or drawn and no decisive victory had been attainable, until now. General Dak Sorren had been certain that this would be the turning point in the war.

Truly, with the victories won this day and over the last week, the god-emperor was finally smiling at them. He raised a glass of amasec to the heavens and toasted the soul of the imperiums deity.

With a lull in the fighting he called his command staff into his tent. Filled with the joys of victory and the high on the praise he would receive from the warmaster, he could not help but grin broadly and he hoped his high spirits would be infectious.

Overhead, the fighters returned to their vessels in orbit and as he watched them whirl victoriously away, he had his vox officer send his compliments and congratulations to the Wrath of the Emperor 

His second was a tall lanky looking fellow with dark hair and even darker eyes and, once where he would have been vocal he was now strangely quiet. When the general asked why he had nothing to contribute to the victory talk he simply said,

“We have not yet finished sir,”

“What do you mean not yet finished?” The tank commander frowned “We have routed them and it is a matter of hours before this region is secure”

“There is the issue of the ahem church” he cleared his throat a little, uncomfortable with using such a word but knowing that he had to “it is, so my scouts report sir, the main base of operations”

The general nodded, Frena was quite correct in his words, the locals here had holed up in the local place of their religion and it was their job to completely erase the building, there was after all only one god in this universe and that was theirs. 

“I shall lead the final operation myself major, what do you suggest?”

The major cleared his throat once more and stepped over to the battle map he studied it for a moment and then pointed at the church itself.

“Perhaps if you spoke to them first sir, it might give them reason to understand that their war is lost and to become, model citizens as it were. That way sir, you would be seen as a beneficent war commander and it would make life a lot easier.”

The major knew that this would appeal to his commanders vanity, if he could orchestrate a surrender then they could get the people out and destroy the building. Maybe build a new one to the rightful god of the universe.

It was decided that the general, major and half a dozen of his hand picked men would travel the five kilometres to the church. Once there the general would start negations for the surrender of the towns’ people.


The church was nothing remarkable in itself. Just a small white building that had seen better days. A bell tower and holes where the stained glass windows used to be but had obviously been blown out with all the shelling and bombarding from the imperiums forces.

The general spoke through a loud hailer asking the residents to surrender and they shall be shown great mercy and incorporated into the new world that Kannada would become.

Nothing inside moved and after several attempts the general turned to Frena and shrugged.

“I have no option Frena, I have to take them by force now, lets move in and try not to kill anyone but if you have to then you have to”

The major saluted and passed the generals orders along his men and shortly after they made their way towards the church and inside,


People stood round the alter but it was no alter that the general had ever seen before in his life but as he swung his light round the congregation at the front he almost vomited in horror at what he saw.

The crucified bodies of the third company scouts that had been missing in action for several days hung from the rafters. Their insides split open and chaos sigils carved in their blood on their chests but what made him retch was their heads.

Boiled away of their flesh, their skulls set in a pile at the foot of the alter and a pot of their blood boiling away.

“Frena kill the deviant bastards”

“I can’t do that sir” Frena brushed past the general and moved to the front of the alter and knelt before the priest of the blood god. 

The priest daubed the majors foreheads with the signs of Khorne on his forehead and the major picked up a chainsaw, started it whirring and turned to face the general who was mouthing silently.

“Hold him” Frena ordered.

The general found himself held fast by the men that had accompanied him and spoke into his collar vox, all outside the sounds of war stopped.

“You will not get away with this!” The general seethed “You will die”

“Then my service to the blood god is complete general” Frena moved towards him, the chain sword revving louder “By now my men and women will have killed the command staff and aboard the Wrath of the Emperor the flight crews and soldiers that have returned will have done all they can.

This world is not for you but it is for us. There is no mercy and my master cares not where the blood flows general, just that it flows and I would rather serve a lord of war then a corpse on a throne that doesn’t give a shit about me”

The last thing the general felt was the chain sword ripping his insides apart and the maniacal laughter of his former trusted second and if he could have done he would have wept for the irony.


----------



## C'Tan Chimera

Took awhile, but spring break has it's perks- I've edited in my entry above!


----------



## Commissar Ploss

well well well, looks like i'll have to jump in on this one too. 

CP


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## Bane_of_Kings

Still need to get my stuff done for this, but still struggling on what to do.


----------



## Dirge Eterna

Do I dare?


----------



## Mossy Toes

I was considering what I could write for this, when I remembered that I had written this last year for the BL Submissions Window before scratching the idea. Accordingly, this writing sample languished, unpublished, and now has a marvelous chance to shine again.

Some of you will recognize certain of these characters. "Taros" is actually "Temils," too--he's undergone a name change in some of my more recent works. Yes, this was the planned ending for a major arc of their careers, with passing references to many events and stories that will, in all likelihood, now never be told. Times move on...

+++

*Survivor*

(1098 words)

+++

Inquisitor Thresh chambered a round into his ornate bolt pistol and ejected the magazine. It clattered to his desk.

“Tell me, Interrogator,” he said, offering the pistol to Taros Vutch with a flourish, “what is your single greatest flaw?”

Taros took it, puzzlement slowly giving way to cold, hard fear. He blinked slowly, taking a shuddering breath. “The close bond I have with my twin sister, sir,” he said. There was no denying it. Hadn't Thresh criticized him for that very weakness many times?

“Precisely. In all other matters, you are an exemplary student. I have no other reservations for sponsoring you to the rank of Inquisitor, apart from losing you as an operative. You are one of my most promising protegees—other than your illogical, detrimental attachment to Kay Vutch. The Enemy needs but one lever against you, Taros. I can guarantee you she would eventually be used as that lever, willingly or not.”

Taros stood still, the bolt pistol heavy in his hand. Thresh met his eyes, expression solemn and unyielding.

“Nevertheless, Interrogator,” he continued, “it is with deep regret that I inform you that your sister's soul is irrevocably tainted.”

Taros stiffened, biting back an outright denial. He didn't believe what he was hearing on principle, but his master was bound to have evidence for such an inflammatory statement.

“She has been, unknowingly, the Darkchild's host.”

Taros closed his eyes again. That was it, then. That was how the damnable beast had tracked them unerringly across the sector, and why her psy-sensitivity had so unerringly predicted its coming. That was why she always survived its attacks, however improbably. His heart sank even further. Thresh would not say such a thing without definite proof.

“You are certain?” Taros asked, nonetheless. He had to know, to protect, to deny-

“Irrefutably. I have had my suspicions for some time, but am now certain. When overpowered, the Darkchild named her its mother. Psy-probing and hypnotic interrogation Kay herself turned up further evidence, unwitting thrall though she had been. Chirugeon Jhal's report is here.

“Know this: an Inquisitor must be tempered steel, without flaw. I know this hurts, Taros.” Thresh's tone was the closest to compassionate that Taros had ever heard. “My own master forced me through similarly painful deeds; deeds that I resented for many years, but for which I now see the necessity. I will not release an unworthy Inquisitor upon the galaxy. I know this hurts, but these are the hammer-blows that shape you into the Emperor's blade.

“You are ready to become an Inquisitor, Taros. You need but prove to me that you can put aside your personal ties. You have one final test. Your sister awaits.”

+

Kay shifted in her bonds, despite that the movement send shivers of agony running down her naked, brutalized body. Voices in the corridor outside.

She understood the nightmares, now. Always falling, always bound. She knew what horror was coming, what she—gagged or muted—would be helpless to prevent.

Her body hurt, her head pounded from their drugs, and more than half of her fingers and ribs were broken. Lacerations and bruises throbbed mercilessly, unrelieved by the burning pain in the back of her neck. One of her ears had been torn off, her scalp shaved, and she didn't even want to imagine what that machine had done to the base of her skull—and to her brain. Hanging restrained and immobilized, all she had been able to do was scream.

The portal to the void safe-cum-torture chamber creaked open, and burning light lanced from beyond. She squinted, her puffed-up eyelids protesting.

“Kay,” came the whisper, and her stomach sunk in despair. She knew that tone, those words too well. “God-Emperor above, Kay.”

Taros took halting steps into the chamber. The lumen-strip hanging from the roof flickered on and the door shuddered shut behind him, locking with an automated, irrefutable clatter.

Her nightmares. This was them, played out in flesh. He would stagger forward, apologize. He would jam the blade of the knife into his trachea and his eyes would work silently, beseechingly, as he sunk to the floor. She couldn't let that—she had to stop-

He lurched forward to touch her cheek. Despite the caress's gentleness, it only stung her bruises.

“Don't,” she hissed, her voice cracked and raw. She couldn't let it happen. She could argue him out of it. She could convince him not to commit suicide.

He jerked away, obviously thinking she was talking about his touch. But a thrill of elation filled her. She could speak, and he carried a gun, not a knife. The future wasn't set. It could _diverge_.

“I'm sorry-” he began, but she cut him off harshly.

“Don't do it. I know what you're planning. I've seen it in my dreams; I see it in your eyes. It's not worth throwing yourself away for me. I'm already dead.”

“Kay,” he breathed, agonized. “I've already lost you once, for eight long years. I can't let you get taken away again. I can't live without-”

His voice failed.

“You walk out of this chamber alone,” she said, “or neither of us leaves. It's that simple, Tar. There aren't any other options. Besides,” she said, and coughed, “you always wanted to serve the Imperium and see the stars.”

“I've served. I've seen. But if this is the price—I've served and seen enough.”

“Then who will prevent the atrocities like Hive Colocanis? Like Karisas and Teketomos? Even if it hurts, Taros, I'm too—broken—for you to give yourself up over. You have to live.”

It hurt too much for her to speak. That, she told herself, was why her breath came in ragged gasps; why her vision blurred and ran. Taros's breath was rough too, and his shoulders were shaking. She hadn't seen him cry since they were underhive slum-children on Carcosair, in a hive that had been dead for almost two decades.

The only noise was their breathing. She had to push him, convince him. She had to change his mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said, lifting the pistol. It's barrel lifted and wavered toward her. Nothing was certain until he pulled the trigger. She could see the hole that a magazine would normally occupy; he had been sent in with one bolt. What would she do if he killed himself and left her dangling here, helpless, over his corpse? “I'm sorry, Kay.”

She closed her eyes, waiting for thunder to roll.


----------



## Bane_of_Kings

*The Tower*
1011 words

Climbing up the stairwell, the man did not know what to expect. The Inquisitor was a relative newcomer to the Ordo, and had been called a prodigy by many of his tutors. He had passed up the ranks faster than any of his fellow aspirants, and had proven himself worthy of the many tests that had been thrown at him along his short career. 

Or at least, it was at the moment. The battle armoured, muscular Terran kept his bolt pistols attached to his body, knowing that he might need them at any moment. 

After all, what awaited him at the top of this stairwell was what a whole army had died to try and possess, to try and obtain its ungodly secrets. Secrets that if revealed, could pull mankind from the brink of defeat and see humanity reclaim all its glory that had been snatched away from it during the dark days of the Horus Heresy. 

So far, the Inquisitor had countered little resistance, which was a surprise. He had been expecting a small sized army at least, but had found nothing. He hadn’t expected the decoy attack made by the Elysian Drop Troop Regiments to have actually distracted the filthy heretical scum away from their most treasured bastion. 

He knew that they were dying now, as they were already under strength from the previous, failed assault, which the Inquisitor didn’t really want to think about right now.

Not after he had seen Themos fall, his most trusted advisor, companion and friend cast down by several bastardised cutilists.

He was getting ever closer to his goal now, the Inquisitor knew, and could tell this due to the increase in rarer, tainted artefacts that were mounted on the walls of the tower that had once been finely detailed.

Once, but no longer. Not since the dammed, egotistical, power hungry lord governor had cast aside his oaths of loyalty to the Imperium of Man, turned his back on those that had once remained loyal to him, and seized control of the planet.

The twin suns of the planet made the temperature inside the tower almost unbearable, and the Inquisitor wondered what extreme temperatures that they Elysians must be going through right now. The thought only strayed across his mind for a second, but he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit guilty for sending good, brave and loyal men to their deaths.

But he felt that it was all worth it in the end, all for the greater good of the Imperium of Man. He had been told, after all, by the late Themos, on the eve before his death, of the legendary resurrection orb, said to be the only power in the universe that could return life from the grave. Well, the only human power in the universe. 

The Inquisitor had believed Themos, for since when had the old man ever let him down? Since when had he ever turned himself away from the light of the Imperium, even when faced with impossible odds? Since when had Themos lied?

Never, was the answer to all of those questions. It was Themos had helped the Inquisitor recover after the loss of his planet, and Themos who had helped the Inquisitor recover in the dark days that had followed. Themos had always stood beside him, and the Inquisitor never doubted the man’s faith.

He never had any reason to. The Inquisitor still had to see that Themos’ body was buried safely and with honour, as he had argued that the man should get a proper burial, just like he had always wished for. 

These thoughts were brushed from his mind, as the Inquisitor planted both feet firmly at the top of the stairs, and looked at the wooden, black door, the symbol of the ruinous powers etched into its centre, replacing the Imperial Aquila that had once stood there in all its glory.

The Imperial sign itself probably lay defiled in another place or torn into a thousand pieces. 

“The Emperor Protects,” whispered the Inquisitor as he drew one of his bolt pistols, and firmly gripped in his hand, the man had every intention to go in guns blazing. It was one of his few flaws, as he could not bear with the stealth approach, it reeked of cowardice.

In this aspect, the Inquisitor had been reckoned similar to the astartes of the White Scars Chapter, the sons of Jagatai Khan, with their precision strikes, but only by those who had not seen the White Scars in action, and had just heard of their tales. The Inquisitor knew this because on his first mission, him and his routine had to end up being rescued by the sons of the Khan, and he had come to respect them even more in the days that had followed, just as he had become a respected figure within the White Scars.

The door took some time to kick open, as it was bolted shut from the inside. This left the Inquisitor with two options. Option number one, that there was another exit, which he highly doubted as the tower looked too narrow to contain one. Option number two, that there was somebody, or something inside.

The door was ripped off its hinges, and the Inquisitor fed his eyes on what was inside, with growing fear. Four banners, each devoted to the respective blasphemous god, lay hung up on the opposite wall, along with various gifts placed at the top of small steps beneath each one, each held in a human skull.

The Inquisitor looked away, and noticed what was in the centre of the room. It was a small table, a small, circular table that was barely big enough to rest both of his bolt pistols. The table wasn’t empty, and the Inquisitor looked up to see a small, blue circular shaped object that was covered in a cloak.

“I was wondering when you’d get here, Thorn.”

The Inquisitor turned to see an all-too familiar figure standing there, with his weapons raised. Then, bullets sprayed in his direction. 

*Author's Notes:* _The Inquisitor's name is Thorn, and I intentionally kept it hidden from the reader until the last but one sentance, made by, if you guessed it, Themos. The man who Thorn was loyal to without question, had turned on him. Also, I know _The Tower_ won't have a hope of standing up to the ones written by more experineced members of the forum, but hey, there's nothing to lose.

Apart from about an hour of my spare time :victory:._


----------



## Boc

Some great entries this month! I'll post up my comments/thoughts on all of them during the voting thread (so it's all fresh in my mind to vote haha)

And my entry:

*Are You Ready, Brother?*
1072 words​


‘Are you ready, brother?’ a voice softly asked.

Uninvited and unexpected, the sudden question shattered Bravvick’s brooding reverie. His mind swam back to the moment as his eyes focused on the warrior seated ahead of him. Despite the identical appearance of the Astartes’ seated along the rows of the Stormbirds passenger bay, Bravvick could pick out the helmeted figure of Eudeves, crammed between Zors and Paelleoth.

‘Bravvick?’ Eudeves asked.

Inside his own helmet, the Space Marine sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Yes, Brother,’ he responded over the private vox channel his squadmate had contacted him through.

‘Are you ready?’ Eudeves repeated.

_Am I ready?_ Can _I be ready_? A sudden onslaught of emotion assailed him, a tidal wave of nauseating guilt intermingled with confusion and… _fear_. ‘There is no preparation for this,’ he said softly. ‘Nothing could prepare us for what is to come.’

As if in sympathy for his inner turmoil, the landing craft shuddered as it broke the atmosphere. The hundred of his brothers aboard shook about in their restraining harnesses like ragdolls, as the inelegant craft fought against the shear of the wind and the sudden resistance of the air.

‘We have a clear plan,’ his comrade stated, ‘all has been laid before us, and the only deed that remains is its execution.’

_If only it were so simple._ ‘I am afraid I do not see things quite as black and white as you.’ He paused, fighting down the bile that threatened to surface. ‘Do you not realize the magnitude of what is to come? The implications for the future?’ How could he be so foolish? Could he not see, not understand?

Eudeves was silent for a moment, possibly lost in his own thoughts, possibly ignoring Bravvick’s imploration on the matter. The moment stretched on, lost in the pulsating vibrations overwhelming the cabin.

Finally, Eudeves responded, ‘The ends justify the means.’ His voice was soft, and Bravvick knew that at least some understanding of the import of their actions had finally materialized. ‘We must do as our Primarch has taught us.’

Shaking his head, Bravvick sighed again. ‘I only wish it were so easy, Brother Eudeves.’

A new voice cut through their conversation, the stern voice of their Brother Sergeant, ‘Are you ready, brothers?’ he asked. Bravvick sub-vocalized his affirmation and fell silent. ‘Prepare yourselves then, we will be on the ground in two minutes. Check and confirm basic combat loads: ammo loads, det loads, ration loads,’ their Sergeant paused a moment. ‘Steel yourselves, my Brothers,’ he said, ‘for what we do today shall forever resonate across the stars. Remember that, remember why we are here, and you will have the fortitude to go on.’ 

Closer to the aft of the Stormbird, the solitary figure of Sergeant Ulises stood as he addressed his warriors. ‘If you find yourself doubting, look to your left and your right. Your Brothers will be there, and they will be strong. Do as your Brothers, and you shall do your duty.’ Ulises cocked his head for a moment, ‘Ninety seconds,’ he called out, ‘you _are _ready, my Brothers.’

The rest of the flight passed in a blur of checks and rechecks as Bravvick verified bolter round counts, frag and krak grenade availability, chainsword operability, and a myriad of other small details to ensure that he was ready to jump out and fight if the need arose.

It did not. The Stormbird landed softly, and the trembling dulled to a background roar as the engines cut off and the egress ramp lowered. As one, the Marines stood and faced to the rear, their bolters held at port arms across their chests in pristine parade manner.

Cutting himself off from his emotions, Bravvick stared at the back of the head of the Marine in front of him, simply falling in to the flow of the detachment as they jogged out the back of the landing craft.

Immediately, a new rush of activity and sound assailed his senses as a scene of utter cacophony greeted him. _Thousands _of Astartes ran back and forth, hauling anything from field-ready defensive emplacements to crates of ammunition. Running in line behind his Brothers, he did see a pattern to the chaos, as every Astartes was set about fortifying the plateau upon which the drop site was situated.

But more so than the activity, he could feel the _hatred_. The warriors around him reeked of bitterness, of anger. Although not cursed with the wych-sight, the complete antipathy that radiated from many of the assembled Marines was staggering. Each command barked, each functions-check of weapon systems was tainted with the underlying enmity that filled every corner of the drop zone.

‘Eighth Company, on the Colours!’ Ulises called out to his men over the vox.

Immediately, the formation shifted left towards the fluttering emerald Standard. It was wedged directly in the middle of the massive defensive line, shadowed by rapidly-constructed ramparts that stretched for a kilometer in either direction. The Marines rapidly fanned out, assuming a firing line behind the Aegis barriers.

Then Bravvick heard it. The sounds of distant battle, screams of hate and betrayal, of Titans and Marines butchering one another by the thousand.

Slowly, the sounds died out as more and more Space Marines fell into their positions along the defensive line. Bravvick waited, his hearts in his throat. _Am I ready? Can I do this?_ Never before had he known doubt, and now it threatened to crush him under its immeasurable burden. He could not believe it had come to this, it had all gone wrong. Everything he had spent the last hundred years fighting for was, no, _had _disintegrated. Squinting, he could just make out figures on the horizon, drawing nearer by the second through the cordite haze as they ran towards the drop zone.

‘Are you ready, Brothers!’ Again those damned words, the question of loyalty and of belief. ‘Are you ready?’ Ulises called out yet again.

_I am not...I can not..._

He looked to his left at Eudeves, who stood immobile, resolute. He looked to his right at Brother-Sergeant Ulises, who met his gaze and nodded. Bravvick swallowed his revulsion and primed his bolter.

In the distance, a single burning flare shot into the heavens.

The Raven Guard and Salamanders drew nearer, equal parts exhaustion and relief evident across their noble features as they sought haven and resupply from the fierce battle on the Urgall Plateau.

_‘FIRE!’_


----------



## VulkansNodosaurus

Even tougher competition than last time- wow.
And my entry:
*Should be Expected
VulkansNodosaurus
1015 words
Heresy Online Expeditious Stories Contest 3: Betrayal*​
There was no use, really.

Even as Necler looked at the vista that his squad had captured- now a rotting garden, a perfect symbol of the Grandfather’s embrace- he felt the emptiness within him iron out some more room.

There was no use.

Decay, perhaps, and death, and rebirth. They accelerated that cycle- they brought ruin to the world, just as the world brought ruin to them. They were the Guardians of Death, but they no longer had the ability to die, or at least not as easily as normal people. They were the chosen of Nurgle, but they never chose that path themselves. They were the plague of the stars, but they could be nothing else, except a plague.

There was no use.

There was no escape. There was no hope. There was no goal. There was only an endless, rotting ground below an endless, rotting sky, on which Necler stood.

He wanted to howl out his worthlessness, but there was no use in that either.

He stood now with twelve others, as well as Ancient Hafrav. They had brought this city to its knees, but they hadn’t truly done anything. Nothing had changed. Perhaps a few hundred thousand humans would now know the Grandfather, but in the end entropy would have brought them there anyhow. Perhaps they would be blessed with even more diseases, but in the end they were but specks in an uncaring universe.

“There is no use.”

Behind him, a small breath of wind alerted Necler that Hafrav was trying to nod.

“I am glad you have seen it too.”

Necler sighed. “Who left his speakers on? Reghaf and Uol, escort Hafrav to the holding cages.”

The two Plague Marines moved to do so, their own rotten smell adding to that of Hafrav’s fly attractor. It was perhaps beautiful, and perhaps one of the Emperor’s Children would have appreciated it, but to him there was no use.

There was no use in the screams that Reghaf was emitting from his mouth. Necler would have told him to stop, but there was no use in that either. There was no use in the gurgling sounds Uof was making either, even if they were new. The Grandfather would not approve either- innovation was after all a matter of making uselessness seem like use. There was no use in the blunt impacts that resounded behind Necler, nor was there use in the buzzing that was now blanketing the terrain behind the other noises. In fact, there was no use in sound whatsoever, as it was distracting and even annoying.

The sounds only got louder.

Screeching, bouncing, popping and- most of all- screaming filled the air, and Necler adjusted his backpack and took a step forwards. The stair that led down was easily large enough for an Astartes to pass, so he did.

The mountains, no longer truly solid, collapsed behind him as he strode forth. The city wasn’t his destination but merely his direction: he didn’t have a destination. Having a destination would imply a point, which could imply a use.

Something dripped behind him, either drool or blood. He didn’t care.

The round object impacting his back distracted him from walking, which was of course completely irrelevant. In fact, nothing was relevant.

Coming to this conclusion, Necler took the liberty of somersaulting, as after all he felt like it and there was no greater use. Seconds later, he punched himself for the sheer stupidity of attempting to somersault in power armor.

By that time, he was rolling down the stairs at a significant velocity.

The punch served to orient the Plague Marine, and as such he slowly lifted himself back up on a stone landing. It was not as easy as he had expected it to be, and Necler could comfort himself only by remembering there was no use to comfort.

The pointlessness of it all was getting rather tiring.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

The sounds of new blunt impacts awoke Necler from half-sleep. They were coming from above, probably from where his squad was departing. He wouldn’t come with them, of course: there was no use, and he didn’t feel any need to follow his brothers.

Turning around, Necler was mildly surprised to see Ancient Hafrav marching towards him with six skulls in each of his fly attractors.

“Um… why aren’t you on the ship?”

“There was no use to being there. There is a use, though, in getting your skull! It’d mess up the symmetry, though.”

Necler shook his head, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Of course, in the Warp imagination and reality were closely linked, but this was insane.

“Will you join me?”

“There would be no use in that.”

“Except skulls.”

Necler shook his head. “Hafrav, skulls are not a use. Skulls are an impediment. All will rot.”

Hafrav raised an arm. “You are boring me.”

The source of the blunt impact sounds quickly became clear to Necler, who was now pressed to a wall of the staircase.

“Will you serve Khorne?”

“Never. He is a fool.”

Hafrav seemed about to add something, but then the Dreadnought turned his head upwards.

“Fine. I'll kill you later. The Imperials are coming, and I don’t want to fight them yet.”

Suddenly Necler found himself airborne.

From above, he could clearly see the trails of the landing craft. He could also see Hafrav’s bulk moving towards his own craft, some small, stolen lander that he had never found the name of, stepping on a few small animals along the way and throwing their skulls into his attractors. Simultaneously, he could easily see the mountains shake from the air currents- why had Nurgle made them so gelatinous?

The landing was easy. Climbing out of the crater, on the other hand, was quite difficult.

Necler again looked at the vista his squad had captured- his dead squad, now. It was a rotting garden, a perfect symbol of his total failure. The emptiness within him remained, though now it had spread outside him as well.

There was no use, really.


----------



## Bane_of_Kings

Nice entries from everybody, I sense this will be a tough competition. :victory:.

I read your story on the Bolthole, Boc, but it's still awesome.


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## Stephen_Newman

Lots of entries this month. I am less confident of doing well in this month. Might do better next time.


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## Shogun_Nate

*Iron Within*

*Tales of the Heresy:
Iron Within
“First Act-Betrayal Discovered"*​
Word Count: 990 (including title)

Adept Rho-Pi VI studied the blinking readouts before him cautiously, doing his best not to draw too much attention as he sorted through the streams of data flowing across the screen through the serpent-like mechadendrites curling from under his crimson robes. All around him, bonded serfs of the Iron Warriors legion went about their tasks with an ordered efficiency that would have made a member of his order proud, would that members of the Adeptus Mechanicum had such emotional abilities. Many days had been spent amongst the cogitators and logic engines since his seconding to the 25th grand company of the 834th expeditionary fleet, making him a regular sight. Barely a glance was spared for the tech priest as they shuffled by, preoccupied with their duties. 

Sent under the auspices of training members of the legion in the practices of the Machine cult to become techmarines, Rho-Pi VI had found most of his time given to the proper education of his wards until only recently. The 25th was a relatively new company in that most of its members hailed from the world of Olympia, the home of their primarch, Perturabo. Based around a core of Terran veterans, the company had been equipped and sent out to take part in the Great Crusade to unite humanity under the leadership of the Emperor of Mankind with the hopes that the veterans’ combat experience would aid the newer, unblooded members. It was but one of the three grand companies to take part in this phase of the crusade and the only to include the Terrans. On the face of it, it seemed a valid, well-planned strategy. 

However, anomalies found amongst the most recent casualty lists had brought him here to the databanks deep inside the armored hull of the battlebarge _Unrelenting Siege_. Upon further inspection, Rho-Pi had discovered something unsettling, even for one of his augmented stature. It had been many years since he had cut from him emotion in embracing the truth of the Omnissiah. He still had all-too-brief moments of consternation brought on by the occasional emotional reaction but these were far and few between. The information scrolling before him, however, had sparked something deep inside the few remaining fleshy parts of his brain not cold iron or circuitry ... Fear. The readouts all pointed to one thing; something so illogical he found it difficult to believe but the proof stood out in glaring black and white on the screen before him. For lack of a better description, members of the Legion whose roots went back to Terra were steadily being culled from the ranks of the Iron Warriors at an alarming rate. 

The deeper he dug, the more dangerous the task became. Layers of security code warred against his invasion of the core’s information banks. Buffered packets of data sped through the wires, each attempting to block his probing. His internal cogitators countered each with blinding speed; dumping terabytes of gathered waste information stored from decades spent coveting and harvesting even the most mundane of facts. Hidden data-retrieval programs seeded amongst the detritus of discarded minutia wormed their way passed the core’s defenders. Warning signals flared across his retinal display as he pierced the last defenses and entered the infopile centered at the heart of the ship’s cogitation core. As the final layers peeled away, the truth revealed itself in all of its terrifying glory. The information sent Rho-Pi VI reeling as the magnitude of it settled into his enhanced brain… This was not mere culling, this was outright betrayal. Sensing little time was left before he was found out, Rho-Pi began the process of copying the information. He knew his assault on the core had not gone unnoticed and time was of the essence. 

As if giving point to his suspicions, blaring choruses of corrupted binaric code flared up to meet his attempts to download the damning evidence to his internal memory banks; their screeching squeals more akin to the howls of beasts than the pure tones of Machine cant. A momentary surge of panic pushed through the cold, logical veneer of his calculating mind as he found himself unable to disengage from the streams of data flowing into him through the link made by his mechadendrites. Try as he might, Rho-Pi VI could not break the chain of information binding him to the logic engine. It was as if the black code had latched on to the interloper, holding him captive until members of the Legion’s security could come and take him away.

Seeing no other option, Rho-Pi disengaged his connection to the logic engine in the only way open to him. Taking the cutting torch built into his left hand, he deftly cut the writhing tentacles away, leaving the room to slowly fill with the acrid stench of burnt metal and wiring. A momentary pang of guilt flitted to the fore as he looked down on the blessed bionics he had sacrilegiously destroyed but atonement would have to be made later. Now he found himself faced with a dilemma. He knew what he carried must be brought to light but having no idea how deeply the conspiracy was rooted, he knew that caution would be the most prudent of steps. He did not know with whom he could share it, but surely a chance might be had to pass it on to someone outside the ring of treacherous souls who had enacted such a pogrom. 

As he weighed his options, Rho-Pi VI strode from the data chamber. Logic told him that he must first find a place to hide. Capture was not an option. Second, he would have to find allies. Somewhere, someone on the ship would help him. He was sure of it. His mind began rummaging through the list of surviving Terran Iron Warriors as he made his way deep into the bowels of the ship...


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## Stephen_Newman

Love how most of these stories feature either the inquisition or space marines being betrayed. Or in my story both.


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## C'Tan Chimera

I shied away from doing more xeno-fluff because I've basically done that twice in a row now. I don't want to be -too- predictable.


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## Boc

Okay, first post has been updated with all of the entries so far. We're already sitting at 10 with still a week to go, so the competition has kept growing!

As a reminder, the deadline is *Sunday 27 March*! Keep writing!


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## Raziel4707

Well I might just do that, Mr Boc


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## Boc

Raz you aren't invited 

I kid I kid


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## ckcrawford

Sorry, hope I made it in time, I may be half an hour late due to some driving I had to do in order to stop at a hotel and post this. I hope its still okay. :victory: _Word Count: 1058_ not including title.


*Put to Rest*​
Imperial Record: Sergeant Kantanus’ last words as a loyal astartes in the Delta Chapter.

In the planet of Proximo, close to the Western Imperial outskirts lay the world I once grew up as a kid. The Imperium had lost it a few decades ago to rebellion. But now it laid purified of that hate. Ruled by a new governor and controlled by the same people we will never forget… And now we will be looked at as the traitors we appear to be… for doing the right thing. For truly fighting for the Imperium… for our Emperor.

***​
As I lay here I cannot help but think all the thoughts of my life as the blood drips from my sword. As the smoke from my bolt pistol whispers through the cold and windy air, I pray that the doubt of our deeds also blows easily away. A planet full of sinners, and the corrupt. Now a graveyard of righteousness. Each dead body a form of justice. 

I remember so; before I was taken away from the astartes. This world controlled by the rich and corrupt. Their own children, bullied the children of lesser families. These lesser families that had fought and died for the Imperium since the Great Betrayal. I must confess, we we’re all weak and pathetic. Every attempt to defend ourselves met with the same response that the rest of the traitors of the Imperium would receive. 

And now we we’re returning to a world that had been won back by our parents, families, friends. We should have killed them all, but we let them live and get away. So much for mercy. It was only by the will of the Emperor’s and his good grace that the Delta Chapter came upon our world as we had won it back. To be taken to fulfill our right to live amongst the other Imperial Worlds. Several thousand of our patriots had been taken aboard.

The Delta Chapter had almost suffered anhilation against the greenskins. But they were still able to maintain most of their geneseed intact. As such, it appeared to be that our Chapter Master had decided to lower the common acceptable mental conditions it required to be an astartes. The aspirants were still weeded out by the thousands, leaving the very few physically gifted to pick up where the chapter left up.

After two decades of training and pushing back the orks from our sector, we had received word that the world of Proximo had been quelled from its rebellion. A mystery to our Chapter Master who had just recruited us into his Chapter, and given his reports the Imperial Administrum, this world had maintained its loyalty intact. 

As we got to the world of Proximo… we could not believe our eyes. The cruel and corrupt leaders we had previously thrown off from power had once again returned… with Vengeance. Men of all ages and sizes were on the street dragging huge piles of stones with ropes. They had all been forced into slavery for their suppose treachery as heretics of the Imperium. Imperial Guardsmen of the Mordian Guard formed firing squads, firing at those who refused or just couldn’t work. Those men too old or tired to even stand up to face their fate in the firing squads were shot point blank in the face with laspistols of the officers.

We could not see any of the females of our world. Had they all been killed? Our Chapter Master decided to meet with the new Governor of Proximo. And so we did. Upon landing on the planet we had witnessed the horror of the planet it once was. Pictures of the Govenor posted all over the city walls claiming him a hero.

Knowing it was probably best that only him and his 1st company go in to the Govenor’s Palace alone, he left us to patrol the planet. Of the chapter, only the Chapter Master and the 1st company were not from this planet. 

As we patrolled the planet, we saw more and more how gruesome this Imperium actually was. How could the Emperor and his Imperium allow something like this to happen? 

And then that was when we saw it. We had finally discovered what had happened to the women of our planet as we walked through a market place that had soon become a sick and perverse version of a brothel. Rich men in expensive gounds would purchase these individuals and do anything they pleased with them. The only thing they had to do was dispose of the bodies by throwing them into a pit. My men were all already disgusted. 

Memories… moments… things we had not been properly prepared to take on before we fully became astartes. I had touched the face of one of the bodies in the pits. Pale rotten skin, with green eyes, brown hair. I had once known these features. A girl I had once loved, that I knew I would never have the chance to have. 

It’s when I felt it. Tears rolled down my eyes. My body turned boiling hot, my body started to shake as I could only feel violent thoughts run through my mind. I saw bodies being ripped apart as I ripped parts of my armor off. I took my blade and started to cut into my skin. I could barely recognize that my men around me were doing the same. If it were not for their chilling screams and cries I would have simply ignored them. The crowd was getting fed up of our stay, and it was not long before they had nothing more to say about it.

I don’t know exactly what we did, but we did it. We killed every living being in the capital. Hacking everything alive down… both slave, soldier, and anyone standing in our way… even our Chapter Master… He tried to save us. Tried to warn us of what we were doing. But we could not listen. The voice of justice had been ignored and the voice of vengeance had come to set this right. So he died, him and his first company. They did not understand. How could they?

Only the Emperor knows the Justice we serve. We still fight for him. But not for his false Imperium. Glory to the “True Imperium!”


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## C'Tan Chimera

That's a good one, Crawford! It's cool to see an Imperial that while still a loyalist at heart knows that something is screwed up big time with the Imperium.


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## Boc

13.5 more hours to go! Get-a-writing those of you that haven't finished!


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## ckcrawford

Thanks C'tan Chimera. When I was first writing it I was trying to make everyone else the traitor look a likes. But as I hit the middle of my story, I was like... this is going to be impossible to salvage these fellas in a good light. 

I'm liking the writings so far. So much damn work in only 1000 or less words! Thats awesome.


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## Stephen_Newman

I know. I found the word count to be very restricting. Even now I am empted to write out the full version of my short story just to see how it looks in full.

Good luck to everyone in the upcoming voting!


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## Kaiden

Hey guys, great stories this month. I'm not doing one this month, but I am branching out into audiobook work, so if anyone wants thier story read and linked just let me know. Keep the great work coming


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