# Bound by Blood



## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

reviving my previous thread, as my hands are now shaking from caffine, I decided to continue on with my story. hope you all enjoy..

Chapter 1
Lost

He was fucking lost. An assassin, lost. Just his luck. The rocky desert outcrops stretched from obliquely; there was not a clearing in sight. It all looked the same to Aren, red jagged rocks with the occasional shrub scattered at random throughout the area. The sky was a dark and foreboding shade of red, mid afternoon by Aren's estimate. Lightning crackled in the distance, the result of chaos corruption.

The planet Galvor lies on the eastern fringes and had once been the site of an earlier chaos uprising. The planets local populace, farmers and crop growers had become fascinated with the signs and prayers of the blood god and after succumbing to his demands went on a rampage. Killing each other in an orgy of violence and bloodshed. The planet has tried to be colonised twice beforehand, both attempts have been met with failure. 

He sighed and spoke into the vox, adjusting his seating as he did so, brushing some red dust from his rifle.
“This is Omega 4, target has not been spotted. Can you confirm his location command,” Aren asked his voice rough and hard.
“Roger, the target is 4 clicks north-west of your current position. Alpha 3 is standing by in cyro status awaiting your order,” Came the servitors reply.
“Confirmed command, out,”

Aren got to his feet and started moving towards the northern horizon. These bastards had one hell of a surprise waiting for them.

After what seemed like hours, Aren finally came into a clearing. A large mountain was his vantage point as he surveyed the open plain of dirt. The cultists had already beaten him to the site. A large, poorly constructed monument had been made out of rusted metal and wood. The shape was made from three circles of brown, almost orange metal. Combined with three rusted metal prongs sticking out of the gaps the circles made a very rough version of the chaos god Nurgle's symbol.

He took a prone position on the ground, his camolene cloak covering his armour, blending in to the natural vegetation and environment, making him almost invisible. He rested the barrel of his A2 sniper rifle on the foliage and in between two massive boulders. His non-firing hand on the barrel, this assured a steady aim. He pulled back the sleave on his arm and checked his wrist mounted auspex, wind speed was the norm, higher planet gravity and lower humidity, this meant the air was less dense, meaning higher impact and a further straighter shot.

His custom built Exitus Class sniper was one of a kind, he constructed it himself. Its gas operated system had been replaced by an antiquated bolt action system. Less moving parts provided better accuracy, at the cost of firing speed. In Arens position, this provided a better alternative.

He sighted one figure walking amongst the rest, covered in a sickly green coloured power armour, at least two feet taller then the mass of chanting cultists he was surrounded by. He struck one unlucky person as he made his way to the middle of the corrupt symbol. Aren adjusted his scope to the distance of the target and gravity; a higher gravity would require him to shoot higher. Aren braced, exhaled, and fired.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 2

The ritual was almost complete. Bial, the most trusted servant of Nurgle could feel himself becoming one with his festering god. He grinned maniacally as he was lifted into the air, the raw power of chaos surging through his body. Pink and purple light ebbed and flowed around him, morphing him into the ultimate gift, demon hood. He marvelled as his armour merged with his green disease riddled skin, his arms grew too many times their own size, as his body expanded rapidly.

And then nothing.

The hand-crafted hellfire round, from an Exitus class 409-A2 sniper rifle, exited Bial's skull in a spray of brain matter and congealing blood, showering the surprised cultists. As well trained and disciplined as he was, Aren let a faint smile touch his lips. He still relished the picture made from a prefect shot. 

From his vantage point, 5 kilometres away, Aren made one small, silent movement. He tapped his vox and whispered, “Go”.

Aren slid back the bolt lever, a used .75 calibre shell sailing out as he did so. A fresh round sliding from the magazine and into the barrel as the lever was slid back into place. He smirked as he scoped out the cultists, panicking and ducking for cover, not knowing where the shot had come from. He sighted one such individual poking his head out from behind a table. He braced and fired. The bolt hit the targets head just below the ear, the explosion leaving a mess of grey and bone fragments. The corpse went limp as its headless form flew back from the sheer recoil, the limp body shuddering as the table collapsed on it


As if on cue, fire lit up the sky. A pitch black pod descending leaving a trail of smoke and fire in its wake. The pod crashed with earth shaking force into the middle of the cultists' ritual. The airlock door flew off as the pod's inside decompressed. 

A large howl was heard before a dark figure raced out at near in-human speeds. He lunged at the first cultist, his Neuro Gauntlet ripping out his insides, disembowelling him in one swift slash. The next cultist dived at him and managed to parry the first blow from his Gauntlet, only to receive a bolt to the face from his Executioner Pistol. A third cultist ran at him. He caught the cultist by the throat, lifting him up into mid air, laughing maniacally as he crushed his head between his hands.

And as quickly as it began, the revolt was finished. Borgan, the Eversor Assassin, barely remained in control. His immune system had been boosted, past the level of other Eversor assassins, to fight the ridiculous amount of chemical compounds he injected himself with. The trial antibodies he had been injected with, helped him fight the permanent blood rage, and drug induced psychosis. The downside is they only had a partial effect, rendering him an unstable, but professional killer.

Aren arrived by his brother's side. They we're twins; they shared the same blood, a bond that could not be broken, and it pained Aren to see his brother in this light. As much as he knew it was wrong question the works of the Officio Assassinorum , he did so anyway. The drugs injected inside these men, made them, faster, stronger and more powerful than any human could dream of being, but at the price of losing one's sanity and becoming a blood hungry psychopath. Good people had been lost this way; Aren didn't want his brother to fall down that same path. 

“How are the trial antibodies going?” Aren asked, trying to hide the sad undertone in his voice.
“I..m...alive,” Borgan managed in a pained tone.

Aren pushed the emergency beacon, and observed as a small shuttle craft stealthily rushed through the atmosphere and landed besides them.

“Let’s get off this rock,” Borgan managed before embarking the shuttle.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 3
Aren doubled over the sink is his quarters, pain wracking his entire body. He vomited a large chunk of what appeared to be bile into the small metal sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared into the mirror. His pale face looked almost ghostlike, the only reason he didn't fade into the background was his large blue eyes. They we're a confronting blue, as pale as the sky. His regular look was one of kindness and compassion, but his stare that, cold, hard stare, felt like he was looking into your very soul.

He sighed, he hated warp travel. The feeling of being in space, artificial gravity taking a hold of him. Not being able to hear the natural white noise of the environment. This was hell for Aren. He stumbled out of his room, walking awkwardly along the steel confines of this mobile hell he called, HalcyonStorm. The space hulk was an Executioner class cruiser. Sacrificing weaponry and shielding for improved speed and manoeuvrability, they could outclass and outmanoeuvre any opposing craft.

The sound or lack of sound is what he hated the most. His boots, echoing down the long empty halls. His breath coming in ragged gasps. He shuddered, man wasn't meant to live in space. He continued to wander aimlessly through the halls of this hulk. He gently ran his fingers over the cold metal, feeling the ships machine spirit rumbling at his touch. He smiled despite his fear of space, the workings of the machine where one his mind didn't fully grasp, he was amazed by the workings of the machine, and how a manmade object could have its own spirit. 

His aimless wandering had taken him into the mess hall. The room was mostly empty, aside from the tables and chairs coupled by small pockets of black figures chatting amongst themselves. He walked over to where he could see his brother seated, cleaning his executioner pistol. He took a seat besides his brother; Borgan didn't look up as he did so. 

“You look just peachy,” Borgan mocked, not looking up from his pistol.
“I feel just peachy.” Aren spat in retort.
“Don't blame me on your body's incompetence to handle warp travel” Borgan laughed.

Aren sighed and rested his face on the table, his features turning to mush in his arms. Borgan chuckled to himself again, cocking his pistol and setting it on the table.

“Have you heard about our next assignment?” Borgan announced.
“Not yet” Aren groaned
“Well I won’t ruin the surprise for you” with that, Borgan smiled to himself and walked off to his room.

Aren sat in confusion, and as if listening to the whole conversation, the vox of the ship lit up. A monotone servitor voice barked from the device.

“Unit zero dash 133, report to the briefing room immediately. 

Aren stumbled his way through the narrow confines of the hulk until he reached his destination, the briefing room. As we made his way inside he noticed his brother, already suited up in his full kit. He took a seat next to him and watched the holo-screen in front of him. A cold metallic voice echoed from all around the room as the 3D screen lit up in front of them.

“The Cadian high command has issued a kill team. The Cadian gate is about to besieged by Abbadon’s 13th Black Crusade. We require you four to eradicate his generals and halt his crusade.”

“Us four?” Aren asked a little startled.

“As this mission has a 0.7% chance of survival, we are required to use more of our assets to achieve 100% mission success. You two will be accompanied by two Death Cult assassins; they will provide the necessary aid to complete your task.” The projected image faded and two female figures stepped out from the darkness. 

The first was in a red and black body tight suit, armed with an array of swords, daggers and knifes, but the most striking aspect was a giant scythe strapped to her back. Her long raven hair framed her face and made her perfect crimson lips stand out. But something was amiss with her; the very space around her seemed as cold as death. The pupils of her eyes were red, and where the white should have been, was a blackish blue. She walked with such malice and spite, almost as if nothing would get between her and her goal, whatever it may be.

The second was clad in a white body suit with streaks of grey, a blue blindfold covering her eyes. She was armed with a single katana on her back, along with the gear of every Death Cult assassin, many daggers and knifes strapped to her legs. She was different from her partner; she seemed to be at peace with her work. As she moved closer to the pair of assassins it seemed like she was walking on the air itself, this disturbed Aren as he had mistrust of psykers. 

“I am Ignacia and this is Dabria, we do not like strangers.” The red clad figure spat.
“We don’t like this more than you do, but we are going to have to deal with it.” Aren said.
“We shall.” Ignacia said and left the room.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 4

“This is bullshit Borgan, absolute bullshit, we NEVER have company. Remember two years ago hive fleet Tycondarogus, 12 to one and we survived. We killed thousands, only the two of us. That was deemed suicide and it was only us two, why the fuck do we need more.” Aren yelled.

“Calm down, there is nothing wrong with company, besides the clash of styles we may be able to pull this off and survive.” Borgan tried to calm Aren.

“I don’t feel right around that Ignacia chick, something is amiss with her, and that other one doesn’t speak, it’s unsettling.” Aren said as he slid a fresh magazine into his exodus pistol and cocked it.

“Let’s just do this, we are going up against a black crusade and three of the most powerful chaos lords in the galaxy, we WILL need all the help we can get.” Borgan donned his helmet and walked out of the armoury.

Aren quickly followed behind him disgust formed in his features.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“We do not work strangers, they will talk about us when we are not looking, they will betray us” Ignacia spat, malice in her voice.

“No, don’t speak to me in that tone, people are not good we cannot trust anyone” Ignacia said again, practically speaking to herself.

“Okay, okay! We have to work with them, but it doesn’t mean we have to obey them like puppies” She spat again.

Dabria nodded, as if understanding the conversation. She gracefully exited the room and made her way to the staging area.

“We may be forced into this, but we don’t have to like it” Ignacia whispered under her voice as she exited the room as well. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aren and Borgan were in the staging area of the hulk, where the many shuttles and pods were aliened, ready to deliver there deadly payload on a minutes’ notice. Borgan was playing with his dagger, stabbing into the spaces where the palms of his hands were, chuckling to himself as he was moving faster than his eye could see. 

Aren sat with his back against the shuttle, building and rebuilding his rifle, loading his mags and checking his kit. He finished building his rifle a fourth time and sighed. As he did Ignacia appeared out of thin air in front of him. She chuckled and motioned towards the shuttles rear hatch. Without a word she silently walked towards the hatch.

Borgan and Aren followed her towards the hatch, Dabria was waiting in the back, already loading her gear; she smiled at them and took her seat in the shuttle. The rest of the team packed their gear and took their seats. Aren with his fear of space travel peaking at the point of atmospheric re-entry tightened his harness to the point of suffocation.

Borgan however, loved the adrenaline rush of basically anything that gave you one, so he loosened his harness ginning like a madman. He slid his knife out of its sheath and started to pick his teeth.

As they waited for the drop, they gave each other a final nod.

And then they fell.

Weightlessness hit them as they plummeted to the earth, the shuttle shaking violently. Borgan screaming with joy and Aren’s stomach deciding to let go of its contents in mid drop. Ignacia’s face was as cold as ice, not a single touch of emotion was present, and Dabria’s face was squeezed tight, she was obviously not enjoying herself.

As the shuttle continued to plummet towards Cadia a raspy voice came over the vox.
“One minute till touchdown, we’re expecting hostile fire on the way down, brace yourselves.”

And with that the shuttle rocked even harder, explosions were heard outside over the sound of the roaring thrusters. A large explosion shook the shuttle and the emergency lights lit up accompanied by the sound of an alarm.

Aren was thrown around in his seat, as the shuttle spun like crazy, lights flashing and the deafening alarm ringing. The shuttle slammed into the ground with amazing force, knocking Aren out cold and making Borgan see stars. The roar from outside was boisterous, the sound of the shuttle scraping and bouncing on the outside terrain. It stopped with a loud crash, and then silence.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 5

Kaar, the greater champion of Khorne slashed wildly to his left and right, his daemon weapon growling in happiness as he lopped the head off pathetic guardsmen. He laughed as he disembowelled another man as he ran at him. Abaddon had united three of the four blessed champions of the gods, the champion of Nurgle, nowhere to be found; and had launched his attack on the Cadian gate, if they could secure a foothold here, the entirety of the western fringes would be exposed. 

His red armour lit up as lasfire bounced and pinged off it. His ‘loyal’ berserkers charged the barricade of the guardsmen as they fled, cowardly dogs Kaar thought as their dying screams filled the air. He advanced, watching as his berserkers carved their way through the barricade, the screams of dying men being drowned out by artillery. He cackled manically, as he watched a man praying to his uncaring emperor, before being cleaved in twain by a merciless berserker. 

He smiled as he looked up to the sky, conflagration and brimstone filling his vision, the sky looked as if it was tearing in two, and he smiled at the thought. 

He marched once again alongside his warriors and shouted in triumph: “Tonight, this city burns!”


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 6


Aren awoke alone to smoke and alarms. Even through his insulated mask he could feel the heat from fires and knew he needed to get out, now. The ruined shuttle rocked as some more fuel exploded, and Aren groggily got to his feet, collecting his rifle and kit as he did so. Upon exiting the shuttle he was greeted by a red sky, not a good sign he gathered. He slowly exited the ruined shuttle, his pistol and combat knife in hand, being wary of any close encounters.

He took cover behind some twisted sheets plas-steel and unslung his rifle, scoping out the nearby hab-blocks for snipers and traitors alike. He checked his magazine, made sure no dust or debris were jammed in the parts and snapped the leaver shut. 

The sky was a deep red, late afternoon by Aren’s estimates (work on this). Dust and debris filled the air and had the ominous feeling of a post apocalyptic wasteland, maybe he was too late Aren thought. The nearest hab-blocks had either collapsed or were about to collapse, as if a child had been playing with his toys. Corpses lie strewn on the ground, scorch marks and deep cuts were evident, on the pieces that were there; at least.

The corpses that weren’t in pieces were mutilated beyond all recognition, hacked to oblivion and slouched on rubble, their weapons still in their hands; empty magazines and bullet casings littered around them. 
Aren crouched on one knee and spoke into his vox.
“This is Aren, anyone respond?” Silence. 
“I am moving to sector 7-4C, waiting for 12 hours, if you don’t respond I will consider you KIA and continue the mission alone, Aren out.” And with that he set off to find shelter.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Chapter 7

Dabria crouched on the roof of a three story Apdeptus Mechanicus building, watching the Plague Marine’s patrol the courtyard below her. She could smell the stench even form here, she controlled her urge to dry wretch and continued to watch.

She counted 7 of them and one Aspiring Champion; even outnumbered the odds were still in her favour. She unsheathed her katana and silently jumped off the building, landing with catlike reflexes; not making a sound. She crouched behind the wreckage of a Chimera and waited patiently.

The champion didn’t know what hit him, the katana sliding clean through the join between his chest-piece and neck; he fell gurgling to the floor. The second and third received two throwing knifes to the face, one getting the blade in the eye piece, the other receiving the pommel to the nose, cracking his helmet and sending him to the floor. The rest opened fire, but her movements were quick, unnaturally quick and the bolts flew harmlessly by. She rolled and stabbed another through the groin-plate, he cried out as she back flipped past his combat blade.

Leaving her sword imbedded in the previous marine, she kick-jumped off the nearest wall and activated a her nine inch neurotoxin coated boot blade, sliding it clean through ones helmet and slamming it into the ground. The last three rushed her with their combat blades, slashing widely, if it was any other opponent they probably would have made contact, but not a death cult assassin.

Tiring of this game, she tapped her temple, her fist becoming encased in white lightning, and struck one of the marines in the chest, the blow cracking his chest-plate and sending him sprawling on the ground, whilst twitching he didn’t get back up. The last two attempted to run, be received lightning to the back, frying their insides.

She walked through the corpses, retrieving her blades and prized katana, cleaning the already congealing blood off of it and sheathing it on her back. The sun was setting, and she still had no sign of anyone from her squad. Dabria’s vox blared to life; it was Aren. 

She smiled, so someone was still alive, checking her Auspex she started to move to sector 7-4C hoping to meet up with that handsome sniper.


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## Ambush Beast (Oct 31, 2010)

*Good Post*

I really enjoyed the story and will check back ever so oftain to see if you have posted more. This story is pretty cool.

Some notes and things that I noticed that may help the reading experiance are...

In Chapter 1, the planet Aren was on had been taken over by the cults of Khorne so when you started talking about the cults of Nergle and their sign that was confusing.

When Aren's brother engaged the cultists I think I expected more of a battle. You made it sound like there were hundreds of cultists gathered, but only 6 or 7 were killed. I think that in the situation of two men fighting hundreds you could add a little more fluff and draw out the story more. Tell the story of the two brother's skill in battle, power and courage in the face of hundreds. What kind of weapons were the cultists using? Did they charge Borgan as a group or in single combat. The scene ended too quickly.

Chameleon cloak, not camolene cloak. I had to look it up in order to see the proper spelling. 

And then there were some grammer issues Ex. in chapter three- As we made his way should be ...as he made his way...

and then in chapter 7 Ex. The last two attempted to run be received... It should be The last two attempted to run but received...

slow down and read the story out loud so you don't miss places where the "THE's and TO's" and stuff that make sentences flow better should be. As a whole this body of work is intriguing and really beginning to develope more. Don't quit as you do have talent. Hope You dont mind the "Helpful Criticism.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Not at all, this is exactly what I was looking for in a comment, I'm fixing up what you said and i should be updating it shortly, thanks heaps for the comments.


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## Mindlessness (Dec 22, 2009)

Re-do of chapter one and two. This took me quite a while to conger up, but once I decided on the villian I was right into it, but without further adiu...

Chapter 1
Lost

He was lost. An assassin, lost. Just his luck. The rocky desert outcrops stretched obliquely; there was not a clearing in sight. It all looked the same to Aren, red jagged rocks with the occasional shrub scattered at random throughout the area. The sky was a dark and foreboding shade of red, mid afternoon by Aren's estimate. Lightning crackled in the distance, the result of chaos corruption.

The planet Galvor lies on the eastern fringes and had once been the site of an earlier chaos uprising. The planets local populace, farmers and crop growers had become fascinated with the signs and prayers of the blood god and after succumbing to his demands went on a rampage. Killing each other in an orgy of violence and bloodshed. The planet has tried to be colonised twice beforehand, both attempts have been met with failure. After the major Khorne cult had left the sector the planet had been slowly taken over by the powers of chaos. Now a champion of Nurgle was coming into power, he had taken over the planet and Abaddon was going to use him for his 14th Black Crusade, this could not happen.

He sighed and spoke into the vox, adjusting his seating as he did so, brushing some red dust from his rifle.
“This is Omega 4, target has not been spotted. Can you confirm his location command,” Aren asked his voice rough and hard.
“Roger, the target is 4 clicks north-west of your current position. Alpha 3 is standing by in cyro status awaiting your order,” Came the servitors reply.
“Confirmed command, out,”
Aren got to his feet and started moving towards the northern horizon. These bastards had one hell of a surprise waiting for them.

After what seemed like hours, Aren finally came into a clearing. A large mountain was his vantage point as he surveyed the open plain of dirt. The cultists had already beaten him to the site. A large, poorly constructed monument had been made out of rusted metal and wood. The shape was made from three circles of brown, almost orange metal. Combined with three rusted metal prongs sticking out of the gaps the circles made a very rough version of the chaos god Nurgle's symbol.

He took a prone position on the ground, his Chameleon cloak covering his armour, blending in to the natural vegetation and environment, making him almost invisible. His skin tight synth-skin providing a clean and comfortable fit, but limited protection. He rested the barrel of his A2 sniper rifle on the foliage and in between two massive boulders. His non-firing hand on the barrel, this assured a steady aim. He pulled back the sleave on his arm and checked his wrist mounted auspex, wind speed was the norm, higher planet gravity and lower humidity, and this meant the air was less dense, meaning higher impact and a further straighter shot.
His custom built Exitus Class sniper was one of a kind, he constructed it himself. Its gas operated system had been replaced by an antiquated bolt action system. Less moving parts provided better accuracy, at the cost of firing speed. In Arens position, this provided a better alternative.

He sighted one figure walking amongst the rest, covered in sickly green coloured power armour, at least two feet taller then the mass of chanting cultists he was surrounded by. He struck one unlucky person as he made his way to the middle of the corrupt symbol. Aren adjusted his scope to the distance of the target and gravity; a higher gravity would require him to shoot higher. Aren braced, exhaled, and fired.



Chapter 2

The ritual was almost complete. Bial, the most trusted servant of Nurgle could feel himself becoming one with his festering god. He grinned maniacally as he was lifted into the air, the raw power of chaos surging through his body. Pink and purple light ebbed and flowed around him, morphing him into the ultimate gift, a demon prince. He marvelled as his armour merged with his green disease riddled skin, his arms grew too many times their own size, as his body expanded rapidly.

And then nothing.

The hand-crafted hellfire round, from an Exitus class 409-A2 sniper rifle, exited Bial's skull in a spray of brain matter and congealing blood, showering the surprised cultists, the body crushing three cultists as it landed. As well trained and disciplined as he was, Aren let a faint smile touch his lips. He still relished the picture made from a prefect shot. 

From his vantage point, a kilometre away, Aren made one small, silent movement. He tapped his vox and whispered, “Go”.

Aren slid back the bolt lever, a used .75 calibre shell sailing out as he did so. A fresh round sliding from the magazine and into the barrel as the lever was slid back into place. He smirked as he scoped out the cultists, panicking and ducking for cover, not knowing where the shot had come from. He sighted one such individual poking his head out from behind a table. He braced and fired. The bolt hit the targets head just below the ear, the explosion leaving a mess of grey and bone fragments. The corpse went limp as its headless form flew back from the sheer recoil, the limp body shuddering as the table collapsed on it


As if on cue, fire lit up the sky. A pitch black pod descending, leaving a trail of smoke and fire in its wake. The pod crashed with earth shaking force into the middle of the cultists' ritual. The airlock door flew off as the pod's inside decompressed. 
A large howl was heard before a dark figure raced out at near in-human speeds. He lunged at the first cultist, his Neuro Gauntlet ripping out his insides, disembowelling him in one swift slash. The next cultist dived at him and managed to parry the first blow from his Gauntlet, only to receive a bolt to the face from his Executioner Pistol. A third cultist ran at him. He caught the cultist by the throat, lifting him up into mid air, laughing maniacally as he crushed his head between his hands.

Borgan ducked for cover, frag grenades and stubber rounds impacting around him, he voxed for Aren to get his ass over to him. He checked the magazine in his pistol, it was still half full. He slammed it back into place and cocked it. Borgan took a glimpse over his bolder, just in time to see two cultists setting up and loading crude looking missile launcher. He dived from cover just in time, the rock shattering as he slid across the ground, and took cover behind a table. He looked at his leg, a thin stream of blood running down; bolder fragments were embedded there. He snarled as he ripped them free, more blood spluttering on his hands. Borgan’s cover was dissipating; the table was disintegrating as las and bolt impacted on it, sending splinters of wood in all directions. Borgan fired as he ran to the next piece of cover, seeing the missile crews forms sprawled over their weapon. He clipped two cultists as they ran at him, one in the knee, he fell clutching his stump as he fell, and the other in the shoulder, the bolt round exploding a split-second after hitting him, bone fragments impaling him in the face. He kicked the other as he trampled over him as he once again ducked under another bolder. 



Aren was slowly making his way to the fire fight, taking shots at cultists as he went. Some of the more perceptive finally saw the black clad assassin moving in on them and were taking pot shots at him, doing nothing more than upsetting his nose with the smell of ozone. The crack of las fire was getting louder as he ran towards his brother. The sound of slower projectiles could also be heard, the hissing of slug and bolt rounds, the low whistle of frag grenades and the rare tear of missiles through the air. Upon finally reaching the clearing, he saw Borgan, around 300 meters away ducking behind some red rocks, shooting back at his aggressors. He sprinted low towards him, a las round almost catching him in the ankle. He slammed his back to the bolder and looked down; his synth-skin had protected him from the worst of the impact just searing the skin underneath.

Borgan glanced at his brother, laughing as he saw him looking at his wound.
“Pussy” he laughed, shooting down two cultists that were trying to flank them.
“It’s not my fault I’m sensitive” he laughed back, shouldering his rife for his Exitus pistol.
“You take the right side, I’m going to let ol’ Betsy have some more fun” He grinned as he turned off the lighting sheath covering his neuro gauntlet and charged at the encroaching cultists. Aren smiled following his brother into the jaws of hell.

Back to back they fought the enemy; they came in waves, brandishing weapons as low tech as sticks and pipes of metal, to chainswords and chainaxes. Aren smiled, the smile of a killer, wielding his pistol and a 9 inch dagger, the blade coated with soot and oil to prevent it from catching light during stealth missions. It didn’t matter now; it was already slick with the yellowish-red blood of the followers of Nurgle. He slashed a throat and blew out someone’s kneecap, yet they still kept coming, at his back was Borgan carving up anything that got in his way. The two were back to back against unstoppable odds, killing hundreds upon hundreds of cultists, yet they just kept coming. 

Suddenly there was a parting in the mass of followers, and what appeared to be the second in command of this rabble stepped forward. His green and yellow carapace armour covered in flayed and rotting skin, as well as human heads and trophies, a jar of eyeballs at his waste. A rough brown apron made of cloth covered his armour, covered in blood, vomit and cartilage he stunk of decay and rot. He wielded what appeared to be a butcher’s hook, barbed and curved, and covered in congealed blood. His eyes had been sewn over; black string weaved in through his eyelids and cheek skin. He smiled bearing his yellow disfigured teeth as he charged at both of them. He fought like a madman, his weapon a blur as he slashed wildly, Aren flipped out of the way as Borgan clashed with him; sparks flew as their weapons clashed. The onlooking crowd cheered and hissed at every major blow and counterblow, not daring to interfere, there master at work. Aren came in from behind and slid his knife under the man’s shoulder blade, if he felt it, it didn’t register as Aren was thrown off his feet. Scrambling backwards he reached for whatever weapon he could find, but nothing came to reach. Borgan tried to distract him cutting at the meat of his legs with his gauntlet, yet it only angered him more. Aren checked his pistol, two bullets left. 
He exhaled, braced and fired.

Both bullets flew at the target, the first hitting him right in the face, ripping off his jaw spraying the surprised cult members in blood, the second went wide and flew past his head, collapsing to the floor, the jawless body of the commander hitting the floor, a pool of blood forming around his mouth. Aren threw the spent weapon aside and started getting up, finally beating his opponent. He staggered, fatigue and weariness finally taking their toll on his body. Yet all was not as it seemed, the jawless form of the butcher was slowly rising from the dirt, his tongue hanging out of the hole that minutes ago was his mouth. In a final attempt to kill his adversaries, the butcher threw his weapon at Aren, the blade flying through the air at him. Aren dived, but not nearly quick enough, the blade slicing through his arm.


And as quickly as it began, the revolt was finished. With their commander dead, the physic link was broken and the cultists dropped arms and just sat, the psychic feedback ruining their minds, even killing some. The last of the cultists had been wiped out and the two assassins were just cleaning up the past spawn of chaos. Borgan, the Eversor Assassin, barely remained in control. His immune system had been boosted, past the level of other Eversor assassins, to fight the ridiculous amount of chemical compounds he injected himself with. The trial antibodies he had been injected with, helped him fight the permanent blood rage, and drug induced psychosis. The downside is they only had a partial effect, rendering him an unstable, but professional killer.

Aren arrived by his brother's side. They we're twins; they shared the same blood, a bond that could not be broken, and it pained Aren to see his brother in this light. As much as he knew it was wrong question the works of the Officio Assassinorum , he did so anyway. The drugs injected inside these men, made them, faster, stronger and more powerful than any human could dream of being, but at the price of losing one's sanity and becoming a blood hungry psychopath. Good people had been lost this way; Aren didn't want his brother to fall down that same path. 

“How are the trial antibodies going?” Aren asked, trying to hide the sad undertone in his voice.
“I’m alive,” Borgan managed in a pained tone.
Aren pushed the emergency beacon, and observed as a small shuttle craft stealthily rushed through the atmosphere and landed besides them.
“Let’s get off this rock,” Borgan managed before embarking the shuttle. 

Whilst inside, Borgan collapsed. His body finally giving up on him, Aren chuckled, heaved his brother up and strapped him into a chair. He did the same and singled the pilot for takeoff. He checked his arm, already going pussy and yellow he cringed, this would be one hell of a story.


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