Hello everybody !

This is a first chapter for a novel a wrote, being a fan of WH40K. Don't crucify me too much about the spelling. I aim to be entertaining, but also to improve my english and I'm quite a self learned man, here. Thanks in advance for your advices and tolerance to my lousy writings.

EDIT : All my thanks to Myen'tal, who has gracefully corrected my writings, purged my spelling and grammar of all my mistake. He also suggested me some of phrasing and made them more gracious. I owe him one !






When the killer awakened, his mindsoaredlike somebird of preyover the darkness around him.Heknew bad things had happened, but such was his life that he wondered to whom it happened. When the numbness fled his body,leftthe pain screaming over everyinch of his nerves, he knew that was him.


Darkness and pain.


Nothing new.


The feeling of somethingdryon his hands,beneathhis broken nails was also something quite known. When he tried to close his fist, his left handsrebelled against him, sendingtheblinding message of pain. The finger therewasbroken, but by the smell, he knew that the blood onhishandswasn'thisown.


He smiled in the darkness. That was the third law of his life: "if you've got to die, take theenemy with you."


Memories rushed" sounds better to meback to him.Thebittersweet flash of violence, of human faces reduced to piecesbyaheavy caliber slug thrower.Arain of blood, flesh(,)and brain matter. He could still feel the itch over his cheeck, where the little shard of bone had scratched his face, just after the skull of the noble had exploded.


The sound ofthealarm, the scream of the enforcers looking for him among the palace of the spyre, the panic of the aristocrat. They had sent dogs-servitor after him, cybered beast tracking him by scent. He had eluded them with his collection of tricks, deliberately triggeringthe alarms far of his own position, intoxicating the flesh part ofmachine-canine.


If it hadn't been for revenge,it would had been almost fun.


His face was suddenly invaded by a stillness,as stiff as concrete. Billions of people dwelledthe hive city, their lives spent callously by their rulers. Killed in industrial accidents,gang firefights, diseases, radiationsor thrown at the jaw of the ever hungry imperial guard. Their lives mattered only so farasthey were the currency of the nobles in their power games.


But one thing the killer had learned was that life always mattered to the one who owned it. He had taught them this truth. He had found the noble who had forgot that, and showed this ancient teaching in a spread of violence and gore.


He hadn't planned for his own escape, or even for his own survival, but he had sold his life very costly to the noble's enforcersthat came for him. Stealing their guns from the first who had underestimatedhim, and blasted ragged new holes into the next who followed them.


At last, when he ran out of ammunition, he charged them outright, ambushing them when they believed they cornered him. Slew them with his blade, but they were bigger, and the main thing he remembered from the beating was the exploding pain of his broken bones.


Truth to be told, he was surprised to be alive at all.


Maybe they wanted to make an example. He laughed at the idea, as he had already made an example of one of them, and the almost immortal noble caste of the hive would remember his vengeance far longer than this generation of the short lived worker.
He coughed blood, as the pain clawed in his throat.Theexample was good, but it was not what it mattered to him.


Then he heard the sound.

A heavy "thud" resounded in the place,followed bythe metallic scream of heavy iron rusted doors. Therewere other steps, lighter, but he couldn't hearwell since an enforcer had almost his rightear drum explode by kicking his face.


The sound of steps stopped. Theyweren'tfar, he guessed, but he could not see them. Maybe the damage on his eyes wasmore important than he knew. He did not care.


Then, there was a voice, the voice of a man who never had his throath ravaged by chemical pollutant nor ever spent hours screaming over the mechanical roars of an industrial zone.


"Boy? Are you alive ?"


Boy? He thought. It was a wound to his pride. More painful thanall the beating that had broughthim here. As he made the gesture, the pain was blinding, but he couldn't resist the lure of giving them the finger.


"Obviously, he is." Said another man's voice, older,this one.


"Be careful, my lords,said the first voice.That little beast he killed nine of oursmen, and wounded twicethat number."


"Impressive." Said the older voice. "How old are you ?"


The killer frowned. What kind of question was that?


"Old enough to give you a beating and get the f-ck out of thisvcell."


Trying to find them with the mangled hearing he was left with, he attempted to riseas he felt unrestrained, and to his credit he succeeded. For three seconds.


But he never made more than a step as his legs were wounded well beyond use.


"Like I said to you, my lord, a little blood craving monster."


Then the inhuman voice boomed over the place. Roared over the place in a deep inhuman living thunder.


"Why did you that ?" Asked the thunder.


"Why did I do what? Rising? It's not like you you were not trying to kill me anyway..."


"No". Said the inhuman voice."Why did you kill that noble ?"


What kind of voice was that ? A Techpriest ? He had seen and heard some intothe industrial zone of the hive. They could have some freakish augmetics and inhuman voices. Then he realized: damn! He was about to become a servitor! Well, they were about to be in need of new pieces after ending him. But he needed to make themclose in on him, then he would strangle one of them with his own clothes, or steal a weapon from one of them and kill them with it, but he needed them close, so he answered theinnane question.


"Justice." He said simply.


"Tell me more." Said the inhuman voice.


"The man had to die. He killed people because hethoughthe could get away with it. He killed my sister. She was dumb and ugly, but she was family."


"This does not sound like justice to me", it's revenge."


The killer stayed silentfora short moment.


"Probably, but at times, the two can meet. I was bound to avenge her anyway."


"Oh really ?" Said the voice, slightly amused.


"Yes, I kill for money in the underhive, I kill for my family for free, but without honor, I'm not even a man."


The voice emitted a strange noise. The killer guessed that he chuckled.


"So, can we be done witht that little rat ?" asked the younger voice.


"Not yet, governor." Said the inhuman.


"How old are you ?" Asked the older human voice.


Again with that question ?Thoughtthe killer.


"I don't really know, I never counted and never cared, why ?" He countered, but the people weren't talking to him anymore.


"I think he's eight terran years." Said the governor.


"No, no. I think he's more eleven. His kindstend to have been under fed all his life." Said the older man.


"Eleven ? Then it's not too late."


"Too late for what ?" Said the killer, his word echoing the words of the lord Governor.


Then the light struck and the killer saw the inhuman.


"Throne..." He whispered, for the first time of his life.


The being was astoundingly tall and massive, dwarfing the two humans that were beside him. He recognized him at the first sight : he had seen enough of his kind as they had been endlessly replicated and drawn in the cathedral of the ministrorum.


An Angel of death of the God-emperor.


"It's not too late, little killer, for you to be reclaimed, initiated and recruited by the Astartes Chapter of the Ebon Hawks."

Hello, Doomwolf, you asked not to chide you for spelling, so I won't mention it . You have a grim beginning of a story here, but I like your take on how an Astartes Chapter would go about searching for recruits. Kind of reminds me of the harsher Chapter Homeworlds, such as Nostramo, though what kind of Chapter the Ebon Hawks are, I don't know yet. I definitely like how the Ebon Hawks represent redemption and a way out for the protagonist, with his morbid personality and the teachings of the Chapter, it could lead to some very interesting events.

I didn't planned to answer at question and suggestion so soon, but since your seem to be a reader of the Black Company, you struck on one of my soft spot.

First, don't hesitate to correct my english. I'm here to learn as well as to write. If nobody tell me of my mistake, I will never improve. Just keep the tone civil, I'm a sensitive soul !

Second, well, I won't spoil, save to say that I've already planned the rest of the story, and tough I have invented my own Astartes chapters, I plan to stick as much as possible to the "cannon" lore. (If not, what would be the point of the exercice beside working my english ?)

Thanks for your reply, I hope you will enjoy what's coming next.

A description of the killer would be nice, but that might just as well ruin the story.

You can however post a few chapters together.

Okay, thanks. I will do.

Well, what you written isn't too long. If you want, I could pm you some corrections that I would make .

As it was suggested to me, I've reposted the following of this story on this thread. I hope it will be easier or those who are following the story to keep on with it. I've also taken the freedom to make sme minor change. Hope you will still like it !

The rise of the Ebon Hawk. Part 2

He had never seen the Astartes again after his appearance in the cell. For a time, hethoughthe had some kind of delusion. He hadseenmany dying people have, but no. What had seemed to him as a pack of servitors led,by the older manthathad healed him like he was another part of a bigger machine. The care had not been gentle,but efficient, and so he could stand and hear again. They forced him to drink some disgusting liquid he had vomitted. They shaved all his hair and took him under a cold hard shower of chemicalsmelling water.


After that, he had metthe others boys. Some where more aged than him, othersless. All where under the surveillance of heavily armed guards. Carapace armour, lasguns, their faces hidden behind black helmets, those warriors could take the glory boys of the PDF any days.


Then they push them throughwhat had seemed to him like an endless seriesof corridors, stairs, and one titanic embarkationbay, where colunmns of vapor elevated around and above his head like strange cloud of an iron sky.


Theyherdedthem like a bunch of reluctant sheep. Some of the boys were slow on their feet, or tried to escape, but the guardsstruck,them mercilessly. "Little killer" shrugged at that, because this place, with its electric lightning,itstank-like automated machines, seemed almost as dangerous asthe core of a metal factory.


Thus cornered, the elevator had taken them in this bleak room. Another bunch of guards were already waiting for them, but they were not fools and they kept their distance.


He could see by the look of the other children, that some of them were planning something stupid. Like him, they had been shaved and cleaned, so he could see the tatoo of their rival gang here and there. But no one had any weapons, though he doubted that it would stop them for long.


One of them was about to kill another with a stealthy well placed punch in the neck when an inhuman voice pinned him on the spot.


"Greeting, young ones. My names is Kayron Watcher-of-the-Path. "


They all looked up. He was there, standing on a well lit balcony hanging over the embarkation bay. At first, the boy thoughtthe Astartes had seemed so impressive because of the light coming from behind the warriors, but now, he could see how wrong he was. The warriorswas worse, in his black clad powered armour, hisskull-faced helmet withthose red piercing eyes, his titanic winged scepter, where he could see three real black feathershanging on the back of the pommel.

The astartes did not yell. No, his voice was calm, as if someone had captured the lulling of the wind before the storm. All the boys froze, instinctively waited in anticipation of the danger. With a rapid look, the killer could see that even the guard stood more uptight, now.


"Life is fleeting"said the Astartes warrior"most of you know this truth. For you've been choose among the best warriors of your gangs. You spent your life spilling blood for your family, for your gangs, for your friends. All of you were better warriors than many older menand for those reasons you were chosen."


"But don't fool yourself into thinking it's the only reason, you're here today. The main reason of your presence is as easy as murder was to you, you weren't killing for yourself. Look at the boy next to you."


Then, the killer looked. He saw a child even skinnier than he was, his stare kept in a perpetual worrying state meeting his own ferocious look. He saw the fear the child had in him and wondered how such a wretch could be considered a "warrior".


"Maybe this boy was about to killyou less than one moment ago, but he was about to do that for the same reason than you : Duty and honor. He understand those things, and he is more brother to you than most of the humans you've crossed path with before. He will die for you, as readily than you were ready to die for your those who swore fealty before. He's not brotherin toyou only in blood, he's brother to you in spirit."


The word passed like anicy wind through the mind of the killer and he began to shiver. But something in him made him raise his hand to question the Astartes warriors. Then he sawthe aghasted looks of the other children, even the guardvlookedworried.


"What about the other oath we took before?"


God-Emperor, how his voice sounded weak, now ! But he could see some of the children approving his words.


The astartes chuckled and the killer recognized the sound.


"You take the oath to protect your family, don't you, Little Killer ?"


The Killer only nodded, as he didn't wanted to sound weak twice.


"Then you will discover than as an Astartes, your territory has grew to be the entire galaxy, and your family just expanded to the entirety of humanity, now."


At those words, the killer shivered, like all the kids. Later, some serfs of the crew said it was because the vessel was taking-off planet. He kept telling him that, but never succeededin convincing himself.

And so the nickname "Little killer" stucked on his shoulder like some strange, yet comfortable mantle.


But he almost didn't stuck for very long, as the first implant nearly killed him and the one after that, and each one of the other after that too. His first crisis came when he was trying to decypher a slate named "Tactica Imperialis" they had given to him. Underhive was harldy a well of knowledge for his people, and he had yet to learn how to read.


He first saw some droplet of blood staining the surface of his slate, then he had this sickening nausea and the too much known taste of blood on his tongue and he knew it was bad. He rised from his chair, in an vain attempt to call the apothecary, as he wasn't the first one among the chosen to have such health trouble.


Others boys stared at him with alarmed looks, not everyone had return from one of these crisis. And when he opened his mouth, no words came, only a influx of red blood soiling his white clothes and his foot, then the darkness came to take him


When he awakened, he was lying on a table in the same apothecarium where they had operated him. The place was full of a brutal light that blinded him for quite a while. When he saw again, a giant was leaned upon him. His voice was soft, like the purring of a giant cat. His face was brown, his hair cut short and his expression was quite stern.


"You almost didn't make it, Little Killer." Said the apothecary.


"But here I am." Smiled the boy. "What happened ?"


One of the eyebrows of the apothecary raised.


"Your auxiliary hearth almost got rejected, I had to inject you enough immnuo-suppressant to kill all infectious lifes in a whole planet."


"Heh, that's where you got wrong. At home, I breathed pollutant at every breath. It's too clean in here. That what is killing me."


"Yes, I'm seeing that. Your body was already developping cancerous cell, wouldn't you have not Ipicked by Watcher-of-the-path, I doubt you have grown to your sixteen birthday."


"Good ! Life in the hive was beginning to bore me anyway."


"You don't take many thing seriously, didn't you ?"


"Why should I? I could die before the end ! We were ten in my chambers, and two of my roomate have already died. Death is an unwelcome invitee, so when she come, it's best to laugh at her."


The apothecary chuckled.


"Maybe we should pass at the hypnoendoctrination, here, for you seem to already know no fear."


"Really ? So tell me why I shitted myself when I saw Watcher-of-the-Path."


"He's often making this impression the first time." Said the apothecary while working on his too many armed and too menacing machines.


Some servant were coming and going around them. Some were human, other were servitor.


"What's your name ?" Asked Little Killer.


The apothecary looked at the boy.


"Why do you want to know ?"


"I like to know the name of the man who save my life and his routinely playing with my guts."


The space marines stared at him, and a light of amusement crossed his dark eyes like a shooting stars.


"I'm Keeper-of-tomorrow."


"Did you have all names like this ?"


"Yes, Little Killer and to be given those souls names is a great honor that shouldn't be taken lightly, understood ?"


The boy nodded.


"So, I'm a space marines right now ?"


The giant smiled.


"Far from it, Little Killer, There are many other implants before you'll be fully initiated as a Battle brother."


"How many ?"


The apothecary stayed silent for a second. Little Killer sensed the bad news coming.


"Eight-teen."


Little Killer sighed and let his head fall on the table.


"Oh Great !"

Days were becoming weeks, weeks were becoming months, then years.


But almost everyday, he was sent to the apothecarium, as Keeper-of-tomorrow was checking on his implantation process. Little Killer had been the last to be fully implanted, because his body needed twice as time as the other to adapt, but once the implant took, they seemed to do it with the certainty of the adamant.


At each new implant, he had almost died. When he passed his time lying, waiting for his body to recover from the change, he had learned to read, to calculate, to do some mathematics, and after that, he had learned to swim, in order to fully recover his mobility.


Except for Keeper-of-tomùorrow and Watcher-of-the-Path, he crossed the path of very few other members of the Ebon Hawks, but each time, it was an exhilirating experience, like he meeted his living goal, his future self, armored in huge Astartes powered armor, adorned in this black and white livery and feathers. When looked at it, the head of the black hawk on their armor shoulders that seemed to gaze upon him like some spiritual judge and protector.


But as often as they could, they came in the neophyte forum of the ship, listening at the words of Watcher-of-the-Path reciting the many tales of the Chapter's ethos and history : how the chapter was crusading in the void, striking from the depth of the night sky to fall over Xenos and heretics since the forgotten times of his foundation, Warring against the Ktorr, giving death of the heretic of Dust...


"We are Ebon, for our domain is the eternal night, we are Hawks, as we are the sharps eyes of the emperor and our claws are keens, so we can bring down the ennemies of mankind, ours souls fly with the gift of those two wings : honor and justice."


But most of all, he had learned to endure.


His body was gaining power and durability, his mind, sharpness and clarity. He was growing ever more massive each week, his voice becoming thicker and deeper.


He learned to know more about the other neophytes. Sadness-in-the-eye, Strike-in-the-Back, Burning Runner. They had all been given those curious nicknames, and had almost given up their ancient names.


Living in the huge vessel, almost never seeing the outdoor, it was like living in a closed city tough it bothered him none as it was nothing really different from his already half-forgotten life into the Hiveworld. In fact, he felt quite homely, time just seem meaningless, almost endless, and only his growth truly indicated his passing.


That, and the bedroom that were emptying, little-by-little.


One of the neophyte named Laugh-at-death, made the grim habit of making wagers on their survival chance, until hs oolithic kidney failed and he died on the table, poisoned by his own body fluids.


Little Killer could relate at his brother, as he watched him lying on the table, while his skin had turned in an sickly unnatural yellow color.


"Hey, you remember the dices I've won from this game with the serf ?" Said the dying neophyte between two painful coughs.


Little Killer nodded silently.


"You just won them!" Said Laugh-At-Death, shrugging before finally collapsing, a black trail of black blood flooding from his blue smiling lips.


In this moment, Little Killer knew he knew no fear, but wasn't immune to grieve. Later that day, he took the dice, but never used them, as he never really believed in luck.


Some others neophyte had some imbalance in their hormonal state, or at least, that was Keeper-of- tomorrow said. And all in all, Little Killer was inclined to believe him, as he had to restrain Cold Fist as he was taken in an unrestrained omicidal rage that seem to came out of nowhere. He later meeted him a year later, at the corner of a corridor, working on some electrical device, he didn't said anything to him because lobotomized servitor didn't have that much conversation.


And there was those who didn't really understood brotherhood. Burning Light had the bad habit of stealing things almost without acknowledging it. Maybe he was infected by corruption as Watcher-of-the-path said, who knew ? One day, he just disappeared and Little Killer never saw it again before his last trial.


Of the ten novice with whom he shared his room, four of them maked it to the end. An average rate, considering that only slighty less of the half of the hundreds boys that embarked on the barge had survived the full implantation process.


Meanwhile, he learned to kill with blade, rifle, bolter, lasgun, hands and feet, under light and heavy gravity with or without help of his brothers. He felt more and more invincible, more and more about to become what the chapter had intented to him to become...


He fought on high and low gravity, on place with rarefied or even inexistant oxygen, in full darkness or blinding light. Somehow, he suspected that those training was as much training than a way to know if their implant were working well and able to sustain pressure.


Then one night, a chapter serf with a black painted face came to the surviving neophytes room.


"Master Kayron summoned you, Little Killer."


Little Killer didn't succeed to restrain a grin, as he was no longer little and dominated the chapter serf from two full heads, but he nodded anyway solemnly. This was it. This was the last trial. He nodded to the other who give them a nod back.


"If we didn't meet again, we will meet again at the emperor'side." Said Sadness-in-the-eye.


"So be it", said little Killer with a smile. "Clusmy as you are, you'll probably be first there, so keep my place warm but remember that it's mine."


"Don't count on it." Laughed Said Strike-in-the-Back "I need place for my books."


The Chapter's Serf guided you to the iron wall. Little Killer couldn't help but to see the names of those who had already passed away. Watcher-of-the-Path was there, standing above him on his balcony with three others chaplains and three others Senior officiers.


On the floor, their were four servitors, handing a space suit great enough for an Astartes.


Little Killer knelt before them all.


"Here's the time of your last trial, young warriors. Take this suit, as it's now time to see what message the star of the emperor have for you, then come back, if you can, as we will be waiting for you to hear what they have teached to you."


He nodded silently, as Watcher-of-the-Path hadn't losed his powerful voice, let his iniate robe and clothed the spacesuit under the impenetrable gaze of the cybered lens. Then he turned to the huge gate of the embaraction bay, and then a madness of howling alarms, they openened, revealing a night without no other end than an desolate lanscadpe of hills made of dark, blue and lifeless rocks...


Without an hesitation, he made his first step toward the outside.


And another.


And another.


And another on the soil of dead rock.


It was not untill he was beginning to climb the cliff off the hills that he turned to the spaceship, the vessel seemed so huge that it seemed to cut the reality in two. A wall of grim grey steel and adamantium, spiked by numerous towers adorned by red, blue and white light.


Then, the huge gate of adamantium closed, leaving him alone in the silence and the darkness... with only the searing red hot memory of the gaze of his waiting brothers, graved into his now adamantine spirit.

Another fascinating chapter. Glad you followed my advice at least. I like how you bold everything the Space Marine say just to demonstrate that he has like a booming voice.