This one Space marine story i made and will eventually finish
Green streaks across the sky. An unbearable pain. The ground erupting.
Where am I?
“Get down!” a vast, steel pyramid floating toward them. An impossibly bright flash of green light.
Brother Felix awoke; his Astartes mind quickly assessed the situation. He was sitting up, back supported by half a wall. In front of him was a hellscape riddled with glass craters, foxholes, and the deep, rich blue armor of his fallen battle-brothers.
Felix arose slowly, supporting himself on the wall, an intense burst of pain flared through his hands like a knife and he pulled it back sharply, losing his balance and tumbling to the dirt. He held up his hands and found out why. The armored red gauntlets of his Crimson Fist power armor were but red rings around his wrists, his combat gloves beneath them scorched completely away save some black flecks of cloth. His hands were covered in an angry red and black. The flesh horribly scorched. The middle finger on his left hand was burned down to the first knuckle.
He tried to stand again, this time without using his hands. He managed after several attempts; the hydraulics in his damaged power armor whining and groaning in protest. Brother Felix took a few steps to steady himself and started across the battlefield in search of any surviving Space Marines.
The carnage was appalling; his brothers had been cut to pieces.There were barely any complete bodies.
Ambushed by the Necrons and under-strength from a recent skirmish, 8th Assault and 9th Devastator squads, of Crimson Fists 4th company, along with Katana Squad of Holy Terminators had embarked on a tactical retreat to regroup with Tactical 3rd and 5th squads. The unflinching machines had, as was their standard operating procedure, phased in all around them and opened fire, massive steel pyramidal objects had appeared from nowhere, spouting scores of Necron warriors from their portals.
The combined firepower of Assault 8th, Devastator 9th, Katana Squad, and their Rhino transports had destroyed numerous Necron soldiers. Although in the end the soulless robotic warriors, with their unsettling ability to repair themselves and return to battle coupled with their intensely destructive gauss technology had overwhelmed the Space Marine task force and slain them. Then, as quickly as they had come, the Necrons had vanished, leaving no trace except Felix’s twenty-odd dead Battle-Brothers.
Felix wandered blearily through the carnage, searching for survivors. His helmets advanced biosensors told him there were none, but he knew this to be unreliable. A bioreceptor node in damaged Space Marine armor could be malfunctioning, or merely switched off to avoid detection by enemy forces. He searched through one of his Brother’s equipment pack, looking for a spare medkit, his injured hands flaring with intense pain at every movement and touch. A half-hour’s search turned up a half exhausted medkit Brother Felix used to bandage his seared hands in the chemically altered anesthetic bandage standard to all Astartes medkits.
Brother Felix dived to the ground and snatched up a discarded bolter, Astartes standard armament and the instrument of mankind’s divinity, and rose to a kneeling position in one quick, fluid motion.
“Identify yourself!” he barked at the figure rising from the deep blue carnage. Magnified and distorted by his helmet speakers, it sounded identical to every other one of his Brother’s voices. One identical voice to give praise to the Immortal Emperor of Mankind
“Antenor Valar, Crimson Fists Assault 8th, don’t shoot Brother!” the man spoke. Felix lowered the bolter to observe the figure stumbling toward him. This Antenor Valar wore a mkVI helmet, standard backing but with a faceplate shaped like a bird’s beak, the holy jump pack the Assault squads were blessed with, and had with him a shattered chainsword, top half disintegrated by Necron gauss fire, chain and teeth dangling from the edge of the ruined weapon. Most alarming of all was the large bloodied gash torn across his chest, it bisected the silver Holy Aquila emblem on his chest and dried blood and fluids had stained down over the side of his navy blue armor.
Brother Valar stumbled over to Felix’s position and offered him a hand up and flashed the symbol of the Holy Aquila to him.
“Damn them, two squads and Terminators.” He muttered, “A sad day for the Crimson Fists.”
“The Emperor Protects Brother.” Was all Felix had to offer, and, truth be told, staring across the tortured landscape and corpses of his closes friends, he couldn’t help but doubt if the Emperor truly did protect, or were his Battle-Brothers whose lives were given in service to the Most Benevolent God-Emperor merely forsaken by him?
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Last edited by KnejaTurch; 02-17-10 at 07:29 AM.