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post #1 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-01-10, 04:53 PM Thread Starter
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Default Eater of World's

I started work on this last night; After realising the World Eater's have hardly any fiction around them, I thought I would tackle some. This is set Pre-Heresy, and will hopefully run to the end of the Heresy depending on the characters that come and go. So here it is-


Lord-Lieutenant Faustin cupped one hand over his mouth and yawned deeply. Tiredness had overcome him, the Terran having not been able to rest in several days. He flicked strands of black hair from his puffy, red tinted eyes. His quarters was Spartan and closing on empty, with only his polished white and blue armour being displayed for viewing purposes. He stood, his crimson robes flapping wildly as he pushed away from his throne and moved towards the door. Perhaps somewhere, someone would have something he could occupy himself with.

The Gladiator was remarkably silent. For the ten thousand or so crew and passengers, and the five hundred World Eaters that called it home, only several hundred moved through its darkened decks. Like a planet it had a day and night cycle, in which the lights would dim and brighten accordingly. The Astartes present aboard usually spent the night cycle resting and tending wounds, or gaining the latter in the training pits deep within the super structure of the mighty vessel. Several crew men paused and bowed as he passed, casting away their thoughts at the sight of such a esteemed member of the Legion.

His bulk was immense. His torso was covered in bunches of oiled muscle, and his arms could be said by one to be akin to fledging tree trunks. His jaw line was square and protruding, so much that he had a large under-bite. His eyes were orange like the dusk sky, and his mane of unkempt hair fell down to the right of his shoulder, dangling at his chest. Each step ended in a resounding clang as he pushed his bare feet into the cold deck, causing them to tingle joyfully at the icy embrace.

The labyrinthine decks of the Capital Ship spread off in all directions, jutting through its oily gut and overlooking the main vehicle maintenance decks, were the rows of Thunderhawks and Stormbirds rested in their tight moorings. But he was not going there, for that was a place he tried to avoid whenever he could, hating the cramped hallways and the cavernous abysses which penetrated deep into the ships core. That was where the slave-crews and their brutish handlers made their home, where they could run freely away from the ever watching gaze of the XII Legionnaires.

He continued his journey up wide set stairs, across gantries that dangled hundreds of metres above flooring, through armouries and feasting halls. Soon he found himself upon the command deck. Unlike the cramped lower levels, the command deck was artistic and well spaced with a navy blue carpet that lined the floor and large statues of long dead heroes and paintings of far flung war zones. Faustin wriggled his toes in the warm carpet for several moments, relishing it and smiling before continuing onwards.

The mighty blast doors that led onto the bridge, each one carved from the finest metal that could be found within the known Imperium, loomed ahead as he drew nearer. Both had splashes of blue and white paint across them, and in the centre the latch was shaped into that of a jaw, a world between them to represent the World Eaters Legion. As he neared a Servitor clambered from a dark alcove nearby on three legs and approached him, the dried skin of its torso sprinkling white flakes across the carpet.

It outstretched one three pronged hand and placed it on his shoulder saying in a gruff, metallic voice “Identify yourself”. Faustin flicked it away with one gnarled hand and growled “Infidel, I am Lord-Lieutenant Faustin! Who else would I be? Bloody Angron himself?” the Servitor, taken aghast by this stepped away and a light flashed from one of its shoulders, and slowly the doors rolled apart to reveal a red lit interior. He walked forwards, ignoring the Servitor and letting out a low grumble.

The bridge was a immense thing. Planned out over four levels, with the lower three below that of which Faustin was on and occupied by Servitors and Legion-Thralls each consisted of three hundred stations with cable lined paths between them. The top was occupied by the World Eaters. Eight in total stood as a ever vigilant guard with Bolters pulled tightly across their chests, their faces hid beneath smooth helms. At the centre, standing behind a semi-circle of consoles was his advisor and closest Brother.

As he approached, the cold metal of the floor once again sending tingles up his enhanced form, the Astartes turned. Adorned in full battle plate, he utterly dwarfed Faustin in both aura and stature. A topknot of blonde hair was held upon his wire traced head, dangling at the top gently. A pair of crystal blue eyes sat in the centre of his face, a long nose that had evidently been broken several times, due to the misshapen centre pointed downwards from those. His lips were pulled tightly against his flesh, so much that the glint of white teeth could be made out from beneath. A patchwork like scar covered his right cheek, something that had been earned when he was a mere youth.

Faustin stopped and smiled saying “Varren, I trust all is well aboard?” the Brother-Captain before him returned “It is Lord-Lieutenant, Angron and the Legion are pushing through the Elra System as we speak, a Scout-Frigate arrived no more than a hour ago and relayed a message from our Lord. The Elran have opened peace negotiations with Angron, I think it is fair to say that will not get far”. His accent was laced with Terran origin, something that both Faustin and Varren shared.

Both let out a loud chuckle when the Brother-Captain finished speaking, and Faustin smiled replying “Yes Orak, we both know how it will end. I almost feel apologetic for the Xeno-Worshipping whores. Angron will deploy entire Companies against them Orak, thousands of our brethren will fall upon the worlds of the Elran.” He gripped the shoulders of Orak Varren, staring blindly into the giant view-dome that formed the forwards section of the bridge and muttered “Brother, order the Companies ready. We make for Elra!”.

++++++++

Faustin smiled once again as his armour was fitted, the gleaming surface shining in the lights of his quarters and twisted his wrist, servos whining loudly. He proceeded to flex his fingers twice, pulling them into the black, soft palm of his armour. Two of his Thralls held his Chain-Axe between them, their faces red with effort. Another held a purple velvet pillow, on which his helm, which was topped in a horse plume rested gently. His Bolt Pistol lay upon another such pillow nearby, its flank glistening with lubricants and incense.

He took the Bolt Pistol first, pushing it into the empty leather holster that rested emptily at his hip. His Chain-Axe followed, however that was lifted above his head and slipped into the thick black straps that were adjoined to his backpack like a octopus’s suckers would to the ocean floor. The weapon fell down into its locks gracefully and he finally reached for his helm. The eyes were tinted red to give it a more malicious appearance, and a single black stripe moved down the centre of the forehead to mark his rank and in remembrance of a long dead Brother.

It lifted in his tight grip, and he brought it too his face and placed his lips upon the stripe before lowering it to his side, pushing it into the mag-locks there. With a click it was pulled from his hands, and sucked onto his armour tightly. Finally he was done and he bid his Thralls farewell, heading towards the primary Embarkation Deck. The travel through the Gladiator was short, as the decks had been cleared for the use of the Astartes alone and thus it was easy for Faustin to make short time of the descent from his quarters along the main spine.

When he did reach the Embarkation Deck he was met with rows upon rows of blue and white armoured Astartes. Each stood at attention, with their arms held so that they pointed downwards into the weathered decking. Brother-Captain Tikhon, his features as stern as ever, stood at the head of his Veteran’s each of which had served with Faustin for decades. Brother-Captain Varren, stood with the Assault-Brother’s of his Company with a fur thrilled cloak pulled over his armour tightly, his helm in place upon his head.

Brother-Captain Anzo leaned heavily into the deck upon the hilt of his Chain-Axe, staring at the nearby row of Stormbirds that would carry them into war. Finally stood the two hundred Neophytes of Brother-Captain Raban Varius’s, freshly transported from Terra to reinforce the Eighty Seventh Expedition Fleet stood loosely to the left, their armour unadorned compared to that of the more Veteran Marines. Each Company slammed heels into the deck when he entered, the Brother-Captain’s advancing forwards with Tikhon at the lead.

Tikhon was effectively the second in command of the Eighty Seventh and it showed perfectly. Unlike his fellow Captain’s and Faustin himself he dwarfed each one in a mighty set of Tactical Dreadnaught Armour, newly forged upon some far flung Forge World. A black beard covered his lower face, twirled tightly at the tips, his augmented left eye whirred loudly as he zoomed in on Faustin and smiled, revealing a row of metal edged teeth that could rip a mans head from his shoulders. His forehead was a land of scars and bulging veins that pumped ecstatically with Combat-Simms and blood. He had no hair, but rather a tangle of thick black wires that hummed gently in the background.

Unlike the calm temperament of Varren, Tikhon was a volcano ready to unleash a tide of magma upon some unsuspecting world or person. He stopped a metre or so away, staring down upon Faustin and said “Ah finally Faustin, we have been waiting”. The moment between the two was tense, and Faustin took notice of the giant Power Fists that were pulled tightly into the armour of Tikhon clenched and unclenched, a electrical surge dancing along the fingers.

He grinned and returned calmly “Your just getting old Tikhon, what your in the eight digits now? Or is it the nines? I really cannot remember” he gripped his arm and both burst into a joyous laughter, until Tikhon pulled his arm free and watched as the remaining Officers took up a position around Faustin. Varius, the newest member of the Council went with his helm on, a pair of rectangular ornaments sprouting upwards from the smoothed surface. Anzo, his gladiatorial like armour covered in bloody trophies with a brown leather cape flowing from his shoulders, hooked on via a pair of spikes stood next to Varren who nodded intently.

The Lord-Lieutenant spoke to all within the Embarkation Deck and not just at his Captain’s, silence suddenly casting a veil upon those bunched within. He stepped forwards, moving along the line “Brothers of the Eighty Seventh, the Elra system has cast down our rightful ownership of their worlds, our sire has made planet fall and is embattled with their treacherous warriors. We are to follow within the hour, give or take the time that it takes us to gain access through the blockade. Brothers of the World, we land and we slaughter! In the name of Angron, tear the Elran limb from damned limb!”.

A ferocious cheer was thrown into the air, throats growling wildly and Faustin smiled as his Captain’s dispersed and headed for their Stormbirds, their Companies in tow. Tikhon moved away to the twenty Terminator’s that formed the heavy arm of the Eighty Seventh, each of which stood with weapons held at the ready mostly in the forms of giant two handed Chain-Axes. The remainder of the Company was made up of close combat specialists, each of which fell under the command of Faustin himself.

The Elra system shook in sheer fear as the mighty ship was spat violently from the Empyrean, ethereal energies twirling around the plated form as the lights fluttered on and off, the Navigator screaming violently. Moments passed, before the Stormbirds flew outwards from the Embarkation Deck, their wide winged forms spinning into the atmosphere of the nearest planet. Far below, the World Eaters angled their helms upwards, flames licking their armour as they rested amongst great pyres formed from the bodies of Elran’s and watched as the first Stormbird kicked up a wave of dust and landed heavily.

++++++++

Faustin was the first out, a pair of Terminator armoured brethren flanking him, and making him look obsolete as he pressed his boot down hard into the soil which had now turned a light pink from the blood which had befallen it. Hundreds of World Eaters crowded around, their armour stained in gore. Many wore belts of heads and strips of meat that in their minds formed trophies, but to the newly arrived Terran Astartes simply made them look like some form of Daemon from the Chronicles of Ursh.

High above, the pair of Stormbirds assigned to the Neophytes of Varius circled, their rear hatches opened. The Lord-Lieutenant noticed Marines standing in the opened hatches, staring downwards at their Brothers with helms locked in place. A pair of Astartes, one tall and gaunt, the other short and stout approached Faustin and stopped several metres away, both almost identical in appearance, their faces only differing due to the fatness of the rearmost.

They stared at each other, the newly arrived Astartes standing with straightened backs and high chins while those who had fought for weeks were stooped tiredly, their blue and white armour bathed in crimson. The tallest stepped forwards and said “I am Brother-Captain Grakin of the Fifteenth Company, what brings you here Lord-Lieutenant? Shouldn’t you be running some errand for our liege?”. Faustin began to chuckle loudly and turned on his heel, winking at Tikhon who was standing at the top of the ramp. He spun back around and leapt forwards, gripping Grakin by the throat tightly. His head came in, and Grakin yelped as his nose cracked and broke spraying blood over the chest of the Lord-Lieutenant.

A second butt sent nausea through Grakin who stumbled backwards, before Faustin twisted his leg around the back of his fellow and pushed with one palm causing him to topple to the floor, wiping away blood from his nose with one finger. He snorted and spat a pink coloured mixture of blood and phlegm to the floor, the second Marine stepped forwards with a Bolt Pistol drawn. Tikhon launched forwards at this, and knocked away the weapon with one hand hissing “Don’t be a fool like your Captain”.

A booming voiced caused all to cower as the word “Enough!” was cast across the landing zone. A copper haired giant, a pair of angled cheekbones nearly obscuring his pale eyes approached, causing World Eater's to split and let him through. His armour was covered in bolts that held it together, high shoulder pads adorned with the symbol of the World Eaters. A furred cloak fell from it, flowing down to his knees and twisting tightly in the wind. His forearms and legs were covered in brown leather that was edged with the fur of some strange animal that shorn brightly. Faustin fell to his knees and muttered “Angron”.

++++++++

All comments are needed please ladies and gentlemen, so that way if I know people like it I will work on the rest

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'

Last edited by dark angel; 03-01-10 at 05:21 PM.
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post #2 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-01-10, 05:11 PM
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Damn that was good. Write more, fast!!!

And a nice entry for a Primarch
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post #3 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-01-10, 06:45 PM
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looks good as always da in the name of khorne make some more (or els ill have to call some bloodletters just to be sure)


Check out my warriors of chaos log here
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post #4 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-01-10, 11:40 PM
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As always DA great work, and as always I have to spread the love before repping you for it , keep up the good work DA, speak to you soon.

Do not disallusion yourself brothers, today we die, our bodies broken and our souls shattered, we will be remembered as corpses on a battlefield.Raise hell my brothers for one day our great Father will hear of our struggle, and he will be honoured to call us his Sons. In death our Glory shall become eternal.' Karik Farron, 1st Lord of the Dark Scorchers at the Fall of Kempar.


'like a blind man in a dark room trying to find a black cat that isn't there'-imntdead
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post #5 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-02-10, 08:47 AM
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Nice work. Was quite a lot to read, but I didn't particularly want to stop.

Just a couple of little things I noticed though. First, you don't need to use an apostrophe unless the subject owns the object. Such as: "Ben's car", not "his Captain's dispersed", because they don't own the dispersing.

Also, if the following word begins with a vowel, you need to use 'an' rather than 'a'. Feel free to ignore me, I'm simply pointing out small errors in your grammar because it's serious fiction.

Finally, you include a lot of complex sentences, but sometimes it'd be better to make them short by using a period instead of a comma. But there are other times when you need to add some punctuation to make the writing more coherent. Try using semi-colons or colons for longer pauses than a comma, but shorter than a period.

Keep us updated regularly.

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Last edited by Broken; 03-02-10 at 09:16 AM.
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post #6 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-02-10, 05:58 PM
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Great work yet again dark angel. I have to spread some rep around but when i next get the chance you can be sure i shall be +repping you


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post #7 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-02-10, 06:02 PM
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Hello Lord Ramo, spread the love? That sounds familar, you stole my rep based saying. I have half a mind to neg rep you right now, I feel all abused and nasty

Do not disallusion yourself brothers, today we die, our bodies broken and our souls shattered, we will be remembered as corpses on a battlefield.Raise hell my brothers for one day our great Father will hear of our struggle, and he will be honoured to call us his Sons. In death our Glory shall become eternal.' Karik Farron, 1st Lord of the Dark Scorchers at the Fall of Kempar.


'like a blind man in a dark room trying to find a black cat that isn't there'-imntdead
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post #8 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-03-10, 08:02 AM
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This is really good DA. +rep.

Just a word of advice, watch yours tenses. You only did it a couple of times but sometimes a word didn't quite make sense. I have the same problem... and i got a test on writing in a week :/. Other than that, keep it up!!

Edit, i spotted some typos, but we all make them...

Quote:
Originally Posted by aegius View Post
As for adding weathering, didn't you know that marines never get dirty, they are too cool.
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post #9 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-03-10, 02:57 PM Thread Starter
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Cheers for the posts and rep guys! I do appreciate it Broken, just the way I have been taught to write. The next part is in works, and will involve Angron and his Axes....Not a fond sight Anymore comments will be great!

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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post #10 of 39 (permalink) Old 03-04-10, 05:40 PM Thread Starter
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Heres the next part all, comments are once again welcome!-

Grakin quivered like a wet dog as the terrible form of Angron moved above him, his lips upturned in rage. The Captain of the Fifteenth pulled himself up onto his knees and looked up at the Primarch stammering “Lo….Lord….I…I…This bastard attack…..He attacked me!”. A powerful backhand sent him onto his back, sliding across the ground. The Primarch laughed loudly and replied “Do not try and fool me Grakin! I watched you insult my Lord-Lieutenant, if I did not need you alive I would have cut your head from your shoulders”.

His voice was remarkably calm as he addressed Grakin; Never ceasing to waver in tone. Grakin whimpered behind him quietly, ever fearful of the famed rage of his Primarch. Faustin couldn’t stop the grin which forced itself across his face or the erratic laughter that overtook him when Angron scooped him up in a mighty bear hug saying “Faustin! I thought I ordered you to keep away? I should have known such a loyal dog as you wouldn’t have been able to stay far away from my glorious self, in that case I welcome your forces to Elra!”.

Angron gently placed him back to his feet and struck him on the shoulder pauldron with one, armoured palm saying “Come little brother, we prepare for war”.

++++++++

The room was large and circular, with dozens of blast marks streaked across the walls and ceiling, along with the brown patches of dried blood. A untold number of World Eaters occupied the space, their forms clad in a almost ornamental armour that made them gleam in the red strip lights that dangled above. Several carried dark trophy belts adorned with half shattered skulls, some of which still dripped foul smelling liquids and chunks of meat upon the tiled ground. As the Primarch and Faustin entered, heads snapped towards them wearily before continuing on with their duties.

He noticed Sgoran Mith, the leader of the Devourer’s, the elite of Angron. He nodded at Faustin and smiled, showing his golden teeth too the Lord-Lieutenant. Leaning against a wall weakly, his form was hidden beneath a blue robe but Faustin knew that beneath rested his Bolt Pistol and Chain-Axe, Sgoran being a fond believer that the Astartes should never walk freely without being armed. His face was a mesh of scar tissue, so much that no feature bar his sparkling green eyes and golden teeth was able to be defined.

They pushed towards the centre, where a long wooden table lay. Its surface was covered in stacks of papers and dozens of detailed maps and blueprints, some of which were rolled together and held in place by thick elastics. Several dozen Legion Thralls and Imperial Army Officers stood around it, moving large wooden markers forwards as a nearby Vox kept them updated on the various battles that were ongoing throughout the system. Each cleared a space when Angron grew nearer, sliding away their logistical supplies so that he could stand comfortably.

He clicked his fingers and those within filed out of the room in a quick pace, leaving only Angron, Sgoran and Faustin in the room. It seemed remarkably large without the armoured bulks of Astartes and the colourful Imperial Army officials and Thralls. At that, Sgoran outstretched his hand and Faustin shook it from over the table smiling warmly. He pulled away and Sgoran nodded, straightening his form further.

The Primarch spoke “Now, my sons lets get on with the briefing. As you should know Faustin, the Eight Hundredth Expedition Fleet arrived here nine months ago, and at first were welcomed with open arms. Initial contact went well, and Brother-Captain Kavarr established a headquarters on one of the outer worlds, which we are not sure. On the fiftieth day Kavarr unearthed a small group of Elran who called themselves the Pegasus Cult. On the seventy-first day, Kavarr reported the Pegasus Cult had ensnared the inner worlds and he was deploying his Imperial Army contingent too deal with it.”

He sighed and tapped the table with the fingers of his right hand continuing “Contact was lost with them soon after, and it became apparent the Pegasus Cult had grown in numbers. Kavarr deployed his Company in a effort too keep the peace but lost contact with many Brother’s during this. Kavarr himself is now missing, as is his entire Fleet including a pair of Mechanicus vessels. We arrived a week later, and since then the bastards have held us firmly in place. Xeno have been sighted amongst the Elran, they are our primary targets”.

Faustin nodded grimly and cleared the bile from his mouth asking intently “This Pegasus Cult, they are Xeno collaborators? Also, how many Brother’s have we lost too the bastards? Not including the Eighteenth of Kavarr that is”. The Primarch nodded too him, clasping his hands together in a tight embrace and said “The Pegasus Cult are indeed working with the Xeno, we believe that they had some kind of influence over the Elran. As for casualties, eight hundred World Eaters lay dead upon these damned worlds, and that number will only grow as we continue”.

Sgoran interrupted at this “The Pegasus Cult are nothing more than a armed rabble Faustin, I am sure you can handle them. They have however, managed to infiltrate several of the Imperial Army Regiments, which we do not know but they are using those within as assassins and suicide attackers. It is a rather efficient way of sending fear into our troops, trust is virtually no more amongst them. Luckily, they have not been able to reach the Navy as of yet due too the Astartes we have aboard the vessels. Yet is a key word in there Brother, we can only hold them off for so long”.

The Devourer was a giant even without his armour. He nearly stood at the height of Faustin, his monstrous form bounded in thick muscle that had been worked on till perfection. He had once been a handsome Marine, but over the years the toll of war had given him the appearance of some nightmare brewed in the minds of over active children. Yet he was a popular member of the Legion too those who managed to penetrate his dark outer shell.

Angron snorted and returned “Sgoran exaggerates, he listens too old wives tales far to often. Rumours, nothing more Faustin. Do not worry, we have the finest of the Imperial Army serving with us and I assure you that nothing that my Devourer Lord has said will befall your forces. Tomorrow my sons, we are too take this world from the grip of the Elra once and for all. I shall lead us into glory. Prepare your forces, the Legion marches too war!”.

With that Faustin nodded and turned away, marching briskly too the door which he pushed open without a word, only the creaking of hinges sounding within. He closed it behind him and outstretched his arms, taking in deep breaths of cold air that burned his throat. He smiled, Angron was actually happy too see him, and moved back towards his forces, ignoring his fellow Legionnaires which milled around him.

++++++++

The assault was fronted by a mighty armoured spearhead. A single Fellblade with the name Headhunter inscribed up its left flank in curled, black writing led the way, the giant engine housed within purring loudly. Stood atop the turret, with a Chain-Axe in either hand was Angron. His bare face was split by several jutting lines of red war paint, each of which darted towards the centre. He bared his teeth, and raised Gorefather high, the extremely sharp teeth there howling for blood and pointed it towards a city in the distance.

Behind him, four thousand World Eaters roared their approval, raising weapons into the air. Some fired off weapons, but those were quickly shot warning glances from nearby high ranking Space Marines. With that, the Fellblade churned up the ground beneath it, splattering nearby Devourer’s in mud and clumps of grass and charged forwards like a beast of legend. The Tactical Dreadnaught Armoured World Eaters that stood around it followed close behind, leaping into their idling Land Raiders and letting out shrill roars.

Hundreds of Rhino Transports followed, laden with Squads of Astartes who eagerly awaited the oncoming bloodshed. Artillery fired from the city, thumping down around the World Eaters violently. Fountains of earth and rock were sent upwards with great sparks of flame, crashing down upon nearby transports or in the worst of cases causing them to lift from the ground ponderously. The first casualty in the charge was a Rhino, sheered open as a shell ripped through the roof and incinerated those who awaited within.

Waves of shrapnel were sent tumbling in all directions, slicing through the hulls of the closest Rhino’s and injuring more Astartes. Yet those continued onwards, biting lips and tongues as their wounds sealed over. Angron took a round too his shoulder from a enemy sniper, but shrugged it off as the Fellblade turned its cannon and fired, obliterating the position in a shower of debris and flames, the sniper, ceased too be in a matter of seconds.

The city was a marbled paradise. The outer walls were covered in stark, purple banners which depicted the winged heart that was the symbol of the Pegasus Cult. Red roofed buildings formed the curling streets of the city, the polished walls reflecting the sun with a almost blinding capacity. A pair of giant iron gates each of which were studded with long metal spikes. A single pyramid sat within the centre of the city, surrounded by pools of glittering water and parks, in which rested colourful fish that swam in circles, oblivious too the destruction which approached their city.

The parks were dotted with ornamental structures and shrines, brown cobble stoned paths moved towards the pyramid from each of these, moving across arched wooden bridges which hung above the pools. High, thick branched trees sprung upwards rustling in the wind gently. Colourful leaves, struck by autumn, or the Elran equivalent at least fell from them slowly, twisting downwards before resting in the grass below.

The pyramid itself was obsidian, a strange thing for the white and red buildings which surrounded it. Atop of it lay a giant burning brazier, bound within to crosses were dozens of ritual sacrifices who screamed as their flesh sloughed away and their bones blackened. Standing before them, one a section of stone which jutted outwards was a single priest, his face hidden beneath a white curled beard and a face mask which obscured his upper eyes.

A purple robe was pulled over him tightly, in one hand he held a curled black pole which was tipped in a shining blue emerald. The other clutched a brown skinned book, which he read loudly as he watched those in the brazier slowly burn away. The smell of burnt skin filtered into his nostrils and he smiled, muttering dark oaths too himself.

As the Fellblade approached, its cannon kicked back and fired a single round into the gate. It shattered inwards, spinning end over end before coming to a rest as it crushed a building overlooking the courtyard that formed the forward centre of the city. It slid too a halt, and Angron leapt too the ground below, his form half hidden in the steam that billowed out from the growling engine. He marched inwards, dozens of Devourer’s led by Sgoran closely following. And the slaughter started.

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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