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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Welcome to the year's sixth

For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totalled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread and be awarded the Lexicanum's Crest award for Fiction excellence!


The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

Word Count

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:


Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight GMT, 3o June 2014
. Remember, getting your story submitted on 22nd will be just as considered by others as one submitted on 11th! Take as much time as you need to work on your piece! Any entries submitted past the deadline will not be considered in the competition, regardless of whether the voting thread is posted or not.

Additional Incentive
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Participation - 1 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 2 reputation points
2nd place - 3 reputation points
1st place - 4 reputation points and Lexicanum's Crest

If you have any questions, feel free to ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!


· Registered
623 Posts
For Death Is Always Near

Word Count: 1098

Captain Raidon Tadeshi of the White Scars First Company blinked into existence in the midst of the demonic forge world Century XVI. The hundred or so veterans and terminators of the company flashed into being within the twisted spires and archaic manufactorums behind him. Bolters disintegrated hundreds instantly, but the fallen Mechanicum soldiers swarmed them undeterred. The Astartes of the Imperium made their stand on the obsidian bridges that kept the world above an ocean of volcanic sulfur and lava. Lascannons and missiles criss--crossed through the charred skies to intercept swooping Heldrakes and felled the largest Maulerfiends that emerged from the dark alleys.

Raidon stood at the fore of his men, the plasma gun cradled in his grip punched through the mouth of the Forgefiend the very moment it unleashed the power of the Hades Cannon. Takamura vanished in the super nova that swallowed him and Attila had lost an arm in the explosion. He fired again, leaving a molten hull through the chest of the fusion of flesh and machine. Yet the creation stumbled onward, charging into the mass of Astartes, firing directly into the clustered First Company. The Standard Bearer and half the command squad was obliterated in the span of an eye blink. Three of the Sternguard became crushed under massive pistons and machinery—feet.

Las-cannons sheared through the heavy plating of the beast. One by one, the legs became useless and Raidon found himself scurrying toward the enemy with one fourth of his men, trapped bewteen the wrecked machine and the advancing enemy. The Chaos Marines of the Armenian Circle were gathered on the high battlements and walls surrounding Manufactorum Beta. Hundreds cheered and jeered at the loyalists, Raidon and his chosen killed a score with relentless fire. Yet the traitors of the Imperium kept their weapons lowered, preferring silence until the White Scars figured something was wrong.

Death for an Adeptus Astartes is often a split second decision. When the moment comes that the lives of your men are at risk, the timeframe for an efficient action is fleeting at best. The Captain must make the decision everytime and make the right one or risk failure. Astartes never fail, do they? Raidon knew he had come to a crossroads when Actaeon the Hellbrute crushed its way through the throng of rabble on massive piston legs. The damned champion had claimed half a company’s ranks with his own sacred band alone.

Hundreds of red stained Chaos Marines marched in formation behind the Hellbrute, whirring the teeth of their chain axes and swords. The First Company could oppose them, destroy a couple ranks maybe, but they would be overwhelmed in the end. The White Scars would gladly die to the last marine instead of relenting, but Raidon could not let them make the decision themselves, not today. There was only one way to win the struggle now.

Raidon lifted his plasma gun in one hand and his other fell to the pommel of his force weapon. “Oda, Matsuo, Usagi with me!”

The rest of the Company became painfully aware of Raidon’s command. Roaring their battle cries, the three marines broke ranks in a charge toward the enemy lines. The men left behind cheered them on, to either victory or honorable death. The three Sternguard and their captain crossed the no man’s ground before Actaeon bellowed a grated, mechanical laugh and called three of his own subjects. The Hellbrute and his retinue counter charged at the last moment, the air filling with hundreds of cheers as the eight Astartes collided into each other.

Searing sapphire energy punched through one of the whip—like coils on Actaeon’s right arm. The thing fell limp, useless, but the others drew toward him like thrown spears, lunging into the ground around his feet as he weaved left and right. He heard Usagi smash into the helm of a Marked of Khorne with enough momentum to pulp the brain in one blow. Oda attempted to pary his opponent’s strike of two chain axes formed in an ‘x’, but his strength had failed him. He died on his knees with a coup de grace that sent the Armenian Circle into fanatical screaming. Matsuo was trading even blows with his own opponent, isolating himself further and further from the dominating presence of the Hellbrute.

Actaeon’s twin-linked Melta unleashed its inferno again and again, but only managing to scorch the quicker Raidon’s ceramite armor. The White Scars Captain rolled under a cumbersome piston-leg, threw his plasma gun under the ponderous step, and then drew his force sword in one continous movement. The ancient plasma weapon exploded with a thunderous crack, the noise of melted gears and hissing electronics music to Raidon’s ears.

The Hellbrute was swifter than he looked, sweeping his horned visor around to take in the sight of Usagi and Raidon. Usagi charged in from the left, Raidon came in from the right. The Melta gun fired again, gouging black steel and iron in its snake like pattern toward the Astartes Captain. Raidon twisted and sprinted toward the Bezerker that had slain Oda and parried an axe with a downward strike and the other with a raised pommel.

The traitor tried to dodge the incoming blast of atomizing heat, but found his split second roll one second too short. The meat of the Chaos marine’s legs peeled away like wet cloth as he collapsed in an undignified rage. Raidon flipped his blade and brought it down on the spinal chord, separating the head from the shoulders. In the background, Acteon sputtered and faltered, a power axe buried nearly to the hilt into the ceremonial visor piece.

The whip—coils on his arm flailed around in a storm of metallic tentacles, like a Kraken shrunk into a weapon for the Gods’ mere amusement. Usagi’s waist came free in a spray of crimson liquid as Raidon charged into the whirlwind of blades. Matsuo and his opponent lay entangled among the numerous dead, lifeless.

It was a strange notion that had become familiar to him, that only a fraction of movement and thought was what separated one man and his enemy from certain death. The metal whips smashed and tore into his pauldrons, sliced into his flesh and pulverized bone. It did not matter, the dice had struck in his favor, and made death certain for Acteon.

Usagi’s axe came free, revealing an ancient face mired in wire. Raidon buried the axe and blade to the hilt for good measure.

Another Champion fallen, another death postponed.

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Jrvil’s boots hit the ground with a jarring thud. He had jumped from the third story of a ruined skyscraper. Undaunted, the Marine continued on his way.

He had been here so long, that the desert had made its way into the abandoned city streets. The once magnificent royal purple of his power armor was caked with sand and dirt, as well. Though, parts of the silver trim still held some shine, even after all these years.

This world, Gehrta Tertius, was nothing like it was when he first laid eyes upon it. Massive cities, one after the other, lined several enormous rivers that made a spiderweb of the continent. He had checked several of these rivers. Some still had running water, which had helped keep him alive. The fish and vermin had helped with that, too.

He looked up around him, taking it all in.

Familiarity struck hard, as he recognized this place. He had fought here, a battle, years ago. He chuckled lightly to himself in amusement, and amazement. He had searched seven of these infinite cities, their various levels, the floors of their buildings, their alleyways, shadowy depths, and hidden corners. He had traversed the expanse of land between them, walking on the sand strewn roads and bridges. Until now, he thought he was in city number eight.

There, he pointed for his own benefit, he had gunned down one of the traitors with his bolter. The holes in the side of the broken grav-car were still noticeable, though widened as the metal was thinned from corrosion and weathering. The sound of his heavy armor lumbering around the road bounced off the buildings beside him. There, he pointed again, silently, was where brother Farva had met his end. By that building’s corner, behind that fallen chunk of building. An enemy had been laying in wait around the corner, and stabbed his brother like a coward, pushing a blade up through the side beneath his chest armor.

He made his way over, slowly, and his eyes widened to see that Farva was still there. The armor was, at least, and the bones. All of it grey and covered in dirt. No one had ever recovered him. Jrvil’s face curled with a mixture of outrage and disappointment, but he didn’t know where to aim the emotion. Was he more resentful at the enemy for this, or his allies?

He knelt down, resting his knee in the sand, and picked up the helm that had been mag-locked to his brother’s waist. It had rolled away from the rest of the remains, connecting instead with the fallen building pieces beside him, the suit’s power supply having run dry long ago. For his own armor, he had found various means of keeping it functional over the long weeks and months.

He turned the helm over in his hands several times, noticing a few traces of purple yet to be erased. It did not feel right to set it back down. He took his gladius from the hip, and scratched his brother’s name into the side of the now grey MkVII Helmet. Then, he attached it to one of his own maglocks before moving on, recalling more scenes from the battle.

His entire chapter had come here, to this world. He had traversed the skeletal remains of two of his Chapter’s fallen strike cruisers, that had crashed into the vast desert. There were oceans on this world, and other continents. The rest of the fleet could have crashed anywhere, if they had fallen as well. He could still hear the fading sounds of war; the last gun shots that echoed through the streets of one of these massive cities.

As far as he knew, the war was still on. He had never received confirmation that the war was over. To that end, nothing was certain. He had never stopped walking, searching, hunting for any enemies that had survived. Whether or not he was the only Marine of his chapter left changed nothing for him. He was still here, still alive, and his mission of exterminating the enemy forces on the ground had not changed.

What was certain, is that he would die, one day. It was always certain he would die, even after he became ‘immortal’.

Ironically, he thought, he became immortal to age and disease only to be sentenced to death, flung into the most dangerous war zones the Imperium could offer. He had already lived so much longer than he ever would have before his transformation into an Astartes, but that time was only used to tear more down and take more lives away, rather than to use that extra time to build something greater.

Perhaps he could. Perhaps all his brothers and brother-cousins could, if the tides would finally cease their relentless crashing. The waves of traitorous uprisings, xenos invasions, demonic incursions...they never stopped. They hadn’t for thousands of years. Their hands were forced to use their immortality in the service of defense. If they stepped down from their martial place, humanity’s death wasn’t a question, it was certain.

“My choices ensure certainty of life and death, but little else.” he said to himself.

He smiled.

“I suppose it's appropriate then, that mortal men label me a god.”

Maybe, just maybe, he continued thinking, death was no longer a certainty for him . Maybe he had become the only Space Marine to ever really get the chance to not die. If he was the only living thing left on this planet, and age was nothing to him...what could he do with so such time and freedom?

He shook his head, worried about how long it had been since the guidance of a Chaplain or another Brother. His mind was wandering, and had been, for far too long.

His chapter symbol had faded so much, but his memory never would. He stretched his neck and shoulder to try and see it again. Frustrated at barely being able to see it, he took a deep breath and yelled his Chapter’s name at the top of his lungs, hearing his powerful voice echo on forever into the city, “The Warriors of Mayhem!”

He paused in his tracks to listen, hoping the echoes would remind him of his Company shouting it together, hoping to reawaken the pride he once held dear.



A crunch, in the dirt, as he began his steps anew.

He would use his immortality here. Something would come of all the time spent here. He would begin something, build something. Of this, he was certain.

Word count: 1099… take that Myen ;)
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