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Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 14-08: Vision

1527 Views 6 Replies 6 Participants Last post by  unxpekted22
Welcome to the year's eighth

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, 31 August 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!

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Here's my entry, for this month, something a bit different. I haven't really dabbled much into first-person or present tense, but, I think it reads well enough! It weighs in at 1039 words.

What if?​

It was upon Xusa, a world of tundras and plateaus, that I lost my taste for war. The local populace, primitive humans, had refused to acknowledge my authority. My Legion, the Second, had fallen upon them. Genocide, a night of bloodshed, where continents burned, cities became necropolises, a people ceased to exist. During the slaughter, I wandered the largest city, alone, pondering the tragedy. Through the streets, strewn with debris and dead, down into the harbour district, where sea-ships lay shattered in their berths, the surf swollen with corpses. Here, the city collapsing behind me, I found her. She was a child, streaked in ash, blood and shit. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but anger. She shook, hissed, bunched her fists.

I approached her, a giant, a pinnacle of genetic experimentation. This firebrand, standing over the torn body of her father, sneered at me.

'Murderer,' The girl said, pointing a finger, accusingly, at me. She was crying, I realised. 'You killed them all. And, why? Because we would not bend the knee? How can you say, monster, that your truth is better than ours?'

I looked at her. Such a curious, fierce girl. Maddened by the loss of her father, the tumbling and crumbling of her civilisation, I decided.

'My father was a fisherman,' She called. A Stormbird rocketed overhead, kicking up spray as it banked over the bay, and disappeared behind the headland. 'He never hurt nobody. He was a good man, you hear me, you bastard?' She tossed a rock, which struck my chest and fell away. 'You fired first,' The girl continued, stumbling towards me. 'You did this, destroyer of cities, killer of men, you-'

There was a crack. The girl, her head obliterated by a bolt round, fell over. A figure, in the gold and grey of my Legion, approached, a smoking bolt-pistol in one bloody gauntlet. 'Sire,' He said, bowing, and I recognised Karez, my Third Captain. 'The Xusans are broken. Those that live are running, eastwards, Teleph and Ptelarch are pursuing, with the First and Fifth.'

I reacted without thinking. I roared, enraged, swung my guisarme. It crunched through the Captain's helmet, continued onwards, lodging deep in reinforced ribcage. Rich, sparkling blood, blood which carried my genetic lineage, spurted.

I looked at him, twitching on my blade, and then at the girl. It was then, in that moment, that I realised what I had become. She was right, that child, I remember thinking. I was a monster.

And so it was, in the hundredth and third year of the Great Crusade, that I, Kollarch, Primarch of the Second Legion, withdrew my forces and headed home. I was done. My Legion was done. Damn the Emperor, damn his Imperium. I had a vision, upon Xusa, of something greater, of something grander. Peace and prosperity, an empire that preached friendship rather than xenophobia.

In doing so, I damned myself. He came, at the head of a thousand ships, demanding answers. I, in my ignorance, resisted. I struck first, once again, and began something terrible. Numberless drop-pods, countless transporters, the might of my Father's fledgling empire, fell upon my world.

My people were slaughtered, not unlike the Xusans. I led the defence, guisarme in hand, hacking and slashing through Space Wolves and World Eaters, crossing blades with the Legio Custodes and the Silent Sisters. Fires rage in my city, once beautiful, now a funeral pyre. We have collapsed streets, onto the heads of armoured columns, destroyed museums and art galleries, denying them the pleasure. Now, the end has come. My Legion has scattered, some with me, into the ornamental gardens, others into the flatlands and mountains beyond. I watch the skies, wishing that I could see the stars, for one last time. I know that my wishes fall upon deaf ears. The Fates have no time for oathbreakers and kinslayers. A ship, one of mine, has fallen in the distance, setting the horizon aglow with nuclear flames.

'Sire, you must flee,' Teleph, my oldest and truest friend, pleads. His Company, battered and bloodied, stands at fifty-seven Marines. At dawn, there had been nearly a thousand. I grit my teeth, feel the blood running from my gashed head.

'I cannot,' I say, solidly. I must not show weakness. 'I will not. I will not slink away, like a whipped cur, on my world. My fleets are shattered, my Legion decimated, my home torched. No, Teleph, I will not flee.'

Over the burning trees, I glimpse God-Machines, a dozen or more, marching towards my lonely hillock. Down below, through the trees and the bushes, I see the lake ripple. I look down at Teleph, his armour cracked, his skin scorched, his ammunition spent. Someone has sheared away an hand, speared a lung. He is dying, and he knows as much.

'You must go, brother of mine,' I say, after a moment. The Golden One is coming, bringing a wolf and a warhound, and above all of that, death and destruction. I unlimber my guisarme, drenched in transhuman blood, and loosen my muscles. 'This is my reckoning, not yours. Your oath is fulfilled, Teleph of Corine, you have served me, faithfully, for too long. Gather what remains of the Legion, run and hide. Remember this day, remember my sacrifice.'

Teleph weeps. I clasp his remaining hand, squeeze it. 'Goodbye, old friend,' I say, and descend the hill. The Titans draw nearer, their warhorns echoing through the smoke-choked night. I throw down my cloak, a blackened rag, and toss my helmet. I unhook my gauntlets, detach my chest-plate. By the time I wade into the lake, bleeding from a dozen wounds, I wear but my robes, tattered and fluttering.

On the opposite bank, a hundred thousand Legionaries, bolters and chainswords held tight. At their centre, sunlight-given-life, the Emperor of Mankind, my creator.

I raise my guisarme, high above my head, and bellow. I find myself remembering Xusa, remembering the girl. She was right, I have become a monster, an instrument of destruction. I lock eyes with my father, spit into the water, and thrown down my guisarme. The Master of Mankind, a single tear rolling down his cheek, utters something and turns away.

A hundred thousand bolters fire.
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