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."
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 !
The rise of the Ebon Hawk.
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."