#THE MARK OF CALTH STILL RUNS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

templarhalo · 8 years ago

Text

a little fanfic of mine

@sisterofsilence and I had a nice conversation that led to this. This is my first 30K fanfic and it's dealing with a character that Forge World barley has any fluff for.

Warning for : female asrtartes and badass women. OC's galore and some noblebright with our grimdark and some genuine heroism. If the first two things offend you please fuck off.

Enjoy!

Prologue

Darkness. Darkness and light. That is what composes our universe. The darkness of the void, and the brightness of stars, suns and planets. Once, the light of reason, of hope for a better future for Humanity, sought the eclipse the darkness, and for a brief time, there was light.

Now Darkness returned.

Brother fought Brother

Sister fought Sister.

Trillions died.

Worlds burned.

Traitors against the Loyal.

And Darkness sought to snuff out the light. To leave only horror and chaos

A human philosopher lost to history once said “Rage, Rage, against the dying of the light.”

That is precisely what humankind did. On Calth. On Signus Prime, Hydra Cordatus, Paramar, and a hundred other worlds, those loyal to the Emperor of Mankind refused to give up and die to the blades and guns of those they once called brother and sister. They refused to let the darkness snuff the candle they ignited. They refused to let Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the XVI legion, destroy all they had built.

The candle that was humanity refused to flicker and die. The fire of hope refused to burn out

And then there were those the traitors wished had died those they who they had once called brother and sister, those who refused to bend their knee to their primarch and Warmaster and side with the Emperor. Hell itself could not contain them. They would not falter, they would not let themselves die until they had taken as many traitors to the grave with them and until those had broken their oaths to their Emperor and humanity faced retribution. Until they faced justice for their betrayal and the sins, they committed.

One of those the traitors cursed, more than any other, even more than Nathaniel Garro, Agenta Primus of Malcador the Sigillite, Hero of Istvaan and leader of the Knights Errant, the largest thorn in the Warmaster’s side, was Endryd Haar. For he was not a thorn. He was not a sword. He was the fang that would tear out his Primarch’s and the Warmaster’s throat and bring it before the Emperor.

Only than would, he accepts death.

Chapter 1. The Riven Hound

The ship was as dark as the void. It glided through the asteroid belt with effortless ease. The ship was old... It had been construed in the shipwrights of Mars, around two centuries ago. One of the first Strike Cruisers ever constructed, it had once served in the fleet of the XII legion proudly. The ship's name was the Cicatrices Tyrannus.

It bore no colors save for black and deep gunmetal scratches. It bore now heraldry saves for the Imperial Aquila. It was a ship filled with ghosts, the forgotten and the betrayed.

And it was waiting. Waiting to strike.

Endyd Haar, the Riven Hound, Praetor of the Blackshield, The Fangs of the Emperor hated waiting. He could do subtlety, but patience had never been one of his virtues. Even with the removal of the Butcher’s Nails, patience had not become easier for him.

Endryd Haar was around average height for an Astartes. He lacked the patrician features or the inherent handsomeness of the Blood Angels, but to call him ugly would be a lie. The gene-forging and scars of battle had not removed his handsomeness, in a way it added to it. Haar had two scars on his face. One stretched from his cheek the lower right corner of his lip. The other above the two service studs in his forehead. He had a short beard and close cropped brown hair. He was clad in a black, battered suit of Mark IV Maximus pattern Artificer Power Armor that was stripped of all insignia and iconography.

He tapped his right hand against the armrest of his command throne.

“Auspex report.” He ordered. His baritones voice the only noise apart from the beeping of the cogitators in the bridge of the Tyrannis.

“No warp translations detected yet, my lord.” The Auspex officer replied.

Haar let out what might have been a sigh and looked out the viewports. The Cicatrice Tyrannis was running dark. Its Auspex was operating at 10 percent. Any higher and its energy signature would be visible. It engines were cold. Its Lances powered down. The bridge, like the rest of the Strike Cruiser that still had working lights was bathed in dim red emergency light. Haar rose from his command throne.

“Perhaps The Sigillite’s intelligence was wrong.” Boian Tarvan said.

“It is not wise to doubt the Sigillite. The God-Emperor made him regent of Terra for a reason.” Kal Jakar replied.

Endryd looked at his two lieutenants.

Tarvan had been with him since they were inducted. Before they were World Eaters,before they were War Hounds. Like Haar, he was clad in Mark IV Power Armor, but while Haar had stripped any insignia from the XII Legion, Boian retained the old sigil of the War Hounds on his left shoulder pad.

Kal Jakar was clad in a mix of Mark II and Mark III warplate. His helm was Mark II and he held it in his bionic left hand. In the poor lighting, his dusky skin seemed to glow. Unlike his brother’s armor, which was plain and worn out. His was polished with silver trim. Acid etched into every surface of the armor were the names of dead loyalist brothers and sisters in High Gothic. Only one name was acid etched in the Colchisian tongue: Mara Xal, his honor sister and fellow Chaplain, slain by Lorgar’s “Blessed Sons, “ when the two hundred and seventy surviving members of the Chapter of the Waning Moon returned to their years after years at the edge of the Imperium. Only 30 Word Bearers survived the purge.

Now Kal was the last.

“There’s always a first time .” Boian said.

“Sergeant, doubting the word of the Sigillite is to doubt the word of the God Emperor and-

“That’s heresy blah blah blah, first rule of warfare Chaplain, Intel gets stale really quick-.

“My Lord, report from the Astropath! A ship is about to exit the warp!” the comm officer yelled.

There was no need to go to battle stations. The crew had already been at stations for quite some time.

“One enemy ship Praetor.” the sensorium officer reported.

“ I can see that Lieutenant.” Endryd Haar. said.

The enemy ship was a Strike Cruiser. It flew the white and blue colors of the World Eaters.

“That it?” Flag-Captain Ella Thylin said.

The Flag-Captain was a short woman with long red hair done in a neat braid. A Plasma Pistol. and Chainsword were at her side. She wore a blue Imperial Navy uniform with a crimson sash and a grey longcoat

“One ship matches Lord Malcador’s intelligence perfectly.” Kal said.

“Not true Chaplain, the Sigillite’s intel said the ship bore the 125th company, this one bears the markings of the 126th.” Boian said.

“ I concede to your observation Sergeant.” Kal replied with a mocking theatrical bow.

“Flag-Captain what is the status of the enemy vessel?”

“ Pausing to catch their breath sir. They were running the engines hot and they haven’t rolled out their guns or raised their void shields.” Ella said.

“And how long till their battle ready?” Haar asked.

“The average time for an Astartes vessel to be battle ready after exiting the Warp. Two minutes. Factor in the Butcher Nails, general sloppiness of the Twelfth Legion and proportion of press-ganged crew to actually navy crews. Five to seven minutes.”

“Weapon Master is it possible to hit them with our bombardment cannon?” Haar .

“Yes sir. We're in minimum range, the asteroids aren’t blocking our line of sight, and they haven't detected us with their Auspex.”

“They could still eyeball us.” Boian growled .

“ We'll hit them with our bombardment cannon, a precise shot to their ammo storage for their own Bombardment Cannon. Then we accelerate and hit them with torpedos. Then we hammer them with our broadside Macrobatteries. “

“Shouldn't we use our Lances? Macrobatteries won't pierce the armor, it's too thick.” Ella said .

“ We're not hitting them amidships, we'll be clipping their engines, then we raise shields and take their return fire. Than we carve into them with our Lances and deploy boarding parties.”

“ Simple. I like it.“ Boian

“We have a firing solution my lord.” The weapon master called.

The bombardment cannon was already loaded.

“Fire.” Haar ordered.

The Tyrannis rumbled as it unleashed its wrath.

And the slaughter began.

Haar flexed his Power Fist as the Storm Eagle accelerated towards the hangar bay of the traitor vessel. There were five of these gunships in their boarding party. Each of them bearing Space Marines hungry for the blood of their erstwhile kin. Although they had been removed, Haar felt the Butcher’s Nail bite, the phantom pain making him grind his teeth in suppressed agony.

“The Nails?” Boian gritted out. He felt the pain too. Like most of the Fangs of the Emperor, who had been from Haar’s old command from the XII Legion, they bore the physical and mental scars of the suffering Angron inflicted on his legion.

Haar looked over the other Astartes in the gunship. He saw a Blackshield he knew was a Death Guard check the pressure on his Flamer. Another he knew was an Ultramarine was meditating with an ornate Thunder Hammer across his lap. Kal was checking his Bolter, running his name over the names of the dead he inscribed onto its casing. Haar could hear muttered prayers in High Gothic from his and a few other Astartes lips.

“30 seconds Praetor.” Fabius said from the cockpit..

Fabius had been a member of the Emperor’s Children, a Fire Raptor pilot condemned to die with his brother’s on Isstvan III. He had provided desperately needed air support for the beleaguered loyalists until he had been shot down. He then fought alongside a band of Death guard with a Charnabel saber he had pried from the dead hands of a Palatine Blade. The orbital bombardment had left him battered and broken, and he now had more bionics than an Iron Hand. Haar had rarely seen him outside his gunship, and never unhelmed.

“10 seconds” Fabius said.

“ For the Emperor.” Haar growled. A familiar cold feeling came over him. He had always felt it before he went into battle, but his veins turned to ice and his mind burned a coldfire as the sheer rage at his brother and gene-father’s betrayal came the forefront of his mind.

He drew his Archeotech pistol. The pistol resembled a bolt pistol, but the barrel was tapered likes a laspistol, and the slide instead was replaced with coils similar to that of a plasma pistol.

Heavy Bolters began chattering and Lascannons added the deep voice to the chorus of firepower, as the Storm Eagles began clearing the hanger and keeping the enemy suppressed for them long enough for the Blackshields to disembark.

The ramp went down and Haar shot the first World Eater he saw. He strode down the ramp, the red beams of the Archeotech pistol leaving fist sized holes in the World Eater’s chests. Haar estimated there was a full Tactical Squad in the hangar bay. But there were nearly a hundred Blackshields. That didn't stop the World Eaters from charging anyway. Howling with bloodlust, they found themselves slain by Bolter fire before they even got to close the distance .

“Blades out. You know your targets. For the Emperor.” Haar growled.

Haar knew that the fighting would soon be up close and personal. Boarding actions always were. Haar gestured to the five Terminators of Squad Karanthus to take the lead. It would fall to Karanthus and his squad to spearhead the assault on the genatorum.

While half the Blackshields went to the genatorum, the rest were led by Haar to take the bridge.

It would be a bloodbath for both sides, but both were willing to pay the butcher's bill for victory. The Blackshields had forfeited their lives in order to drown themselves in traitor blood and earn absolution, the World Eaters simply didn't care about dying.

The Fangs of the Emperor and the Eaters of Worlds met in a clash of blades and hate. Blood slicked the corridors and hallways. Bolters were emptied at point blank range. Chainweapons were blunted dull, Phosphex and flame filled the hallways. Throats were slit, heads rolled and both sides found themselves wading in corpses.

Haar caught the chain of a Meteor Hammer and shot the World Eater carrying it in the throat.

He punched another World Eater in the chest. His Power Fist steamed with rapidly evaporating blood. He saw Boian facing off against two World Eaters, a Power Axe in one hand, his Combat Knife in another. Boian, buried his knife up to hilt in one World Eater’s throat and then brought his axe down on the other’s head Kal’s Volkite Serpenta whined is it incinerated two more World Eaters.

Haar smashed his elbow into a World Eater and then shot an Ogryn that was hefting a Heavy Bolter. The last of the World Eaters in the section of the ship were dead, and all that was left were the mortal crewman. Some wore Carapace armor and hefted Lascarbines and Shotguns. Most wore only uniforms and hefted Autopistols and Laspistols Bullets bounced off his armor and he heard the report of a shotgun as Terak sent the mortal crewman scattering.

“They’re scattering.” The former Son of Horus said.

“Most mortals tend to that “ Kal said with a grin. The Chaplains armor was rent and scarred. Oaths of moment and scrollwork had been torn away and his right pauldron was riddled with holes from Bolt shells. His copy of the Lectio Divinitatus he kept chained to his belt was untouched.

“Mortal traitors tend to do that. Most Loyalist mortals fight like cornered lions.” Boian said. He was hefting a chainsword he had taken from a fallen traitor. Tekan had just slid the third shell into his shotgun, when they all heard footsteps.

‘Too loud to be a mortal, too soft to be an Ogryn.” Boian said.

Around the corner came fifteen children. Not mortal children. They were recognizable as Astartes, but children to the veterans of hundreds of battles, some since the beginning of the Great Crusade. They wore white Carapace armor with no legion insignia or company markings. The were no kill-tallies or honor markings. Their armor was clean, untouched by battle and unstained with blood. Their unscarred faces were the variety of colors that came from multiple recruiting worlds. They all had the Butcher’s Naild implanted in them. Their eyes were glazed and twitching, and some were drooling. By Haar’s estimate, they had only recently received the implants and in addition, they had been injected with Combat stimulants and painkillers. Haar felt his blood boil. The World Eaters had never made their aspirants undergo surgical implantation of the Butcher’s Nails, and one of the few Legion wide edicts the legion followed was not giving an aspirant combat drugs. Not because an aspirant couldn't handle it with his Physiology, but because its effects messed with an aspirant’s adaptation to his knee implants. He knew his former legion had sunk low, but how much further had they sunk?

The aspirants carried unpowered axes, serrated knives and Gladii. They didn’t have any Frag or Krak grenades, and only a few had pistols.

With a howl that could only come through pubescent throats just adopting their new gene- forged bodies, the aspirants charged with reckless abandon. The few who had pistols aim was worse than ork. Tekan’s shotgun rang three times, dropping a pair of them. He drew two Bolt pistol and emptied their clips and another pair fell to blood soaked deck. By the time the aspirants were in melee range, only five remained. They died even quicker than those who had been gunned down. Haar punched one’s head clean off and back handed another, sending him spiraling to deck. Kal’s Crozius ended a third. Tekan’s chainaxe ended the fourth. The final aspirant screamed “Blood for the Twelfth Legion! Skulls for Angron!” and launched himself at Haar with his gladius. Haar mercifully ended his short life by tearing out his throat with his right hand, kneeing him in the groin and then crushing his head with a stomp. Haar felt no satisfaction. Only regret. Not only because he ended the final aspirant’s life so brutally, but because no sane Legiones Astartes commander would put such poorly trained aspirants on the battlefield. These children were no threat. Even if they weren’t forcibly taken from their families, the children were probably driven insane from the Butcher’s Nails embedded in their skills and their recently hypno-indoctrinated minds. In short, Haar could have ordered his men not to kill them. They could have knocked them out, taken them back to Terra and had the Butcher's Nails removed, properly trained and indoctrinated them.

Haar looked at the aspirant he had just killed. His gauntlet were still stained with the boy’s blood.

“Sorry boy. Maybe in a better galaxy we would have been brothers. I’m sure you would have been a hell of a War Hound.” Haar said aloud.

“Our father has a lot to answer for.” Boian said. The death of the aspirants had hit him hard, perhaps harder than Haar.

“He’s not our father anymore. He is a traitor. When this madness is over I will bring his skull before the Emperor himself.” Haar snapped

Haar and his Blackshields encountered a handful of World Eaters and mortals on their way to the bridge. To Haar’s relief, they did not encounter any more aspirants. “Breaching charge.” Haar called. The doors to the bridge were solid bronze dipped Adamantium and they would need explosives to breach them. Plus, no one had brought a lascutter.

The doors exploded in a shower of sparks and flame. Haar was the first through the breach. Only six World Eaters were in the bridge. There a couple of armsmen and the bridge crew itself.

Five of the six World Eaters were clad in Cataphractii pattern Terminator Armor. The last one was a Centurion clad in Tartaros pattern Terminator Armor. He had a Chainaxe in his left hand and a Thunder Hammer in his left.

“Endryd Haar. Your name is a curse among the Legion. .” the Centurion said.

“That warms my heart. Tell me your name traitor.” Endryd Haar.

“ I am Daken Matar. Centurion-Delegatus of the 126th Company. And I will have the honor of bringing your head to Angron.”

“If you somehow manage to kill me you better do that with that toy you call an axe rather than that oversized mallet.” Haar said. He began striding towards Daken, his Power fist servos flexing.

“ I will kill you and strap your body to the hull of my ship.” Daken said.

“You are the fifteenth traitor to have said to me.” Haar said.

“And you will not the first Eater of Worlds to have thought killing me would get you noticed by the primarch.” Haar said.

Daken swung the Thunder Hammer down,

Haar rolled out of the way. Daken swiped his Chainaxe, the teeth howling inches from Haar’s face.

Haar dodged the next swing from the Thunder Hammer. He aimed his Archeotech Pistol and shot Daken in the chest. His next shot melted the head of his chainaxe. Daken howled in fury and tossed the useless weapon aside and swung a left hook. The Butcher’s Nails were singing in his rotting brain and he lunged at Haar ready to smash him to a pulp.

Haar caught the shaft of the Thunder Hammer. His Power Fist tightened around the weapons shaft. His right hand caught Daken’s fist.

Daken tried to overpower him. Haar struggled. His armor servos whined in protest. They were both grunting with effort.

“Tell me Captain Daken, do you really think killing me will give you Angron’s favor? You and I both know it won't. The primarch won't give a damn. He’s a madman who should have died on his homeworld.”

“Silence traitor!” Daken roared.

“You’re the traitor! The primarch never cared about the legion. The legion is just a pawn on Horus’ chessboard.”

“ I said silence! You left the legion because you were a coward and because you craved glory!”

“You think I left the legion for glory. I left because when I returned from the edge of the Imperium, the legion was soaked in its own brother’s blood and sundered oaths. And I can see that even brotherhood no longer matters.”

“What are you talking about?” Daken asked. His eyes were twitching. He would be lost to the Nail's soon.

“ I’m talking about the aspirants.” Haar said.

Before Daken could respond, Haar released his grip on the Thunder Hammer and drove his Power Fist deep into Daken’s chest. Flexing his fingers, Haar retracted his Power Fist, the remains of Daken’s liver held in his hand.

Daken screamed in pain and charged Haar with his bare hands. Haar sidestepped him and drilled an energy beam from his pistol into each kneecap. He then struck Daken in the back with his Power Fist, shattering the powerpack to Daken’s Terminator Armor.

He then rammed his Power Fist deep into Daken’s chest and pulled out a chunk of his spine. Daken was screaming, trying to rise despite the weight of his crippled suit and missing piece of spine. Haar paused for a few seconds. The other Terminators and the bridge crew were dead. Haar waited a full minute. Then he brought his Power Fist down and ended Daken’s agony.

The assault on the genatorum was a success. One hundred and seven World Eaters and most of the crew had been slain. The casualties were light . By Blackshields standards at least. Twenty two Blackshields had fallen. Third-Two were injured. But only seven required the assistance of an Apothecary.

Now the remaining members of the Fangs of the Emperor scoured the ship, taking any supplies and anything of value.

Haar, Boian and Kal were on their way to the engineering section when they receive a vox hail from Techmarine Erud Vahn.

“Endryd we have a problem . Visual footage indicates five unidentified. Blackshields and a Primus Medicae bearing heraldry for the IIIrd Legion in the apothecarium. They’ve already locked down the area. I need you to intervene.”

“We’re on it Erud Lock the ship down and put the Fangs on alert.”

“How did they get aboard the ship?” Kal asked.

“A better question is what are they doing here? I don't remember killing any Blackshields or any of Fulgrim’s peacocks.” Boian said.

‘We’ll find out soon enough.” Haar said as they stepped into the elevator that would take them to the Apothecarium.

“Perhaps these Blackshields are the reason Lord Malcador wanted us to seize this ship.” Kal said as they ascended.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened.

In front of them was the sealed door to the apothecium

“We should be in range of their squad vox.”

“Let's try diplomacy first. They haven’t slain any of our brothers.” Kal said.

Haar sighed and put on his helm. There was a crackle of vox chatter as Haar patched into the squad frequency.

“Attention unidentified Astartes. I am Endryd Haar, leader of the Fang’s of the Emperor. I am not usually merciful but I am giving you one chance to come out with blades sheathed and guns to the deck. I’m sure you all had a good reason to be on a traitor vessel, and not participate in the fighting. I do not wish to slaughter fellow loyalists so-

Haar was interrupted by an aristocratic voice.

“This is Primus Medicae Titus Phovian of the IIIrd legion. I only wish to recover the data from this ships apothacarium the my comrade Master Apothecary Nuri Rathen of the Twelfth was gathering, I have qualms with killing loyalists, but seeing as you're not Mannus’ ilk I am going to ask that you allow me to leave this ship and depart. The Blade of Chemos is about ten minutes out and I wish to bring this data to Lieutenant Commander Fabius on time. “

“One Moment. Primus Medicae.” Haar. said. He voxed Ella.

“Ella put all outbound flights to the traitor vessel on hold and go to battle stations. An enemy ship is about ten minutes out and we have some stragglers to deal with.”

“Erud already told me the situation, Praetor.” Ella said.

“Be ready Flag-Captain. Haar out.”

“I’m guessing diplomacy will not the resolve this conflict?” Kal said.

“ No we’re be aggressively negotiating from here on out.” Haar said.

Kal sighed theatrically.

‘It has been sometime since I’ve slain a son of Fulgrim.” Kal said.

‘Chin up Chaplain, maybe the next traitors we’ll kill will be Word Bearers.” Boian said.

“ I can only pray.” Kal said.

Titus voxed Haar.

“I take it you gentleman are going to be reasonable and allow us passage?” Titus said.

“No we’re going to be very unreasonable, kill you, strip your weapons and armor and dump your bodies into the void.” Haar said,

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” Titus said.

“ Chin up Primus Medicae, maybe you’ll die with honor. “ Boian said over the vox..

Boian drew a Melta Bomb.

“Arm for 10 seconds, then toss a Photon Flash in,” Haar ordered

Boian set the charge.

The doors exploded and Boian lobbed the Photon Flash grenade in the room.

Kal, and Boian opened fire with their Bolters set to three round burst . The five Blackshields dropped to floor each one’s victim of headshots. Titus raised a Plasma Pistol, only to have it detonate in his hand from a bolt round from Boian.

Titus went for the combat knife at his belt, but paused when he realized he was staring down the barrels of two boltguns and an Archeotech pistol.

“Start talking, and we might spare your miserable life.”

“As I explained before you barged in here and murdered my subordinates. I was here to recover data from my fellow Apothecary.”

“We’re going to need more than that.” Haar said.

“Nuri and I were experimenting with Twelfth and Third legion gene-seed. Enhancing it, augmenting pain tolerance and speed. Looking for ways to reduce implant rejection and accelerated synthesis.”

“Chymarie.” Boian said.

Haar surprised a snarl. There were a few Astartes like that in the Fangs of the Emperor. Space Marine who were unnaturally fast or some other trait, but at a cost. Brain hemorrhages, aggressive cancers, spontaneous combustion or worse.

“The Blackshields dead on the floor are former World Eaters and Emperor's Children. They volunteered for augmentation.” Titus said.

Haar store past Titus and the dead Blackshields to a cogitator and what looked like a black coffin.

“What’s this?” Haar growled.

“Storage for samples.” Titus seemed nervous.

Haar opened the coffin.

Inside was a young girl about twelve Terran years.

She had long chocolate brown hair and skin the color of marble. Her features were a natural beauty that Haar could tell was not sculpted.

“Samples eh?” Haar said.

He turned to face Titus.

“Be grateful I need you alive.” Haar said.

Then he broke Titus’ nose with a punch.

#horus heresy #warhammer 40k #fanfiction #blackshield #endryd haar #canon typical violence #Haar is done with the traitor's shit.#There will be fluff I promise

4 notes · View notes

tertiusdecimusfilius · 9 months ago

Text

His head was pounding with another near blinding pain, just like the kind from those first visions Aurelius had given him. But this time it was concentrated at the front of his head. It made him dizzy and his vision swirl. Suddenly it snapped into focus and he was on Iskaare III again.

"No... Mother-" he rasped softly. His hand reached out for her as his heart broke at the sight of her lying there. The pain in his head was getting worse as sorrow filled him. He wanted to cry out to her, but that burning in his throat continued.

And then another pain.

This time in his chest. Looking down he saw a familiar weapon piercing into him. His eyes slowly rose to stare into the face of Leman. There was a glee in the eyes of his brother that unsettled him. The Primarch of the Space Wolves had earned his title of executioner, and a ruthless one at that. He opened his mouth to speak, unable to use his voice. Leman howled with laughter.

A blink.

His outstretched hand is being held tenderly. The scenery has changed. It's a calm, quiet day on his home world. Macragge was still and serene once again. He's no longer looking at Leman. There stands Aurelius, their foreheads touching lightly.

Roboute quickly pulled his brother into a tight hug, his hand cupping the back of Aurelius's helm.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't-" he sobs, his voice broken and strained. It hurt to speak even here in his mind. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I never wanted any of this for you. I begged father not to send you away. He wouldn't listen. And Dorn. He only suggested the erasure because of how much it weighed on me and those that cared so deeply for you. I didn't know you would suffer so much. I'm so sorry. I-"

Suddenly he's back in reality. He collapses again, held up by his elbows and knees. Pain lanced through them, shooting up his arms and thighs. They felt like fire. He couldn't feel his hands and feet. For a moment of panic he thought they had really been ripped from his body. Then he noticed his forearms and hands seemed to be firmly attached, pressed against the metal floor of the engine room.

"Techpriest! What are you-?!" Marcus demanded, though his focus suddenly snapped to his primarch. Before he could give the order. Amabilis was already in motion, running to Roboute's side, using his hand to press the cloth tightly to the wound but not enough to strangle his gene-father.

And with the incidental distraction, Brutus wasn't focused on Nirisch. The round shattered one of the red lenses of his helmet. There was an eruption of blood as his body fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Something fell from his hand. A blade covered in their Lord-Commander's blood.

"That bastard!" Marcus shouted as he kicked the now dead body of Brutus. He grabbed the blade off the ground, examining it for anything harmful.

Roboute wheezed as he put his own hand over his apothecary's, finally able to feel it again. It was still somewhat numb, prickling with pins and needles as his nerves slowly restored themselves. He was staring at his own blood pooling on the floor as it started to seep between the fingers of his gauntlet as well as continue to drip down his forehead.

Even without Aurelius forcing him to see visions of the past, something else was flashing images in his mind.

Lorgar. Calth. A blade slicing through his neck. Surviving. Fulgrim. A tainted blade through his throat. Dying. The sensation of dying. He was dying. Stuck in a stasis. Never truly dying. Suffering. Agony.

"My Lord!" Amabilis called to him, trying to get the Primarch to calm down. He was breathing too erratically and had a far off look on his face. Something was still going on in his head that he couldn't stop.

Bonfante moved over to Aurelius, removing his helmet to get a better look at him. There was a sense of recognition now. The star chart like marks on his skin moved just a touch. He realized now, after everything he'd seen; he was never an Ultramarine. He was a Stars Penitent space marine. And the tortured figure of the second legion primarch, his true gene-father, lay before him.

"My father, can you hear me?" his voice soft and calming.

With ease, Aurelius was shoved away due to his limbless state-- he fell back with a thud at first, but had scrambled like a creature from the depths of the Warp to try to slam his helmed head back against Guilliman's again. He scuttled, seeming to grimace from pressure put on his stumps, trying to make his way past Marcus.... and he could feel it.

Rage-- but it wasn't just his own anymore. It was someone else's, and it felt like he was being strangled. Whispers had intensified in his head, it felt like hands were digging into his throat even if Brutus were doing no such thing. He felt like he was drowning. He was slipping further and further into the grasp of Chaos.

A croaking gasp escaped the second Primarch's lips, head craning back like he was desperate to bring his head above some watery depths to the surface, arms somewhat flailing and making a helpless gesture at 'clawing' at his very own neck, though he couldn't reach whatsoever... his head was still 'pushed' back by Brutus's hand, almost looking like he could have broken Aurelius's neck if he went just a bit further. So then, as if to try to free himself, the moment Marcus and Brutus had pulled themselves back to figure out what was going on, Aurelius moved to throw himself onto Guilliman again. His helmet slammed into the other's forehead again... and again... and again. And again. Like he hoped to break his very skull open.

Limbs torn apart-- flashes of Space Wolves upon the surface of Iskaarre III as the world burned around them. Figures lied in bloodstained snow, gaze focused upon a single older woman in a pile of bodies. Miss Astraea-- no-- Tarasha?-- was dead. Mjalnar pierced his chest, digging into the ribcage in an attempt to pierce the heart like he was a daemon risen from the Warp.

... But there was an odd thing-- for a moment, the vision broke-- a gauntlet-wearing hand grasped Guilliman's, holding him with a sense of gentleness, familiar and warm. " Brother-- I-I don't mean to do this to you-- forgive me, the Warp...! " A desperate plea, and instead of the feeling of a helmet smashing against his very skull, it was like a gentle press, of icy eyes looking into Guilliman's as a helmet pressed to his own. Macragge-- Iskaarre-- no... No, Macragge-- it wasn't in flames. It was calm. For just this once, it was calm.

Yet while Aurelius struggled with himself and attempted to either smash their heads together or try to gently press his forehead to Roboute's, Nirisch had fled backward to grasp something from the shadows. His optic was focusing, scanning for traces of Chaos in an attempt to assess the situation. This had to be it-- the blackened blood, he could see traces of it from Aurelius's neck... but he settled his gaze on Aurelius's helmet. Then to Roboute. Nirisch's brow furrowed. Calculations... calculations... within the chaos of... well, Chaos...-- he thought he saw Roboute being grasped by Brutus. Then, Brutus's hand had shoved against Aurelius's helm...

... HAH! So that was how it was done! Clever!... heshouldn'tbepraisingatraitor, so scratch that...-- wait. OH, BY THE OMNISSIAH, HE WAS BLEEDING FROM THE THROAT? Karking-- Grox ass! Omnissiah forgive him for such language!

Nirisch grabbed at one of his old weapons from the dark-- a bolter-- and now he scrambled like a horrified child to intervene while Brutus and Captain Marcus stepped back-- especially when Marcus started to reach for his bolter. That was when Nirisch reached the second Primarch.

" F-FORGIVE ME, LORD--!! " The techpriest cried as he then went and SLAMMED the back of the bolter against Aurelius's helmet, right at the temple, and sent him tumbling along onto his side. He slammed his metal foot against Aurelius's helmet one more time for good measure, leaving him rolling forward onto his stomach with an audible croaking groan. But Nirisch wasn't done.

His servo arm had frantically grabbed at a part of his crimson robes, pulling at the cleanest bit of fabric to rip it from the rest of his robes. Where Nirisch shakily gripped at his gun and ran to the thirteenth Primarch's side, his servo arm now began to apply pressure to his throat, keeping the fabric to his neck. He still... he still needed to deal with...

Nirisch kept his gaze on the bolter like he was silently praying to the very machine spirit within, begging for its guidance as his metal fingers ran along the grooves and carefully-cut insignia of the Imperium. He lifted his head, looking between the Space Marines... they all would have had superior reflexes, he was certain-- he wouldn't be able to stand a chance, but he couldn't just let a traitor keep roaming around! May the Omnissiah guide his hand...!

He pressed the bolter's back to his shoulder to steady it, aiming upwards for Brutus's head, and pulled the trigger without much hesitation. The recoil was still rather intense for Nirisch and his small frame-- it sent his shoulder back with an audible crack and pop, falling off his feet and dropping it, but he was lucky he could steady his servo arm enough for Roboute's sake. " AUHHA--!! " ... It dislocated his shoulder.

That, however, had been the least of his concerns. Nirisch turned his head back to Aurelius, wanting to rush to his side... but some part of him was already preparing for the concept of death taking him. After all, what if he hadn't managed to kill him?

... at least he tried. He hoped he killed Brutus.

#the avenging son || self #the forgotten second of iskaarre iii || aurelius augustus #the future of mankind || 40k main verse #tw ptsd #tw flashbacks

26 notes · View notes