Hello fellow contributers to my 'Collections of Trazyn' group. This is my part of the story which switches from the point of view of bloodthirsty Evesor, Havelok Gren'del. Willem J. Lycus, sergeant of the imperial guard, in the thick of fighting and the traitorous and increasingly paranoid Planetary Govenor.


CHAPTER 1: Awakening


Handler Castuas looked at the holding-pod before him with a feeling of awe mixed slightly with fear. the numbers 'VII' were stenciled on the front. With a cough he walks over to a nearby console, full of glowing red and green buttons. Humming quietly to himself, Castuas taps the familiar code into the console and with a mechanical whiring the pod raises up slightly, vents near the top spewing noxious, pale green gasses. With this, a dim red light activates in the upper corner of the room, illuminating very little of the room.

Castuas slowly walks across the dimly lit room to a small box mounted on the wall. Entering a small, 6-digit code, the box opens, a small rebreather inside. Castuas carefuly attatches the breather pipes to the tank on his back with a click and puts on the mask. Walking back over to the console, the room now almost full of the pale green gas, Castuas enters a second code onto the console. With this action a ghostly pale green glow breifly lights up the pod, its unseen inhabitant's body writhing silently as millions of Nanobytes are forcibly embeded into its brain within the span of several agonising seconds. With the nessisary data inputted, Castuas walks over to the pod yet again, now seeing the word 'Havelok' engraved near to the bottom of the pod.

Upon seeing this, Castuas moves hurriedly over to the pod. Castuas reaches out with one gloved hand and wipes away the condencing green liquid. Through the thick, tinted glass Castuas sees it. Within the pod lies a tall, hunched figure, covered head to toe in thick armour. Beside the figure lies a short sword, a glowing blue button at its hilt. Contrary to the temple's standard uniform, the figure wears an intricate, finely carved mask in the likeness of a spiked gladiator mask of ancient Terra

"By the Emperor." Castuas murmers under his breath. They chose Havelok. Castuas had worked with many members of the Evisor temple, each seemingly more insane and brutal than the last, slaughtering their foes in incredible feats of violence. But Havelok was a nightmare, a whole other beast. The man was so horrific and drugged up he could hardly be recognised as such. But that wasn't what scared Castuas the most. Havelok had always show a tendancy for planning and inteligence beyond the usual 'MurderDeathKill' mindset of the standard Evesor. Castuas had never felt a shred of sorrow for any of the targets of these things, but a man condemed to face Havelok was a dead man walking and Castuas felt true pity for him.

Castuas watches on as numeous mechanical arms unfold from the walls and celing to affix various heavy, riveted plating and equipment to the pod. With a final press of a glowing green button, the pod and its lethal payload flies downwards, into the atmosphere, and towards its prey.

Brilliant, hehe loves the squick poor Castuas shows in regards to the Eversor.

Thank you! This should be fun.

EDIT: Just to let you know, this is far shorter than the other chapters will be as it is just an introduction.

Sound good to me.

Great. Next part coming soon

CHAPTER 2: Dominari Chimerae


Willem was a simple man. He had come from a backwater planet, in a forgotten system. It was hard to think that 16 years ago he had been a simple farmer, tending to Grox and the strange, glowing red crops. He had been 16 when they had conscripted him, given him some armour, slapped a lasgun into his hand and made him run over battle-scared earth to flash a light at big green things, spikey bugs and robo-zombies.

Two years later he had become a fully fledged guardsman, with the little book and everything. He had had the 'honour' to wield a plasma gun, the damn thing had burnt a hole in his right arm. He had had to get a bionic replacement for it. The hand had been very expensive and it took almost all of his saving to get it, but being able to punch through some marine's chestplate, really gets you some bragging rights.

Soon after that he had been promoted to sergeant and had got himself a smart, crisp uniform, even had a medal. Willem had been quite lucky throughout his time in the guard. He had never been too badly injured, bar his plasma-scortched arm and had lost surprisingly few men considdering the amount of hard-fought conflicts he had been a part of. But then they had stationed him on Tanibus Alpha. Something was wrong with this world. Really wrong. The locals were cold and unwelcoming like their world and had never liked imperials came to visit. Riots were a common occurrence and murderers and criminals were rife. There were horrific amount of killings each day, many with no apparent purpose.

Apparently some Arbites in the east city sector had even been killed just earlier this day, the poor men had been torn limb from limb and just left there in the middle of the street for anyone to come across. The area's authorities had thought the criminals insane rioters as the Arbites had killed in ways no human should be. No one had been caught yet though and Willem could guess no one ever would be. There were far too many suspects and trying to find someone amongst these cramped spires was next to impossible.

He had been told to be on the lookout for any strange activity but at the moment that task seemed impossible. But Willem was only a sergeant, as usual he had been told little more than the order itself and had been left to perform his pointless task. Well, there had been the graffiti but that didn't seem too odd, just a little wierd. It's just graffiti after all. It had been in some alleys around the place, he had seen them on one of his regular patrols in his Multilaser-armed Venator he had been gifted upon gaining his medal. Three weeks ago there had been little of the grafitti and centralised in one, small area up in the east city sector. But in recent days it had been all the way over in the North, south and west sectors. The very same graffiti. It was a strange looking pattern consisting of a pale white rat's head looking left and a blood red goat facing right.

Under the strange symbol were always the same dark green words, 'Dominari Chimerae'.





(So, what do ya think? Anything that could be improved?)

I don't know why, but for some reason I found this damn funny, and it sounds like the screwed up job the Ordo Medicae could do, confuse the orders for him and a colonel. So Willem got a first-place replacement, and the colonel got second-rate bionics.

Why thank you. I do aim to entertain. The parts of story involving him are suppost to be very informal and, well, how a normal person would tell a story. He did pay lots for that hand though..

It is good, however I would really love a bit more fleshing out of the Eversor himself, Since he is kinda the star. But I like how you desribed the sergant and his lot in life

No no, the sergeant is the star of the story.

The conundrum of Life on Mars. The Sarge is the star, but the char of most interest is the Eversor.

CHAPTER 2: (continued)


Havelok drove an armoured knee into the Arbites midriff. The man crumpled, several ribs broken, a lung punctured. Havelok's power sword, crackling with blue lightning, flashes down into the fool's chest. Somewhere within the feeble carapace armour, Havelok could feel bones and organs being torn apart, the sword making its gory path through them. He relished the feeling. With a nightmarish screech, Havelok pushes his sword arm foward, impaling the man against a nearby Ferrocrete wall, blood flowing from his mouth as he finaly ceases living.

With a slight twitch of his neck Havelok turns to see the second Arbities hurriedly reload his shotgun, sweat running down the young man's face as his eyes widen in terror. With a daemonic laugh, Havelok spins around and drawing his weapon from the skewered and gore-soaked corpse, throws the short, crackling sword at the shotgunner. The blade flies straight and true, and plunges into his left shoulder, sending him flying backwards with a gurgling scream. Before the man can so much as move, Havelok is crouching beside him, needle-tipped claw raised. With one blurred motion the man's head goes flying across the street. Havelok gets to his feet slowly and reaches down to retrieve his energy-engulfed blade from the ravenged corpse.

With a casual glance, Havelok looks at the dozen or so mutilated Arbities bodies around him, each killed in under a second. He had just been playing with the last two. He sweeps the scene for any survivors, any witnesses. He finds none. Satisfied, Havelok turns round, sighting the Govenor's spire, resplendent with beauitiful lights and masterful architecture, as well as its diminutive neighbours. Havelok however had no time to admire the view, and begins the long walk towards away from the imposing structure. This was the second group of Arbities he had to silence today.

These Arbities were far too easy for an assassin such as himself, they were barely trained, barely men and panicked like children. Havelok didn't regret the killings but he had of hoped it would had never come to that. Their deaths were not needed and if it could have been avoided, it would have been. But that could not be. They had seen him. An Evesor. They would have doubtless informed their superiors and their superiors would have realised an Eversor was involved. And if he was discovered, then things would become far more difficult, with security tightning massively. With a earsplitting screech, he leaps upwards and grabs hold of a carven gargoyle jutting out of the side of a small spire. Then with dread silence he bounds along the building's side, just avoiding the blinding headlights of an oncoming Venator, what looked like an imperial guard sergeant at the wheel. Ignoring the lucky newcomer, Havelok continues on.




(What ya think?)

Oh and I have decided to make the two characters equally important.

How did Willem stumble over enough cash to pay for his advanced bionics?

And I liked it, but you should likely have included the uploading of data to the assassin.

You wrote the guy was squicked out by the Eversor, but he could be really freaked out by that Havelok actually could plan and such, and wasn't lost on thought. I didn't want to make a new comment, and it's sort of my style of commenting. I comment, suggest a change and praise.

Of course I wouldn't mind a return of the favor, as that just make my own fluff better.

Thank you for pointing that out, making the changes

EDIT: Awesomed up

Presenting the start of chapter three. Feedback appriciated!


CHAPTER 3: Beast


Havelok had been on the move for about an hour now. His position amongst the rooftops a perfect quick and easy way to avoid unwanted detection. Looking to the North he could see that yet another ash plume was on its way. Soon the only light would come from the jutting forms of the great city spires, positioned as if to stab at the night sky itself. Shaking his head quickly Havelok contines. Now was not the time for such unnecissary poetic description. The Planetary govenor's spire was still very close, its enormous size and intricacy a bold testament to his ill earned wealth. He had no need of it now. With that thought he realises he has reached the end of this row of spires.

With a grunt he drops downwards, impacting with a loud crash on a balcony half a dozen or so floors down. With an almost inaudible crack, Havelok gets to his feet and repeats the process three more times. With a final crunch, he hits the ground. Hard. If it had not been for the insanely high amount of deadly drugs now running through his veins, he would be crumpled on the ground, legs broken from the impact, in crippling pain. He however, being no such feeble thing, simply lands on his feet and immediatly begins moving rapidly across the rubble-strewn road. And thats when it happened.

The longlas shot impacts instantaniously against his ornate helmet, sending him reeling sideways, not from pain but from surprise. Havelok chuckles quietly under his breath. It had been a while since someone had hit him. With an earsplitting roar of pure, daemonic fury, Havelok turns to the source of the attack. His multi-vision goggles soon pick out the target. A guardsman. 126 metres down the road. precisely. Acompanying the figure are a dozen or so storm troopers, two weilding melta guns, two with flamers and the rest holding hotshot lasguns. At their head stands a commisar, fairly tall and athletic wielding a laspistol and powesword.. Obviously the group's leader. He would take great pleasure in tearing this one limb from, limb. Havelok could feel the injectors mounted on his back deliver their custom made coctail of stimulants and metasteroids with a familiar metailic click. With the payload now entering his bloodstream, Havelok breathes deeply, the reeking scent of the troopers filling his flaring nostrils as a second longlas shot impacts against his chest, leaving little more than a blackened scortch mark on his bloodstained grey armour.

Time seemed to move sluggishly now, as he had now already crossed half the distance as the crouching sniper reloads. As the man raises his longlas a third and final time, Havelok's power blade sweeps upwards through the sniper's rifle and embeds itself in his skull with a sickening crunch. Pulling his crackling blade from the corpse with a burst of blood and grey matter, Havelok spins round and catches a second trooper in the neck, his head, with a look of pure terror, goes flying across the road to land still in the gutter. A young trooper, barely a man, pulls down on the trigger of his hotshot lasgun with a paniced yelp, bursts of warm crimson dancing around the figure's body, leaving little more than burn marks upon its armoured form. With a daemonic chuckle, Havelok sidesteps and fires his executioner pistol directly into the boy's horrified face, little more than a bloody crater remaining as he slumps silently to the ground. Havelok dives sideways just as a blast of tank-melting heat impacting against a wall behind him. With a nightmarish howl, Havelok leaps at the unfortunate melta gunner and with one swift motion, severs the man's right arm, his weapon falling to the ground. The man has just enough time to look up and see the figure's claw arc downwards. Then he knows no more.




Just the start for chapter three, please give opinions

Oooo now this was truly a great read. Do keep it comming, and give me some feedback too wont you?

Trondheim wrote:Oooo now this was truly a great read. Do keep it comming, and give me some feedback too wont you?

Thank you, i will of cource give you some feedback also.

TheRobotLol wrote:

Trondheim wrote:Oooo now this was truly a great read. Do keep it comming, and give me some feedback too wont you?

Thank you, i will of cource give you some feedback also.

Woooooo and thank you

CHAPTER 3: (Continued)


Havelok spins round, hearing footsteps, to see a young man weilding a flamer burst out of cover. With a terrified shout, the man opens fire. Diving backwards, Havelok narrowly dodges the searing hot burst of promethium that washes over the place he had stood a moment prior. With a devilish laugh, Havelok leaps to his feet and instantly puts two bolt shells through each of the man's legs, sending him falling to the ground with an agonised scream. With his flamer-weilding foe incapacitated, Havelok puts a third bolt into his now exposed promethium tank. Then there are only flames. An unlucky shock trooper standing just too close is also caught in the explosion, his left side almost instantly burnt away in a wash of flames. The crippled man falls to the ground with a tortured shriek, writhing slowly with what few limbs remain.

With a horrid chuckle Havelok sweeps round, leaping, crackling power sword in hand and impales the second melta gunner against a nearby toppled wall of ferrosteel. In shock, the man looks down to see the crackling blade skewering him, blood bursting forth like some macabre fountain. With a howl, Havelok slashes his blade upwards, cutting the unfortunate trooper stomach to head. With a wet thud the unrecognisable mess falls to the ground, killed instantly. Havelok turns again to face the Laspistol wielding commisar. With a daemonic scream, he sprints towards the enemy leader, the task he was designed for.

Executioner pistol in hand, Havelok sets the weapon to its acidic compound setting. He would enjoy making this one suffer above all others. With a bounding leap, Havelok closes the distance, multiple laspistol shots scortching tiny marks onto his blood-caked armour. With a shout the opposing figure draws a power sword of his own. This would be more enjoyable than expected. With an earsplitting howl, Havelok sents his lightning-covered blade arcing downwards.

The figure had parried. That had been unexpected. He should be dead by now. No matter. He would fall soon. With a bestial snarl, Havelok brings his blade around, swinging for the figure's head. With a burst of scortching lightning, the combatant's blades clash, both stumbling backwards. With an even louder howl of pure hate, Havelok dives fowards, trying to impale the figure. If the man had moved a fraction of a second later he would be dead. The Commisar somehow sidesteps the formidible blow, before bringing his own blade about and slashing masterfuly towards his head. With one gauntleted hand, Havelok catches the blade, its crackling form embeding itself deep in his hand. With a gutteral shout, Havelok brings his hand backwards, the commisar being pulled with it. With his other hand, Havelok stabs his powered sword foward, aiming for the target's heart. But again, the man unbelievibly dodges, pulling his sword free from the Eversor's claw in a burst of discoloured blood. Momentarily distracted by the would, Havelok stumbles backwards, foolishly giving the commisar and opening.

Havelok looks upwards to see the man's boot impact upon his chestplate, sending him reeling in surprise. With a momentary opening, Havelok hears the man bark orders to the remaining few men, something about Frakking, their paniced forms running back through the rubble strewn street. With one hand, the commisar grabs a vox speaker from his uniform pocket and hurriedly screams through it, a shock trooper down the road trying franticly to operate his caller and contact...someone. This had been going on long enough. Havelok leaps foward, tackling the commisar.

What ya think? Be honest now!

This is frakking awesome. I love the read. Thrilling combat.

Thank you! Anything else you want me to add?

The only thing is a little grappling where the commissar must avoid the blood of the assassin while trying to stay alive long enough for him to scream the code-word to him just as the Eversor is about to kill him, and then he would likely stumble like hypnotized back to his drop-pod.

Thanks. Will do.

Oh, and Havelok is kind off a main character, so having him go back to the pod might be a bit odd. But i see no other alternative.

I sort of thought he had murdered the Planetary Governor and all around that man before running into Carrus and his Storm-Troopers. As this is more an ending, with Carrus now being in a position to make a bid for planetary power. As just running into Carrus without killing the governor would be quite wasteful.

Oh damn. Ive writen the next part.

CHAPTER 3: (Continued)


This commisar was stronger than expected. He had expected him to break like a twig. The little man was still screaming wildly orders down the vox speaker, to who Havelok did not know. The fighting was too close to use power swords, they would hinder more than help. But this is where Havelok had the advantage. His shredded hand could actually be an advantage in this situation. The chemicals within his blood were far too strong for any normal human to withstand. He himself had barely survived it at first, even with the extensive biological modifications and surgery. If so much as a drop of the vile stuff entered the commisar's bloodstream, it would be all over in a minute, his body unable to take the insanely strong drugs. Luckily for him, he had caught the Commisar in the forehead while tackling him, with one of his nanofilement claws. One drop and it was all over. Havelok was going to win this. He could feel victory coming. He could taste it. With his other hand, Havelok repeatedly slams his fist into the commisar's ribs. The carapace armour was hard, but his gauntlet was harder. Even through the drug haze he could feel the man's ribs cracking under the blows, one of his lungs likely punctured in the process.

The commisar was getting weaker, his strength sapping second after second. He would not last much longer. With the hand not holding the vox caller, the commisar tries despirately to keep Havelok's maimed hand away but he was weak and drops of the black liquid were alreadly splaying onto his neck and uniform, pale green voxious fumes coming from the vile liquid. But then it happened. On the very verge of victory, so close, it happened.

The commisar barks out one word. The word. 'Noctefestus'.

Havelok could feel his mind slipping way, a black haze rising over his vision. He was unable to think. His mind was fragmenting. He had beaten so many, the govenor included, his bodyguards had been worthless. HE COULD NOT LOSE TO THIS IMPERIAL SCUM.

"Unit VII contained. Returning to extraction point. Secondary mission aborded."

Tada!

Very nice, thumbs up.

Thank you Thenext part shall be from the sergeant's point of view btw.

Oh, and I think it might add detail and depth to our stories if we both makwe references to the characters fighting. Just an idea.

Great idea I'm all for that.

Great, thank you

Sir, I bow to you. Excelent work. hose commissars really mess things up

Thank you! Dem Commisars though..

That's the price you pay when you don't shoot down the nutty idea two certain commies have about ruling a planet. Hopefully you read the latest encounter between Harken and Carrus Trondheim, they behaved like they were idiots. But that's what you get with two so strong alpha males being both the best of friends, and enemies. They need to fight each other.

Indeed.

I should have chapter three done by this afternoon.

CHAPTER 4: Blood


Willem was getting bored. This was his fifteenth patrol around the compound today. Security had tightened enourmously ever since the Govenor had been killed. Butchered in his own house, just as bloodily as the common street arbities. Many had questioned the possibility that the murderer had been the same that had killed the Arbities, but how could the supposedly insane rioters have entered the Govenor's household, slaughtered his highly trained veteran bodyguards without triggering any of the security systems? It just didn't add up. It made no sense. The compound was actually a large web-like system of underground bunkers surrounded by a thick, nigh impenetrable ferrosteel wall, barbed wire and numerous heavily armed positions mounted atop it. The planet was a hellhole. He could risk it. He could see the daily ash-cloud aproaching through the darkening grey sky. It would be cold soon. Very cold. He would return in ten minutes or so, it never hurt to be careful. The compound was located in the centre of the gargantuan hive city, the glowing spires looming in all directions. Willem had sent the rest of his patrol inside about five minutes or so ago. They needed the rest. His patrol was coming to a close anyway, and he very much doubted anything important would happen over the course of twenty or so minutes.

Movement. Very slight, hardly audible. But still there. No civilian in their right mind would be out at this time and all other patrols had long returned. Willem takes his bolt pistol, an older make, long outdated out of its leather holster at his side as he carefully walks closer. The shadows move again, this time closer. Much closer. And it had a friend.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

With an earsplitting scream, a figure leaps foward, bloodied shock industrial pipe in hand and charges. Perfectly trained for this situation, Willem instantly steps fowards and swings his mechanical hand around, the metalic fist catching the figure directly in the forehead. With a sickening crunch the man's head explodes, fragments of bone and brain sent flying out the back of his head, dead before he hit the ground. With a cry of unearthly rage, a second man leaps from the shadows, this one holding a shock maul, crackling with white hot energy. The second figure swings his maul but Willem sidesteps and catches the man's weapon, tearing it from his grasp with a strength he could not hope to match. Spinning round, Willem smashing the bulky weapon into the figure's gut. With a violent spasm, the man crumples, spitting blood from his twitching mouth. The man looks up just in time to see Willem's knee impact against his skull, his nose snapping and teeth violently ripping loose in a burst of blood. The man, now moaning loudly falls to the ground, trying despiratly to crawl over to his ally's weapon. With a sneer of discontent, Willem brings the maul about again, the energy weapon effortlessly spreading the man's head across the filthy pavement.

Panting slightly, Willem kneels next to the gory corpse. The man was an Arbities, his normaly navy blue armour crudely pained over in black paint, a large red star on his chest plate. The second assailant had been a worker, by the looks of the uniform, from only down the road. He too had the foul symbol emblazened upon his front. Both had the words Chimaera hai, quia multi sumus writen in green paint onto their clothing . They were facing no simple riot, no gangers, no rioters. This was an uprising. He had to inform his superiors.

With the deadly ash louds closing in, Willam walks hurriedly back towards the compound, shouting wildly through the Vox caller in his mechanical hand.

What ya think? I'm very tired at the moment so it is probably not my best, but its just a little more about the sergeant.

It's very good, but where is Willem's men during the patrol? The higher the rank, the more you must involve.

Thank you, I'm editing now!

Done.

CHAPTER 4: (Continued)

Willem was drunk. Veeeeeery, veeery drunk. He been at the bar for about an hour now but it was getting hard to remember. He had delivered his message, several units as well as a dozen or so sentinels had been sent to sweep the city sector. He had wanted to go with them, but that bloody lieutenant had kept him back for.... well, he didn't remember. Being so profoundly drunk however, meant he remembered nothing. Wait. Yeah, the lieutenant was a girl. I think. Wait. Yeah, yeah.

He couldn't go out now either. Not in his current state. He was sitting at his usual spot, the dimly lit chair at the bar with half a dozen empty glasses scattered around him. He was surprised he was even aloud in here, it was a place for the highest ranking officers and generals to meet, drink and talk. Willem was only in here on account of his medal and likely his recent discovery.

"Another." He slurred, sitting up, head swaying slighty. After a long moment the woman behind the counter passed over the drink, his usual. The stuff tasted rancid but it worked like a charm, he could alreadly feel himself becoming more woozy and his vision blurry. And so very tired. He didn't care what anyone else thought, he had deserved this. With a glance around, he saw the same lieutenant as earlier. She was nice looking, long, flowing brown hair and tall. She was about his age, he could remmber from earlier. Clearing his throat, he gets up unstedily, taking a moment to right himself. With a charming look, he walks over, ready to use his legendary womanising skills, and slumps over onto the sofa next to her, passed out. As the last vestiges of sensible thought leave his mind, he thinks...'Still got it' and laughs quietly against the surface of the couch.

Tada! Aything I could improve?

It's nice, but speaking of random, Willelm magically teleported into an officer-bar, and drunkingly try to check up a chick who, if I understand correctly just debriefed him and is a commissar. I can see a few outcomes from this, and none are very pleasant for Willelm due to general knowledge of how chicks react to my own personal charm when I'm hammered.

Well if I describe myself outside and then later describe myself in the kitchen, it can be assumed that I went inside, and went to the kitchen. Juast because I don't detailedly describe it, doesn't mean it didn't happen. Oh, and he won't be executed or something like that because he never actually hit on her, just walked vaguely towards here, and colapsed onto the sofa, unconious and laughing quietly.

I know that, just felt a bit fooled by what you have left out. Willem first had to report, then was debriefed by the commissar, then he was hammered and decided to hit on the commissar who had just debriefed him. There is a pretty big chain of events there that is skipped.

Well just drinking several beers and getting drunk does not really make an interesting story.


EDIT: OK, OK, its not a commisar now. He hopefuly won't get headsploded now.

That depends. If he is drinking alone, I agree. Put in some company, and you can have a good story. And the debriefing likely didn't involve beers, I mean he was interrogated to check if he was contaminated.

You make a good point. I'l write something telling what happened.

CHAPTER 4: (Continued).


A small, very small, part of him wished he had never reported the rengades. The moment he had entered the building, two heavily armoured storm troopers had 'escorted' him to the cell. The room was small and grey, lacking windows and lights. The only things within the room were a metal chair and bed, both welded to the freezing, ferrosteel floor. Willem had briefly wondered about the lack of door, nothing but a rectangular gap at the enterance to the cramped cell. He had quickly however discovered this was not the case as he foolishly tried to simply walk out. He had realised the mistake not a second after his foot had passed through the doorway. Damn lasers. Shouting out half in surprise and half in pain, he falls backwards onto the cold ground with a thud. With a pained grunt he looks at the damage. The bloody lasers had cut deep marks into his boot and had slightly hit his foot, the skin turned bright red, fine droplets of blood dripping from several paper-thin and nearly invisible cuts. He should of payed more attention during the tech updates.

After that, all he had done was sit on the bed reading his little guardsman book thingy. For a good laugh. He found the section on Tau weaponry very funny. After about an hour or so, a figure aproached the doorway, he could see the shadow against the chrome floor. Slowly he turns round, seeing the newcomer. It was lieutenant Abigale, an old friend of his, he had known her during their time as conscripts. Obviously she had been much more successful than him, she was a lieutenant.

"Hey Abi, I'd hug you if it wern't for these damn lasers. What are you doing here? What AM I doing here?"

"Hey Willem, I wish we could meet again in better circumstances, but this is bad. Since you reported those two renegades, reports of dozens more have been reaching us from around the city, picking off loners and the weak. Listen, I'm not suspecting you, but i've been ordered to bring you in for corruption testing. Some idiot even thinks you're possesed."

With that the lieutenant walks over to a nearby glowing embeded into the wall and taps a ten-digit code into it. There is a loud buzz and a brief feeling of hair standing on end. As soon as the noise quiets down, two tall masked stormtroopers both wearing heavy carapace armour step into the room. One places a heavy, gauntletted hand onto his shoulder, guiding him fowards, while the second presses a high-tech hellgun against the back of his head, finger on the trigger.

With that, the lieutenant walks slowly, turning slightly to throw him an apolegetic look. The two slowly move him down a dark corridor, lit only by the occasional red light positioned on the sides of the wall. After several minutes, they stop at a large, black door. On its front lies an embolem of a golden eye with beams of light eminating from it. One of the troopers, the one at the front, bangs his fist against the door and then they enter.

Inside is an ornately carved wooden chair, easily Willem's height, bedecked in strange equipment and what looks like a hood where the wearers head would be. Several glowing lights dot its surface, lighting the whole thing up like some strange, festive decorations. The two troopers walk him over to the bulky thing and push him down into it. While one of the fastens straps around his wrists, feet and neck, the other moves round to the side of the device, turning several green dials and entering a long pasword. With his job done, one of the troopers, the one holding the hellgun, makes his way towards the exit and leaves. The second trooper continues flicking several switches for a moment before moving around to the front. The man moves the hood-like thing onto Willem's head with a loud metalic click. With this, the trooper steps backwards and leans against a wall, obviouly bored.

At first nothing happens, the only sound a low static sound. After five minutes or so though, its gets progressivly louder, making it hard to think. By the ten minute mark, the sound has become deafening, a thin line of blood running down from his nose and into his half open mouth. It would of tasted salty but none of his senses seemed to be working properly, everything around him turning odd hues while the smell of rotten fish and honey fills his nostrils. The last thing he sees is the trooper walking casualy over to the machine and pressing a large red button. With that the static dies down and he falls into blissful uncontiousness.

With a start he awakes in his bed, still dressed in his crumpled uniform, dried blood encrusted onto the neck of his uniform. He needed a drink.

By the way, this goes just before the piece about him being drunk.

As always, please give me your opinion .

Next part will be from the point of view of Havelok again, YAY!

I say old bean, this was good. I liked how you described the testing

Thank you Trondheim. And thank you Beavix for persuading me to do it.

I'm still awaiting that mention Beavix

Oh it's nice, but I sort of waited for the binge, as I like the complete story before commenting.

Yeh yeh its cool, take your time, it is YOUR story afterall

It was my suggestion, you are free to take it or leave it. When all comes to all, I only give advice.

No no, its a very good idea. Helps connect our stories

If you want to connect our stories, then I sort of assume the Imperial Navy will be hovering around the planet, with the differencing vessels doing orbital bombardment (you don't need to bring that along right away) and delivering the reinforcements to the planet (the capital is being bombarded by the brave Imperial Navy would likely go round the planet at least as a vox-cast, and likely as a pict-cast as well). Plus the Dark Eldar is beginning to show up (a Torture cruiser just crashlanded in a hive with billions of people and are casually starting to rape the faithful and the heretic alike in cruel and inventive ways). Of course geography and distance can omit those events if you don't want them to affect your guy directly.

CHAPTER 5: Empty.


Amongst Everors, Havelok was famed for his incredible and unrelenting rage. But now, he was long passed anger and had progressed into daemonic insanity. If he could move, there would be nothing living and breathing within 100 miles. The only part of him he had under control was his mind and even that was gradually failing him, the corner of his vision blurring and a dull static sound plaguing his thoughts, making it difficult to think at times. He had been traveling down these streets for hours now, just walking slowly, zombie-like. People had just started to leave their chrome coloured houses, the ash-clouds recently passed. Even now he could see the occasional civilian walking down the far end o the street. This was bad. Very bad. In his controled state he could not fight back. He could not react. He could do naught but walk onwards. A mother and daughter exit a domecile beside him, poor but happy. The Mother looks up to see him. Skull helmed, armed with blade tipped claw and now deactivated power sword as well as bedecked in heavy armour covered in layers of dirt, las scortches and dried blood. Needless to say, she and her daughter scream, atracting more attention. In five minutes, there are dozens of pathetic men, women and children running panicedly in all directions. One shouting man runs back inside his home to produce a laspistol, old and long outdated. The shaking man pulls the trigger five times, all tiny beams of light impacting against the nightmare's turned head, the only mark to show for the attack are five tiny burn marks. The man might as well have thrown a lit cigar at his head. Panic reigns. Havelok feels a slight feeling of satisfaction at seeing the people run in horrified fear in all directions.

Then something very strange happens. Only just outside his viewing arc, right above him, two very fast moving...things dart over the spire rooftops. He could not tell their identity by the shadows but they were narrow, sleek and covered in barbs. Havelok exerts just enough mental willpower to make his eyes glance up to see a third such strange thing careering down towards him, the small, one-man craft almost completely engulfed in flame. If he could move, he could have easily avoided the crashing vehicle but unfortunately he could not, and the craft, with all its hooked barbs and bladed front ploughs straight into him.

Not my best, I have just woken up, but tell me what ya think of it!

Poor, poor man. Nobody deserves to walk around all zombie like in a ash coverd hive, btw I will demand more feedback!

Of cource! On mah way.

Oh nice touch, Venom.

Lolwut?

Venom http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Venom#.T61qJNnLnBE the description fitted, so I assumed.

BAM. Correct.

Someone said Vennom? I dunno what that band has to with Dark Eldar but hye it makes me crave even more!

Lol. Imma take a little break for a while.

CHAPTER 5: (Continued)


It was hot. Very hot. With a rasping breath, Havelok opens his whiring, lensed eyes. Fire was all around him, engulfing his body in a whirling firestorm. With a drug-induced shudder, he rises up to his booted feet. The sleek, black craft had crashed directly into him, its barbs and blades hooking and pinning him to the ground, scortched wreckage thrown in all directions. Looking down the devastated street, he could see several other such crafts had met their fate in the form of the hard ferrocrete ground. The road was littered with eviscerated corpses, some pale-skinned eldar, most dismembered humans. Amongst the numerous downed vehicles were roughly half a dozen functional ones, hovering silently just above the ground, two cone-helmed figures standing upon the rear of each craft. They were exactly 216 metres away. Most carried the typical dark-eldar infantry weapon, but two amongst their number wielded large lance-like cannons, crackling with jett black energies. Three amongst their ranks were surgically modified, with venemous blades and acid-dripping devices replacing their hands and iron masks mounted upon their faces. They seemed too occupied to notice him. They were busy torturing any survivors they could find, Wyches carefuly and slowly disembowelering injured and dying civilians. Havelok could see a succubus behead a screaming midle aged man, the ghoulish figure taking on a noticible youthful sheen.

Striding tall through the flaming debris, Havelok draws his power sword, pressing the activation rune at its hilt, a crackling field of white hot energy flickering across its surface. With a blood-curtling screach, he leaps foward, blade raised high. As he lands, the Succubus spins round, a barbed and segmented whip darkting foward around his left arm. With a chuckle Havelok glances down to his entangled arm. It had been long since an enemy had got the first blow in. To bad it had been so pathetic. Havelok tilts his head and looks towards the barbed figure mockingly, and grabs the Xeno's whip-wielding arm and pulls her foward. She panicedly fires the pistol point blank into his chest to no avail, he shards shattering against his thick chestplate. With a daemonic roar, one hand gripping hers, he kicks her in the gut. Hard. With a grotesque tearing, the arm comes flying loose, sending blackened blood spraying in all directions. The weakling falls to the ground with a thud, writhing there weakly. With an enraged cry, he grabs her by her flowing black hair and slams her head repeatedly against the hard ferrocrete ground, breaking her nose and shattering teeth. With a slight pause and a chuckle, Havelok drags her along the ground to her decapitated prey she had brutaly slaughtered seconds ago. He lifts her head up just high enough to see the body. While with a ghoulish laugh his power sword flickers down. Befitting retribution complete, he draws his executioner pistol, and with a nightmarish scream runs towards the waiting Xenos scum.

Done. What ya think?

EDIT'd.

You don't need to ask for reviews. You will get them.

Oh this was brilliant, The Dark Eldars coming and bveing described so well. Loved it. Especially the graphic detail with the Succubus. Teeth and all.

Thank you! Da Evesor really likes his vengance

This was great, Go Eversor!

Thank you

CHAPTER 6: Dropped


Havelok looked up. The Xenos scum had risen to its feet, half a leg and an arm missing, envenomed blade clutched weakly in one hand. With a chuckle he gets up slowly and delibrately, his gore-soaked gauntlet ripping free from the sprawled kabalite's weak rib cage, pulling the creature's blackened heart with it. The pathetic creature obviously nearing the end of its life, Havelok lets loose a spine-chilling screech of pure evil before putting an acid round from his executer pistol straight into its torso, the chestplate melting away within an instant. The thing falls to the ground screaming in agony as its body fills with the pale yellow liquid, disolving it from the inside out. Sweeping around, he plunges his bloodied claw through an oncoming Wych's face, her head explodin in a shower of gore and bone shards. Before the assassin can turn however, a beam of raw shadow ploughing into his thickly armoured back, sending his crashing through a nearby ferrocrete wall with a crunch. Leaping to his feet rapidly, Havelok spins to face the direction of the attacker. A fair distance away, standing in his small craft, stands one of the black-armoured kabalites, the barrel of his sleek projectile enveloped in a field of cracklng darkness. Venemous splinters shattering all around him, he charges.

With two metalic clicks, two bolt rounds burst through a twisted wrack's gut and neck, the bladed abomination stumbling slightly. Havelok sidesteps as the thing swings at him brutishly, missing wildly. And he had though these 'Dark eldar' were suppost to be skilled. With a flick of the wrist his gauntlet lodges itself between the howling thing's shoulder blades, making it fall to its knees. Stepping backwards with an insane laugh, Havelok draws his hand backwards in a quick motion, a chunk of the scum's spine coming with it. Just narrowly leaping from the path of a second shadowy beam, he glances sideways, catching sight of three more splinter-rifle armed kabalites aproaching through the ruined buildings, a dozen or so ghoulish Mandrakes materialising from the shadows behind them, each wielding some horribly serrated or hooked blade in their clawed hands. Hearing a loud, tortured moan, Havelok looks quickly over his shoulder. Exactly 24 metres away stand a huge hulking figure, numerous tubes and pipes filled with drugs and other disgusting coloured fluids cover the thing's body. One hand had been replaced with a large, sissor-like device, dripping a mixture of blood and toxins. The moans come from behind it's crude iron mask, the only gaps two holes where the pityful things eyes should be. With a booming roar, it charges.

Nicely done, will love to see the Wrack fight.

Thank you! Next part coming soon.


Its a grotesque btw!

Hey the theRobotLol. So I just want you to know that I am reading this and will eventually post a big critique of it, similar to my critique of Trondheim's work. But it may take a bit.

LoneLictor wrote:Hey the theRobotLol. So I just want you to know that I am reading this and will eventually post a big critique of it, similar to my critique of Trondheim's work. But it may take a bit.

Hope you can do me the favor as well, I'm referring to the First Action, but that's a really long read. And I know, I sort of overreacted as Trondheim pointed out at an earlier post about LL.

Beaviz81 wrote:

LoneLictor wrote:Hey the theRobotLol. So I just want you to know that I am reading this and will eventually post a big critique of it, similar to my critique of Trondheim's work. But it may take a bit.

Hope you can do me the favor as well, I'm referring to the First Action, but that's a really long read. And I know, I sort of overreacted as Trondheim pointed out at an earlier post about LL.

Sure, after reading this story I'll finish "The First Action". But you'll probably hafta wait a few days. Hope you don't mind.

Not at all.

CHAPTER 6: (Continued)


With a groan Willem picks up his helmet, an enclosed bug-eyed thing, and places it onto his head, the locks automaticly sealing it on to his thick carapace armour. He remembered next to nothing of the last night, the only thing coming to mind is that he'd being getting very, very drunk. He had woken up hours ago on the very same sofa he had passed out on but the bar had been empty, it had been the dead of night. Then some idiot sounded the damn alarm, flashing red lights and all, and his ears had nearly imploded. Then he had walked slowly to the armoury and then this had happened. Yeah, yeah, he was sure that had happened, he just had to retrace his steps. To his knowledge, no one here yet knew what threat they were facing and neither did he. But the few vox-calls he make out were terrified sounding and paniced, like they had just seen their worst nightmares. Armour in place and bolt pistol in hand, he sprints towards the nearest surface enterance, his squad following silently behind. From infront of him, several other squads leave their platoon armoury, most of them barely men. Slowly and with a metalic clunk, the heavy adamantium gate opens, who knows what on the other side. If it hadn't been for the huge lights mounted on the perimeter wall, it would have been pitch black, the moon and stars blocked out by the near constant ash clouds. It was ice cold. Slowly the force fans out, men, sentinels, and hellhounds mving in all directions.

As the large force sweeps the perimeter, a question comes to mind. Why sound the alarm? There were no hostiles or evidence of them her whatsoev--He is cut off mid thought as a hail of fist-sized shells explode against the ground all around, several surprised guardsmen destroyed by the rounds in a burst of blood and meat. Diving behind a nearby ammunitions crate, Willem grabs a fallen man's scoped long-las, the unfortunate owner obliterated in the storm of bullets moments prior. With a grunt he raises the weapon's scope to his eye, searching for the source of the attack. He finds it. On the thick, ferrosteel wall are normaly numerous turret systems, each mounted by a highly trained trooper. That was not what he now saw. The heavy bolters had been turned to face inwards, each manned by a filthy cultist, each covered in weeping boils and tattered rags. By the looks of them they were foul devotees of Nurgle, one of the four chaos Gods he had breifly learnt about years ago. At their feet lay the bodies of the guard, each dismembered horribly, a testament to the cultist's insane violence. With a single pull of the trigger, a cultist's face explodes, the rotted remains of his head covering everything nearby as he slumps to the grated steel floor.

Warning: When I wrote this part I was half asleep but didn't dare delete it.
So any sugestions on how to make it better are, as always, welcome .

Boom headshot. I sort of thought the las left cauterized wounds, other than that it's quite good, though short.

Thank you it is just a begining for that part.

CHAPTER 6: (Continued)


He had barely a moment to find a second target before an earsplitting scream fill his ears. Spinning round, he could see a fellow sergeant, a good friend, fall to the ground, A jagged cleaver embeded in his spine. Standing above him was a tall figure, bedecked in foul, gore-soaked clothes wearing a butcher's apron on which a crudely drawn red star was painted. The horrified figure steps foward, pulling free its blade from the sergeant's twitching body with a gurgling chuckle. Before the thing can react, he is charging it, mechanical hand clenched into a fist. The figure makes a pathetic attempt at sidestepping but is far too slugish and the last thing it sees is the metalic shape sweeping down towards his face. Willem chuckles quietly as his hand passes easily through the cultist's head, bone fragments and grey matter bursting from the gaping hole in the back of his head. Glancing over his shoulder, Willem catches sight of two more such foul cultists, one must had killed an arbities due to his navy blue carapace armour and shotgun. The other was much different, he wore tattered but evidently expensive clothes, likely a noble. He wielded an ornatly crafted dagger. Both chanted the words 'Dominari Chimerae'. Both would die.

With a frenzied shout, the renegade fires his shotgun. To bad he was aweful with it. The shot misses him by easily a foot or so but that is of no concern to him as he lunges foward, clutching the heretic's head in a vice-like grasp. With a grunt he lifts the struggling man up off his feet, the shotgun dropping from his hand. Willem gazes blankly into the insane man's eyes and laughs. Willem slowly reaches to his back, and draws out his serrated combat knife. With deafening shout in his ear, a surge of pain fills his body, the finely made dagger embeded in the back of his shoulder. With this Willem drops the choking shotgunner and his knife to the hard ferrocrete ground. He turn instantly to see the noble standing there, cackling madly, hand still on the dagger thrust into his shoulder. With his unmodified hand, Willem clutches wildly at the cultist's neck, the man's crazed strength no match for his. Breifly looking sideways, he casualy obliterates the head of the shotgunner with a iron backhand. The primary target eliminated, he reaches round to to his back and grips the blade lodged into his back. With a shout of pain and rage, he pulls the dagger from its position and sweeps it round into the squealing madman's neck, a torrent of brght red blood bursting forth. A smile on his face, Willem kicks the noble hard in the chest.

Update time

CHAPTER 6: (Continued)


Between him and the platoon, they had killed dozens of the foul, screaming cultists but it was not enough. Nowhere near enough. Now he knew what it was like to face your own tactics, sending waves and waves of poorly trained soldiers to wear you down bit by bit. This was only an outpost and they had not been expecting much opposition, they didn't have the numbers to deal with something like this. All around him men, loyal and renegade were dying in droves, cut down by either point blank gunfire or a frenzied slash of a knife. Turning around Willem puts his iron fist through a charging cultist's chest, shattering ribs and rupturing organs. Lifting the gurgling man off his feet, he pulls hard, tearing out his spine through his front with a shower of meat and blood. Turning round, he sees a group of blood-stained cutists of Khorne tear through a squad of guardsmen, the screaming men torn limn from limb as they try desperately to scrabble away. They were surrounded. Countless cultist were now flooding down into the compound, all the while more and more cultists rushing foward from the freezing night. They would not see the dawn.

There was only two dozen or so of them left now, in a rough circle. They would be lucky to last the minute. Driving his combat knife through a frenzied cultist's jaw, Willem turns to see a bloated, club-wielding renegade charge into him, a loud crunch coming from his leg as the weapon impacts with his lower leg, sending him falling to his knees. With a disgusting chuckle, the cultist slowly and deliberately raises his club, a dripping grin on his face. Then in a purple blaze, he is no more. With a low whirring, three sleek, four-man craft bring themselves to a stop feet from the ground. A deafening shout piercing the air, sixteen tall figures, each clad in bladed deep red armour, leap from their transport in perfect unison, a dozen confused cultists falling dead within the opening moments.

To be continued.

Nice work, really mystified about the newcomers.

Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

TheRobotLol wrote:Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

Just wondering who they are and such. Nothing else.

Beaviz81 wrote:

TheRobotLol wrote:Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

Just wondering who they are and such. Nothing else.

All will be reveiled.....

I'm real sorry, but think I've gotta duck out of this project. Good luck everyone, if this thing is still in progress.

TheRobotLol wrote:I'm real sorry, but think I've gotta duck out of this project. Good luck everyone, if this thing is still in progress.

I'm out as well. But hopefully we two can continue a cooperation, or at least mentioning the characters of each other. As that I feel is a good way to go at it, or what do you say?

As I'm fully willing to mention Willem in passing notions and such if he does anything heroic.

Sure, I'l carry on with it when I can.