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Absolutely AMAZING! that's all I can really say about this hahahaha

Continuation of chapter 4...

The ground was littered with the dead and their effects; broken lasguns, cracked armour, severed limbs. The Guard had lost men, as was to be expected in war, but the survivors morale was high. To a force accustomed to lightning raids the fast paced charge had seemed like a return to the familiar speed of war. No-man’s-land was pockmarked with blackened craters and impact holes. Mutant bodies, bloated and fecund, were strewn about the mud. Guard units with flamers were roving, torching large clusters of corrupted flesh. The smell of burning meat hung heavy in the air.

After a short time a chimera transport arrived, emblazoned wit the gold laurels of command. General Kruger departed from the vehicle’s side hatch, his polished boots sinking up to the ankles in filth. He strode about the lines, congratulating and talking with his troops. Eventually he made his way to Inquisitor Phates. “A fine job you did here my Lord, it is good for the men to taste victory.” Phates surveyed the battlefield around him. “Indeed General, but in order for the Imperium to win this war more drastic action must be taken.” The Inquisitor gestured to no-man’s-land, “If you would, General?”

The land between the Imperial lines and the enemy held hive city, Damasc, was a morass of blood and wet. Originally it had been verdant forest, alive with birds and other game. However months of warfare had changed that. Now it was the stalking ground for mutants and worse. The Guard knew it was haunted, and would be the death of any soldier unfortunate enough to walk on its’ surface. The mighty raids of the Nemian 5th had been halted dead in their tracks in this navigable wasteland. The decaying hulls of tanks and transports sank into the sucking mud.

“General, these mutants and abominations are being led by…a madman.” Phates did not want this General to know that it was a rogue Inquisitor that had caused this bloodshed.
“The only way to stop this conflict once and for all is to eliminate this man and his lieutenants.” The General nodded; it was not his place to argue with an Inquisitor. “What do you propose, my Lord?” the general asked. Phates looked about him, at the troopers he had just led into battle. “No-man’s-land is under the sway of a powerful psyker, making it impossible to cross. However, with my own talents, and those of my associate,” he gestured to the masked figure, “we should be able to forge a path.” “I need the services of your troopers, these fine men I have led into battle.” The General nodded, willing to have his Nemians play a part in this war, other than sitting around and waiting to die. The Inquisitor continued. “I will also need a transport for my team, and an escort of tanks. With these things I will bring an end to your war.”

The tanks trundled into position, waiting for the signal. Men sat about them on supports or hung out of hatches. Last minute checks were made, making sure each vehicle would be able to perform to its fullest. A towering tech-adept visited each vehicle, intoning a blessing of the machine-god in its binary tongue. A feeling of restlessness pervaded the area; the men of the Nemian 5th were happy to be mounted once again on sturdy steel. Two chimeras were present; the General’s own, housing the Inquisitor and his team, and the other carrying the men from defensive post Alpha11. Phates had chosen them to accompany him on his mission into the hive city. The vehicle escort was there to make sure they reached it in one piece.

Zail was seated in the chimera, a prayer on his lips. He had been promoted to sergeant, after his squads former officer had been ripped limb from limb by a many-handed mutant. He knew now that the men would come to him for orders, and would look to him for inspiration. He hoped he would not let them down. A steady ping began to ring on the hull of his chimera; a light rain was falling. Zail heard a foghorn call out, muted through the chimera’s armour plating. The engines of the massed Imperial vehicles grumbled into life, and they set out into no-man’s-land.

Inquisitor Phates now understood why the Guardsmen believed no-man’s-land to be haunted. Some accursed heretic psyker had weakened the veils on this world; power from the warp was bleeding in. Phantom clawing and scraping could be heard on the outside of the vehicle’s hulls. Already a Leman Russ tank had broken formation and rode off into the distance. Vox contact was made with the crew but nothing discernible could be heard over the screams. Phates focused his willpower into a sphere of protective energies; he was determined to spare these brave soldiers of the Imperium the horrors of the warp. They would have to deal with enough horror when they reached the hive city.

Tanks do not tire, and so the mechanized force set a mighty pace. Night had fallen, along with a heavy rain, and the beacon lights of Damasc, the hive-city, could be seen in the distance. No contact had been made with the enemy, but the experienced troopers of the Nemian 5th knew better than to count their blessings. Somewhere, out in the darkness, the enemy waited.

A blinding flash of light erupted in the darkness. Vox communications broke out in a chorus of panicked voices, demanding to know what had happened. Nothing could be heard over the relentless falling of the rain and the crunching of tank treads. Several Leman Russ tanks fired flares into the sky, briefly illuminating the area in a stark white glare.

Thousands of mutants and renegade troopers swarmed about the tanks, firing weapons and tossing grenades. A fire fight immediately broke out; withering shots pouring from the tanks’ pintle-mounted weapons into the enemy mass. The main guns of the Leman Russ shuddered, firing heavy ordinance into the enemy ahead of them. Another tank was cracked open by the relentless pounding of the mutants. The crew was dragged from the vehicle screaming and soon disappeared into the horde. Phates’ voice cut in over the frenzied vox traffic, laced with psykic energy. “Move, move, break for the hive!”

The armored column throttled foreword, pushing its way through the horde amassed before them. Mutants were crushed under speeding tanks treads, throwing themselves in their path to try and halt their progress. Thousands of hard rounds pinked off heavy armour, and hundreds of lasbolts melted metal. A few of the renegades had managed to field heavy-weapons, and a rocket speared through the night. It collided with the lead tank, turning the vehicle into a fireball of shrapnel and dying men. The tanks fired from hull-slits and gun-mounts; soldiers hung from hatches to take potshots. The hive-city loomed in the distance, growing steadily closer as the tanks struggled through the sea of hostiles.

“Sir, there are too many!” Elias shouted as he fired another burst from the heavy-stubber. His men had all taken up the firing positions, and were trying to cut back the seemingly endless number of mutants. Phates concentrated, seeing the battle outside his transport’s hull through his mind’s eye. It was true. The Imperial tanks were sturdy constructs, but the sheer numbers of the horde threatened to stop them in their tracks. Phates braced himself, ready for the torrent of the warp to rush through his body. He tremored, unleashing a cloud of burning fire through the teeming horde. The mutants burned where they stood, their charred bones falling to the ground. “Use that opening, forward!”

The tanks punched through the hole Phates’ psykic assault had created. The great metal walls of Damasc rose up before the armored column. Enemy artillery and tanks fired heavy-caliber shots into the advancing Imperial line, but the tanks did not halt. Horribly mutated gunners and sappers fled in terror as the steel of the Imperium’s machines collided with their own blasphemous vehicles. A focused barrage of gunfire brought down the heavy gate guarding the entrance to Damasc’s under-hive. The chimeras swerved to a halt, sitting idle only long enough for their troop cargo to deploy. Elias and his storm troopers, along with Zail and his squad rushed the gate, clearing any stragglers. Phates looked back at the Imperial line.

The mutant horde had caught up with the tanks, and were hell-bent on extracting their revenge. The Imperial machines lined up hull to hull, forming an impenetrable defense for their ground-troops. Sheets of gunfire poured from both sides, cutting down flesh and denting metal. The initial shock of the attack began to wear off, and the mutants were whipped into a counter-assault. Las-cannons and mounted heavy bolters were brought to bear, finally punching through the weakened tank armour. Several Leman Russ tanks were incinerated, burning brightly in the night. A hellhound gusted burning promethium into the mutant hordes. A Macharius command tank took a rocket in the tracks, grinding to a screeching halt. The crew leapt out of their vehicle, firing their weapons into the advancing enemy. They defended their tank until the last one was torn asunder.

Phates had held no illusions, nor had the Guardsmen. From the very beginning this was considered a suicide mission. An assault into no-man’s-land, completely cut off from reinforcement, was doomed to fail. However, the Nemian 5th would not back down from their duty. They had been losing the war up to this point, sitting idle in their trenches waiting for death to take them. They swore to the Emperor they would see this Inquisitor safe to his destination, and defend him with their lives. And so they did. The battle still raged as Inquisitor Phates, Thirteen, Elias and his men, and Zail’s troopers navigated the dark tunnels and crawlspaces of the under-hive. Soon, nothing could be heard of the war outside.


End of Chapter 4

That was sad........I assume you meant it to be but......that was truly sad. it saddened me to read that.
Amazing job though.

Continuation of Chapter 4...

After the din of the battle outside, the hive was eerily silent. Weak lighting and fluorescent fungal growth lit the passageways as Phates and his retinue made their way through the under-hive. The tunnels were a maze of maintenance shafts and crawl-spaces, rusted with neglect, and littered with detritus from the society above. Large albino rats, and other, less familiar vermin scuttled away from the spears of light the Guardsmen’s lamp-packs produced. The stormstoopers lead the group, following the route laid out on their positioning units.

The insertion team was looking for the central shaft; a spacious tunnel that ran the length and height of the hive. It was like a river, facilitating trade and repair over the vast space the city covered. The group was now traveling along one of its many tributaries. Intelligence suggested that Inquisitor Esarhaddon, the heretic, was situated at the very top of the hive, in a chamber called “The Emperor’s Seat”. Phates hoped the main causeway would lead them straight to the traitor, and allow them to avoid the hive proper. It would be best if they remained undetected.

“Sir, you may want to see this.” The team had been traveling for 10 hours, according to their chrons. It was difficult to tell the passing of time in the dank tunnels of the hive. So far they had not ventured out into the hab-areas, instead remaining in the shadowed crevices. Elias went over to the trooper who had spoken, one of the new stormtrooper recruits. His name was Liam, selected from Cadia and trained in the Schola Progenium. He had an affinity with tech, and so handled the squad’s long-range auspex and vox sets. “What is it Trooper?” Elias asked. The team continued to march, this time in a tunnel ankle-deep with sewage water. “I’ve been checking the auspex, Sir, to make sure we don’t get snuck up on.” Elias raised his eyebrows, urging the recruit to continue. “Well, Sir, there’s nothing. All the scans I’ve done, and nothing has made a return. The hive is empty.”

Elias called the group to a halt, and everyone stopped, silent. The brown waste-water lapped at their legs. Phates came over, a look of concern in his features. “What is it, Elias?” the Inquisitor asked. “My Lord, auspex scans indicate that the hive is empty.” “Empty you say. That is…unusual.” was Phates’ reply. “Indeed Lord, with your permission I’d like to take a look.” “Permission granted Elias, but be vigilant.” Elias nodded and turned to his troops, relaying his orders. The stormtoopers located a hatch and pried it off its rusty hinges. They stepped out into the hab areas of hive-city Damasc.

The hive was in its night cycle. Some street-lights were light, feebly trying to illuminate the darkness. Others lay black, cracked and broken. The facades of hab-stacks and low-rent apartments lined the streets like rotten teeth. Garbage of all assortments littered the thoroughfare, along with the large derelict hulks of transports. Elias did not need to look at his positioning device to know they were in the low habs. This is where the Munitorium, Administratum, and all the other “little people” that kept the infrastructure of the Imperium running would return after their shifts. It was dirty, polluted, and cruel. And it was empty.

Another stormtrooper recruit, Olesya from Valhalla, kicked in the door of a hab. The rest of the troopers swept in, shining their lamp-packs into the darkness. Dust motes floated in the shafts of light, like falling snow. A series of connected rooms branched off from the main hallway, and Elias signaled a search. The squad melted away into the darkness. Elias stayed back, investigating the main room. It was dirty and sparse, with a gunmetal table and chair in the corner. He ran his fingers over the table; dust, accumulated over months. There was a sound, very faint, but it stood out in the ghostly silence of the hive. Elias swung around, aiming his gun at the doorway.

“Stand down trooper, it is only me.” Thirteen stood in the doorway, a shadow backlit by faint streetlights. “Throne Thirteen, don’t sneak up on me like that,” Elias sighed as he lowered his weapon. “What are you doing here?” “The Inquisitor sent me to back you up, he felt as though I could help.” Thirteen replied. “I’m not sure that you can Thirteen, there is nothing here for you to kill. Its very empty.” Thirteen simply stood there, half-hidden in the shadows. Elias shrugged and continued his search.

The vox chirped, brining with it the muffled voice of stormtrooper Tomans, who hefted the squads flamer. “Sir, we’ve found something.” Elias and Thirteen hustled through the building, until they came to the very back room. The rest of the squad was already present; Liam, Tomans, and Olesya, along with Bastian and Alaric. They stood outside the door to the room, facing outward. Bastian had his hands clasped around a sliver Aquila on a chain, and was praying. ‘What is it?” Elias asked. Tomans shuddered. “Proof, Sir.”

Glyphs covered almost every inch of the walls, the floor, even the ceilings. They overlapped and intersected, creating a grand design of madness. Each form seemed to squirm, focusing and blurring, making it impossible to discern their meaning. A great eye could be seen, sometimes, swollen and unblinking. And that single eye carried with it a meaning. Tzeentch. Elias felt his gorge rise. Thirteen simply didn’t seemed to regard the icons with any interest. “Tomans…burn it.” The trooper raised his flamer, stoking the burning promethium into the room. The glyphs cackled and squealed as they burned, a cacophony of delirium. And then, a howl.

Phates could hear the keening howl from inside the maintenance tunnel, where he and the guardsman remained. It swept through the hive, born upon some foul wind that should not have existed. The troopers covered their ears, trying to block out the animalistic cry. Phates had heard this kind of noise before and knew that his squad was as good as dead. He rallied the remaining guardsmen and led them upward through the tunnels.

Booming concussions tore the hab to splinters a split-second before the squad exited the building. The chaos space marine threw itself from the adjacent building and landed on the street bellow, shattering the plasteel into a spider web of cracks. It straightened itself, towering over the stormtroopers, bound and clad in thick plates of azure ceramite. Black, beady eyes peered out from a cratered and antlered helmet. A thick haze of smoke curled from under the lip of the helmet. The marine bellowed a challenge, shaking its shoulders and pawing the ground, more animal than man. The stormtroopers opened fire.

Heavy bolts of blue energy collided with the power-armored figure, leaving superficial scorch marks on the ancient suit’s surface. Laughing manically, the marine broke into a break-neck sprint, hurling himself at the squad. Tomas squeezed the trigger of his flamer, spewing out a thick stream of flames. The marine surged through the flames, fire still licking at the edges of his armour. It hefted its bolter, an ancient and terrible weapon coated in evil signs, and fired a deafening salvo. Tomans was ripped into pieces as the rocket-propelled rounds found their mark and exploded deep within his flesh. Firing from the hip the remainder of the squad broke, trying to put distance between themselves and the crazed warrior.

“Aim for the armour joints!” More hellgun fire, directed at the helmet and torso joints, flew through the air. The marine turned, focusing on the source of minor stings afflicting it. He prepared to fire another burst, bellowing curses in some arcane tongue. Thirteen appeared out of nowhere, landing on the back of the lumbering marine, sinking his dagger deep into the neck of the beast. Bellowing, this time in pain, the marine tried to rip the spine from Thirteen’s body. Liam charged the beast, firing on full auto from his hellgun, spattering the marine with ineffectual shots. The marine, distracted, turned and fired a single shot from his bolter that took of Liam’s head. Using the momentary lapse in fury, Thirteen freed himself from the monster’s grip and detached a grenade from his belt. priming the small explosive, Thirteen threw himself in front of the marine’s bolter and wedged the grenade inside the barrel. A thunderclap sounded, blowing the bolter into shrapnel and shredding the marine’s arm up to the elbow, and throwing Thirteen clear.

The marine’s screaming reached a fever-pitch, his augmented vox howling noises human’s could hardly comprehend. Blinded with rage the marine grabbed Olesya and crushed her throat with its remaining hand. Elias fired his bolter at the armoured monstrosity, creating deep dents, but otherwise doing little damage. Bastian and Alaric fired in unison, hoping to hit a critical weak-point in the armour. The marine set its sights on the ragged troopers, thundering towards them with murder in its eyes and madness in its screams. Elias managed to draw his power-sword before the marine reached them, and slashed in a wide arc. The energized blade cut a deep gash in the torso of the marine, issuing forth a torrent of purple blood. The marine had been howling for minutes, a non-stop audio assault on the troopers sanity. The beast reached down and grabbed the small power-sword, crushing it into pieces even as it bit deep into its hand. Alaric and Bastian ran forward, carrying Toman’s flamer-pack between them. With a surge of strength they wedge the promethium filled canister into the sword wound. Elias waited till his men were clear and lined up the shot, firing a single bolt. Making contact, the shot ignited the tank, and gallons of burning fuel rushed through the marine’s body, frying its insides. The crisped figure, now just burning meat in armour, smashed to the ground. The howl died away into a groan, that seemed to last long after the marine was dead.

Elias went to Thirteen’s side and shook him lightly. The assassin stirred and rose, clutching his side. “Are you alright?” Elias asked. Thirteen nodded, “A few broken ribs, I think, but nothing I can not fight through.” The assassin walked over to the smoldering corpse of the marine. “You killed it?” Alaric approached, holding the dog-tags of the fallen stormtroopers. “Hell of a fight, but we killed it alright.” Thirteen drew his bolt-pistol and shot the marine through the head. “I like to be sure.”

Thirteen and the remainder of the squad; Elias, Alaric, and Bastian, returned to the tunnel where they had left Phates and the Guardsmen. “They’ve gone,” Bastian exclaimed, hopelessly. “Of course they did, they have a mission to accomplish.” Thirteen replied. “That damned marine must have been one of Esarhaddon’s lieutenants. If that is the case then there is still one remaining before we reach the traitor himself. A psyker, powerful, probably possessed.” Thirteen looked to the troopers. “Phates still needs our help.” The squad nodded, formed up, and plunged into the darkness of the tunnel.

End of Chapter 4

Steempunk...... I am very jealous of you. I could never write my 40k stories as amazing as this.
You, sir, rock!

Its not much that can be said abouth your incredibel talent for writhing Steempunk, keep it up=)

Well thanks guys, glad your enjoying it!

I fear we are coming close to the end of my little story, although there are places where I can improve/lengthen it quite a bit.

There was virtually no editing (which explains the spelling errors); this is more of a practice to improve my literary skills. I have ambition to (hopefully) become a BL author, and I have many more ideas for stories floating around in my head.

Anyway, thanks for reading! next update should be soon...

steempunk wrote:Well thanks guys, glad your enjoying it!

I fear we are coming close to the end of my little story, although there are places where I can improve/lengthen it quite a bit.

There was virtually no editing (which explains the spelling errors); this is more of a practice to improve my literary skills. I have ambition to (hopefully) become a BL author, and I have many more ideas for stories floating around in my head.

Anyway, thanks for reading! next update should be soon...

Oh nose! We wantzs moar when this is done Yes I think that will be possibel if you keep this quality up

Dude, I wish I could hug you this is so amazing. But I'll have to suffice by saying WAY TO GO! This is amazing!

Chapter 5: Confrontation

Phates’ mind was racing, at a time he could hardly afford to lose focus. He had left his men to die at the hands of a monstrosity. It was not the first time he had sacrificed lives for the sake of the mission. He was confident in his ability to end this himself. But now…this. Phates had hoped he could best this. Unfortunately it appears as though he was wrong…he should just give up…give in, it would be easier that way. No…must concentrate…

The renegade psyker, Esarhaddon’s lieutenant, was crackling with scintillating energies. He was a twisted thing, a malformed sack of flesh designed to shackle the man’s unimaginable will to the material plane. With every increase in power those fetters were weakening; as the psyker grew stronger reality grew weak. Gibbering things, wisps and phantoms from the warp, hung around him, scenting the air like dogs. Laughter echoed in the metal walls, an ethereal sound. The psyker had not unleashed its destructive power yet; it enjoyed toying with its prey.

Zail and the rest of the Nemian Guardsmen had begun firing their lasrifles, but to little effect. The bolts of energy flared harmlessly off the psyker, fizzling into gaseous futility. Phates had collapsed, apparently under some great stress. Zail ordered a fighting retreat, hauling the body of the Inquisitor back to safety. The psyker paced inexorably forward, the shadows at his back yapping like hyenas. Insidious whispering scratched at the minds of the men, voicing unspeakable things.

At first no one seemed to notice that the guardsman had turned his lasrifle on himself, leaving a fused stump where his head was only seconds ago. The second and third time it happened, everyone noticed. A guardsman threw himself at his comrades, ripping at their eyes and throats with his bare hands. Zail pleaded with a trooper to drop his weapon, and was forced to shoot him through the head. The Imperial line broke in a panic, troopers fighting off the murderous advances of their allies. They could all hear it, in their heads, suggesting, whispering, insinuating. Him, that one is the enemy. It is hopeless, best end it now. You have been lied to! Zail killed another trooper who had stopped to bite into the throat of his victim. He began to pray to the Emperor, but he was sure He would not hear him over the screams.

Thirteen heard the scream, a lone terrible note that lingered far longer than seemed possible. It came from ahead of them, down the winding corridors of the tunnels they were following. The storm troopers paused to exchange looks, and Bastian resumed his seemingly unending prayer to the Emperor. The sound of gunfire had now made its way into the dark. Elias took off down the hall, in the direction of the sound. “That must be the Inquisitor, make haste, double time!” Thirteen and the troopers rushed down the hall, following the dire noises.

Phates finally managed to concentrate his willpower and pitch it against that of his heretical counterpart. He reached out and touched the psyche of the remaining guardsmen, banishing the suicidal thoughts being planted in their minds. Several troopers’ heads exploded in a cloud of gristle and blood as their bodies failed to cope with the mental war being raged inside of them. Phates was a powerful psyker, but was no match for this renegade. His soul had become a flaring son, a sphere of potent energy. It was a beacon for the foul things that swam the currents of the warp. Phates knew that if this was not finished quickly things would get much, much worse.

The warp-phantoms mewling at the psyker’s feet began to coalesce into solid bodies and gain a foothold in reality. They slithered and salivated at the thought of devouring souls. Their muscles grew thick, their hides grew tough, and their claws grew sharp, and then they were released, like a pack of hunting dogs. The troopers redirected their fire at the hounds, and thankfully their rounds hit home. Several of the beasts were cut down in mid-sprint, crashing to the ground only to be trampled by their brethren. Reaching the Imperials, the dogs tore limbs and opened up stomachs, feasting on the guardsmen. The troopers formed a defense around the Inquisitor, fighting for their lives in some warp-haunted hive far from home. Zail disemboweled a hound with his bayonet, and shot another through the skull. The men around him fought and died and screamed. A massive beast, bristling with corded muscles, ripped at Zail’s leg, brining him down hard onto the ground. He prepared himself to die for the what seemed like the twentieth time in one day.

A hell-gun round hit the daemon-mastiff square in the skull, burning a glowing hole through its brain. Bastian and Alaric dropped to one knee, squeezing off precise bursts of laser-fire. The Nemain troopers rallied, their prayers answered by the Emperor. A fusillade of lasrounds drove back the daemon-hounds. Losing their grip on reality the hounds tried to slink away back into the shadows. Elias hefted Zail from the ground, pushing his lasrifle into his hands. “Second time I’ve saved you, Nemain!” he roared over the din of battle. Zail replied with a string of oaths, but they were lost in the braying of the daemon-beasts. The troopers surged forward, pushing bottling the hounds in a killing-field. Thirteen sent the last one back to hell, his blade lodged deep inside its eye socket. “We are not done yet troopers, not by a long shot!”

Red beams of light streamed from the psyker’s eyes and mouth, casting the hive chamber in a bloody glow. Growths and vestigial protuberances began erupting from the its flesh, vomiting forth puddles of fluid. To the troopers it seemed as though the psyker was being ripped apart from the inside out, and this was not far from the truth. To the trained eyes of Phates, Thirteen, and Elias, it was clear what was happening. A daemon had been attracted to the psykers’ soul, and was now claiming the body. Thirteen approached the convulsing figure, focusing his emptiness through his oculus. A voice called out, not from the psyker, but from…everywhere. WE can not see you, assassin, but WE know you are there. WE will enjoy categorizing your organs for display on the ramparts of the corpse-god’s seat, blind, ignorant meat-thing! With a twist of his wrists Thirteen snapped the neck of the psyker, and the voice stopped.

Corpses, and pieces of corpses, were strewn around the boulevard. This was the upper-hive, where the nobles and figure-heads of Tetraphae would hold court. Now it was a blasted heath; a war zone clouded by the stink of the warp. Fifty Nemian troopers had entered the damned-hive; only 12 remained, including Zail. The stormtroopers were beaten and bloody, and only three remained. Thirteen’s broken ribs rubbed against his lungs; his breathing was laboured. Phates had not taken any physical damage, but his mind and soul were fatigued. But they had come far. A lift was now the only obstacle in their path to the heretic Inquisitor, that thrice-damned abomination Esarhaddon. The lift rattled down to the ground floor and the insertion team boarded. Elias pressed the controls, and the lift began to rise up into a blinding, radiant light.

Gratzs sir, this is hands down the most epic fan fic EVER to graze Dakka with its precedence.

Continuation of Chapter 5...

For many months Esarhaddon sat in this very chair, not moving, taking neither food nor drink. He had grown past the need for such mortal inconveniences. His master provided for him, for Esarhaddon was an integral part in the plan. What this plan entailed he could not know; the mind of his master was beyond mortal reckoning. Esarhaddon was certain that the plan would work in his favor though. And so he conquered this planet, and entered this chamber, and he waited.

Oh, how he waited. Nothing is worse for a guilty conscious than the act of waiting. He had far too much time to think about what he had become. Once he was an Inquisitor, a defender of mankind, a light in the darkness. There were those that mocked him, cast suspicion upon him. There were even those that feared him. Esarhaddon had known that using the warp against itself was a dangerous road to walk, but his heart was pure and his resolve strong. At least, it had once been.

Now he was sure he no longer served mankind, and this fact did not bother him. How could he dedicate his life to serving such ignorant fools? Those that did not understand the sublime, and beautiful, mysteries of the universe. The fear what they can not understand. But Esarhaddon had no fear, and soon he would understand it all. Any minute now.

The lift reached the summit of hive-city Damasc, “The Emperor’s Seat”. This chamber was built by the pious people of Tetraphae as a home for the Emperor, who watches from above. It was a beautiful room, gilded and bejeweled in icons of devotion and faith. The very walls were cast in glittering gold, and exquisitely crafted gothic windows allowed the sunlight to pour into the chamber. It shined as though the Emperor himself were looking down upon it.

It was also a charnel house. As the insertion team disembarked from the lift they finally discovered what had become of the hive’s citizens. The entire population of the hive-city was strewn across the room, in various parts and pieces. The rich carpets were soaked in blood and squelched as they were walked upon. A coppery stench hung heavy in the air, a smell that caught in the back of your throat. All of these people had been butchered as some sacrifice, an offering to something ancient and utterly evil. In the center was the man who had caused it all; Esarhaddon.

Elias and his men sighted their guns onto the frail figure in the center of the room. He was a disheveled man, haggard with time and burdens. His back was hunched and his skin was like dry paper wrapped around his bones. Still, they knew what he was capable of. “Give me the order sir, I can end it now.” Elias called. Phates paused. “No, Elias, it must be me.” Approaching the man, Phates drew his bolt-pistol, and began to incite a prayer of retribution to the Emperor. “Lord of Mankind, witness now my deed, and judge this soul in death, that which I send to you…” Esarhaddon looked up, directly into Phates’ eyes. He looked so weary. “Greetings brother.” the heretic croaked. Phates bristled with anger, “Do not call me brother! You have been cast out of the family of mankind by your heresy!” The heretic laughed, a hoarse whisper. “I have been waiting for you brother, for so long. I have been carrying this…thing…inside me for you. It has been so taxing, I am not as powerful a psyker as you. No, no, that is why it always had to be you…always…”
Phates pressed the barrel of his bolt-pistol against Esarhaddon’s forehead. “Emperor take you, bastard.”

Before the pieces of Esarhaddon’s skull could even hit the floor a malevolent wind tore into the chamber. The windows shattered, casting shards of broken glass into the room, allowing a fetid rain to enter. The insertion team’s vision swam, their ears rung, and their eyes watered. The sky was filled with malignant blotches of tumerous colors, swirling and eddying like the surface of the ocean. A vile oath could be heard, some ancient right never before borne witness to by man. The guardsmen panicked, firing their lasguns at flickering shadows. “What in the Emperor’s name is happening?” Zail screamed over the whipping wind. “I don’t know, but I think we better leave!” Elias replied. He rushed to the lift and punched the controls. Nothing. “Bloody hell, the lift won’t work! Quick, out onto the hive exterior, we can use the vox to call an exfil!” Alaric approached Phates, who had fallen to his knees and didn’t seem to notice the calamity all around them. “Sir, we need to move now!” Phates looked up, and what Alaric saw horrified him. Before he could voice his surprise, Alaric’s head had landed with a thud on the floor. The insertion team turned in shock, not believing what they had just seen. Phates eyes were vacant; deep black voids had taken their places. His hair had become feathers of a hundred hues. A revolting aura surrounded his body. Thirteen knew what had happened. Phates had been possessed by whatever evil was residing in Esarhaddon; an evil of infinite patience and skill. He was no longer their lord and Inquisitor, he was The Eye, a greater daemon of tzeentch, and a threat to all life.

To their credit, the Nemian 5th did not balk in the face of this betrayal. The things they had seen inside the hive-city had changed them, deadened them to fear and shock. They opened with a salvo, twelve lasrifles firing on full auto. Phates simply blinked, and the packets of energy hung in midair, suspended like debris in space. He reached out his hand, now a gnarled, bony mass of talons, and flicked his fingers. The troopers did not scream because there was no time; their bodies instantly revolted against them as they reshaped into primordial horrors. “Sacred Throne, now we are leaving!” Elias ordered. He ushered the few remaining troopers out onto the adimantium hull of the hive-city. Zail remained inside the chamber, worrying at his pack. “Now, trooper!” Zail shook his head and held out his hand, allowing Elias to see what he was searching for. Elias let out a sigh. “The Emperor Protects, Zail.” Elias took a final look at the Nemian sergeant before he scrambled out of the broken window after his team. Zail turned, clutching the bandoleer of grenades tightly around his chest, the pins clinking as they hit the floor. “The Emperor protects.”

The detonation threw the remainder of the insertion team down onto the hard, pitted metal, and lit up the sky like a super-nova. The roar of the explosion drowned out the howling wind and thrashing rain that filled the night. Illuminated by the fires, the Imperial team was allowed a quick view of the skies of Tetraphae. They were sickly and corrupt, like the flesh of a dying animal. Huge black voids had opened up in the atmosphere, ushering forth the calls of damned creatures and cold winds from the warp. “Contact the Nemian command, we need a shuttle now.” The overpowering winds were threatening to hurl the team off the side of the hive. “Sir, I’ve got them, they can have a Valkyrie here in fifteen minutes!” Bastian shouted. Peering back at the wreckage of “The Emperor’s Seat” Thirteen detected movement. “Better make it five.”

Phates, or more accurately, The Eye, pulled himself from the wreckage. His skin was blistered and hanging off his bones in bloody flaps. There was nothing but a string of entrails dragging from where his legs used to be. Still, he would not relent. He began to drag himself across the hive-cities hull. He saw a light approach; heard the downwash of the turbine engines. The valkyrie arrived, bearing the cursed blue lion of the Nemians. The tattered remnants of the insertion team boarded the waiting craft. Damn them to the warp, that assassin must die!Then, the ship was gone.

All semblance of order had dissolved as the massed camp of the Nemian 5th tried to evacuate Tetraphae. The planet was going to hell, and quickly. More mutant hordes had arrived out of the darkness and were harrying the guard as it was trying to escape the dying planet. Aerospace craft were departing from the planets surface, shuttling the retreating Nemians to their waiting battleships. Thirteen and the insertion team disembarked the valkyrie as it touched down and were rushed to an Argus lighter transport craft. The valkyrie took off again, flying into the darkness to rescue more troops.

Thirteen watched the planet fade in the viewport as the Argus Lighter made its way toward the Ukraine. Tetraphae was awash in swirling clouds of warp energy and unnatural weather. Huge fissures glowing with eldritch light began to tear into the planet’s surface. A small armada of transport craft and landers were fleeing, hoping to reach the safety of the fleet. Hoping to escape Tetraphae. Dead planet. Daemon world.

End of Chapter 5

Anshal wrote:Gratzs sir, this is hands down the most epic fan fic EVER to graze Dakka with its precedence.

Haha, I don't quite know about that but thanks!

Alright, i was bitten by the writing (or should I say typing) bug today, so there is another update. And this is the second to last one.

The next update will bring a conclusion to the story, for better or worse.

So, in anticipation of that, anything you guys want to see written about? Or any suggestions to improve any aspect of my writing?

Thanks for reading!

You clever bastard

You sir! Rock, Rule, and Own!

steempunk wrote:
any suggestions to improve any aspect of my writing?

I can't see any, I'm too wrapped up in the story. Although, I would like to see what would happen to all of the Inquisitors Servants(not every one by name of course) but I would like to see what would be done with them. Unless there is an article somewhere in the vast space of internet that tells me, if you could just point me there instead ^.^

I can't see any, I'm too wrapped up in the story. Although, I would like to see what would happen to all of the Inquisitors Servants(not every one by name of course) but I would like to see what would be done with them. Unless there is an article somewhere in the vast space of internet that tells me, if you could just point me there instead ^.^

Hmm, I am not too sure. Phates was a little bit of a loner, so he never took an Interrogator (Apprentice/Inquisitor-in-training). Most of his stormtrooper squads have been killed, so no one needs to worry about them. As for his savants, servants, mechanics, and miscellaneous followers, I imagine they would either be transferred to the service of another Inquisitor, or purged, since their lord fell to chaos...

Back to the story!

Chapter 6: Full Circle


The bridge of the Ukraine was swarming with activity. Every holo-table and tactical layout was occupied with officers from the Imperial Guard and Battlefleet. Various reports on the worsening condition planetside called out over the background noise. The decaying orb of Tetraphae loomed in the viewport; a reminder of defeat hanging in space. Admiral Decker looked out at the planet and felt his heart sink. He already received reports from most of the Guard commanders still stuck on the surface. The Nemian 23rd and Malas Auxiliaries had been overrun, their transports ripped to pieces by mutant hordes. Most of the 3rd and 8th had been able to escape, although their commanding officer was till unaccounted for. General Kruger, of the Nemian 5th, had stayed behind to scuttle the Leviathan command vehicle, lest it fall into enemy hands. That explosion had been visible from space, just one more tragedy to add to the list.

Already the Fleet was rearranging itself in the orbit around Tetraphae, a silent ballet of millions of tons of metal. The vessels were focusing on a new threat, a space hulk, that had appeared to observe the death of the planet. Dwarfing the largest battleship, the space-hulk was an amalgamation of debris. Ship hulls were fused together, along with chunks of planetoids and other, more unfamiliar detritus. Xenos and chaos forces used the hulks to travel through the galaxy, drifting on the treacherous tides of the warp until they reached a system to ravage. Its appearance here was a bad omen.

“Admiral, your orders?” the weapon’s officer queried. “Hold fire, our priority is to evacuate these soldiers. The planet is lost, we can do no more here….” “I beg to differ.” Thirteen interjected. He and Elias had made their way to the bridge after their Argus Lighter landed. “Ah, the Assassin, where is the Inquisitor?” Decker asked. “He is no longer an Inquisitor, Admiral. His soul was subverted by the ruinous powers.” Elias reported, somewhat reluctantly. “I am sorry to hear that trooper, but how do you suppose questioning my orders will help in this situation.” Decker, chided, turning to his first mate, “Set a course, we are leaving.” The admiral started towards the exit, but Thirteen blocked his way. “Admiral, Phates is a monster and a threat. Do really think he will stop with one planet? Both you and I know that he is on that hulk. The entire system will fall if you abandon your duty now.” Decker’s face was bright red, “You talk to me of duty? You wish that I would commit our resources, a few hundred wounded troopers, to take down a space-hulk? It is not even possible!” “A thousand worlds will be spared Tetraphae’s fate, Admiral, if we make a stand here.” The bridge-crew had stopped their hustle, and stared at the Admiral for a response. Decker sighed, “Prepare ships for assault.”

The cargo bay was alive with movement. Boarding shuttles were being prepped and fueled. Ammo crates and weaponry were lowered into storage areas. Massed ranks of men stood at attention, waiting to board. A colonel was pacing back and forth, shouting to be heard over the din. “Men of Nemia, your brothers died doing the Emperor’s duty! They now sit at his side, but there is more to be done! We finish now what they started!” The troopers beat their fists against their flak-plates and let out a wild cheer. They clambered into the boarding vessels, prepared to bring the Emperor’s wrath to whatever was waiting in that hulk.

Thirteen and Elias were waiting aboard their own vessel, packed in with a squad of Nemians. Each man had been stationed on the planet’s surface, and they all bore minor wounds. The boarding of the hulk was supposed to provide a distraction so that Elias and Thirteen could locate Phates. There were not nearly enough men to hold off the hordes that surely awaited within the hulk. It could not merely be destroyed by the battleships; no one was under any illusion that such a method would destroy The Eye. And so Elias and the Assassin prepared themselves to kill their old master.

The lights inside the boarding craft dimmed as it prepped for flight. A massive gun fired somewhere on the battleship, sending a shudder throughout the entire vessel. An opening salvo would ensure there was a location for the craft to land. The pilot’s voice called over the vox, “Prepare for take-off, the Emperor protects!” Roaring plasma engines brought the craft to life, and it launched from the hangar-bay, surrounded by hundreds of its kind. The black cloud of landing craft, resembling a swarm of insects, rocketed through space toward the hulk.

The space-hulk came to life, firing thousands of shots into the blackness of space. Several boarding craft were hit, blossoming into miniature stars before disappearing forever. A squadron of starhawks blazed past the boarding vessels, dropping millions of pounds of ordinance on its rocky surface. The searing shot of a battleship mounted lascannon powered through the void, opening a terrible wound in the hulk. Many of the boarding craft had finally reached their target and began to disgorge their troops into the dark interior of the chaos vessel. Thirteen’s transport approached a yawning crack blown into the hull. Hard rounds and las flashes streamed out, deflecting off the durable armour of the boarding craft. “The lz is hot, prepare to dismbark!”

With a crunch the boarding craft’s ramp opened, crushing several mutants underneath it. A vanguard of Nemian troopers rushed out, firing into the poorly-lit chamber. The auto cannons on the rear of the boarding craft blazed, firing thousands of shots into the enemy. Elias jumped down, picking his targets and putting them down with a single shot from his bolter. Thirteen was right behind him, wielding a bolt-pistol in each hand. The withering fire from the Imperials began to force the mutant horde deeper into the depths of the hulk. “All squads, this is Elias, were have made contact! Begin looking for the target.” The troopers regrouped and set off through the hall.

Gunshots and the sounds of pain could be heard echoing through the tunnel. The hulk was formed over thousands of years, and the interior was musty and ruined from age. The lights flared and died at random, and perilous pitfalls opened up in the floor, making navigation difficult. Thirteen’s squad had already cut through three more groups of mutants desperate to repel the invaders. Reports from the other squads told similar stories: the 1st through 4th were making good progress toward the target; the approximated location of the hulk’s bridge, and hopefully, Phates. The 5th was bogged down by heavy resistance, and the 6th was branching off to lend support. Both squads were dangerously low on ammo. No one had heard from the 7th.

After several scans it was evident that one of the wrecks that made up the hulk was the Argent, an ancient Imperial cruiser. Decker accessed the layout of the vessel and highlighted the bridge and routes to it. Thirteen and his squad were now supposedly traversing the most direct path. The shaft was spacious, designed to allow the passage of tanks and other vehicles of war. Elias was point, with the Nemian squad arrayed behind him. It was quiet, and there had been no contact with the enemy for some time. Suddenly a vox-message came through. “Contact, we have contact with the Target! Oh Sacred Throne..conta…” The line cut out. “Push forward, move!” Elias ordered, and the squad charged down the hall.

The bridge was close now. Elias knew because the scans told him so; he could also hear men being butchered. A huge armored bulkhead door loomed ahead. It began to slide open at their approach, gears grinding against the rust of time. The bridge was massive, on a scale unlike any the troopers had seen. A warhound titan could stand at full height inside it. Tiers of data-ports and weapons stations were spread out around the room. On these platforms pitched battle were being waged between the Imperial boarding teams and their chaotic foe. Thirteen and his squad charged forward, throwing themselves into the fray.

Elias and his men found themselves fighting next to the 2nd boarding squad, which boasted heavy ordinance. Their enemy wore the standard-issued armour of the Nemians, but it was defaced with foul chaos imagery. “Am I glad to see you!” the 2nd squad’s captain called to Elias. “Glad to be here, what in the Emperor’s name are we fighting?” Firing a lashot into a corrupt guardsman’s head, the captain replied, “Traitors Sir, it seems as though some of my countrymen decided to turn heretic, instead of die on the planet like men!” The corrupted guardsmen fought like rabid animals, eager to prove their loyalty to their new master. Elias fired his bolter into the enemy, bursting bodies with each shot. The loyalist guardsmen fired with fine tuned precision, cutting down the chaos filth. Thirteen waded through the enemy, felling groups of traitors with bursts from his bolt-pistols. The 3rd squad was on a tier above them, and were firing shots into the flanks of the enemy. “They are breaking!” the captain yelled, causing a cheer from his squad. Then his head disintegrated, and a keening howl echoed through the chamber.

Three chaos space marines, all bearing the same colours of their damned chapter, had appeared on the tier above Thirteen. They scythed through the men, two firing wicked bolters and the third laying in with a chainsword. The 3rd squad troopers panicked and began to flee, some throwing themselves off the tier in their desperation to escape. Seeing the new threat, the troopers of the 2nd fired at the marines, hoping to cover their brothers retreat. One of the marines lept from the tier, a height that would snap the legs of a normal human, and landed amidst the 2nd, firing his bolter and cackling loudly. A soldier next to Elias hefted a rocket-launcher to his shoulder and handed a projectile to Elias. “Load me!” the man called. Elias slotted the rocket down the back of the tube and covered his ears. “Clear!” The rocket flew forward, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake, and crashed into the torso of the marine. A bleeding hole pierced the thick armour, but the marine barely seemed to notice. It dropped it bolter and began to rip into the men with its bare hands. “Fire at the wound!” Elias ordered. The 2nd squad focused their shots on the rent in the armour, and another rocket hit the marine in the helmet. Headless, the marine rocked for a moment before crashing to the ground. But now the other two had joined the battle.

Thirteen squared off against the marine with the chainsword. An unearthly blue light glowed from the marine’s eye-slits; a sorcerer. A group of Nemains valiantly closed the distance with the sorcerer and fired their lasguns. A crackling ball of flame leapt from the marine’s hand and torched the troopers until they were only piles of ash. Thirteen strafed left, firing his bolt-pistols at the marine. They were powerful weapons, but only built for a mortal man, and could not kill a god. Another fire-ball shot through the air toward Thirteen, who focused his void on the psykic-attack. The searing bolt disappeared in the air a hair breadth from Thirteen’s face; he could feel the intense heat burn his body-suit. Pulling the pin from a grenade, Thirteen tossed the cylindrical object at the marine’s feet. It exploded with a blue flash and left a crackling static charge in the air; a psyk-grenade, designed to disorient psykers. The marine roared and brought its hands to the side of its head, falling to its knees. Thirteen rushed forward and placed his bolt-pistols against the mirrored glass of the marine’s visor. The marine grabbed Thirteen’s hand, crushing one of the pistols into spare parts. Pulling the trigger, Thirteen emptied the entire clip of the remaining pistol into the marine’s head.

The third marine was brought down by the 4th squad. After witnessing his corporal ripped limb-from-limb by bolter-shells, a lowly private recovered the officer’s power-blade and wedged it up under the marine’s helmet, holding it there even as he was crushed to death. With a blood-addled wheeze the marine toppled.


“Contact! Target has entered the field!” On the highest tier the remnants of the 3rd had engaged Phates. The tier lit up with flashes of light from lasrifles, melta-guns, and grenade detonations. Phates, surrounded by a cadre of traitor-guardsmen, ripped through the Imperial forces like a blade through water. The Eye had gifted Phates’ body with incredible daemonic power, and he moved like a shadow, bisecting troopers with his talon-hands. A guardsman fired a rocket at The Eye. Reacting too fast to be seen, the daemon plucked the rocket out of mid-air and sent it careening into the Imperials. Elias and Thirteen rallied the 2nd and the 4th, and climbed the winding staircases up to the top tier.

The bark of three-hundred lasguns almost drowned out the screams of dying men as the 2nd and 4th joined the fight. Rockets and melta-fire poured in on The Eye’s location, massacring the traitor-guard, but doing little damage to the daemon. Phates’ body convulsed as he unleashed a cloud of hell-fire at the Imperials, torching flesh and fusing metal. The daemon screamed as he murdered the troopers, bellowing as if he was an Ecclesiarch at mass. COME TO ME, FLESH, STOKE THE FIRES OF CHANGE, YOUR SCREAMS SPEAK TO ME! Elias drew his powersword, reconstructed and blessed by the Mechanicus, and threw himself into Phates’ path.

The daemon’s murderous rampage was halted momentarily as it saw Elias. Phates’ body stood still, its head coked to one side, as if in recognition. Elias used this lapse to strike, bringing his sword around in a decapitating strike. The blade hit and sunk into Phates’ neck, but halted before it made it clean through. Elias gasped, and was hurled away by a flick of The Eye’s talon. The daemon reached up and grabbed the powersword; the blessed blade burning into the flesh. It yanked the blade free, and snapped it in two. The neck wound was already fusing back together. Elias got to his feet, and threw his bolter down; it would do no good here. He reached back and drew a plasma pistol from its holster. Chanting an oath to the Emperor, he fired the powerful weapon at the daemon. Mastercrafted, an example of ancient mankind’s technical prowess, the plasma pistol sunk its superheated bolts deep into the flesh of The Eye. The creature howled as the plasma fused his insides into a mass of burn tissue. Still, it butchered its way through guardsmen to reach Elias.

The plasma pistol began to grow hot in Elias hand. It was overheating, reaching a critical state it was not meant to pass. Elias continued to fire, ignoring the warning rune flashing red on his helmet’s display. Phates’ was near, and although he was still alive he was weakening. The plasma pistol was their only hope at killing it. Elias pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened. The gun had seized and refused to fire. Cursing, Elias sprinted toward Phates. The daemon grinned as its prey came closer. Elias stabbed the daemon in one of the plasma wounds with his combat knife, causing the monster to open its mouth and cry in pain. Continuing to pull the trigger, Elias shoved the plasma pistol into the daemon’s open gullet. The plasma pistol went critical and exploded in a blinding flash.

Reeling from the shockwave, the two ranks of combatants halted their killing-spree. Fused and melted remains littered the ground around the blast-radius; of Elias nothing remained. Phates’ head and upper torso were obliterated. The Imperials roared in triumph at the sight of the dead daemon. But then the body rose. Tendrils of flesh-matter were weaving themselves out of the remains of Phates’ abdomen, recreating his body. The traitor guard were renewed, and began hacking into the Imperials once more. The Eye’s host body was once again complete, and he unleashed his destructive powers, butchering friend and foe alike. THERE ARE NOW AMONGST YOU WHO CAN STOP CHANGE! Thirteen fired his bolt-pistol at Phates’ head. “Daemon, I will teach you fear.”

The bolt round flattened against Phates’ forehead, falling to the deck. Enthused by the new challenger, The Eye clawed at the Assassin with its talons. Thirteen feinted to the side, dodging the razor-sharp claws. A barbed tentacle grew off of Phates’ arm and lashed out, catching Thirteen in the side. The appendage cut through the plates of Thirteen’s armoured body-glove, leaving bloody wounds. Thirteen drew his blade and stabbed at Phates’ body, cutting the tentacle away. It fizzed and melted as it hit the deck.

Thirteen opened the oculus on his helmet, trying to concentrate his void. A psyk-grenade brought The Eye to its knees, blinded and groping. Thrusting his blade into Phates’ neck, Thirteen stared into the daemon’s eyes. The Assassin could feel his void battling with the willpower of the daemon. Thirteen’s helmet began to crack under the pressure; his helmet view was filled with static and ghost-images. Electrical sparks flew from the oculus, which had developed a spider-web of crevices. Thirteen knew he was failing. He thrust the blade in deeper. “Die, daemon!”

“Thirteen?” The voice was gurgled through a throat-full of blood. But there was no mistaking it. The voice belonged to Inquisitor Phates. Thirteen stared in disbelief. The Inquisitor’s eyes were human once more. Phates’ body sagged visibly, momentarily free from the daemonic power. “I have resisted it Thirteen. I had been trying, ever since it happened, but it was too strong.” Phates coughed blood. “It is hiding, waiting to regain its strength. There is not much time. Finish it.” Thirteen upholstered his bolt-pistol and pulled the trigger.

The bolt pistol fired, propelling its deadly round. The projectile traveled the small distance between the barrel and the head in ten-millionths of a second, shattering through the skull. The mass-reactive bolt detonated, unleashing the force of a grenade, killing everything that had been Inquisitor Rahelius Phates.

End of Chapter 6

Chapters 7: The End

The psykic death-knell of The Eye, greater daemon of tzeentch, killed every remaining human on the space hulk. All except Thirteen, who was immune to such things. He stood alone, surrounded by the soulless bodies of men. The air reeked of blood and death and witchery. gun smoke hang heavy in the air, and blood pooled on the deck. The large viewports of the bridge opened out into the endless sea of space. Tetraphae was in its death-throes; huge chunks of the planet broke away as its core failed in a cataclysmic explosion.

Thirteen removed his helmet, which was broken and useless, probably irreparable. His skin was pale and his face gaunt. The Assassin ran his hand through the fine white-blonde hairs that had begun to grow on his skull. His fingers stopped on the numeral “XIII” that was carved into his forehead so long ago. Thumbing his vox, he spoke only three words. “It is Done.”

Falling into formation the amassed power of the Segementum Obscurum battelfeet fired their weapons. An unimaginable flurry of destruction rained down on the space-hulk, violently ripping the ancient vessel into nothing. The remains of Tetraphae, merely floating pieces of rock, were also scoured from the galaxy. The Inquisition would later arrive to place a quarantine on the area. It was avoided ever since; it was not a place for the living.

Prologue…

The room was dark, not like the darkness of death, but the artificial darkness of the living. Sterilized, recycled air hung in the small chamber. Surgical machinery lined the walls, and everything smelled like counter-septic. On a small metal table next to the surgical gurney sat the shattered remains of a helmet. It was ruined and scorched black in places, but was clearly meant to resemble a skull. The figure on the bed was half-man, half-machine, rebuilt after fatal damage was done to his body.

With an unassuming tremble, Thirteen opened his eyes and took a breath.

Well there you have it, the end. After a grand-total of 57 pages Thirteen's story has come to an explosive finale.

I learned quite a bit from writing this. First off, fan-fictions are weird. This story has the scope of a novel, but with the length of a short-story.

As my main problem is length (haven't written anything over 100 pages) I think I will need to write a novel some time. But short stories are fun, so I don't know...

Also, editing would be good. I could have expounded on a lot of ideas, and spelling mistakes are inexcusable. I also deviated a lot from Thirteen; for being a culexus fan-fic it focused on a lot of different people and kind of lost direction.

But hey, practice makes perfect. Again, any c and c would be greatly appreciated. And if anyone has any requests or suggestions for what I write next, go for it.

Thanks for reading!!!

Comments: great job on the story. That was one of the best fan-fictions I have ever read. You should keep writing stuff like this.

Criticisms: Always room for improvement. Like you said, you focused more on everyone else than Thirteen. Also, you could have added a little bit in certain points.

Otherwise, great job steampunk. I can't wait to read your next story.

Wow......That was pretty amazing! Man you should definitely go for a Novel.

Well, things you could improve on is to work on spelling, maybe use spell check or something or read it and see mistakes or have someone else read over it.

That was simply Amazing!

Amazing.... I am deeply impressed, there are fwe points for improvements that has been pointed out by others before me. But dont keep us waiting too long for your next one

*Pokes with a stick*
So, I was going through subbed stuff and saw this and speed read a some of the ending.
Is there an advancement to this story?