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Wow! A great part (as usual ) Anyways, it seems Zehir has some feelings. When he was killing the civilians, was he Imperial, or Chaos?

Thanks. The massacre was actually the event that marked the Iron Warriors turning heretical; they're home planet rebelled and they responded by slaughtering billions of civilians, whether or not they were involved in the rebellion.

The fleet's arrival was marked by a panic amongst the Iron Warriors. Turrets were manned, soldiers awakened and tanks readied. Instead of opting for an Exterminatus, the Imperial Fists began a meticulously planned bombardment that focused primarily on eradicating fortifications, AA turrets and particularly large tanks and ships. In response the Iron Warriors Fleet emerged from behind Skion II's moon and attacked. The three Battle Barges inflicted heavy damage, but it was apparent that they were on the losing side. After the Grey Sun and Glory in Death were destroyed, Morgaris reluctantly ordered the remaining Battle Barge, Black Storm, to fall back and await orders. The Imperial Fists' bombardment continued for hours, during which all essential personal retreated to hastily assembled bunkers. Most of the cultists and Guardsmen were stranded on the surface, where thousands died in a hail of lasfire.

Following the bombardment there was a quiet, during which the remaining Iron Warriors (some one hundred and ninety Astartes, nine hundred and forty two Traitor Guardsmen and one thousand and three Cultists) set to work refortifying and preparing for the incoming attack. The Imperial Fists then began a tactic all to familiar to the Traitor Legionnaires. It was named as Steel Rain by the Codex Astartes but was known more commonly by the enemies of the Imperium as Death from Above. Twenty Drop Pods, carrying the 6th and 7th Companies, came crashing down on the surface of Skion II amidst the Iron Warriors encampment. It was a blood bath for both sides.

Basilius ducked under a combat blade and jabbed forward with his power weapon. It scrapped across the Assault Marine's chest, burning away the yellow paint, but failed to penetrate. Before the Imperial Fist could counterattack he leapt backwards and fired off his plasma pistol, blowing apart the Astartes' head, shoulders and upper torso. Suddenly Basilius was slashed from behind. He spun around to see another Imperial Fist, wielding a bloodstained blade. He dropped his plasma pistol and swung the blade with both hands, eager to kill. The Imperial Fist raised his sword in a vain attempt to block the attack, but Basilius cut straight through it and bisected the Assault Marine with his glowing weapon. "Death to the False Emperor!" he roared, charging at another Assault Marine and ignoring the large gash in his back.

He tossed a cluster of frag grenades and leapt into the storm of shrapnel, swinging his blade wildly. The Assault Marine Sergeant was slashed across the throat and stumbled backwards before tripping over a piece of rubble and finally dying. Another Marine was cut across the thigh but kept fighting, firing off his bolter pistol at Basilius amidst the chaos. The Lieutenant snarled and closed in, raising his blade over his head. The Imperial Fist launched one last desperate attack, a mad strike at Basilius' left shoulder, and somehow managed to penetrate the bulky shoulder armor and slide his snarling blade into the intricate bionics that Basilius had in place of an arm. Basilius' arm mechanics were immediately ruined; gears were crushed, wires were snapped and metal was bent. He let go of the sword with the injured arm, letting it hang limp in its now useless state, and swung the sword down with his remaining limb. It crashed through the Marine's ceramite helmet and killed him instantly. "Death to the False Emperor!" Basilius roared, searching for more foes.

He noted a Tech Marine, his armor the rust red color of the Adeptus Mechanicus, slashing down one Guardsman after another. There were at least a dozen corpses at his feet and more were piling up. Seeking to end his reign of terror, Basilius ran at him, powe rsword blazing. The Tech Marine noticed the Lieutenant's approach almost immediately and turned towards him, the bionics of his servo arm whirring as they rotated in his direction. Leaping over a decapitated Iron Warrior, Basilius attacked. He swung his power sword down immediately, lopping off the servo arm before it could attack him. He had seen the damage its buzzing drills and cutter had done to other Astartes and dearly wanted to avoid this. In response the Tech Marine slashed madly with his power axe, surprisingly dexterous for something that was 90% artificial. The first blow scrapped across Basilius' chest, damaging the ceramite but not doing any damage to to the Astartes himself. Basilius wasn't so lucky with the second attack, which cut through his upper torso and into his left lung.

The Iron Warrior coughed violently, spitting up blood inside his helmet and recoiling from the wound. Going on from the momentum of the successful first attack, the Tech Marine slashed again and damaged Basilius' knee. Intricate Mechanics whirred and sputtered, struggling to keep the leg operational. As the Tech Marine went in for another attack, he put his defense down for a fraction of a second and Basilius lunged, loping off the Astartes' sword arm. Unable to attack or even parry the attacks against him, the Tech Marine was helpless. Initially Basilius wanted to make him suffer, but realized he was in a war fighting for his life and didn't have time for that. After a quick Coup de Grace he charged off in the pursuit of more enemies. "Death to the False Emperor!"

Another great part. A very nice intense battle.

Epic. Fantastic. Though I noticed that in one of the previous entries, you still had screaming Marines.

Just 1 minor comment on thet last entry, is that he says "Death to the False Emperor", a little too much. Next time try for other battle cries as well.

Deadshot wrote:Epic. Fantastic. Though I noticed that in one of the previous entries, you still had screaming Marines.

Just 1 minor comment on thet last entry, is that he says "Death to the False Emperor", a little too much. Next time try for other battle cries as well.

Oh yeah. I keep forgetting to not have Marines scream. I'm just used to action movies where the minions/guards always get shot, yell out a short scream, and die, so I keep putting screams in. I'll try to stop.

And maybe for some other battle cries I could have "Iron Within, Iron Without!" and "For Perturabo!" Thanks for the comment, there will be a new entry later today!

im keep forgetting that when you say today, I means for me 4am! I honestly need a good night's sleep. Is it normal tofall asleep in a swimming pool?

Deadshot wrote:im keep forgetting that when you say today, I means for me 4am! I honestly need a good night's sleep. Is it normal tofall asleep in a swimming pool?

LOL; yes, that is complete normal.

That is not a joke. I nearly drowned today. Fell asleep playing waterpolo.

Deadshot wrote:That is not a joke. I nearly drowned today. Fell asleep playing waterpolo.

Holy feth. Get some sleep man!

I blame you and your awesome stories! They make it worth it!

Lol, thanks! This entry is uneditted (or at least I guess it will be) since I probably won't have time to edit it. I'll try to edit it later in the event I was unable to.

Belial looked around. Cultists and Slaves were screaming and fleeing in all directions. Iron Warriors were firing at anything that looked remotely loyalist. Imperial Fists were swarming like gnats, attacking from every direction. "They want Zhurok!" somebody yelled. "Just give them him!" In response Morgaris obliterated the loud cultist with a shot from his Kai Gun. "Continue building the fortifications!" he bellowed. "Don't let them in!"

The makeshift bunker was in fact a well barricaded and exceptionally large cellar that belonged to a large factory. Zehir, Slevic and Belial himself had been gathered, but the other members of Morgaris' retinue couldn't be found. Basilius had been spotted charging at a Tech Marine and he was presumed dead. Varin hadn't been seen for days; rumors were that he had died of complications from his injury. Besides the retinue there were fifthteen other Iron Warriors and an assortment of about fifty Cultists, Slaves, Servitors and Traitor Guardsmen. A massive door exploded open and a squad of Terminators barged inside, their armor adorned with the Fist of Dorn. Belial took a step back from Slevic and watched the so called Tech Lord build two lascannons out of each arm. All four weapons fired at once, blowing apart three of the Terminators. The Sorcerer realized how Slevic had earned his name.

A remaining Terminator with an Assault Cannon open fired, shredding three Cultists to pieces. Another Terminator fired with a back mounted Cyclone Missile Launcher, disintegrating one Iron Warrior with a well aimed Krak Missile. "Return fire!" ordered Morgaris as he fled in the opposite direction of the Imperials. "Zehir, Belial with me! Tech Lord, keep the Imperial Fists out at all costs! You have command of these men now!"

"Those were my soldiers!" shouted Zehir, as he rushed to catch up with the Daemon Prince. "Those were-"

"Silence!" the Warsmith hissed, grabbing his Lieutenant with a massive claw. "I am in Command. Those are my men first and foremost. Do you understand?"

Zehir immediately said, "Yes!" Morgaris let go and he jumped back, pressing himself against the wall. Belial could tell the Iron Warrior wasn't used to being threatened by his Lord; Zehir had frequently bragged about serving with Morgaris 'since the beginning.'

The Daemon Prince led the two over to Zhurok, who was chained down. The crippled husk of an Astartes seemed to be in a trance, breathing shallowly and staring up the ceiling. "We can't win if the battle continues like this. It will result in a siege and one we can't win; we simply don't have the resources. As a result, I want Lieutenant Zehir to lead a sudden charge to push them back; it won't hold them back for long, but it will give us time to organize our ranks and consolidate. Understood?"

"Yes," replied Zehir. "I assume I will be granted Basilius' men and Varin's Storm Dragons since-"

"Until they are found, their men are yours. Go."

Not wanting to risk his Lord's wrath, Zehir immediately ran off. "Belial, I have a different task for you," the Warsmith said. "There are plenty of slaves and servitors here that cannot fight. Right now, we do not need smiths and artificers; we need warriors. I need you to mutate them into what you call 'Chaos Spawn.' I'll have them gathered into one place and I presume, that due to their non Astartes status, you will be able to turn that majority of them."

"Yes, a starved, already mutated slave is quite easy to turn. However, if I may say, this isn't a good long term investment. Chaos Spawn seldom live longer than a few hours and we will need those men to survive," Belial pointing out, shirking back as he did so. He realized that, considering the Warsmith's mood, his suggestion may have been a bad idea.

"That was not a request. It was an order," replied Morgaris, deathly calm. Somehow it was more disturbing to see the Warsmith restraining himself than when he was actually slaughtering things.



This is Belial; a talented Sorcerer of the Black Legion and a master of the art of augmentation. He can twist the body and the mind into whatever suits his whims. He is also extremely ambitious, having sought the favor of Warmaster Abaddon for the past 10,000 years and seeking his own company of Black Legionnaires to lead. Now he is trapped on a ruined planet serving a foreign Legion in a battle that is overall insignificant on the galactic scale. He loathes Morgaris and his new position with a passion. Finally, fed up with it all, he is going to say something that any sane man would restrain himself from speaking. He is also going to die.



"You never informed the Warmaster of my success, did you?" asked Belial, cocking his head slightly and staring directly into the Daemon Prince's deformed face. "I could've sworn you said that if I succeeded in... altering Zhurok you would personally inform the Warmaster of my success. Seeing as I did succeed and did exactly as you asked and more, I feel entitled to that. In fact, without me an Exterminatus would've already have been launched." The Sorcerer's helmet was already off so that Morgaris could see him smile. "Without me you'd be dead. And since you aren't following your promises after I saved your life and furthermore you've doomed all of your Companies, yourself and me, I'm beginning to doubt that its a good idea to serve you." Suddenly Belial understood what he had just said and wasn't smiling anymore. And then he did something that surprised himself even more; he laughed.

Morgaris took a slow step forward. His Kai Gun made a mechanical click as he deactivated the safety. "I'm sure the Warmaster," he said slowly, cornering Belial against the wall. "Will understand this. In fact, he would likely do the same if he were in my position."

"No he wouldn't," replied the Sorcerer. He had lost all restraint, knowing full well he would be dead in moments. "The Warmaster wouldn't be here. You see, the Warmaster succeeds the majority of the time. His Black Crusades have clear tangible goals and he accomplishes them, be it butchering the Blood Angels at Mackan or destroying the Citadel of Kromarch at El'phanor. You've accomplished nothing. Furthermore, the Warmaster always has an escape plan if things go badly. When the Eldar let the Imperium into the webway and launched a surprise attack on him, he had a retreat route already planned out and escaped unscathed. So, as I was saying, the Warmaster wouldn't be here."

A swipe of his claw tore Belial's chest open. Viscera spilled out. Morgaris' claw was soaked in blood, as was Belial's chest. He coughed violently and fell to his knees. The Sorcerer reached into the Warp and grabbed at the Daemon Prince's mind in a last ditch effort to kill him. Morgaris was simply too strong willed to succumb to such a clumsy assault like that and remained standing. He clawed again, ripping the Sorcerer's legs off. Once again Belial attacked the Warsmith's mind and once again he failed. The Warsmith reached down and picked up the crippled form of Belial. "Treachery is not tolerated."

"Says the traitor," replied the Sorcerer, groaning from his severe wounds. "I'm going to die with dignity; I'm doing to die standing up against a madman, regardless if it costs me my life. The Black Legion will view me as a martyr, having stood up to you. And you will die a reviled failure who ran his companies to the ground and was slaughtered by Imperial Dogs. Make, no mistake, I regret this." He coughed and looked down as his hanging entrails. "But this is a better way to die than an artillery strike on a nameless world like most Astartes." Morgaris squeezed. Belial made a sickly crunching sound as he was crushed within the Warsmith's massive fist.

I'm speechless. I know i am going to develop a habit of comparing this to Daemon Blade, but there is such contrast. Caius was a cowardly soceror, led by the nose by his sword. Morgarius is a hulking Daemon Prince, who knows he is in command technically, but can't see that everyone around him believes he is a fool and a weakliong.

In Belial, you have captured the image of Chaos and the good guy's best mate.


In monster movies, the best friend goes like " get out of here, I'll hold him off!" The gets crushed the minute the hero walks out the door. He captures Chaos because he has thart arrogant air off


Monster-"Beg for your life"

Him-Spits in his face, "Feth you!".


Splat!

Yeah; the Daemon Blade was about a rise to power and this is about a decline. Opposites in a way. Thanks for the comment! Also, I'll edit the entry directly after this post.

Update! I felt like writing! However, following writing this I was too lazy to edit it and as such shall edit it later.

"Charge!" shouted Zehir again. "If you even think about fleeing I'll kill you myself! Now charge!"

The Iron Warriors obeyed; the one hundred or so Astartes Zehir had managed to gather immediately ran out, firing randomly, screaming battle cries and unsheathing ancient weapons. A group of Nurgle dedicated bikers spearheaded the assault. Their endurance was unimaginable; one took a lascannon to the chest and kept on fighting. Seeing that the defense was secured, Zehir turned towards a soldier of his. "Sergeant Theron, command the soldiers while I am gone. If any start to retreat give the order to fire on them." Before Theron could even reply Zehir sprinted off. Running past a series of ruined buildings and ripped fences, he reached the Iron Warrior encampment. Though most of the Imperial Fists had been flushed out by the assault, it was still an orgy of violence. Tents were torn down. The dirt was stained with blood and littered with corpses. A few injured Astartes were still fighting, cut off their Battle Brothers and Commanders. A Scout, his left arm missing, charging at Zehir with a combat knife only to be disemboweled by a hissing Daemon Blade.

Stepping over a groaning Iron Warrior, he saw what remained of his tent. It had been torn down; the walls were littered with bullet holes. There was a sizable, blood soaked hole near the entrance. As Zehir took a step closer, he heard something with his super human hearing; rustling. Someone was inside what remained of the tent. The Lieutenant growled and ripped the canvas away. Inside was a badly injured slave surrounded by empty medical bags. The only bag that had any of the drug left was plugged into his wrist and already half way empty. Somehow the slave didn't even notice him, too consumed by the pleasure of the drug. The Daemon Blade sensed Zehir's raw rage and glowed more vibrantly than ever before. Without hesitation the Iron Warrior decapitated the slave.

He spent at least ten minutes rummaging around the downed tent and the nearby area for any more bags of the substance, but it was clearly the used, half empty bag was the only sample he had left. Consumed by despair, Zehir fell to his knees and plugged the last bag into his armor port. He had gained too much of a tolerance to even feel such a small sample of the drug; he barely even felt it before the IV ran dry. "This isn't fair," he said quietly, staring at the empty bag. He repeated it, loudly now. "This isn't fair." He tore the IV out of his armor and stood up. "This isn't fair!" he screamed. And he remembered the dream. Now, motivated by a strange determination, he put his helmet back on and silently marched back towards the battle.

"We're losing ground," nervously said Theron. "We just couldn't keep up the assault."

"Clear you must be doing something wrong," replied Zehir, his voice devoid of emotion. He surveyed the battle field; the Nurglite bikers were dead, their bloated corpses and wrecked bikes at the forefront of the battle. Behind them were at least twenty deceased Iron Warriors, their armor riddled with tiny bullet holes. A wrecked Predator was being used as cover by the two Devastator Squads that had wrecked it. Their barrage of missiles were managing to push most of the Iron Warriors back while advancing Imperial Fists Tactical Marines took their new ground. Amidst the Tactial Marines were the occasional Terminator Squad and at the forefront of the mass of Astartes was Commander Caelinius, armed with a shimmering power fist and plasma pistol. It was clear the Imperial Fists had been prepared for Zehir's charge.

The Lieutenant asked, "Do we have any heavy vehicles left?"

"The Land Raider Spiked Death is operational, but it is being kept in reserve. Its crew believe it would be a waste to have such a powerful vehicle... destroyed this early in the conflict," answered the Sergeant.

"Good," Zehir said. "Summon Spiked Death and ten Iron Berzerkers. I'll be waiting."



When the Spiked Death arrived, it was clear how it had earned its name. The massive tank was covered in racks of spikes, spears and trophy poles. The guns had bayonets larger than any Zehir had seen before. Even the Chaos Symbols that adorned the hatches were spiked. Inside were ten Iron Berzerkers, bristling with rage and readying themselves for the upcoming battle. Some were muttering nonsense to themselves and others were repeating chants of Khorne. Zehir stepped inside and approached the driver, a mostly mechanical Astartes who made strange whirring noises when he shifted in his seat. "Remove yourself," ordered the Terminator. "I shall be driving."

The seat was too large for Terminator armor, so Zehir ripped it off and threw it out of the hatch. Bracing himself against a wall, he grabbed the controls and started the engine. "Iron Within!" he yelled. "Iron Without!" the Berzerkers echoed. The Spiked Death set off. Its tracks easily crushed corpses and barricades underfoot as it gained speed. Roaring ahead at full speed, the petty tank traps intended for Bikes and Rhinos could scarcely stop it. Neither could the Imperial Fists as the ancient vehicle came within range. There was a sound akin to hail as hundreds of bolt shells deflected off of the massive adamantine hall. The Devastators began to fire a barrage of krak missiles; their explosions rocked the vehicle but failed to inflict any damage beyond knocking off dozens of makeshift spikes.

An Obliterator, one of the few Iron Warriors this close to the Imperial Fists, refused to move out of the way of the Land Raider in the belief that it would move aside for an elite essential humanoid tank like himself, but was instead slammed by the vehicle. He roared and tried to build a lascannon, but was immediately crushed. Continuing on, the Land Raider neared the Devastators. More and more Krak Missiles hit the Spiked Death and the damage was building up. All paint, spikes and iconography were completely scorched off of the front of the tank at this point in favor of scorched, dented adamantine. Finally, one well aimed Krak Missile blew open the hall. Fragments of metal were sent flying in all directions. Control systems were destroyed. The fuel tank exploded and the Spiked Death was now consumed in flames. A second Krak Missile destroyed one series of tank treads, leaving a spinning massive of twisted metal in stead.

Though the Land Raider was essentially destroyed, it had too much momentum to stop. The Spiked Death made a strange mechanical noise like a roar before slamming into the wrecked Predator and continuing on. Both the Predator and the Land Raider caved in. Metal was sent flying in all directions. The surrounding area was consumed in flames. Most of the Devastator Squad Members were ran over, trampled underfoot by the great metal beasts. Zehir slashed with his Daemon Sword, forcing his way out of the wreckage. One of the surviving Devastators aimed a missile launcher at him, only to sent reeling by the chainaxe of a Khorne Berzerker. More of the Berzerkers followed, shouting out, "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

Zehir found their savagery disgusting, but acknowledged that when manipulated properly they could overall serve Slaanesh. He cried out, "Death to the False Emperor!" adding to the screams and cries of the battle field, before charging towards Caelinius. The Commander was an evident figure, adorned with the best equipment and at the front of a massive spearhead. Alone the way Zehir slashed and shot wildly, taking down anyone in his way. The battle was an oddly exhilarating sensual experience with the sheer thrill of it almost as potent as the soul drug. Finally the Lieutenant reached Caelinius. He had expected an epic duel between the two Generals.

Instead, he knocked aside an Imperial Fist and sent another reeling with a shot from his Combimelta. The Commander turned towards him, but Zehir's reflexes were now strangely enhanced. Before Caelinius could react, Zehir slashed across his chest. Caelinius clumsily swung a powerfist but missed and Zehir slashed him again. An Imperial Fist attempted to attack the Lieutenant from behind, but Zehir was already swinging around to disembowel the attacker. One Astartes attempted to aim an Autocannon at him, but a sharp kick sent the gun flying out of his hands. Once again Caelinius swung at Zehir, but the Iron Warrior attacked into the blow. His infernal sword stabbed through the powerfist, melting ceramite and destroying electronics. Caelinius shouted something incomprehensible and aimed his plasma gun at Zehir, only to be decapitated with an elegant flick of the daemon blade.

Wow, a good part.

Thanks!

Varin stared at the steaming weapon with a mixture of disgust and awe. The mechanical plasma gun traced back along his arm, slowly becoming more and more organic until it was finally an extension of him. In front of him lay two dead Imperial Fists, their scorched bodies a a testament to Varin's new found power. Finally the former Raptor released the weapon, forcing it to detach from his flesh and fall to the floor. Slowly but surely his hand reformed; now it swollen and red, with strange bionics and hydraulic tubes. His leg had regrown as well and it was much more mechanical than before; a massive glob of flesh and mutations held together by strange metal frame that was somehow growing from the biomechanical mess. The amputation had just made things worse.

Varin's only remaining armor was on his right leg, chest and head. The armor that covered his arms had completely exploded off during the combat when he had instinctively grabbed and absorbed weapons. The armor on his leg had been taken off since he had realized he had caught the virus. He remembered a quote from when he had graduated from a Scout to a full fledged Space Marine. "This power armor signals your transformation from a mere Neophyte to a full fledged Astartes. This holy shell of bionics, cables and ceramite is your new identity. You are a Space Marine." Varin grabbed hi torso with swollen hands and slowly unlocked every joint and security hold keeping the armor in place. Finally he deactivated his black carapace and the armor tumbled off, no longer keeping the mutated flesh in check. It writhed and grew, eventually a horrible mess that matched his limbs.

Following that, he unlocked the ceramite on his legs and watched it pop out as well. The flesh made a sickening noise at it ballooned in size. Lastly, Varin grabbed his helmet. "My armor is my identity; even as I am corrupted it shall remain pure," he told himself. His helmet came off, revealing the twisted, monstrous face underneath that was once human. The Obliterator stood up slowly on his massive legs. He could see the growing metal that would replace his armor. He could see the twisting electronics that would replace his flesh. He could see that writhing Daemonic power that would replace his soul. Varin leaned down and grabbed the plasma gun again, absorbing it into his flesh.



This is not Varin; this is a twisted monster that has replaced the once virtuous servant of the Imperium, honorable man and good friend. To the untrained eye he is indistinguishable from the other Obliterators that stalk amongst the ranks of the Iron Warriors. His Legion will believe him dead, simply another causality of medical complications. Zehir will have to answer for murdering a member of Morgaris' retinue without explicit permission. The Warsmith will promote one of the Storm Dragons to fill the void left by Varin. The Tech Adepts will be thankful for a new Obliterator, caring not of its origins. Only Basilius will know what really happened and he will dearly wish he didn't.

Hey, it looks great.

Morgaris surveyed the troops before him with disdain. "Is this all?" he snarled, turning towards Zehir.

Zehir had acted with a strange confidence and aura of authority since the battle. He barely regarded the Warsmith's disapproval as he answered. "Yes," the Lieutenant answered. "Those are the survivors. Fifty six Astartes, three Rhinos, one Land Raider, one Vindicator, seventy four Guardsmen and one hundred and thirty Slaves, Servitors and Cultists."

"I would prefer more, but it is enough for the task at hand," Morgaris replied. "Have every person capable of fighting readied. We shall meet battle tonight."

The Daemon Prince walked off towards his tent, his damaged cape billowing in the wind. Following the battle it was punctured by bullet holes; a large portion had even been burnt off by a Heavy Flamer. His tent was damaged as well, but a dozen deformed slaves were frantically working to repair it. Morgaris' throne had been ruined by a Frag Missile, but two Servitors were already fixing it. The Warsmith flicked a red switch and a large holographic map appeared. The Black Storm was transmitting it live from orbit, utilizing heretical technology From the live map Morgaris could see Imperial Fists were setting to work on a large fortress. Astartes were carrying massive piles of bricks and mortar. A fence was being hastily constructed. Four Marines were working on nailing together a large makeshift barricade. That was when it hit Morgaris. "Look!" he said, grabbing a slave by the shoulder and gesturing towards the Imperials carrying bricks.

"What is it, my Lord?" asked the slave nervously.

"Don't you see it?" hissed the Warsmith. He grinned. "They're carrying the supplies. I memorized Imperial Fists protocol. When transporting supplies they always use vehicles, as it is viewed as inefficient. If they're forced to carry it, it means they lack vehicles. They might outnumber us, but we can outmaneuver them."

"That's excellent, my Lord!" the slave exclaimed, allowing himself a smile.

"Yes. But we must go into battle immediately. Contrary to what many amongst our ranks believe, they aren't idiots. They'll bring down vehicles as soon as they can. We need to attack while we still have the advantage." Before the slave could reply, Morgaris had excited the tent and was flying towards his men.



Basilius flexed his repaired bionic limbs. A Tech Priest had suggested it would be easier to simply remove the damaged limbs and replace them with new ones but Basilius didn't want any new bionics. Thus he had forced the Tech Priest to spend hours simply repairing the broken parts instead. "What do you think is going to happen?" he asked Zehir.

"Most of us will die," Zehir replied, his answer devoid of emotion. "We're lucky they want Zhurok alive, but they might not anymore. I killed the Commander who gave the order to rescue him."

"That's... not good," said Basilius.

"Yes," said Zehir. "At the time it seemed like a good idea, but in hindsight it wasn't."

"What do you think the Warsmith is going to do?"

"If he hears about it, he'll overreact. As a result, he isn't going to know."

"What if he needs to know? We'll obviously need to change our plans if they don't want Zhurok anymore."

"They may still want him. And if they don't we'll all die, so it doesn't matter if he knows." Zehir caught a glimpse of the hulking form of Morgaris approaching and whispered, "We can talk more later." As the Daemon Prince neared he said, "That was quick. Is there a change in plans?"

"We must attack now," boomed Morgaris. "Have the Rhinos and Land Raider boarded with all ranged personal; Havoc Squads, Obliterators, Terminators or anything that has a large gun. They will drive into the western portion of the Imperial Fists base, smashing through the incomplete barricades and fire at will. As soon as the Imperial Fists approach them they will withdraw and the personal on foot will attack the Western side. They lack the vehicles necessary to respond quickly, so it will be easy to outmaneuver them. Go!"

Basilius immediately set off to ready the troops, barking orders and gathering men. Zehir however, stayed and said, "If I may ask, how do we know they lack vehicles?"

"I don't answer to you!" the Warsmith yelled. "Now ready your soldiers; that's an order Lieutenant."

Dumb Brute has a stroke of genius. I like it. Good job.

Thanks for the comment. I'm hoping to write a new update later today.

I like it! Keep up the good work.

Thanks; I've been trying to write for awhile now, but I seem to be suffering from Writer's Block. Hopefully there will be a new part within the next 2 to 5 days.

Its unedited currently. I'll have to edit it later. C&C appreciated, as usual.

Moral was low. Sergeants, Commanders and Lieutenants were forced to make a show of killing treacherous Iron Warriors in order to keep the troops moving. Morgaris smoke into the Comm System. "Lieutenant Basilius, are your men in position?"

"Yes, my Lord," he answered. "We can expect to arrive at the Imperial Fists position within ten minutes. The vehicles are operating perfectly and the soldiers are readied."

"Good. We'll be arriving short thereafter," the Warsmith said. He turned off the Comm. Channel and surveyed the marching soldiers. The Cultists stood at the front, followed by the Guardsmen and lastly the Astartes. The mortals were intended to soak up ammunition and allow the Iron Warriors a clean entrance into the fortress. Morgaris turned towards Zehir. "It has been a long time since we spoke as comrades," he said.

"It has been a long time since we were equal in rank," Zehir replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Do you think we will triumph?"

The Lieutenant paused, calculating his answer. Finally he said, "It is not my place to say."

"But now it is. Tell me."

"No," Zehir answered. "We're too outnumbered. But I will follow you to the death."

For a moment it appeared the Daemon Prince would lash out, but he what he did instead greatly surprised Zehir. "If you die, you have served well and it has been an honor to fight alongside you. 10,000 years of war have shown me you are on of the most talented and skilled Lieutenants among our great Legion."



The fortress was massive; it had once been the Planetary Governor's mansion but now it was a gigantic castle adorned with pikes, barbed wire, wooden boards, sheets of metal and turret posts. Before it was a massive trench, choked full of barbed wire and spikes intended to catch any warrior who tried to cross. In front of the trench lay a massive field of land mines and that was exactly what Basilius was heading towards. "Move!" he bellowed into his Comm. System as he watched several radar systems within the Land Raider. The vehicles raced across the landscape as fast as their ancient engines could push them, shrugging off every bolt, laser and rocket fired at them. He turned to the Terminators behind him. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready, commander," replied the one in front. The pikes on his armor were adorned with dozens of skulls. He was sure to claim more today.

A Devastator squad open fired and obliterated the Rhino next to the Land Raider with a hail of plasma fire. Flaming shrapnel pummeled the hall. Glancing back, Basilius saw Astartes clambering from the wreckage. The Vindicator, now within range, fired. Its massive cannon blew open a fortress wall and sent Imperial Fists flying. Bricks and barricades, broken off by the explosion, rained down from the fortress wall. The balcony collapsed, sending the Devastators tumbling to their deaths. Imperial Fists began to frantically swarm out from the massive holes in their defenses. "Disembark in five!" Basilius yelled.

A Rhino plowed into the mine field. Explosions rocked the vehicle, blowing holes in its underbelly, but failing to stop it. A combibolter atop the Rhino fired a flamer, scorching dozens of mines. They went off in unison, blinding both sides with smoke and grit. The Land Raider grated to a halt and Basilius threw the door open. "Iron Within!"

"Iron Without!" replied the Terminators, running out blindly into the smoke. Basilius followed, holding his sword in a two handed grip. As the smoke cleared, the Lieutenant could see the two remaining Rhinos approaching. The Vindicator fired again into a mass of Astartes, blowing them apart. A piece of yellow ceramite bounced off of Basilius' chest and he grinned. "Charge!" he yelled. The Iron Warriors obeyed.



"The Imperial Fists are being drawn over. Now is the time to strike," Morgaris said. "Remember, you are the Iron Warriors! You are the Legion that caught the Imperial Fists within the Iron Cage! You are the Legion that butchered the Eldar on Issus 4! You are the Legion that slew the Jouran Dragons on Hydra Cordatus! Now show the Imperial Fists how the Iron Warriors fight! Iron Within!"

"Iron Without!" echoed the crowd. The mad stampede began. Dozens of Astartes and hundreds of mortals charged towards the defenses. Morgaris spread his wings and took flight, hoping to see the battle first hand.

Splendid! I really like the bravery of Zehir.

LoneLictor wrote:cowardlyor treacherous Iron Warriors

eEdit that out. Space Marines aren't cowardly, period.

Now show the Imperial Fists who the Iron Warriors fight!

I think the Imperial Fists know whop the Iron warriors are fighting, them.

Yeah, stuff like that is why I usually try to edit it before posting it. I tend to make lots of mistakes/say lots of little stupid stuff.

So...any more? I am dying to find out what happens next!

Ditto.

I am trying to write for this by I'm tormented by writer's block. Hopefully I'll be able to break through it and finish this later.

Read both of your stories during the last 2 days. I got to say they are pretty good Keep it up!!! We ll be waiting for more