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Your style of writing is truly amazing. You've developed a cast of characters that each have surprising depth to them, even after only several installments of your tale. Vivid descriptions serve only to enhance an already incredible story. It is an honor to be among writers with your kind of talent. You, sir, have a very promising future!

Ty for the comment! I really appreciate it!

Typhus' chambers were vast and once lavishly decorated with marble pillars, velvet furniture and paintings of his accomplishments during the Crusade. It had seemed more fitting for the Emperor's Children than the pragmatic, straight forward Death Guard. In any case, the warp pox had left Typhus' quarters a twisted, decaying mockery of it's formerly beautiful state. Metal had rusted, wood had splintered and marble had crumbled. In its place came mold and slime.

Typhus stood at the center of a circle of Death Guard Librarians, their appearance seldom better than the First Captain's. Their psychic powers had amplified the disease's effects. At the top most point of the circle, instead of a Plague Marine, was Lucanus. Mold and pustules were beginning to grow from the cracks and joints of his royal blue power armor.

"We, Acolytes of the Pestilence Lord," said Typhus, beginning the ritual. "Call on him for guidance and clairvoyance." Musty, grey gas began to swirl around the Acolytes. Typhus concentrated on the Immaterium, leaving his mortal vessel. " We have done all as you commanded." The gas began to envelope the room. Nurglings crawled out from under floorboards and within decay, feeding off the radiating warp energy. Only a shard of Typhus was still connected to his body. He slowly pulled it free. "We require further orders."

Finally the Herald of Nurgle slipped free from his mortal body. He was suddenly soaring across the Immaterium, released from the constraints of his bloated and purulent form. This was where he belonged; this was the reward he sought.

Typhus slipped past Daemons and other slavering warp entities, easily dodging them. Despite the Council of Nikaea, Typhus had been honing his warp abilities since before the Heresy for some time. He continued soaring through the warp, looking for answers until he suddenly found himself before a creature unimaginably vast.

It was a massive gas or perhaps ooze that seemed to envelope all within reach. Thick grey, brown and green radiated as it floated within the Immaterium. But more than that, it seemed to seethe with an aura of despair, but also stubbornness and resilience. Typhus reared, back, horrified, and the entity extended a single tendril, minuscule compared to the scale of its body, towards him.

Something invaded his mind. Ideas not his interrupted his thoughts. Desperately, Typhus tried to escape but found himself enveloped. He screamed.

My son, the Heresy its nearing its end, said a voice within his head. All shall be hinged a single, pivotal moment. Everything must continue perfectly until then or all is lost. Typhus psychically attacked the nearest tendrils, focusing his mind on its dissolution. As soon as it was destroyed another two effortlessly grappled him. The loyalty of the Death Guard must be insured. The nearby Ultramarine detachment must be eliminated. The Death Lord must be tended to.

"What do you mean?" shouted the Herald of Nurgle, kicking and writhing in a vain attempt to break free.

Typhus my son, do you not recognize me?

With a flare of light, Typhus was hurled through the warp. Unable to control himself or halt his momentum, his efforts to slow his descend were in vain. An unimaginable pain stabbed into his neck.

A weaker man would've succumbed to the pain, dying from the sheer mental trauma. Despite his faults, Typhus was no weakling. He tensed his muscles, closed his eyes and endured. Upon opening them he was back in his body, still standing tall as though nothing had happened.

"What happened?" asked Kharyun, Chief Librarian of the 2nd Company and acting Commander in Ignatius' Grulgor's absence. Much like Typhus, he greatly his new found rank and powers after the warp pox. "What does he want?"

"The Ultramarines guarding the Maelstrom must be slain to the last man and our Legion's allegiance must be insured," answered Typhus. "That is all."





Mortarion marched through the hallways, the Deathshroud at his side. Plague Marines backed away and watched in awe.They swarmed at the sight of his presence, having heard no news of their Primarch since his speech many days ago. From a safe distance, Mortarion's retinue followed. It was made up of the remaining Great Company Commanders, Eridion, Kallimen, Iradio and Talmon. Notably Typhus was missing and the relatively low ranking Sergeant Cleon was standing in his stead.

Eridion, Commander of the 3rd, wore standard power armor and stood with a hunched posture. He was helmet, his slouching, rotten face exposed to the crew. A variety of tubes and mechanics hooked up to his flesh awkwardly. To the right of Eridion was the Commander of the 4th, Kallimen. With his swollen Terminator armor he seemed far taller than the rest. A massive horn, similar to Typhus' protruded from the forehead of his gas mask like helmet.

Commander Iradio of the 5th stood directly behind Eridion. His form was perhaps the most misshapen and inhuman of the group. His armor had buckled, exposing his thick, slimy flesh. The 5th Company was the most assault oriented of the Death Guard and their Commander fit them well with his rusting jump pack and glistening power sword.

Beside Iradio and behind Kallimen was Commander Talmon of the 6th, a quiet and relatively uncorrupted Legionnaire. His armor had held strong against the pox, retaining its shape and displaying little corruption save a massive horn jutting out from his right shoulder. Talmon's helmet was a standard model with no additional breathing apparatuses or security measures.

At the front of the four proud Commanders was Cleon, sword in hand.

Awesome job, LoneLictor!

Ty! I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on every entry, Ogyrn! If there's anything of yours, like another fic or a modelling blog that you want me to look at, tell me!

As the Librarians filtered out of Typhus' quarters, Typhus reached out and grabbed Lucanus' shoulder. "Lucanus, I need to tell you something."

"What?" asked Lucanus, turning to face the 1st Captain.

The last Librarian stepped out and Typhus slammed the door. He nervously scanned the room for any remaining persons before answering. "I spoke to... an entity... that may have been Nurgh-leth itself. It told me that I needed to tend to the Death Lord. What did it mean?"

"Give me the exact wording," said Lucanus, approaching a filth encrusted mirror in the corner of Typhus' chambers. He wiped away some of the slime with a royal blue gauntlet.

"'The Death Lord must be tended to.' That's what it said," Typhus said as Lucanus examined his reflection.




Continuing his march, Mortarion bellowed, "Proceed to Hanger 11! Have all fleets readied for war! Arm the Dreadclaws and man the battle stations!"




"Huh. That could be euphemism for killing him," Lucanus replied with disinterest. Continuing cleaning the mirror, he said, "You know, I really do like this form. Lucanus' corruption is a subtle inner one of the soul, rather than a blatant, physical one."

"You're talking about killing the Primarch!"

"So I am. You've talked about killing the Emperor and killing a Primarch is far less than that, unless you're talking about Horus."

"I joined the Death Guard to sway him and his Legion to my side, not to kill him!" shouted Typhus. "He's like my father!"

"Please Typhus," Lucanus said disdainfully. "You're more like his in your twisted relationship. He was always looking for a daddy after the Emperor discarded him. Sentimental weakling."




Mortarion and his retinue strolled into the hanger, surrounded by a now cheering crowd. The Death Lord raised his fist in triumph and the Plague Marines did the same. An infectious chant of, "Death to the False Emperor!" began to spread throughout the hanger.




"I can't kill him. He's a Primarch. He's Nurgh-leth's true champion," stammered Typhus, disregarding Lucanus' previous comment. "I can't."

"Is he Nurgle's champion?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who was Nurgle's first follower? Who led the Death Guard into the warp storm? Who was the earliest to be granted release and immortality from the disease? Who was given control of the Destroyer Plague?" asked Lucanus. "Maybe you were looking at this the wrong way. Maybe Mortarion was nothing more than a place holder that could be used to ensure the Death Guard's loyalty before the true leader stepped up."




"Death Guard!" boomed Mortarion, silencing the crowd. "The Mechanicum has taken complete control of Mars, providing us the perfect launching point for the attack on Terra! The Emperor's Children and Word Bearers have already arrived at Segmentum Solar with the World Eaters and Sons of Horus close behind! We even have reason to believe that our lost brothers, the Thousand Sons, have emerged from the Immaterium to assist in the upcoming battle!"




Typhus said, "You may have a point."

"Of course I do. But sadly, many of the Death Guard will not understand what must be done in the name of Nurgle. Mortarion's death cannot be too blatant. I suggest assaulting him during a major battle and claiming he was felled by enemy artillery. You could claim it was his dying wish for you to take his place. You could even make a martyr out of him."

Something knocked on Typhus' door. The Herald of Nurgle immediately brandished his Manreaper and resorted to a defensive position. "Who is it?" he hissed.

"Sergeant Vitus," answered a wet, slurping voice. "From the Endurance, Mortarion has called an assembly and demanded that the Death Guard fleet be readied for war. What shall the Terminus Est. do?"

"Do as he orders," grudgingly said Typhus. "Set course for within the Maelstrom. It's Nurgh-leth's will anyways."

"No, my Lord. We are advancing on Terra."




"The insignificant Ultramarine deployment can be ignored! The Segmentum's remaining petty defenses can be disregarded! Tonight we began our march towards the last true bastion of the Imperium; Terra. We cannot rest until it falls," declared Mortarion.

Death Guard cheered, overjoyed at the concept of finally entering true combat again. After being cramped aboard the corrupted Death Guard fleet for so long, they would finally breath in the fresh Terran air and feel the warm blood splatter on their flesh again.

"It will not be easy. The Emperor and his Custodians must be directly confronted. This will be the ultimate test of all our endurance and strength; failure brings only death. Death Guard, my unbroken blades, are you with me?"

The crowd's reply was singular. "DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"

"Tonight we march on Terra!" shouted Mortarion, concluding his speech.

Exalted.

It gets better and better...Looking forward to where this leads!

More Death guard! I played a match with mine today. Great part, enjoy more...and hope Mortorian destroys Terra!

Awesome new part, can't wait to see what happens next.

Ty for the comments! Appreciated, as always. Hopefully there will be a new update sometime today.

Mortarion and his retinue surveyed the Death Guard. Thousands of Plague Marines amidst the Endurance alone refueled vehicles, loaded bolters, manned turrets as Sergeants, Commanders and Captains boomed orders. They worked tirelessly and unhaltingly, completely devoid of weakness or any other mortal flaws.

Cleon's squad approached their Sergeant. The veteran Arsenius, Commander of the Squad in their Sergeant's stead, addressed Cleon. "Orders, Sergeant?"

"The Land Raider Influensius requires maintenance," Cleon said. His mood greatly improved by the notice of his Primarch, he playfully added in, "And Phokas, don't try to weasel out of this one."

The Death Guard marched off automatously, Phokas ignoring the comment. Disturbingly enough, Cleon was reminded of ancient, rusting servitors by the squad rather than the honorable super soldiers they were. .

Sensing Cleon's thoughts, Mortarion leaned over to the Sergeant and quietly said, "It can be more distressing to witness the change in one's inferiors than oneself. Do not be alarmed Cleon, they are still the same men they were when first recruited into your squad."

"Thank you, my lord," Cleon said, barely able to comprehend that the Primarch himself was speaking to him. "How will our brother Legions respond to our... transcendent new form?"

"My brother Horus, despite his hubris, will be tolerant. He can be expected to understand, as with Konrad and perhaps Lorgar. Angron, Perturabo and Alpharius likely won't care in the slightest. Fulgrim and Magnus may look down on us, but that will be no different from the norm," answered Mortarion. "So long as Horus approves, none of the Legions can act against us."

"Thank you, my lord. That is a comforting though."

The door to the hanger burst open in a blast of flies and bile. Every Plague Marine immediately turned towards the explosion, bolters ready. As the cloud of flies began to recede, the force behind it was clear. Typhus charged through, Manreaper drawn. At his side was Lucanus, managing to keep pace with the 1st Captain yet displaying none of his aggression, simply boredom. "Mortarion!" shouted Typhus. The Death Lord turned towards the Herald of Nurgle and slowly approached, leaving Cleon behind. Both men met in the center of the room.

"What troubles you, my son?" asked Mortarion. Lucanus chuckled darkly at the comment for no apparent reason.

"You have ordered our fleet, including my Terminus Est., to head to Terra without my consultation!" Typhus growled. "We need to eliminate the Ultramarines first!"

Despite Typhus' increase in stature following the warp plague, Mortarion towered at least a half meter above Typhus. His glowing red eyes met Typhus' slit visor and the two simply stared, tension rising. Cleon drew his plasma pistol and cautiously focused it on Typhus. His arm shook, oddly enough, despite his complete physical control over his flawless new form.

"I am your Primarch," boomed Mortarion. "I do not require your approval, 1st Captain, to make decisions." Cleon's arm shook further. He was consumed by a strange, tingling feeling followed by a wave of nausea and dizziness. He could barely remain standing. "Rather, you require mine."

"That's funny, Mortarion. Things have never worked like that as far as I'm aware." He gestured towards Cleon with his scythe. Now the dizziness was unbearable. "You! Tell me, who are you and why Mortarion has woefully chosen you to act as my replacement?"

"Don't answer him," the Death Lord said. "Typhus, stand down. Return to the Terminus Est. and set course for Terra, lest I take it and your title from you."

That was the last thing Cleon heard. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp as he came crashing to the floor. "No," he mouthed before slipping into unconsciousness.

Cleon was back within the ocean of worms and filth. This time it was turbulent and cold. Waves crashed over his drowning form as he desperately tried to swim to safety. Decaying, grey hands reached up from the water. Their skin peeled back, revealing maggot infested muscle and cracking bone. They grabbed Cleon from all directions and dragged him into the depths. He closed his eyes.

Upon opening them, he was standing on top of a building. The roof was made of low quality, cracking concrete. In the distance, massive fires raged and explosions plumed. Screams could be heard. Two massive figures stood in front of each other. One was majestic and glorious with great, flowering wings and a beautiful face. His armor was made of the finest gold with a vibrant red heart carved into his shoulder. Overall, his form could be described in one word; Angelic. Opposite of the Angel was a muscular, bull like behemoth with red skin, yellow fangs, leathery wings and a great axe.

The Behemoth charged at the Angel, swing his axe madly. It nicked his golden armor but failed to land a killing blow. In response the Angel flapped his massive wings to disorient his opponent and sent a solid kick into his chest. The Behemoth tumbled backwards and the Angel stomped on his neck, preparing for the killing blow. Without warning, the Behemoth grabbed the Angel's foot and hurled him off the building.

The Angel's wings kicked into action, barely halting his descent. Before he could swoop back onto the building, the Behemoth began to fly as well. Both figure met in midair. Dodging under the Behemoth's axe, the Angel grabbed it's neck with both hands. Roaring in pain, the Behemoth's neck snapped. His lifeless body fell and the Angel held up his severed, bull-like head as a bloody trophy.

The vision faded away and Cleon found himself staring at a Plague Marine clutching a lascannon. He glanced through the scope and saw that the weapon was fixed on himself.

Cleon opened his eyes, screaming.

Awesome new post, can't wait to see what the vision is and who its about.

Chapter Four
As to feel the soft soil underfoot and hear the dying screams

An hour later, Typhus cautiously approached Mortarion's quarters. He inwardly noted that the Death Lord should replace his door and halted at the empty doorway. After taking a deep breath, he knocked on the wall.

"Come in," beckoned the Primarch, as expected

Persuading him would not be an easy task. Mortarion had become far more assertive and confident, an undesirable quality considering Typhus' situation. Furthermore, their last discussion had ended badly. Mortarion had stripped Typhus of his rank and declared he was no one within the Death Guard anymore. He had stopped short of outright killing Typhus, but if given time to think there was a chance he might do just that.

Mortarion was alone, his quarters having been converted into a war room. In the center was a hologram showing the Segmentum Solar. Papers and holodisks were scatted across the floor. Nurglings scampered to and fro, seemingly oblivious to the Primarch.

"It's Calas, my Lord," Typhus said. Adding in his first name was a calculated gambit. Earlier on in the history of the Death Guard, long before the Heresy, when Typhus and Mortarion held better relations they spoke on a first-name basis. Though Typhus still referred to the Death Lord as Mortarion, Mortarion frequently referred to him by his last-name or rank. "I was hoping we could have a civilized discussion. My temper may have prevented that when he spoke earlier, but I assure you that I have calmed." It pained him greatly to take the guise of humility and regret, but it was necessary.

"As I said, come in," said Mortarion, his voice devoid of emotion. Typhus briefly pondered if the Primarch's words were just as calculated and artificial as his, but dismissed the thought as he stepped inside.

Mortarion continued his work, feverishly writing out coordinates and battle plans. The Herald of Nurgle approached but kept a safe distance, aware of Mortarion's possible wrath. It was rare that he had ever struck out against any Death Guard, but when he had it had been horrifying.

"You were right that you are my superior and it is certainly not my place to give orders," Typhus began. "However, as your 1st Captain, it is my duty to offer council and my admittedly limited wisdom. In my opinion and the opinion of the Legion's Chief Librarians, it is unwise to immediately proceed to Terra. Nurgh-leth himself has given me the command to eliminate the Ultramarines stationed at the Maelstrom to the last man."

"He never gave me a similar command. As far as I'm aware, what he said extends only to you, not to my Legion. Best get to work, Housecarl Typhus."

Anger. Fury. Rage. Typhus had never felt this strongly in his life. He forced his temper back down, telling himself that this was just a test. Mortarion was trying to trick him into raging again. This was just a test. He laughed falsely.

"Yes, that is one way to interpret it," he said with false warmth. "However, I find myself unable to fulfill his demands myself. As another Acolyte of the Plague Lord, would you graciously lend your legion out to assist me? You said yourself that the Sons of Horus, Thousand Sons and World Eaters have not arrived yet, so it is not likely that we would be 'late' to Terra if we briefly stopped here." Mortarion did not respond, continuing his work. "I am at your mercy, my lord."

Conflict was raging within Mortarion. Typhus had manipulated him and disrespected him in front of his Legion. Now Typhus was barging into his quarters with feigned humility, as if he always had and always would respect Mortarion's authority. However, Mortarion had an instinctive friendliness and trust towards Typhus. He knew him better than any other, even his Brother Primarchs or his supposed father.

"Very well, Calas," Mortarion finally answered. "The entire Legion will be at your disposal for this task. Remember, the Ultramarines must be eliminated as soon as possible. You have one week."

As always, thank you for the comment. The next entry will have lots of violence and death. And the Death Guard fighting on Terra will be depicted within the story eventually, albeit later.

These are the type of things that make me happy. Amazing new parts, I like it when Cleon point his PP at Typhus.....

Amazing stuff LoneLictor, keep it up

Really awesome read man!
I also really enjoyed how you've made Cleon to Mortarion as Talos is to Kurze, makes a nice little parallel. Not sure whether it's intentional or not though!

Death Guards members have feelings?! Overall, really nice story. I like how you have managed to fleshen Mortarion and Typhus. Continue with your awesome work

Thank you for all the complements, they are very appreciated. There will be a new entry eventually. I have the plot and character arcs and stuff planned up, I'm just having a really hard time getting it to paper/my computer screen.

@Leetbix. It wasn't really intentional since I've only read the first 50 or so pages of Soul Hunter, but thanks for the complement and for reading. You know, I should really finish that book.

Subscribed sir!

Exalted!

Again, thanks! Without your comments, I would have no reason for posting this on DakkaDakka and would probably remove it. So again, thanks!

New entry within the next week. I usually get past my writer's block at least within a week.

There's only one word to describe your work.
Epic.

If you don't write for a living alredy, you might want to consider it.

Subscribed. Your work is really good. I eagerly await!!!

Now edited. TY for the comments!

Cleon awoke. He was lying in his quarters. As he stretched his limbs the filth encrusted floor squelched. He looked up and saw Phokas and Arsenius, the two Astartes he had known the best within his squad. It occurred to him that he had not spoken to them normally in some time.

"Cleon," said Phokas. "We feared you had died, Sergeant."

"Nonsense," grated the veteran Arsenius with an amused tone. "Cleon's far too dumb to die. It'd take an Imperator Titan just to slow him down."

"You flatter me," said Cleon weakly, still lying on his back. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Longer than last time. My chronometer says an hour," Phokas said. "Sergeant, if I may ask, what happened when you last collapsed? You claimed that you needed to save the Primarch and when you returned you were at the head of the Grand Company Commanders."

"I caught a glimpse of... what may have been the future. I saw many things, including the Primarch in danger. And I acted on what I saw," the Sergeant answered. "Where is the rest of my squad? It looks like you two neophytes were the only ones loyal enough to actually wait by me."

"The title of neophyte may well apply to little Phokas, but I am a full blown Battle Brother of the Death Guard and have served us such for the past forty three years!" jokingly declared Arsenius, standing tall and putting his hand over his heart.

"Does my power armor mean nothing to you? Besides, how could you have served as a Battle Brother for forty three years without promotion?"

Cleon chuckled, relieved to see his Legion's old spirit back. He slowly bent his legs while grabbing onto his rusting bunk and pulled himself upright. With a brief shake of his head the remainder of the dizziness died away.

"Phokas, Arsenius, restrain yourselves. We're members of the Death Guard, not the Emperor's Children," he said with a smile. "Has anything occurred during my absense?"

"Yes, Sergeant," answered Phokas. "The Primarch has chosen to heed the 1st Captain's guidance. We're deploying on Xenthrex, where the Ultramarines have set up a sizable fortress, in twenty minutes. We were hoping you would awaken before then."





Commander Solius of the Ultramarines 27th Grand Company brushed his hair back and took a deep breath. Astartes were incapable of terror but they were certainly not incapable of fear. He was going against an entire Legion with only two thousand Astartes. Reboute Gulliman had once said, "A battle can never truly be won if the only objective is survival."

Rain was pouring down. Clouds blotted out any light from the two nearby stars, Xenith and Mercentile. Astartes waited atop guard towers, within turrets and behind barricades, making use of the fortress' full defensive capacities. The fortress itself resembled a massive rectangle with large, oval towers rising from the rounded corners. A massive, square like tower rose from the center of the rectangle. Beyond the fortress was a dark, rocky wasteland doted with craters, cliffs and fissures which were now pooling with water.

A radar blipped loudly. Every Astartes knew what this meant; the first Dreadclaws had been launched from the orbiting Death Guard cruisers. From his rooftop position on the center tower, Solius drew his powersword. All around him other Ultramarines readied their own weapons. Plasma guns hummed as they powered up. Bolters clicked as their safeties deactivated.

Solius pressed a small rune at the hilt of his power. It immediately came to life, glowing vibrantly. Moisture hissed as it came in contact with the radiating heat and steam rose from the weapon. The radar blipped again. The Death Guard were less than a minute away.

A dozen barrels poked out from the gun slits of the center complex. Reaching behind him, Solius turned on his jump pack. His command squad followed suit. The archaic motors hacked and coughed, spewing thick smoke.

The first Dreadclaw stabbed through the clouds with a bright red glow and slammed into the planet's surface, shattering rocks and kicking up a wave of dust and grit. Its bottom hatch opened up and a platform filled to the brim with corrupted Astartes steadily lowered to the ground. As they stepped out from underneath the Dreadclaw, the rain washed away their outer layer of filth, leaving them gleaming in the spotlights of the fortress.

The first shot was fired. A lascannon pierced through the bloated abdomen of a Plague Marine, disintegrating ceramite plating and diseased flesh with equal ease. The Death Guard fired back. An Ultramarine with a hole in his breastplate toppled off the guard rails of the north east tower, his armor immediately buckling in upon impact. The second Dreadclaw hit the ground forty feet north of the first and far closer to the wall. A third landed in the distance. Two more rained down directly next to eachother.

Solius raised his left fist, proudly holding up his plasma pistol, and leapt off the roof. His jump pack kicked into action, hurtling him over the remainder of the complex. The Command Squad followed suit, forming a V formation with Solius at the front. A frag missile with thick, mold growths barely missed the farthest left Ultramarine.

Too high on adrenaline to heed the danger, Solius fixed his plasma pistol on a Plague Terminator and squeezed the trigger; the tremendous recoil almost resulted in a catastrophic crash. The ancient weapon's barrel lit up with brilliant green light, as did the unfortunate Terminator. One of Astartes soaring besides Solius was suddenly struck by a krak grenade. It exploded upon impact, blowing open the Astartes' chest and disabling his jump pack. A wave of shrapnel stabbed into the rest of the squad.

Any semblance of a formation was lost. Ultramarines swerved and fell in all directions. Solius himself was propelled forward by the impact, towards a large squadron of Traitor Legionnaires. His training kicked into action; he deactivated his plasma pistol and jump pack to prevent the extremely sensitive and explosive machinery from detonating when he hit the ground. As Solius did this, he tucked his head into his chest and went into a roll.





Cleon charged out with his squad towards the fortress. Bolter fire from a dozen different Ultramarine positions rained down on the Death Guard, but it didn't matter. Most shots had little to no effect on the Plague Marines due to supreme endurance, power armor and immunity from pain. Cleon noticed a bolt embed itself in his chest and detonate harmlessly; he didn't even care.

"Fire on the southeast tower," he ordered calmly as he raised his bolter. His squad followed suit exactly, resembling factory servitors more than anything else. Ten bolters fired at once, unloading on a small Devastator Squad. Ultramarines flailed and ran as they desperately tried to avoid the onslaught of bolts. One tried to power up his plasma cannon only to be shot through the respirator of his helm. He toppled over backwards, bleeding badly. The plasma cannon overheated, detonating the turret's ammo stockpile. Soon the roof was ablaze.

A squad of jump pack equipped Ultramarines launched from the roof of the tower, firing off bolt and plasma pistols as they flew. "Concentrate fire on the Assault Marines," said Cleon, slamming a new belt of ammunition into his bolter. Due to their sheer speed, it was almost impossible to hit them. Pyrrhus, the most heavily mutated of Cleon's men, grabbed a krak grenade with an oozing tentacle and hurled it with all of his strength at the Ultramarines. The resulting explosion sent them all flying in different directions.

One of them went into a roll and slammed directly in front of the Plague Marines, mostly unharmed by the impact. Solius immediately stood up and decapitated one Death Guard with a stroke of his blade. Arsenius drew a chainsword and charged, only to have his leg cut off by a flourish of the Ultramarine's blade. Two other Assault Marines that had survived their respective crashes followed their Commander into combat, leaping into the ranks of Plague Marines with deadly agility.

Solius briefly turned his back on Cleon and the Sergeant lunged at him. He spun around at the last moment and barely managed to parry the attack. Solius reactivated his plasma pistol. Cleon pushed forward with his blade. Both Astartes careened over backwards, rolling down into a crater and away from their respective squads. A hard impact against a jutting rock caused Solius to lose his hold on his power sword and plasma pistol.

The Plague Marine Sergeant continued his descent until he finally reached the bottom of the crater. He slowly stood up, forcing his bulky limbs to move. Slime and pus leaked from a crack in his helmet. Cleon looked up to see Solius caught against a jagged piece of rockface and his weapons continuing down without him. Immediately Cleon was in action, charging uphill to snatch them away before the Ultramarine Commander had a chance to get them.

Solius jolted upright and drop kicked into Cleon with a speed that surprised even him. The Plague Marine, with his bloated form and unstable footing, tumbled over backwards. As he fell, he grabbed the Ultramarine's leg and they rolled to the bottom together, neither with the weapons. Lying on his back, Cleon grasped the handle of his powersword. Before he could draw it Solius grabbed it as well and pushed inward, desperate to keep it away from Cleon. The two Astartes struggled relentlessly.

As they fought, Arsenius army-crawled over the lip of the crater, holding his signature meltagun. He casually reloaded and cocked the weapon before focusing it on the two. "Cleon," he said in a deep, throaty voice. "Get away from the Ultramarine. I need a clear shot."

Now Solius needed to think fast. He was up against two of them. Even if he somehow killed the first one, the second would immediately shoot him. And then he noticed the plasma pistol strapped to Cleon's thigh hidden under a web of filth. Lightning flared in the distance and thunder boomed.

He reached out and grabbed the weapon with his right hand and swung it towards Cleon's face. As he did so, Cleon drew the sword. Solius deactivated the safety. Cleon knocked away the Ultramarine's left hand. Solius turned on the power cell. Cleon swung the weapon.

The Ultramarine's hand was cleanly removed at the wrist. Gore jetted from the bloody stump. And Solius screamed. The Traitor Legionnaire bent his leg up and kicked Solius squarely in the chest. The impact sent Solius sprawling onto his deactivated jet pack. Arsenius fired his meltagun, vaporizing Solius instantly.

This part was way to awesome to even care about any errors! Can't wait to see Cleon and Solius fight each other!

this was so good, i am now addicited to this story. give us all a great crhistmas present and upload the next instalment

subscribed, exalted and greatly enjoyed,

Thank you for the comments (as always)! I say that a lot, but I mean it. I also say that a lot, but I mean it. Anyways, I have edited it and added in the complete fight scene.

The part where they wrestle over the power sword and one is trying to hold it in the sheath while the other is trying to remove it was inspired by security footage from a court case where this murderer makes a grab for an officer's gun while in the holster. Pretty messed up stuff.

C&C appreciated!

Gooooooaaaaaal! I liked how the fight was quick paced (at least to me) I got really into it! But didn't Arsenius have his leg sliced off by Solius?

Shadexblu wrote:Gooooooaaaaaal! I liked how the fight was quick paced (at least to me) I got really into it! But didn't Arsenius have his leg sliced off by Solius?

Oops, I'll fix that. Thanks for pointing that out.

Really nice stuff! You should make a book