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First three parts of a short story Im working on. About 8 in total to be posted.
Thanks for reading!

A Battleclan of sorts
A triad of rivulets trickled across the cold floor towards a hole in the centre of the room.
One ran like silk, rippling, almost beautiful. Another railed against the dimantine flooring, hissing, trying to burn its mark onto it. There was nothing particularly special about the third.
“Another tough one tonight wasn’t it”.
Trean wasn’t sure it was a question or a statement.
“They see we are getting better. Hence, they put us against tougher and tougher opponents”. He shrugged.
“Half expecting an Ork dreadnought next and us with a set of dull knives”. Dutch chuckled.
Trean threw him a side wards glance to see if he was genuine. As usual he was. “Your lack of sobriety never ceases to amaze me Little Brother”.
Dutch grinned back, “We’ve all seen worse I’m sure”.
A low grunt emanated from the other side of the room. “Are you alright Witch?”
Sheevan cocked her head to one side and rotated it on her lithe shoulders.
“A little stiff eh? You should have ducked that second counter thrust”.
Sheevan simply looked at Dutch and went back to massaging her muscles.
“Where do you think it goes?”
Trean threw him another glance.
“The blood, where do you think it goes?”
“Who knows, maybe they collect it for study, experiment on it or try and divine our very natures from it, I care not”.
“They use it to adorn their armour. The blood of those that are deemed worthy of battle is considered both an aphrodisiac and a potent aid on their battlesuits”.
Both Dutch and Trean looked around to Sheevan. She was standing naked, bolt upright, with arms outstretched at right angles, head bowed.
“I really can’t see how that is a comfortable position to stay in” said Dutch.
“As I said, it allows my spinal column to stretch to its maximum degree. It gives me greater agility, keeps my frame supple”.
Dutch grinned wide trying to encourage Trean to do so too. He looked back blankly.
“Supple is right Witch”.
A second later the lights went out.


Captor
Twelve hours later the under floor lights flicked on again. No one had slept the night before. Trean had spent most of the night meditating with Sheevan doing various exercises. Dutch had simply distracted himself with thoughts of the forthcoming day.
None seemed particularly distracted by the relit room until each of their forcefields turned a deeper blue and the wall door phased away, dropping like a hologram that had been suddenly terminated.
“An early morning visit, how quaint”.
From the corridor they could hear the rasping breaths, lumbering feet creating a steady thump on the flooring, shackles jangling.
The three Wracks entered the cell and took up their allotted positions beside each cubicle.
Another figure glided in after them.
The Haemonculus surveyed each prisoner slowly, “A tougher assigned fight for today. Tactics will have to be steadier and less melee orientated I think”.
He glanced down at the data pad in his hand and smiled. Yes definitely less melee orientated”.
“Ork Dreadnought so” shrugged Dutch adjusting his red bandana.
The Wrack beside his cubicle smashed the forcefield with his fist causing it to ripple and glared into the cell.
“You are an interesting wretch, human, but it wont last long, I can see the weakness in you already, your aura tells me everything I need to know. Everything I need to break you, enjoy this time whilst you still can”.
He turned to Trean. “Chemical analysis of your blood over the last few weeks has been…..interesting. Is it widely known you have no Sus-an membrane? Does it inhibit your regenerative abilities? How do you overcome it?”
Trean spat on the floor.
“No matter, every day I find something more intriguing about you. If it means anything you have been my greatest challenge to date”.
Trean spat again.
“And finally my Princess Kin”. He moved across to Sheevans cell and leaned in close to the shimmering forcefield. “I have been granted permission to give you your pistol for the upcoming game. I don’t want you taking any more blows like yesterday”.
He smiled, eyes narrowing as he surveyed her body again.
“I care not for your words, Foekin and less for your fetid breath. Know this, I will slay all of your playthings”.
“And then you”.
Kor’veth smiled again and exited the room with his troupe.
The wall door reanimated itself and each forcefield turned a slightly lighter shade of blue.


Arena Green
The shrill, rolling wall of sound was almost tangible in its ferocity as the forcegate dropped.
“The Emperor protects”.
“See you on the other side” grinned Dutch.
Sheevan simply nodded.
Trean immediately broke left heading towards the crude glass structure that was supposed to emulate a sewer tunnel.
Dutch manoeuvred towards the centre of the arena keeping covered behind various crates and boxes. Sheevan went right, skirting up the ramp to the first level of the battle bridge.
The crowds random roar became a pseudo chant as each found their positions in less then thirty seconds.
Trean looked across at his battle partners and imperceptibly shook his head. Dutch nodded and moved forward to the next set of crates.
Only once before had their captors given them a staggered opening. That had been against a set of slave gangers led by a Slave Master.
Kor’veth had later informed them the delay in arrival was due to three of the slavers being summarily executed on their way up by the Master.
However, this seemed different. Glancing around the arena Dutch could make out the twisted, braying faces of the crowd in their hundreds of thousands, screaming for bloodshed and carnage. They were definitely more animated then in previous battles. His guts told him this was going to be another tough one.
Sheevan pressed herself closer to the first pillar on the bridge lightly gripping her pistol and power sword, all the while rotating her shoulders.
Sometimes their captors opened the opposite forcegate almost quietly, no ceremony attached, twistedly hoping to catch one of them off guard.
Not this time. A loud Klaxon cut above even the chanting crowd and the forcegate dropped. A guttural, shuddering roar emanated from inside.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaagh”.
Dutch smirked “close enough”.
Three large Orks rumbled out of the holding area followed by a true monster.
Dutch didn’t have a clear view from his position, having moved forward further then he normally would. He looked at Trean who made two quick gestures. Three boys and a Nob leader, moving centrally, no flanks.
Dutch stayed low to ground and retreated backwards, running his left hand up and down the pump trigger of his shotgun.
Random shots were being fired off by the Ork group, ricocheting off barrels and smashing into crates.
Trean sprinted further up the glass tunnel keeping the Orks in constant sight. He was sure they had seen him but they continued to press up the centre of the arena, firing wildly whilst bellowing war cries to all.
Sheevan darted low and began to move back towards the bridge ramp. She knew Dutch was going to be in trouble very soon.

*****
As Trean emerged from the end of the tunnel, the three Orks broke from the group and pounded full tilt towards him. For such large brutes they covered the ground in too short a time. Trean powered his chainsword in his right hand and readied his combat blade in his left.
At the same moment the Nob broke off and doubled back, rushing towards the far ramp up to the bridge where Sheevan lay in wait.
Dutch immediately realised what was happening but it was too late.
He gestured to Trean as best he could, Trean nodded. He turned to do the same to Sheevan. He couldn’t see her but hoped she had seen him.
The crowds howls reached fever pitch as they too realised the Ork move. They had feigned a central assault, supposedly targeting the weakest of the group, forcing him back and out of position. Now they had three versus one on one flank and their monstrous Nob against the Kindred on the other. The human was isolated and the slowest of the prey. It would take him valuable time and effort to regroup with one or both. Kor’veths eyes remained locked on Sheevan as they had been since the forcegate dropped.
Trean had backed up into the glass tunnel as soon as the Orks had broken. It was a wide structure but not wide enough to accommodate the bulk of three Orks. The first came at him quickly with an open stance, axe held high, shots pattering off the tunnel glass, causing cracks to run across its glacial surface. Trean was about a third way down the tunnel and the distance coupled with the inaccurate fire ensured his armour didn’t take any critical hits. A graze to his left bicep and one to his left knee being the worst he had to endure. The Orks seemed more intent on getting into brutal melee range and finishing the job up close.
A vicious shove in the back of the lead Ork by his clanmate gave him the slim opening he needed. The Ork stumbled slightly and Trean charged, left arm extended fully in front of him, chainsword held at waist height. The Ork recovered as he reached him and grinned a foul toothy grin as he saw the outstretched left arm with its pathetic combat knife held straight.
It immediately brought its axe down looking to sever the arm at the elbow and leave its enemy helpless. Trean withdrew his left arm as fast the Ork had dropped his and the Orks momentum caused it to stumble headfirst into the glass, teeth and blood shattering against it. A roar went up from the crowd closest to that section of the tunnel. Trean drove his chainsword into the lower left ribs of the Ork and twisted, at the same time thrusting the combat blade into the side of the Orks exposed neck. Arterial blood sprayed everywhere, glass, ceiling and Marine covered in it.
An even larger roar erupted from a whole section of the arena. Trean withdrew both his blade and kicked the Orks corpse into the path of its onrushing clanmates.


*****
Sheevan was sure the Ork Nob had not seen her yet he doubled back to the bridge, leaving his clanmates to go after Trean. Not a usual tactic. Her keen eyes scanned the crowd and picked out Kor’veth in his viewing box, his eyes locked on her. His stare told her everything she needed to know.
“Foekin” she whispered under her breath. She glanced down to Dutch who was sprinting towards the bridge. The slightest of smiles flashed across her face.
The Ork had reached the second pillar, one away from Sheevan. His steps caused the bridge to sway slightly and she could smell his rank odour. She moved imperceptibly into the pillar some more and waited. As he approached the first pillar the Nob slowed noticeably, steps almost cautious for an Ork.
As he passed her she stepped out silently, pointed her pistol at the back of his head and activated its kill rune.
Nothing but a dull hiss.
“Foekin” she spat.
The Nob whirled around, battleaxe held out at chest height, roaring.
She backflipped and pulled the trigger again as she landed.
Nothing.
Throwing the pistol to one side she adopted her Cos’fen stance and prepared to meet the Ork.