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


CHAPTER 1: Awakening


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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you! This should be fun.

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

Sound good to me.

Great. Next part coming soon

CHAPTER 2: Dominari Chimerae


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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 2: (continued)


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

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

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

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




(What ya think?)

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for pointing that out, making the changes

EDIT: Awesomed up

Presenting the start of chapter three. Feedback appriciated!


CHAPTER 3: Beast


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

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

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

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




Just the start for chapter three, please give opinions

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

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

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

TheRobotLol wrote:

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

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

Woooooo and thank you

CHAPTER 3: (Continued)


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

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

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

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

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

What ya think? Be honest now!

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

Thank you! Anything else you want me to add?

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

Thanks. Will do.

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

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

Oh damn. Ive writen the next part.

CHAPTER 3: (Continued)


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

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

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

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

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

Tada!