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Ty for the comments. @Bobakos, I fixed that, thanks for pointing it out. I need to proofread my writing more, lol.

Awesomness! We need more munching on Guardsmen! And the dread needs to stomp that pesky captain flat!

Agreed, that fething Captain needs a showdown with Dred, maybe the Capi can get beat to death with the soggey end of his demonic leg lol.

No kill like overkill! MAKE IT HAPPEN MORTAL!

They're World Eaters, they don't know the meaning of over kill, just - where do you want me to stack the bodies now, that piles full.

I know but still

I would like the Dred to go on a rampage, maybe something like this?...(you fool, you are imobilized and at my whim to do with as I please, how can you carry out your oath of vengence upon me when all you can do is lay there and suffer my scorn and contempt. He threw back his head and laughed a cackling howl to further torment his victim unawhere of the power fist stretching out to crush him in it's powerful paw) cue Dred going on a rampage.

Sorry that Kaalek isn't in this entry. He'll be in the next one, I promise.

Qul awoke, feeling re-energized and ready for a new day. The brilliant orange sun was just beginning to rise, and the hive city's skeletal frameworks cast long and thin shadows over the rubble landscape. These skeletons were all that remained of the city, following the orbital bombardment. He was angry---Berzerkers were always supposed to be angry---but he had the feeling that they was going to be a good day. Today he was going to get vengeance and the galaxy that had wronged him, and claim yet more skulls for his master's throne.

The corpses he had hid beneath were swarming with flies and bursting with maggots. They weren't red anymore; now they were a rotting brown shade, and had the texture of runny gak. Qul congratulated himself on his cleverness. Underneath the corpses, the hounds hadn't been able to smell, hear or see him. The Imperials had sent out more of them, following the disappearance of more Guardsmen. Qul hadn't the slightest idea of how many he'd killed, though he knew it was at least a dozen. Maybe more. Really, there was no distinguishing between the Guardsmen he'd killed. Mortals all looked and tasted the same.

He set off towards the Imperial camp. It was just over the nearby ridge, which had once been a three hundred story Administratum cathedral. It'd been swarming with almost a million mortals the day it had collapsed. Now, under the heat and pressure, their corpses were becoming fossil fuels like oil that the Imperium could use to fuel its on wars. If the 13th Black Crusade succeeded, by the time the oil was suitable for drilling the Imperium would've been cast down and the Corpse Emperor finally slain.

Qul reached the top of the ridge and surveyed the camp below him. There were rows of tents and tanks encircled by a perimeter of patrolling Guardsmen. Mortals were swarming the place, like vermin. They were busy all right, preparing for a long campaign. Steamrollers were flattening rubble, so that it would be suitable for building on. Trucks were driving too and fro, carrying oversized loads of ammunition and rations crates. Guardsmen were flirting unsuccessfully with Sisters of the Orders Hospitaller. A group of sweating and cursing Guardsmen were assembling a barbed wire fence while a Commissar with a ridiculous peaked cap barked orders at them. Despite the poor working conditions, Imperial moral was high after their recent victory. Why shouldn't it be? Ordinary mortals had beaten back a force of daemonically infused Traitor Legionnaires, and lived to tell the tale. Even the Commissars seemed more relaxed than normal, occasionally taking breaks from enforcing orders to mingle and joke with their men.

The Berzerker stood up as tall as he could at the top of the ridge. With the sun behind him, all the Guardsmen could see was his monstrous silhouette. Some looked up and squinted, trying to make how the thing's shape. Qul took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then roared. He sounded like a chorus of diseased wolves all howling in unison through throats choked with bulbous tumors. Now the Guardsmen were scared. The Commissars, alongside the Generals, Lieutenants, and all their Junior Officers, went crazy. As Qul raced down the ridge and towards the camp, he saw them making frantic gestures and screaming only half-heard orders.

Bright lights through off his vision. His armor started to feel unbearably hot. It took Qul a moment to realize that the Guardsmen were open-firing on him with their shoddy lasguns, superheating the ceramite of his armor and cooking the flesh beneath it. THREAT his HUD declared in migraine red text, as if Qul was too dumb to realize it. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea.

He swung his chainax in a wide arc, gutting a half dozen Guardsmen. More Guardsmen were in his way, blazing away with their tiny lasguns. Qul cut them down too, hurdling through the ranks of Imperials with unstoppable momentum. He couldn't stop if he even wanted to. He ran straight through a patch of barbed wire and became tangled in the stuff, but he kept moving. The Guardsmen were still firing, but they were hitting eachother more than anything else. Burnt corpses, with peeling black flesh and smoking organs, were piling at Qul's feet. Against unarmored mortals, lasguns could be surprisingly dangerous. "Stop firing!" someone was shouting. "Stop firing! For Throne's sake, STOP-"

His voice was cut off by the explosion of a grenade, hurled by Qul into the mass of Guardsmen around him. It started to rain body parts. Something hard, probably the butt of a lasgun, smashed against the back of Qul's head. He feel to his knees and the Guardsmen seemed to be everywhere, shooting, bludgeoning, and stabbing him from all sides. Qul swung his ax, amputating three Guardsmen's feet at their ankles. He rolled over so that he wasn't face down anymore and screamed at his attackers, flailing his ax gracelessly. One Guardsmen's belly was hacked open in the chaos. The ropy contents of his abdomen came spilling out onto Qul, causing two Guardsmen to vomit. Squeemish mortals.

Qul managed to stand up. At nine feet, he towered over the Guardsmen around him. His head stuck out in the crowd, and he realized that standing up was a mistake. A lasgun shot him in the face, blinding him. By this point, there were too many Guardsmen pressed around Qul for seeing to matter. No matter where he swung his ax, he hit someone. He could be blind, deaf, and dumb and he'd still be massacring the bastards.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SOULS FOR THE SOUL EATER! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

Was that his voice? Probably. Qul doubted anyone else here would be shouting that. The Guardsmen around him were trying to flee, but the crowd was pushing them towards Qul. Commissars were butchering their own men in a pointless attempt to control them. The mob was too panicked and unruly to be controlled. Qul's presence had put the mortals into fight-or-flight mode, and they were acting just like the mindless animals they were. In one eye Qul's vision was starting to return, but it was faded and blurry. His face stung like hell. He licked his licks, and they tasted like medium rare steak. Maybe he'd underestimated the strength of those lasguns.

There were less Guardsmen now. Most of them were fleeing and screaming, while Qul was hacking them down from atop a mound of corpses. That was when Qul heard the distinctive sound of a tank engine firing up, and the clanking of tank treads. The mortals were willing to destroy their own camp just to take out this one Berzerker. Qul was flattered. He sprinted through the crowd, knocking Guardsmen aside with his ax and leaving a trail of corpses in his wake.

Qul leapt onto a tank that was less of a tank and more of an artillery platform on treads. It's crew, which had been loading shells into a cannon that was longer than the actual tank, started to flee. The tank's engine started to rumble, and its treads began to crawl at a snail's pace. Qul assumed that the other tanks couldn't fire on him while he was standing atop such a valuable piece of machinery. Whatever this tank was, it looked rare and priceless. If it had a cannon that big, it had to be worth something.

Other cannons rotated to face him, and Qul realized he was wrong. Now he had to choose between a glorious death, and an ignoble retreat. He was fearless, like a true Astartes, and he was angry, like a true World Eater. But Qul didn't want to die. There was so much to do, see and kill.

He leapt off the artillery platform just as the other tanks open fired. The explosion gave him a hot push that sent him flying. When his feet hit the ground, he ran faster than he'd ever thought possible. Muscles and servos broke down as Qul ran, but with the flames, corpses, and tanks behind him, he refused to slow down. His chainax had been wrecked in the fighting, and it would never function again. Blood was pouring out from a dozen holes punched in his armor. Half of his face seemed to be sloughing off. With the half of his face that he was left, he grinned. The grin didn't come from pleasure---pleasure was anathema---but from the feeling of accomplishment. Qul couldn't understand why his fellow Berzerkers had retreated when, out here, he was having the time of his life.

Nice chapter, could be done with a read through to correct the 1 or 2 mistakes in there but on the whole I realy liked it.

Oh my.... I think I need to change pants!

But in a moer serious manner, well done LL. well done

Read the most recent part and although i actually find the description of dozens upon dozens of guardsmen being killed distasteful, it was well written. I enjoyed some of 'Qul's' character beats and some of the imagery was very interesting.

However like Manwithplan I also noticed a fair few syntax errors, Spell checker has made us writers Complacent! Luckily they werent as 'Game-breaking' as mine usually are so i was able to substitute and figure most of it out for myself. Give it another couple of readthroughs, i'm sure you'll spot 'em. (i.e. sorry but i cba listing them Unless you ask me to )

I like the metaphor of the fossil fuels but being a disciple of 'Hard' sci-fi i couldn't help but feel it was innaccurate. Most Fossil fuels are from the Carboniferous (spelling fail) period which was about 200 million years ago. Maybe adjust the metaphor slightly to take the millions of years into account?

Could i suggest an interlude with some herioc Guardsmen? I think you owe the poor buggers after the staggering bodycount so far.

Thanks for the criticism Perkustin. I've got to work on grammar. Goddamn the English language. I'll try to write up a Guardsmen interlude later. First I'll finish up the chapter on Qul, then there will be a Black Legion focused chapter. After/during the Black Legion chapter, there'll be some Guard stuff.

 Perkustin wrote:
Read the most recent part and although i actually find the description of dozens upon dozens of guardsmen being killed distasteful, it was well written. I enjoyed some of 'Qul's' character beats and some of the imagery was very interesting.

However like Manwithplan I also noticed a fair few syntax errors, Spell checker has made us writers Complacent! Luckily they werent as 'Game-breaking' as mine usually are so i was able to substitute and figure most of it out for myself. Give it another couple of readthroughs, i'm sure you'll spot 'em. (i.e. sorry but i cba listing them Unless you ask me to )

I like the metaphor of the fossil fuels but being a disciple of 'Hard' sci-fi i couldn't help but feel it was innaccurate. Most Fossil fuels are from the Carboniferous (spelling fail) period which was about 200 million years ago. Maybe adjust the metaphor slightly to take the millions of years into account?

Could i suggest an interlude with some herioc Guardsmen? I think you owe the poor buggers after the staggering bodycount so far.

Silence weakling! Tasy Guardsmen makes for tasty meals But alas I do hope for some heroic man to show up.

Already send you a PM with some of my observations.

Now, the story is very nice. I am eager for more!

Chapter Four
Ascension

Lord Captain Markov reclined into his onyx throne, surveying the bridge of Wrackhound from a dais in its center. The throne was perfectly fitted to his armor. Onyx and ceramite plating clicked, locking in together. Through ports in his warplate, Markov was supplied with a thin nutrient paste and a variety of sorcerous elixirs. This throne had sustained him through the Long War, and Markov imagined it would continue to do so for a very long time. It was from here that he recuperated from battle, commanded his vessel, and relaxed.

The fiery orange Eye of Horus emblazoned on his chestplate seemed to stare down his crew into submission, following them with its unblinking gaze. They avoided looking at him, and pretended not to notice him while they toiled.

"Lord?" A young Officer, appearing no older than thirty, had piped up. He would've been handsome, if it weren't for his toothy eyesockets.

"Yes?"

"We have a Thunderhawk coming in. They claim to have found a World Eater, Slaughter Brother Qul, who demands an audience with his fellow World Eaters." The Officer paused. "The crew say that he's more daemon than man now."

Markov's helmet hid his expression, and his vox grill took all emotion for his voice. For this, he was grateful. When the Emperor had said "And they shall know no fear", he had lied. Astartes felt fear, they just didn't panic and act on it like mortals did. To them fear was something strange and distant, baggage from their past lives as mortals. At that moment, Markov felt like a mortal again. If this bastard, whoever he was, was a Daemon Prince - that would be the end. The crew would rally behind him, calling him a "vessel for the Gods". Markov's own Black Legionnaires might very well turn on him.

"Officer, what is your name?"

The man began to sweat. Traditionally, Markov only paid attention to the mortals beneath him when he was planning an execution. "Jaroem, Lord."

"Jaroem. That's a Cthonian name, correct? Then you've been with the Black Legion since the days of our Primarch."

"Yes, Lord," said Jaroem, quaking with fear. "I saw him once. On Ullanor."

Markov put a great deal of thought into his next words. "Good, good. What you are about to do, as meaningless as it may seem, is highly important. It will determine your future, as well as my own. Ask the Thunderhawk's crew how Qul is a daemon, and repeat back exactly what they say."

"Yes Lord." Jaroem leaned into his vox caster. "How is Slaughter Brother Qul a daemon?" He listened. "They say, his flesh is mixed in with his armor and he's got a face like a daemon, and hooves like one, and claws like one. They say that his voice hurts their ears even when he speaks softly. They say that if they look into his eyes, they see themselves burning."

Markov sighed in relief. Plenty of Traitor Legionnaires met this description. This bastard wasn't a Daemon Prince, just an especially monstrous Berzerker. He wasn't anymore of a threat to Markov's reign than Nulr, or the Half Mad.

"Very good, Officer Jaroem. Tell the Thunderhawk that it may dock in Hanger 12, and that the World Eaters will be awaiting it." Markov turned to another Officer. "Release the Berzerkers in Hanger 12. Tell their leaders, whoever they are now, that if they misbehave we'll start muzzling and kenneling them like dogs."





"I rule 3rd company now. Lord Kaalek is gone, and may his soul rest in peace," said Qul, gesturing to the Dreadnought. It was a stout and bulky thing of barely human shape. Both its legs were far apart, as though it were squatting. Its chest met its pelvis at a ball-and-socket joints of strange design, one that seemed dangerously unstable. The thing had no head, but rather a visor slit in its chest that Kaalek could see out of. One arm was a twin barreled reaper autocannon, and the other was a powerfist with a flamer under-attachment. "3rd Company needs a new leader now, and it is I."

I am not dead, the Dreadnought said. It sounded almost like thunder.

"Yes," Nulr drawled. He was obviously drooling within his helmet. "3rd company needs a new leader. But is Qul really the best we have to offer? Qul has served in my squad, under my command, since the days of the Great Crusade and I can't think of a single accomplishment of his."

I am not dead, and I am still the Lord of 3rd Company.

"Not a single accomplishment? I butchered Guardsmen by the dozen on the surface, while you were hiding up here. In one hour I accomplished more than our entire Company did in battle. Stand down Nulr, while you still have your life."

I AM NOT DEAD.

"Silence, dead one! It is I, First Slaughterprince Tirek, who will lead this company!" Tirek stepped forwards besides Nulr and Qul, his burnished red plate shining in the hanger's dull light. On his helmet was a golden crown, embedded with priceless crimson jewels.

You have no right to do this to me. I was appointed by the Primarch, the Red Angel, to lead this company. You would all defy our Primarch's will, just to satisfy your own petty ambitions? How dare you?

"Someone turn him off. All you have to do is rip that cable, and his vox goes out," said Nulr.

I WAS APPOINTED BY OUR PRIMAR-

"That's better."

"Qul, you are an unaccomplished idiot. Nulr, you led the retreat planetside, and you are unfit to be a World Eater. Tirek, you will never lead anything," Zerithmuel said, stepping forward. His armor was patchwork of half-painted broken plating, blackened by lasfire. "I will lead, not because I desire to, but because if I don't one of you will. I care too much about this company to allow this to happen."

"An honor duel," said Tirek, slowly and deliberately drawing his blade. "That is what must be."

Nulr's powerfist came to life, sparking and cracking with killing energy. Zerithmuel drew twin bolter pistols, each one baring defaced Imperial iconography and extended barrels. Qul gunned his chain axe.






The duel is already over; the rest is just details.

Tirek is faster than Qul will ever be. His warplate is a second skin to him, and his blade an extension of his arm. Nulr is easily stronger than him, his daemon enhanced musculature capable of insane feats of strength. Zerithmuel is the most dangerous of all the World Eater's 3rd Company, having found a strange sense of cunning in his insanity. He anticipates the enemy's moves before they make them, and counters appropriately.

Qul will kill them all with ease, because Tirek's quickness, Nulr's strength and Zerithmuel's cunning matter little to the Blood God. What Qul has is rage, and that is precisely what the Blood God wants. Tirek will lose his agelessness, and his 10,000 years of experience will be little more than chains draped around his neck, bending his neck before the axe. Nulr's warp infused musculature will fail him and his final moments will be a vivid reminder of what its like to be mortal. Zerithmuel's second sight is already blurring, and for the first time in years even the immediate future is unclear.

Zerithmuel dies. Qul's axe flies at his throat, like a viper delivering a venemous kiss.

Tirek dies. He sees Qul's extended arm, and lunges. In what is the most pathetic moment of his life, his legs give out from under him. As he falls, Qul's axe catches him by the neck. His head hits the floor first, and then the rest of him.

Nulr dies. Unlike the others, he manages to get a blow in. He sees Qul's axe speeding towards him, and he raises his powerfist arm to block him. Qul changes the angle of his swing ever so slightly, so that instead of deflecting off the powerfist the axe instead tears straight though Nulr's wrist. With his remaining arm, Nulr punches Qul in the gut. It does nothing. The axe hits Nulr in the head.

Amazing !!!

Hungry for more!!!!

That Dred is guna be real pissed now, quick somebody attach his legs. Nice chapter and discriptions all round, yes more please

I sense a horrid case of smashed legionare coming soon! Well done and a great read LL

"What should I do?" said Markov at long last, breaking the silence. It pained the Lord Captain to show such weakness, baring his throat to such a dangerous and alien creature.

The Half Mad dragged its armored bulk from the shadows. His body was a twisted mass of broken armor plating and exposed cabling, held together by stringy pink flesh. "My master," it said. "Was very clear. This vessel, the Valiant, needs to be docked and resupplied. Its air is warm and stale, having been recycled far too many times. We should've docked long ago, before this new campaign ever began." The Half Mad shuddered. "It is a bad omen, for us to have to breath in the same stagnant air where a thousand last breaths have been drawn."

Markov responded with a dismissive snort. "And this helps me how? I don't give a damn about the ship's air. I'm asking about the Berzerkers."

"If you disagree with what I'm telling you," said the Half Mad. "Perhaps you should commune with Lord Tzeentch yourself."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"I'm not joking. Lord Tzeentch would be more than happy to oblige such a prominent warrior as yourself, if you would just welcome him with open arms. By following the Undivided Path, you've lost the favor of the Gods. In their heavenly wars, there is no middle ground; you must take a side."

"No," Markov said, his already low voice brought even lower by impatience. "You don't. Brother, you haven't taken a side in the war between Slaanesh and Khorne, or the war between Githrax and Yalthraki, or the war between B'kri and Nedel. You're just trying to convert me again."

"Those aren't Gods. Slaanesh and Khorne are too primal, too savage to be considered anything more than especially powerful Daemons. The others are even worse. The Gods I'm referring to are Lord Tzeentch and the enemy Nurgle." The Half Mad leaned in closer to Markov. Its mouth had no lips. "Why eschew Lord Tzeentch's favor?"

"When the Warmaster promoted me, he warned me about this. He said that worshiping one God is a symptom of being.... I don't know the term, emotionally unbalanced? Each God is a facet of humanity, and by worshiping only one, you become something less than human. You've seen the World Eaters, and their opposites, the Emperor's Children. You know what I'm talking about."

The Half Mad seemed genuinely hurt. "You would accuse me of being something less than human?"

"Brother, look at yourself. Look at what 'Lord Tzeentch' has done to your body."

"You don't need to be in the driver's seat," it said softly, looking down at its talon fingers. "To enjoy the ride."

There was a moment of silence that felt much longer than it actually was.

The Half Mad spoke again. "I am sorry. You are my Lord Captain, and I should know better than to question your religious beliefs. Perhaps I could speak with you not as a vessel of Lord Tzeentch, but as a friend?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"The World Eaters, Qul in particular, directly violated your orders by killing one another. They've forced your hand, and you can't afford to show any weakness. Following through on your threat. Muzzle and kennel them all, like dogs."

You just know that they just arn't guna heel I liked the chapter, is that twisted one like Horus' es-quir-ry (?) from the Heresy or is he the same person?

Again LL I am amazed!

Very nice work (short and teasing) but very nice regardless!

Well done, you never cease to amaze me.

A Chaos Space Marine Bike is a site to behold. There are a limited number of them throughout the galaxy, perhaps no more than thirty thousand. They run on STC template engines, whose inner-workings are beyond the comprehension of even the Adeptus Mechanicus. As far as the Tech Priests are aware, these motorcycles are powered by the Machine God himself. They can propel a fully armored Space Marine, weighing about a ton, to death defying speeds up to two hundred and sixteen miles per hour. On a full tank of fuel, they can maintain these high speeds for up to twelve hours.

In addition to serving as a means of transportation, these motorcycles are also fully functional weapons. On the vehicle's prow, located between its handlebars, is a twin-linked bolter. Some Space Marines have replaced these bolters with even more dangerous weapons, such as a meltagun. Meltaguns, like Chaos Space Marine Bikes themselves, are wholly misunderstood by the Adeptus Mechanicus. A popular custom among Chaos Space Marines is to mount a horned skull, usually belonging to a xenos, on the motorcycle's armored prow and have the two bolter barrels emerging from the skull's empty eyesockets. Another popular custom is to decorate the bike with trophy poles mounted with the skulls and helmets of Imperials they've slain.

Chaos Space Marine Bikers are not like Raptors, who are connected by a secretive cult and almost identical in appearances to one another. The only thing that connects Chaos Space Marine Bikers is the fact they ride a motorcycle. Some have become fused to their bikes, most notably the Hemlock Riders of the Emperor's Children, and revere their bikes as the 'Gods of Speed'. Others, such as the Alpha Legion, treat their bikes like just another piece of machinery. The Legion in possession of the most bikes is the Black Legion, which is noted as having twelve fully motorized companies. One of these was 10th Company, led by Lord Captain Markov. It was home to one hundred Black Legionnaire Bikers, and their [amount unknown] World Eater slaves.






With the deaths of 3rd Company's elite, there was a new found surplus of equipment. Under Kaalek's reign, it would have been distributed equally to his Champions, who would then have distributed it among their squads as they saw fit. This was how Nulr had received his powerfist and Tirek had received his blade.

Qul didn't care for Kaalek's system. It was that kind of complacency that had brought 3rd Company low. Under the reign of Lord Slaughterking Qul the Ascendant, self proclaimed Avatar of the Blood God, things would be different.

Two World Eaters Qul didn't recognize fought under a spotlight, with their Brothers watching from the shadows. One had a chain axe, like Qul's own, and was fighting like a man possessed. He fought with no regard for his own safety, only the death of his opponent. Again and again his axe scraped across his opponent's warplate, dulling its own teeth more than anything else. The other World Eater, the crazed one's opponent, was fighting more defensively. He held his chainsword close to his chest, only moving it to parry. Qul didn't like the defensive one. If he didn't die soon, Qul decided he would intervene against him.

The crazed one swung his chain axe two-handed, and managed to lodge it in the back of the defensive one's knee joint. The wound was stained an ugly brown by blood and hydraulic fluid. An axe in his knee, tearing the ligaments of his kneecap to shreds with its whirring teeth, the defensive one roared. Staggering forward and putting his weight into the blow, he drove his chainsword into the joint where his opponent's left thigh met his crotch plate. The two crippled warriors slumped against each other. Their disgraceful embrace didn't last long. The defensive one wrenched his chainsword back, along with all the organs and gore that had become entangled with it. His opponent, who was losing a copious amount of blood from his crotch, fell to the floor.

"What is your name, son?" Qul asked. He was kneeling at Zerithmuel's corpse, disassembling his power armor and skinning the body beneath. Qul had always thought that Zerithmuel's flesh would make an excellent cloak.

"Slaughter Brother Hael, my lord," the defensive one answered.

"Hael, you command Nulr's men now. You may claim his power fist, if you so choose to do so." Qul looked up from his bloody work, and saw that a crowd of World Eaters were hanging on his every word. "If any of his men would disobey you, you have my permission to kill them. Kill the whole damned squad if you need to, I don't care."

It was at that moment that Qul heard a hissing noise, and saw that a pale white gas was spraying from the hanger's vents.

"HELMETS AND REBREATHERS ON, NOW!"





So far seven World Eaters without functioning rebreathers had fallen prey to the gas, choking and gagging until they slipped into unconsciousness. According to his HUD, they still had lifesigns. Whatever the gas was, it could knock Astartes unconscious without killing them. The Imperium wouldn't be willing to take Traitor Legionnaires alive, so it wasn't Imperial boarders that has gassed the hanger. It had to be the Black Legion.

If Qul chose to fight back, he'd have to take control of the Valiant itself and stage a coup against Lord Captain Markov. The World Eaters outnumbered the Black Legionnaires to be sure, but the Black Legion was better organized and better equipped. Furthermore, they controlled the ship. They could lock off certain areas, alter the artificial gravity, or the Valiant's oxygen content. Even if Qul managed to somehow take the vessel, he'd have to worry about other Black Legionnaires. The Warmaster took any betrayals against his Legion very personally. There were stories of Astartes skinned alive and hung from meat hooks for daring to act against the Warmaster's treasured pawns.

But if he took this lying down and allowed the Black Legion to continue subjugating the World Eaters, he would be no different than Kaalek. He'd be just another spineless Captain, taking orders from the Warmaster and forgetting everything about the freedom the Blood God stood for. It wouldn't be an easy decision to make.

Because he was Lord Slaughterking Qul the Ascendant, there was no dilemma at all.

"Hael, have your men get inside those Thunderhawks!" Qul gestured to a row of five angular ships with undersized wings and a design not unlike that of an ancient navy war-vessel. "I don't care how; shoot it open if you have to. I want control of those guns.

Gaius, have your men set up a barricade at the first two hanger doors! Use anything you can find, especially munitions crates!

Erezak and Tyth, wake up the Dreadnought. I don't know or care how, just do it!

Everyone else; with me!"

The third hanger door was the largest, and it was almost certainly the one the Black Legionnaires would use. Being bikers, they preferred to fight in wide open spaces. The first two doors, were five feet wide each, not at all what they wanted. It could fit maybe one or two bikers in at a time. But the third door was at least four or five times the length of the other two. The Black Legion would come in all at once, their roaring engines drowning out the Berzerker's maddened screaming. That was how they would come in.

"Barricade the door!" Qul said. "Here, use the corpses! And the unconscious ones too! Tack on frag grenades to the door!" Qul congratulated himself on his stroke of genius. When the door retracted into the ceiling, the frag grenades would be crushed and detonate, showering the bikers with shrapnel as they drove in. They wouldn't be able to see the barricade, and they'd go straight into it. "Tack on krak grenades, munitions crates, and any other explosives you can find to the barricades! I want this place to light up like Cadia!"

On his HUD, a Lord Captain Markov offered to open up a private vox channel with him. Qul accepted.

"Blood and skulls," he found himself drawling. "And blood and skulls, and blood and skulls, and blood and skulls."

"I see."

"Heh heh heh, blood and skulls, and blood and skulls, and blood and skulls..."

"Well," said Markov. "In the off chance that you Berzerkers decide that you won't like being muzzled and kenneled, I suggest you stand down immediately."

"I'll peal your face and staple it to my helmet, so that when I'm gutting you like a fish, you'll see yourself laughing. And then I'll tie you up with your own guts, and leave to bleed out! In your own command throne no less! You'll die faceless and gutless, bleeding out in your command throne while you watch the World Eaters take control of your precious ship!"

Qul was planning on cutting the vox channel after getting that last word in. Markov cut it before he could.

The third door's barricade was uneven. In some places, the barricade reached up the top of the door and was made entirely out of highly temperamental explosives. In other places, there was no barricade at all and the bikers might be able to slip right through. "I want this to be uniform!" Qul shouted. "Fix it! Gaius, have your men work on this door now. Doors one and two are finished. Hael and Erezak, I want progress reports on your respective operations."

"Lord Kaalek is not waking," said Erezak. "His sarcophagus has been disconnected from his Dreadnought body."

"Then connect it! How hard can it be? I don't care how you do, just do it!"

"There is a slight problem with the Thunderhawks, my lord. We've broken inside two of them but there appears to be... no ammunition, my lord. My apologies, my lord," Hael said.

For the first time since the Black Legion gassed the hanger, Qul was silent. The silence seemed to last forever. Finally, he spoke, his restrained voice belying his rage. "After this battle, Hael, I will kill you for incompetence. This is not a threat; this is a promise. But, until I kill you, I want you to get ammo from the munitions crates. Is that too difficult for you? Is it too hard to ask that when you're out of ammo, you get new ammo from the crates piled all around the hanger? Is it just too much?"

"No, my lord."

"THEN DO IT!"

The door groaned, then let out a steady pneumatic hiss. Steam rose and smoke wafted from the naked machinery off to its side. Gears clanked just beneath the walls, the dull noise resonating through the hanger. Slowly and steadily, belying the machinery's strength, the door began to recede into the ceiling. Behind the rising door, Qul could hear the roaring of engines. The Black Legion had come.

Very nice my friend Very nice indeed

Come on Dred, wake the fek up lol. Excelent, I'l be awaiting the next installment eagerly my heritic brother.

Im loving your storytelling LL. Superb knack for keeping me completely engaged. I know that took you awhile to write but damn it man i inhaled it in one sitting.

Very tough subject to balance the power of marines and the extreme nature of khorne, yet balance it you do. Weird yet i really am warming to your characters and hope they get that bird in the air and cause some devestation on their way out.

And please, get that dread going

We need moar! And please for all that is unholy unleash the dread soon!

Dread! Dread! Dread! Dread.........etc.

Just read this in one sitting. I like the World Eaters and dreads both, so I'm double-happy with this.

You've got a good grasp on the kind of psyche I imagine the World Eaters would have, and I like the insights you're showing.

The violence is Grimdark Tarantino, anf none the worse for it.

Unleash the dread!

MORE PLEASE.!!!