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The rain pouring down, lightning flickers through the murky depths of the sky like the tongue of a snake. Six lone guardsmen trudge through the mud as they near their destination; the old farm up north. They had all heard the tales of what had happened there. Every day there was strange noise. Odd lights. Unnatural atmosphere. It stank of corruption. No wonder someone had finally been sent to check it out. Jenkins just wished it didn't have to them. The six of them weren’t experienced, just eager for action but still not yet wise to the horrific ways of the galaxy.

The locals had reacted....strangely, to their presence, watching them carefully, going inside as they neared, and acting as one to just...stare at them as if they were as soulless as the abominable Tyranids. The farm finaly comes into sight, its dark form silhouetted against the very nearly set sun. A faint, red light comes out from between the shutters, lighting up the nearby terrain with a ghostly glow. All is silent. The six men slowly walk up to the forboading building, the dread lit up on their faces. The man at the back, stephen, shaking in fear as he is the youngest. Jenkins was the first to come close to the building. He knockes on the heavy, wooden door. Instantly, the lights go out and a quiet sound, almost a whisper, comes from the house. And again, all is silent.

"Uhhhh, Jenkins? JENKINS!" The whole squad turns as Stephen squeals. Standing a few metres behind the squad is a tall, dark figure. He wears smooth, onyx armour. He is heavily armoured in the stuff and his arms, legs and torso are covered in it. At his hip lies a skabard in which lies a long sword, glowing with baleful red light. On his face is a slab of the black metal, seemingly without any eye holes. A large, red star of chaos covers the black slab. The whole squad remains still at the stranger's aproach.
"Imperial guard, state your Business here civilian."
The figure remains still, tilting its head to the side before making an electronic-sounding growling. Michael, the squad's plasma gunner, seems utterly unpeturbed, and Casually strolls up to the stranger.

"Hey, I don't think you heard, FREAK! He said, STATE YOUR BUSINESS!" Michael shouts at the figure.
For a moment both stand still and silent. Then Michael slumps to the ground with a thud.



(What do you guys think? This is my first attempt at a story so it probably is not that great, but please suggest ways to make it better if you can and tell me what you think )

By the way, its not yet finished.

This is nicely written. I greatly enjoy the atmosphere set up the first paragraph. You can already guess that those Guardsmen are screwed, as usual. It's pretty rare for Guardsmen to not be screwed. Overall, it's very enjoyable.

However, if the onyx armored figure is intended to be an Astartes, you should remember to describe that Astartes are a few feet taller than Guardsmen. Otherwise it's great.

It's really good to know you like it

I shall soon get round to finishing this story

(THE WHOLE THING):


The aspiring champion





The rain pouring down, lightning flickers through the murky depths of the sky like the tongue of a snake. Six lone guardsmen trudge through the mud as they near their destination; the old farm up north. They had all heard the tales of what had happened there. Every day there was strange noise. Odd lights. Unnatural atmosphere. It stank of corruption. No wonder someone had finally been sent to check it out. Jenkins just wished it didn't have to them. The six of them weren’t experienced, just eager for action but still not yet wise to the horrific ways of the galaxy.

The locals had reacted....strangely, to their presence, watching them carefully, going inside as they neared, and acting as one to just...stare at them as if they were as soulless as the abominable Tyranids. The farm finaly comes into sight, its dark form silhouetted against the very nearly set sun. A faint, red light comes out from between the shutters, lighting up the nearby terrain with a ghostly glow. All is silent. The six men slowly walk up to the forboading building, the dread lit up on their faces. The man at the back, stephen, shaking in fear as he is the youngest. Jenkins was the first to come close to the building. He knockes on the heavy, wooden door. Instantly, the lights go out and a quiet sound, almost a whisper, comes from the house. And again, all is silent.

"Uhhhh, Jenkins? JENKINS!" The whole squad turns as Stephen squeals. Standing a few metres behind the squad is a tall, dark figure. He wears smooth, onyx armour. He is heavily armoured in the stuff and his arms, legs and torso are covered in it. At his hip lies a skabard in which lies a long sword, glowing with baleful red light. On his face is a slab of the black metal, seemingly without any eye holes. A large, red star of chaos covers the black slab. The whole squad remains still at the stranger's aproach.
"Imperial guard, state your Business here civilian."
The figure remains still, tilting its head to the side before making an electronic-sounding growling. Michael, the squad's plasma gunner, seems utterly unpeturbed, and Casually strolls up to the stranger.

"Hey, I don't think you heard, FREAK! He said, STATE YOUR BUSINESS!" Michael shouts at the figure.
For a moment both stand still and silent. Then Michael slumps to the ground with a thud.


The rest of the squad watches on in disbelief as blood pours from the gaping hole in Michael's chest, his last few breaths turning into mist in the air, the tall figure's crackling sword, covered in his blood.
There is silence for what seems like an age. The stranger then emits a modulated howl before charging. Just before he reaches the guardsmen two of them, Dominic and Francis, let rip with their lasguns. The figure continues, utterly unaffected by the blasts, and swings his blade in a deadly arc, instantly decapitating Francis and severing Dominic's left arm, causing a fountain of blood to come spurting out of the wound. The figure does not pause, however, and before Dominic can even let out a scream, his body is torn in half by a devastating blow, his life brought to an abrupt end. Stephens, the squad's grenadier, panics instantly and in a moment of pure terror, pulls the trigger on the grenade launcher.

Benedict, the the squad flamer-man, is caught in the point-blank explosion. Unbelivebly, he survives, escaping only with shrapnel through his arm. With a grunt he readies his flamer. There is a faint hissing sound and a slight smell of gas. Then there is only flames. Stephens runs out of the blaze, trying desperately to put out the fire on his back, and for several seconds seems successful, running into the waiting blade of the crouching horror, instantly falling down, screaming. He is then lifted up by his neck by the figure, trying vainly to escape. The thing slowly moves it's face closer to Stephen's, coldly assessing him. Stephen then screams a brief prayer to the Emperor before yet again firing his raised grenade launcher into the chest of the warp-spawned abomination, sending it flying backwards through the feeble wall of the farmhouse.

Jenkins stands there for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened in the last few seconds. The horror had just killed his squad without breaking pause, not tiring, not even breaking a sweat. It had to die, but Jenkins knew that he could not do it. He could only run. He sprints back down the path his squad had walked only a minute ago, tears of rage, fear and sadness, roling down his cheeks. He could not keep this up for long, as the rain had made the path thick and gripping, his boots constantly being stuck until eventually he had to abandon them and continue. He trips, his face slamming into the slimy filth below. Panicked, he rises quickly, spinning around, lasgun infront of him, as ready as he will ever be to face the nameless horror. Nothing there. Puzzled he relaxes, had he outrun the abomination? Could he have? He lowers his lasgun, a smile on his face, then a grin, then a loud laugh as he realises that he is safe.

But he must tell someone, the command. Detirmined, but nowhere near as fearful, he turns, ready to tell his tale.

"No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering."

The smile drops from his face.




Please tell me what you think, and all coments are apriciated

So, how is it? or

5.593 out of 6 I'd say.

This is very well written. I greatly enjoy the description of the combat, especially the heavy weapons problems. It reminds me of Aliens when the women with the flamethrower gets attacked from behind and accidentally opens fires on her squad.