It mattered not, for Antiochus had the means in which he could realize his dreams. He could at a whim traverse the far-reaches of the known universe, the warp, and beyond. For untold centuries he and his crew had ravaged Imperial spaceports and colonies. Inexplicably, his thoughts turned towards the carrion Emperor on his throne. The False-Emperor's lies had led Antiochus down the path which had placed him on the bridge of the mighty Chaos ship. Once, long ago, he had stood with his fellow Terrans on the eve of the great conquest. A chance to see the universe and all of its glory had lured him into service within the mighty first Legion. The man who would come to be known only as the Emperor had promised them a share in his glory and honors beyond their dreams. Antiochus's mind wandered farther and farther from the battle as he slipped into his memories. He was jarred back to reality as he felt three sharp pains stabbing him in the side. No, not his side, he slowly realized. As his focus returned, he realized the hull of his beloved Peccavi had been pieced by three Imperial Boarding Torpedoes. He smiled as he directed his crew to purge his beloved craft of the invaders. His blood boiled as he began to imagine the ways he would offer up their souls to the gods of the warp. PART FOUR: Melta-cutters whirled as the torpedo burrowed deep into the Peccavi's armored hull. As the torpedo opened its front nosecone, Squad Michael rushed out into the chaos of the heretical warship's underbelly. The interior of the craft was as ornate as it was vile. Illustrations and frescos too perverse to describe were etched on every available inch of exposed metal. Leering demonic images adorned every available fixture, as foul puddles of waste and excrement covered the narrow hallways. The disciplined Terminators quickly overwhelmed the surprised chaos scum in the narrow corridor. They were clad in worn and tattered rags that once might have been some sort of uniforms. Some barely showed the stigmata of mutation while others were no longer recognizable as human. Their bodies were covered in head to toes with tattoos proclaiming their allegiance to the foul Powers of the Warp. Though much more numerous than the Deathwing Terminators, the heretics were only armed with a pitiful few corroded las-guns. The rest of the mob wielded a variety of cudgels and knives. Michael quickly directed his marines in the direction of their objective. Brother Alfred's assault cannon whirled and spat out death in the confines of the passageway. Las-gun shots bounced harmlessly off heavy bone-white Terminator armor. Slow to react to the threat deep inside their ship, the heretical crew's reinforcements arrived piecemeal. The dregs, mutants and spawn amongst the crew sported a variety of mutations. Writhing tentacles, crab-like pincers and spines were most evident. Some of the mutants were as large as an ogryn. Most of the less-mutated ones were tattooed with vile runes and blasphemous scenes. Despite the sea of inhumanity that flooded the tunnels, the Deathwing squad's advance was slowed little. The great wall of flesh broke against the bone-white wall of ceramite and plasteel. Techmarine Vretil's dark-red armor was a stunning contrast in the middle of the bone-white Terminators. His auspex detected the approaching enemies long before they were able to attack the advancing squad. The Techmarine quickly overrode blast doors that clanged shut in front of them. Vretil occasionally paused at various access panels and hacked into the ship's systems. The brief intrusion was not unnoticed by the daemon within but was brief enough to prevent a reaction. Brother Alto's twin-lighting claws made quick work of the heavily armored giant-mutants that had tried to counter-attack the marines at an intersection. The humming multi-blades easily scythed through their make-shift armor. The corridors in this section of the ship were just wide and tall enough for one of the massive bone-white Terminator suits. Brother Vitalus led the way, slicing through the onrushing traitor sailors with his own pair of deadly energy-filled claws. Behind him, Brother Rutilus covered his battle-brother with the whirling barrels of his assault cannon. Brother-Sergeant Michael smiled as his squad fought in a disciplined fashion, worthy of the sons of El' Jonson. The blessed Primarch would be proud of these elite of the elite. There was no error or misstep as the veteran marines easily defeated many times their number using tactics and the confines of the ship against their foe. The heavy terminator suits shook the floor as Squad Michael made its way towards the Peccavi's shield generators. After destroying the battleships shielding systems they would continue towards their rendezvous point with the other squads. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Antiochus snarled, as his incompetent crew was unable to stop the invading Space Marines. The daemon had whispered to him that his fears had been realized. The Hunters had come, the betrayers were aboard. Luther had been right; they would stop at nothing to complete their humiliation of him. Stranded on that backwater dirtball, his dreams of exploration and conquest had been blunted by the so-called Primarch. The coward had been afraid of the native-born earthlings. El' Jonson had gradually replaced the Terran commanders within the Legion his own cronies and sycophants. To further Antiochus's humiliation, El' Jonson had ordered the greatest of the Legion's spacefarers to be assigned to protect the speck of insignificant mud. He who had stood at the dawn of the greatest conquest in history was cast aside. The once greatest of Legionaries had been forced to languish in obscurity. Luther had shown him the way. The Emperor's will to fight had grown weaker with each passing conquest. The time for the true warriors was at hand. Antiochus had been one of many in the mightily fleet preparing to leave Caliban and seek their own cheated glory. Then traitors loyal to the cowardly Primarch had sabotaged the fleet, leaving them stranded permanently on that god-forsaken world. Then they had come back with the Traitorous Lion at their head. The verdant world had died as the returning cowards blasted the helpless defenders from orbit. Fate had stepped in and Antiochus's greatness had been saved. The true gods had intervened and spared the most worthy from their ignominious fate. Antiochus would not be as merciful to those within his beloved Peccavi. PART FIVE: Squad Walfrid fought its way through one of the battleship's weapons deck. Brother Sigmund's Assault Cannon was sorely missed in the cavernous vestibules they encountered. The veteran had fallen to during the assault on the primary weapon power coupler station. Sigmund had been in the midst of a group of pirates when he was vaporized by sporadic fire from crew-served laser-cannon. The leather-hooded heretics manning the gun had fired indiscriminately into their own brethren, vaporizing over a dozen in the process. Interrogator-Chaplain Sariel had avenged his death in whirl of pure hatred. Their objective achieved, they now fought their way towards the ship's command center. Constant heavy weapons fire from the crew and wide-open spaces inside the various gunnery stations were slowing down the Terminators considerably. The remaining five marines of Squad Walfrid followed closely behind the Interrogator-Chaplain. Each knew that the honor of their chapter was at stake and would sacrifice everything for it. But for the Interrogator-Chaplain, this was his sacred calling. It was he who had learned of Fallen 254's involvement in the Badab War scant years before. Rumors of Fallen 254 exploits had reached the Inner-circle for years, but an intercepted communiqué from the Mantis Warrior's Chapter had confirmed Antiochus's presence in Lufgt's fleet. The Tyrant had been defeated after almost a decade of warfare, during which Antiochus and his crew had lent their support to the madman. While Blackheart fled to the Warp with the remnants of his chapter, Antiochus had quietly slipped away from the combined Imperial Fleet. The Unforgiven had tracked the piratical Fallen to Arch-Heretic Nagah's fleet. Now, aboard the Peccavi, was their chance to force Antiochus to answer for his crimes. Vox communication had been severely limited due to interference from the Peccavi's systems. Partial transmissions from the other two squads confirmed that ship's internal communications and shielding systems had been neutralized. The two other Deathwing squads aboard the Chaos Battleship would soon be linking up and were closing in on their prey. Sariel had great faith in Brother-Captain Elijah's ability to complete the mission. The Interrogator-Chaplain still pushed Squad Walfrid harder and harder. They dedicated veterans were up to the task and thrived on the demands of the boarding action. Only the mission and the final objective mattered. Sariel and the marines with him would be of no use trapped on this accursed weapon deck. |
THE PECCAVI By Trent Hoffman ( OCAC ) |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
