|
Post by Jackal-0311 on Apr 19, 2010 16:30:03 GMT -5
Very well done sir!
|
|
|
Post by Srgt. Master on Apr 19, 2010 18:12:24 GMT -5
Agreed, just one or two sentences, but it's still very touching and detailed.
Great job on this!
|
|
|
Post by Gabriel Lupus on Apr 21, 2010 13:11:03 GMT -5
Seemed to have lost my bookmark for this a while ago RT - I was beginning to wonder why it wasn't getting updated... then realised it was and have just read the last 8 pages... Sorry about that Anyways, I was a little concerned that you would use everything so far as a "prologue" (still not entirely sure it fits... something nagging at the back of my mind... but I deal with that when I know what those voices are on about...), BUT, now I've read what would therefore be the start of "Chapter One", my concerns have been pretty much swept away - as long as you can keep up the intensity (not neccessarily action based) for the rest of the story. Somehow Drang seems to have exploded into being a fully rounded character during pretty much a single post (where Emir found him) - There seem to be so many facets to him now, and I find myself increasingly asking what happened to him to turn him into the Daemonically possessed killing machine he is now. Does he feel he was betrayed by the Emperor, the High Lords of Terra, The Imperium itself, all three of these or something else? Hopefully this will get answered (or better still hinted at ) - And could he be brought back to Emperors light (granted after a successful exorcism )? Seems he still has some affection/love for the Emperor, when he gives thanks by saying "...oh God-Emperor..." ... interesting... As for the "interesting debate" a few pages ago regarding Marines feeling fear... "And They Shall Know Know Fear" is more of a "They can put rationality to fear and overcome it far easier than 'Normal' humans". But they DO still feel fear - it would be extremely detrimental to them if they had absolutely no sense of fear (also reference older fluff and novels, such as "The Inquisition War" - granted alot of the stuff in these kind of books has... 'amended' but for hoary old vets, it's still valid canon ). I look forward to more installments... (and promise not to ramble on so much next time... unless you want me too )
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on May 13, 2010 14:02:34 GMT -5
Most of First Company lay scattered around the Imperial Square, human figures slumped or sprawled across the rain-slicked concrete like dead men, or else sat on the sacred steps of the Imperial Chapel with the remnants of Second Company. Drang sat with Emir, her slender frame held close to his bared chest, her head resting atop his heart and listening, listening to the slow, sluggish tempo of his heart, playing a sonorous beat to the rains insistent, whispering melody, mind and body clinging together in the soft, dawn rain that had washed them clean.
After some time, Drang lifted his head, removing the gentle preassure of his chin from Emir's head, and said "I love you".
She smiled, a soft, rewarded expression spreading over her features as she raised her head, love and affection glowing like a candle in those incredible eyes, pale blue sapphires gleaming more bright and clear that the powder-blue skies of summer, like something brighter than a star alit this blue with it's clear, human radiance.
"Love you to, Kam" she said, even as her eyes closed and they slipped closer together in a long, slow, deep kiss, their mutual longing flaring like a match, and then holding, burning in them in a steady, controlled heat, Drang gently cradling her head in his scarred, scalded hands, her fingers brushing his cheeks in desire as their lips met, and held together. Two lovers, holding each other on the once-sacrosanct steps of an Imperial chapel, clinging to one another in that desperate, undeniable longing that stood in strange, proud defiance to both the towering, brutish silhouette of Imperial glory, and the man-made strife that had torn this glory apart.
Kasson sighed, in half-denial, half-exasperation at the two. God knows how many battles, how many dead men, and the two still act like a pair of teenagers. Bloody-handed Romeo and warp-freak Juliet, their romance blazing across the starts and leaving a trail of corpses close to hip-deep, and yet the two still kept at this romantic pretence. Still...
"Stop that" chided Lieutenant Ylushya, elbowing him in a friendly, mocking fashion, before she dropped the all-weather vox-kit onto the stonework with a resounding, jarring crash. The two lovers didn't even stir. Kasson turned around, glaring with an irritable, stung-dragon ferocity, a thunderous, scathing reply already ranking up on his tongue like an assault wave in the trenches, ready to deliver a thunderous barrage of insults followed by the steely, razor-sharp wall of bayonets.
What he was not expecting, was to see the forty-five year old lieutenant, veteran of god-knows how many campaigns, her hair streaked with greys and the first ever female to make the cut for Second Company, naked from the waist up.
After an inappropriately long silence, Drang got up, and walked over to Kasson's frozen figure.
"I think your broke his mind" he said, after giving Ylushya's rather buxom figure an obligatory glance-over. "If you did, it's coming out of your salary" he joked.
"Can I have his job if he dies?" she retorted, barely able to conceal her laughter.
"No, I think that would set a bad precedent, and then all my female soldiers would try to mind-crush their way to the top by wandering around in the nude. God knows, there's no way a woman would get promoted on meri-ow!" he snapped, turning around to find Emir had snuck up on him and given him a firm jab to the ribs. "That hurt" he complained.
"Well, you deserved it. Besides, you're not wearing a shirt" she said. "And it looks more comfortable than this bloody coat" she said, picking at her clothes that were matted and clung to her body like a hide of sticky, muddy, dead ferrets.
"This is why war should be a male occupation" Drang muttered, ignoring the second jab in the ribs. "This way, I wouldn't be forced to contemplate the ridiculous double standards I impose on people" he murmured darkly. "I liked those double standards."
"Yeah, well, sorry sir" said Ylushya, clearly unrepentant as sin itself, and only slightly less distracting. "I'll try and get Von Luckner on the horn-"
"-And Kasson off it?" interjected Emir.
"Don't talk about getting my sergeant off anything, please, I have enough nightmares" muttered Drang. "Yes, tell Von Luckner to stop polishing his gold braid and get down here, we need a plan. And I've provided my one for the year" he said darkly, before stalking away with Emir in tow.
After a while, Kasson blinked, and emerged from the cloud of shock to say, in a small, distant voice "Lieutenant. Why are you not wearing a shirt?"
"With respect sir" said Ylushya, "neither are you."
Kasson started and looked down in shock, to find that he was in fact wearing a shirt, and his lieutenant was howling with laughter at this fact. A vague, muffled sniggering could be heard from amongst the ranks of his fellow Korpsmen, and the First Company were quite open in their amusement and sharing Ylushya's laughter.
"Sorry sir" said Ylushya, after she had recovered, again, unrepentant "but it was too good an opportunity-"
"Indeed" snarled Kasson, glaring at her. She shrugged, causing her breasts to move in a interesting fashion that quite drew his attention away from the blind, inchoate rage slowly fomenting in his mind. "Carry on, Lieutenant" he said, before, like Drang, stalking away into the darkness.
|
|
|
Post by ElegaicRequiem on May 13, 2010 15:48:13 GMT -5
Hahaha! Unexpected update.
Well played, RT - I did not see this day coming.
|
|
|
Post by Jackal-0311 on May 13, 2010 16:22:03 GMT -5
I'm blown away, very nice RT.
If I may add my observation:
You are fantastic at your descriptions of raw emotions, thoughts and actions of each character. You start off with these epic descriptions of events and details, but by the time that the reader gets to the end he/she is left exhausted. ( and that was just one characters observation of his event)
For example: " Kasson turned around, glaring with an irritable, stung-dragon ferocity, a thunderous, scathing reply already ranking up on his tongue like an assault wave in the trenches, ready to deliver a thunderous barrage of insults followed by the steely, razor-sharp wall of bayonets."
You could have had the same emotional effect on the reader at this point: "Kasson turned around, glaring with an irritable, stung-dragon ferocity, a thunderous, scathing reply already ranking up on his tongue."
Again, this is just a personal observation and not a correction of any sort. I do not have a pot to p!ss in when it comes to correcting any literature of this level. I leave that Lupus and other much more talented writers.
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on May 13, 2010 17:23:51 GMT -5
Thanks 0311, I'll bear that in mind.
|
|
|
Post by Makarova (M.I.A) on May 13, 2010 18:24:40 GMT -5
I love this update so much.
You're so much better at this than me.
|
|
|
Post by Gabriel Lupus on May 14, 2010 3:50:32 GMT -5
I leave that Lupus and other much more talented writers. Did you just imply that I am in some way a talented writer? well, depending on Makarova's opinion (and possibly RT's if I can persuade him to look over my stuff) I may post some...Right, my ("talented" ) critique... What you've written here is, I feel, a really important part of the story so far - to a degree, more important than some of the earlier background details that shaped the characters at the start. This section has breathed a whole new aspect to a whole score of characters that are mentioned, because it shows us that your characters aren't just hardcore killing machines who simply revolve around battle and carnage - they have another dimension to them of comaraderie and post conflict interaction. Basically, all the bloodshed and violence that we've assimilated in the explosive beginning, now has this breath of fresh air to temper the story. Without this, good as the story was, it in danger of becoming a simple "blood and gore" novel. Good work RT! I do agree to 0311's suggestion regarding some of the descriptive pieces (the example given being a prime suggestion). It may be a little long winded in this context. Again, more of a personal preference than anything else though.
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Jun 12, 2010 13:06:50 GMT -5
"Siegfried? Kamenev here" said Drang, finger gently pressed to the gleaming metal of a micro-vox nestled in his ears. "What's the situation?"
Von Luckner took a slow, deep breath, once again swallowing his relief into his chest, hiding it away in automatic reflex before he spoke. "Kamenev, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. You have sergeants for situation reports. Don't distract your field commanders from actually commanding things, which incidentally you do precious little of-"
"-Quiet, you brass-polishing warhound" retorted Drang, grinning cheerfully. "Tell me what's going on or Kasson won't be ordering in any boot polish for the next decade."
"Enemy's falling back on all front's. Elakor's tanks are shredding what they can hit, but good God Kam, it's spitting into a hurricane. The whole blasted sector's crumbling and pulling out. Dyhern's estimates were way off - there's far more than five regiments here. Spotters reported elements of the Cadian 808th, 201st, 19th and 47th, the Valhallan 204th and two companies of what we guess are the Vostroyan 38th. Palatai's men are reporting sporadic counterattacks by what can only be reckoned as a feral world regiment, most likely Ta'nari, and there's still a strong Inquisitorial presence. We've got them running now, but I bloody hope they don't turn around until we've got more than advanced elements of those damn Malengradians up here. At the moment the only artillery support we can call in consists of the 1st Heavy Artillery-"
"-only the First?" half-sneered Drang. "Only a Heavy Artillery regiment?"
"Yes, only, peasant" snapped Von Luckner. "If you want to try and stop an enemy counterattack with one armoured regiment, one heavy artillery regiment and half a regiment's worth of shock-assault infantry with air support, you can, but I'm not taking responsibility for us losing the entire Company."
Drang paused for a minute, blinking in surprise. Siegfried was worried. Extremely, exceptionally worried. Possibly even slightly afraid, if it was even possible for that old bastard to feel fear. And when Von Luckner was worried over the strategic situation, it was the Gods, the Emperor or whatever else telling you that things could well start devolving into a living nightmare.
"....Get Palati to bring up reinforcements unless he wants his head being served to his own monsters" growled Drang, pupils twitching in involuntary reflex as another, personal monster raised it's head in the darkness inside him. "I'll secure this town."
"Very well Kamenev. See you on the ground."
"See you Siegfried. Drang out."
The line went dead. Drang paused for a moment, idly reaching out to give Emir a slow, lingering caress, fingers brushing down her smooth jaw and the soft, rough skin of her scarred throat. She murmured gently, pressing her head to his chest and wrapping her arms around him, his hand still petting her gently as he buzzed into the vox.
"Alright you mother-eating sons of bïtches, I know you were listening into that. The first company to clear out their sector wins the front box at the next M.A.U.L. The last company will have the pleasure of explaining to me why I pay them to be lazy. Points will be awarded for assists, double bounties for captives as usual plus prize money for anything interesting" he said, gleefully raising his voice to drown out the howls of outrage and protest filling the vox-nets. "As usual company commanders, casualty pay will be deducted from your salaries. And no Kasson, neither you nor I qualify for a win just because we've cleared our sectors, but bonus points for kills/assists/captures still count" he concluded.
A chorus of assents rang over the vox-net, ranging from the dogged grumbling of 11th Company (Genswick Rifles), to the stoic cool of Second and Third Companies, and the sheer insane ferocity of 6th Company (Drookian Fen and Shock troops).
"Tear them to pieces lads" snarled Drang, hand idly closing into a clenched fist at his side. "They can sew them back together in hell!"
|
|
|
Post by Gabriel Lupus on Jun 12, 2010 13:57:32 GMT -5
That was an update out of the blue RT - and good to see too!
This section has been filled with interesting little peices that are really helping (not sure if everyone has/will pick up on them yet, but certainly very useful twists for future developments). So much so that I'd rather not pick up them all, but specifically I appreciate the 'limitation' you've included in their situation - they're not an all powerful, all outnumbering hoard of destruction. They're going to have to use some cunning tactics as well as their natural (or supernatural) fighting prowess.
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Jul 18, 2010 15:48:29 GMT -5
"Captain Drang, this is Victor" spoke Bryant Collins, Hypaspist-Captain formerly of the 6th Genswick Rifles, his growling, muttered slum-drawl dragging out across the vox network. "We've found something I think you'll want to look at."
"Aye Victor" replied Drang, tilting his head momentarily in interest, before setting off at a punishing dog-trot across the townlet towards sector 55. "Interesting?"
"Very" said Bryant, his natural growl becoming all the more pronounced in battle-hungry anticipation. "We've encountered stiff resistance from an enemy position. Iconography and initial decryption tells us it's Inquisitorial, so we thought-"
"Volke" snarled Drang, the sound and fury in his voice enough to make Bryant and his entire command squad quiver as one, like aspen leaves at a passing wind. "Keep them pinned down until I get there, alright?"
"Aye sir" responded Bryant, cutting the vox-link without further preamble. A quiet had descended across his men, the sound of the heavy comm-piece being replaced loud and raucous in the hollowed-out townhouse he had made his post in. That, and a barest shake of his fingers was all that betrayed his disquiet at the nature of his commander.
After a moment of uncomfortable contemplation, it was Lewin, his bulky frame augmented not only by the heavy, knee-length armoured jacks of the Rifles, but also the massive ammo belts for his heavy stubber, the brass cartridges striking gently against the ferroadamant plating in a melodic susurration of scrapes and chinks, that spoke up.
"Still gets to you, eh?" he said, the natural harshness of his voice softened to rasping whisper-quiet.
"Aye" said Bryant, after a momentary pause as the short, metallic snap of a lighter opening, a billow of smoke gently ascending to the ceiling as he lit a 'lho. "Aye, that it does. But we're in too deep now, and I'm not cruel enough to ask him 'where is the promised land?'"
"Where is the promised land?" echoed Lewin, faint puzzlement and a query entering his voice as his superior stepped forward, 'lho cupped gently between both palms and gently smouldering away.
"Where is the promised land? Where is the brave new world?" whispered Bryant, a brief tear of sorrow cutting across his throat and tongue, hung in the air bleeding. "Where do all dreams go when they die?" "Lewin, this might be a good job. But it's got the same retirement prospects as any other warrior's, and not the remembrance. Our victories are ash, our defeats are a tomb. No laurel wreaths for the conquerors, no victory parades."
"More of us getting out alive, though" said Lewin. "Three years ago and we'd have lost half our number in an operation like this. We've yet to take a fatality today so far."
Bryant chuckled, the last burn of his cigarette dropping to the floor to be ground beneath his armoured boots. "Aye, there's that. Excuse an old bastard for his bastardry" he said, snorting ruefully at his own wit as he unlimbered a heavy, short-pattern lever-action shotgun. Etched in brass, a pair of drakes chased each other's tails down the barrel, swooping in an elliptical ascent up to the oak and walnut stock. "Let's break some skulls lads."
A muted chorus of thumbs-ups, 'ayes' and nods was his response, as his squad readied their gear, and advanced out of their rudimentary post.
- - - - - - - - -
The harsh, flame-lit tongues of the dawn were now illuminating the city, casting fists of shade into the streets and alleyways, illuminating, blinding incandescence burning away the clouds. The sun behind them, Bryant's men headed down the street, arms and armour lit up in a blaze of glory, good-natured complaints being exchanged amongst the seven in lieu of anything better to do, eyes scanning the buildings and horizons for any hint of an ambush.
"....And then he says to me 'keep them pinned down until I get there'" said Bryant, much of his spirit restored by the action and good cheer of his men. "What, engage them in a static, morale and reserve-sapping battle of attrition utilising our superior position, heavier armour and specialised training? No, that would have never occurred to me!"
"After all, it's not as if we're bloody well siege specialists" responded Thomssen. "It's not as if we do such engagements without thinking. I mean, what did he expect of us? A surprise, daring assault upon the centre of the enemy lines before they're ready to eliminate the nerve centre of their command and leave their forces in disarray?" he concluded, to a multitude of guffaws and cheerful laughter.
A few minutes of further cautious, easy walking, and they reached a fork in the road. To the right , an empty, open road lay, scattered with ash and debris from the infrequent mortar strikes the enemy carried out to harass their foes. To the right, the armoured hull of a RAT tunneller stood crosswise to the street, the spoil heap of it's entrance strewn the place, and a number of figures, some in the characteristic armoured jacks of the 'Rifles standing about. As they came closer, another, smaller number of prone figures came into view, lain on stretchers as medics moved to and from them.
"Captain Bryant" acknowledged one of the figures, a short, slight man in the characteristic storm helmet and armoured jack of a Rifleman, whom Bryant recognised as Sergeant Verald. "We've set up a medicae station for ourselves and the next three companies around. We've treated about thirty-four minor injuries, and, well, as you can see, seven major ones. Mostly ours, though we got a few Cherns from 21st Company, like this fellow down there" he concluded, motioning to a man sat back against the RAT, a swathe of bandages wrapped about his shoulders. "Two las-rounds to the clavicle and then a second-degree burn to the right shoulder upper arm and part of his lower face. Nasty, but he seems okay. You alright Gregor?"
The red-eyed Chern looked up and nodded, giving the characteristic thumbs-up of the 'Rifles.
"Reason we're waiting to medivac is that I'm disinclined to move out unless we're full. None of these are life-threatening, though Emperor knows the amount of abuse I'm going to get from the line 'docs about leaving them to wait, and I don't want to risk the two hours of transit time there and back unless we're full or a genuine emergency."
Bryant nodded. "Good work Sergeant. However, I'm countermanding your order. Load up the casevac and get back to Malengrad. Thomsson here will take care of anyone else who comes in, and if we've got any emergencies I'll call in a favour with the Captain and have a Valkyrie evacuate them back. Alright with that?"
Verald considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "Aye sir. But you've got to promise you'll stay here until we get back, no matter how hot it gets down here."
Bryant eyed the younger man, then responded by a sharp, modest strike to the back of his head and neck with his palm.
"Aye sir. Going now sir" said Verald, thoroughly chastised.
|
|
|
Post by Gabriel Lupus on Jul 18, 2010 18:42:17 GMT -5
Interesting - more of the Inquisitional forces...I sense more bloodshed and severe levels of violence upcoming.
RT, reading your work is like riding a roller coaster (for want of a better description). There are exilerating powerful blasts of action and gore, interspersed with brief quantifying periods of calm as you climb to the next precipice of roaring violence.
It's something I can't really recall seeing in other GW fiction (not to such an extent anyway) which seems to be working well. I just hope you don't lose you steam... (not that I think you will).
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Aug 13, 2010 19:04:26 GMT -5
Suddenly, something in darkness moved, a shadow slipping off the roof and crashing to the ground with a resounding 'crunch' of breaking stone, the men spinning in panic to set eyes upon-
-Captain Kamenev Drang, in all his monstrous glory. A fresh coat of gore adorned him, spattered across his bare chest, his face, across cold, pallid skin and hollow lips, coating his clenched fingers that gripped the severed head of what could only be an Imperial marksman. Red in tooth, red in claw, but blackest, obsidian orbs were the eyes that watched them, two gleaming, hellish pits glinting with the fires of a madman's wrath. The eyes of the Emperor's nightmares, set in an ivory horror of twisted flesh, a psychotic, animal leer tearing at human features.
Drang smiled, a horrific affair that replaced the snarl with the mocking, demonic grin of a wolverine, as if all that was evil lay behind those features, mocking, dancing in depraved glee, breathing in a deep, rasping lungful of air, relishing the scent and flavour of the battlefield. Such simplicity, he thought. So raw and pure, this exhilarating fury that filled his limbs and burned away the doubts and fears in his mind like so much cloaking mist. No right. No wrong. No good. No evil. Only wrath, endless, boundless wrath, the vengeful, primordial anger written into man's heritage.
In the terror-struck quiet, the only sound was the consistent drip, drip of blood upon the stone floor.
"Bryant" he rasped, hissing the words out of clenched teeth as savage euphoria flooding his senses. "Sorry....so late. Got tied up with....sniper. Killed....two of Dra'ek's men....wounded Viconia...." he said, a flare of anger burning away in his voice like a gas fire. "Got....him."
Bryant could only nod. What else could you say? Drang was....not Drang, any more. Not the man any of them knew, but the other. The killer. The berserker addicted to his bloody art, incapable of all but the cruellest reason and not even the vestiges of humanity.
"Follow me, sir" he said, quietly gesturing. "We've set up a cordon and have clear zones of fire to it. We demolished the surrounding hab-blocks to clear our path, and we have Tarantula's set up to suppress the defenders during the-"
"-I am sure you have done....your job" said Drang, shuddering with the effort of containing the rage boiling inside of him, near blind in his own ferocity. "I....I shall lead the attack, Captain. Pray....pray begin the preliminaries."
|
|
|
Post by ElegaicRequiem on Aug 16, 2010 12:08:01 GMT -5
I'd be remiss if I didn't note that it's slightly harder to follow what's going on at this point. I feel like I black out for a minute or two between each update.
Otherwise, well written.
|
|
|
Post by cathedralsquares on Aug 27, 2010 3:44:30 GMT -5
You've gotten significantly better since the last time I was here.
|
|
|
Post by Hetfiltrator on Sept 2, 2010 18:18:31 GMT -5
You've gotten significantly better since the last time I was here. Who are you?! On a related note. I still think this is beautifully written.
|
|
|
Post by Ymmot (M.I.A) on Sept 2, 2010 18:22:34 GMT -5
You've gotten significantly better since the last time I was here. Who are you?! Hey, it's that person who has that quote in his/her sig when I made that reference to Ghost Rider that one time. I remember him/her! Welcome Back!
|
|
|
Post by ElegaicRequiem on Sept 2, 2010 20:43:24 GMT -5
It's Cathedralsquares, who's actually been a member since before me.
|
|
|
Post by Hetfiltrator on Sept 2, 2010 22:15:07 GMT -5
It's Cathedralsquares, who's actually been a member since before me. but is it a guy or a girl? These things are important. ... so I can hit on them
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Oct 14, 2010 12:23:19 GMT -5
A vestigial, angry peal of thunder burst open in the skies, it's dying power still enough to shake the stillness of the dawn. Drang, sat behind a Genswick barricade, lifted his head up to the sky, a smile flitting over his features as he felt the ground-scorching fury resonate throughout the heavens, the bubble of expanding air pressure running over his bared skin like a sonic massage as it died away.
"This isn't over yet" he murmured, loud enough so the surrounding fire-team of 'Rifles veterans could hear him. "You can tell" he said, smiling faintly at them and quite, quite ignoring the suppressed shudders, the almost-hidden signs of protection that not even their armoured jacks could hide. "The skies contest, and strife holds the heavens in her talon'ed caress, while we make merry of our discord and murder" he concluded, the animal's leering, malevolent grin deepening, fist clenching unconsciously.
The lead sergeant was doubly glad when the report came him, Captain Bryant's curt, rough-edged vowels cutting through a reverie of horror as he said: "All units in position. We await your order."
Drang leant over, popping his shoulders with a sickly 'crack' as he took the vox-unit, and stood. His massive, unarmoured frame heaved itself over the parapet, all seven foot of him standing tall, a dark, cruel purity haloing him against the grey sky, as he spoke.
"Gentlemen" he whispered. "Scorch the ground."
And with that, he was gone. A black, terrible shape, blurring into the twilight as he vaulted the barricade and charged the fortress. A moment later, and behind him, the cream of the Genswick rifles followed, all guns blazing. Indiscriminate, murderous fire poured across the defensive features of the blockhouse, fragmentation rounds bursting across it's fortifications like a crown of steel thorns, bullets, slugs and bolt rounds blasting apart parapets and tearing the exposed defenders into bloody, hideous chunks.
"First wave inbound. Engineering, fire charges!"
A deep-throated cry erupted behind them, as kilos of high-explosive exploded, smashing out the foundations of three hab-blocks in a cloud of dust and wanton, anarchic destruction, blasting masonry into rubble and bringing down three hab-buildings down like a monstrous curtain on a Dantean stage.
Behind the curtain, there was only fire. A pouring, cataclysmic torrent of fire and destruction blotting out the skies, burning the air and ripping the ground as an entire company of crew-served heavy weapons opened up on the blockhouse, not so much shooting as sweeping away the remaining defences in a whirlwind of white-hot fire.
Drang cursed as he reached the defences, smashing his fist into the unmoving steel of the blockhouse doors in blind, unthinking fury, blood awash with chemical horrors and his mind swept away with in a nightmare of his monstrousity. A flash of supercharged neurones, and he doubled back, sprinting back through the inferno like a unnatural panther, to the veteran squad he was supposed to be leading.
"Breaching maul" he snarled, teeth bared and panting in pent-up bloodlust even as the veteran sergeant unslung the massive maul from his shoulders, Drang snatching it out of his hands, before disappearing into a blur of darkness once more.
- - - -
To the defenders behind that massive, adamant-plated gate, the thunderous, howling scream of Drang's fury was quite chilling enough. The crashing, resounding smash of the concussive breaching maul against it's surface was something else - a hideous, tearing screech of metal twisting inwards as Drang's inhuman rage pulverised the metal, twisting it inwards until it could take no more, and shattered into pieces.
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Oct 16, 2010 20:17:20 GMT -5
By the time the lead squads reached the fortress, Bryant leading from the front as tradition demanded, Drang was nowhere to be found. The breach in the main gate had been made, and, judging by the number of dead men who lay scattered about it, it had been fiercely contested. Blood spattered the walls, arcs and crescents of it making scimitar-shapes over the cold, stone walls, glistening black in the burnt-orange of the emergency lighting, a lake of it collecting around the dozen-plus dismembered corpses that lay at the centre. Some were smashed, pulped by the incredible kinetic force of the breaching maul's mass effect field. Some had fallen from gunshot, vast, ragged-edged holes punched through their armour, the kraken rounds shredding organs, arteries, parting flesh and bone until free of the body, a fine mist of blood coating the walls where a spiderweb of fissures spread around six fist-sized craters. And some lived yet, broken but not yet dead, limbs snapped, features pulverised, organs bruised and bleeding inside them where Drang had clearly found the maul too slow, and the pistols cumbersome, revolver-pattern magazine too fiddly to reload in the midst of his inhuman rampage.
Bryant's men spread out, the fury of the storm outside muted, the gunshots ringing loud in the hallway as they shot the wounded. Privately, he hoped to the Emperor that this would never be his men - that this brilliant, lighting-nerved monster he feigned call 'Captain' would never turn on him like the rabid dog he suspected he was.
- - - - - - -
Coated in a fine mist of blood from his face to his teeth, Drang stalked through the blockhouses corridors, his black eyes fixed ahead of him. The eyes of a predator, creeping through this narrow, dark space, a private abyss for the greatest of monsters living. His hands too, crept, brushing softly over the burnished metal of his revolver-pattern bolt pistol, gently loading each round with a reverent delicacy, his heightened senses delighting in the soft, near-inaudible 'chink' as each heavy bullet slid home. His tongue tasted blood, and flesh, a voice in his hindbrain noting that this was from the cheeks of one of his foes, running through the memory of his teeth biting home, scything through skin and muscle before the brief, explosive pull of his neck muscles had torn the flesh away with a sick pleasure. His ears noted the sounds, the stilled reports of gunshots and yells, the low, distant siren that was the cries of wounded prey, sifting, searching for movement, for sounds, for threats and the hideous, narcotic anticipation of the kill. His nose smelt the gunfire, the fear, the terror and pain of the whole experience, relishing the past and present smells of this joyous hell. His mind....his mind had entered the slow, quiet state that it did immediately after the first killing was done. Peripheral functions shut down, most cognitive abilities rerouted to processing additional sensory data, or else drowning in the overwhelming exultation of slaughter, serotonin thoroughly suppressed, pain quietly smothered but not quite numb, a magma-like infusion of combat drugs rewiring his neural pathways, feeding an addiction more lethal to it's fellow man than any other, adrenaline-linked glands now feeding in more and more to drive him into a crescendo of mindless, revelling hatred and killing, building, building in his soul.
And how he loved it. This was the part he could never admit, never explain, the part not even Emir could touch within him. All of it - the mad, frenzied rush of killing, of striking and striking and striking again, of smelling blood and tearing flesh, feeling life's warmth run away in his hands, the slow, nirvana-like state of anticipation as the kill-narcotic ebbed away, leaving only the very core of him, his mind, his body, his senses stripped to a bare, dark purity, and the soft warmth of when each and every enemy lay dead and broken before him.
"Humanity....must perforce prey upon itself" he whispered, as he pressed himself to the side of an open doorway, his ears and nose telling him whom and what stood in what was a large, open warhouse-area. "Like monsters of the deep."
|
|
|
Post by Gabriel Lupus on Oct 17, 2010 4:31:14 GMT -5
It's funny, I was just wondering yesterday when there'd be another Drang update I may be wrong, but I'm getting an almost mutinous whisper from some of the other characters regarding their feelings towards Drang.
|
|
|
Post by Rolling Thunder on Oct 17, 2010 8:05:49 GMT -5
With an incohate snarl, Drang threw himself around the corner, eyes blinded by the sudden surge in light, swollen pupils contracting back in shock even as his ears picked out the man on the gantry overhead, a single, resounding detonation sending him flying off the rails and crashing to the concrete floor, spraying blood from the monstrous hole punched in the side of his throat. His nose had already picked out the second, a large, bulky thing stinking of oil and Mechanicus unguents - servitor probably - and blew it's skull into a hundred bloody fragments.
But it was pure, animal instinct that threw him blindly behind a plasteel container, a fraction of a second before the resounding thunder of boltgun fire tore the room apart. Drang waited, panic leaping up to claw desperately at his throat, before his rewired brain re-routed the sensation into yet another trembling rivulet of anticipation, quivering madly in expectation of the combat ahead.
"Kamenev Drang" called one of them, it's voice harsh, brutish, metallic through a pig-faced helmet and coming from far higher than a normal human's head. Either this place sloped upwards....or he was standing on something... "Come out and face the Emperor's judgement."
Astartes. Crap. Only one thing to do now - logical thing was to stay, hide and flee until reinforcements got here and Bryant's men could gun these things down and bury them in the rubble - but even as his logical mind pointed this out, his soul felt that old, familiar thrill of the coming battle, only a hundred times more, mad and ferocious with anticipation alone and hungering for the chance to clash blades, to maim and maul and kill, to tear down the finest the Emperor had to offer and leave it to burn with the rest of his toys.
With a deep, exhultant breath, like the moment before the overture of Hymn To The Emperor's Arising and a hundred times as glorious, Drang chambered the two last slugs with a quivering hand, and then, lungs filled to the brim, howled in a voice that shook the room, shattering the stilled air and blotting out all other sounds like an atomic bomb does the sky.
"That's Captain Drang to you!"
And with that, Captain Kamenev Drang leapt out of cover, guns blazing.
|
|
|
Post by Srgt. Master on Oct 18, 2010 18:54:09 GMT -5
Oh thats going to be a nice little fight!
Nice to be able to ready this again, some of the best reading I do in my free time.
|
|