When Worlds Collide / Fiends of Chaos

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

Blurb/Preview:

I was thrown bodily across the bridge, smashing into a monitor and falling to the ground. I guess similiar scenes were played out accross the bridge, and I was deafened by the screeching of outer bulkheads tearing apart. I scrambled to my feet, making my way over the rocking deck to the vox from which I was thrown, each step making me feel like I was trying to climb a steep hillside. I reached the vox to find it had blown out a moment after the ship rocked. I turned to leave the bridge with the Deathwatch Marines, but found my way blocked by Ertan. "What is it Ertan?" I had asked, wondering what had perturbed the psyker.

"The wall," he said, "between worlds...is crumbling." I looked around me, the bridge was empty. "There is no hope," he continued, looking deep into my eyes, "soon it will collapse..." He never finished his sentence before he fell to the deck, his falling accompanied by a sickening pop.

I left the bridge, whispering to myself the last line of that infamous poem. "And worlds will collide."


When Worlds Collide is about Inquisitor Akrais Erendalios as he helps pursue the perpatrators behind the Heriosian Schism. It is the sequel to Evil in Darkness, and directly follows on.


I will post some of the story (Hand-written) as soon as possible, just thought I'd give you a little teaser first.



CHAPTER 1 - PART 1

I ducked underneath a whistling bullet while trying to find cover. There was a deafening explosion just behind me as I dived behind on of the Traitor Valkyries. Slowly but surely, we were managing to fight our way onto Kelt's ship.

It had taken a month, but eventually Naval Intelligence had managed to locate Kelt and his followers, and promptly directed elements of the sector navy to engage. Admiral Molithol had reported the discovery directly to me, and once more I had reason to thank him for his friendship. I had contacted Icarus, and he had brought a contingent of the Storm Marine's, a Space Marine Chapter, vessels. He was personally in command of the Battle Barge Emperor's Storm.
I was currently surrounded by members of the 3rd Company, led by Captain Lascarus. I chanced a look at the heretic guardsmen defending the exit of the hanger. They were covered in the blood of their dead comrades, endless flows of them being spent simply to buy Kelt time to escape. I couldn't afford delays like this, I had already lost a month on Kelt, I wouldn't let him escape my grasp again.

There was a roar as the guardsmen opened up with a heavy bolter, sitting in the open, uncaring of what happened to them. Astartes dived for cover, and I barely made it down behind the Valkyrie before it's hull armour was torn up by the weapon. A series of short phunks followed, and the Astartes broke from cover, revving chainswords and unsheathing short swords. I followed, drawing my force blade. It glowed in the dim, shadowy light of the hanger. I had hardly noticed, but while leaving I could see the moss clinging to the piping, and just about every light source was flickering and burning out. This was nothing like the spruce, clean and ordered world of the Imperial Navy. How far these once proud men had fallen.

Dozens of lasguns opened up in strangely disciplined bursts, but they could pierce the armour of the Storm Marines, and they ploughed onwards, smashing their way through the barricades and into the traitor lines. I arrived a couple of seconds after the Astartes, climbing over a toppled pile of sandbags. It may surprise you then, that I found scores of ravenous guardsmen thirsty for blood. Once more, I was stricken dumb by the sheer brutality of these followers of the Blood God, but there was no room for thought here, and I cut three down in quick succession, still taking superficial wounds in the process. The rest were cut down by deadly accurate bolter shots from the regrouping Astartes. I looked around. There was only one Astartes not on his feet. He was taken back to one of the Thunderhawks by the Apothecary. One guardsman stumbled towards me, but I concentrated on his warp signature, and speared his mind with a psychic blow. He stopped dead, and fell flat on his face, cerebral haemorrhaging killing him swiftly.

I turned and left the hanger, making my way through the deserted corridors. Kelt would be stopped here, I thought. I located him and made my way towards the bridge.

The ship I was on was an Emperor-class battleship, so I knew my way about it. I found the eerie silence of the vessel unnerving, though. The walls were caked with blood, and dead men lay every few metres. It was easy to see which ones had stayed loyal, and which had been turned to Chaos. I'll tell you know, and it saddens me to do so, but the overwhelming majority were servants of Khorne, killing each other in their insatiable blood-lust.

I approached the entrance to the bridge with rewarded caution, there were two guardsmen sitting there with a heavy bolter emplacement, behind a wall of sand-bags. I looked around me for anything to use, finding nothing by a few decaying pipes and a crippled auto-turret. I was stuck, but, thankfully, I noticed that a pipe above me had a dark spot behind it. After looking closely, I realised that it was an entrance into the ventilation. I held my breath, and jumped. My long fingers securely curled round the pipe, and I climbed up onto it. I was careful of my footing, brushing off moss where I planned to stand. I got up, and grabbed an indent in the port, a second before my right foot slipped, then my left. It took all my upper-body strength to haul myself up into the vents.
They were dank and smelled of death. I crawled through the vent to the next intersection, and dropped silently to the deck, despite my size. Once again, the bridge access was just round the corner. I held my breath again as I looked round, seeing the backs of the two guardsmen. I drew both of my needlers, preferring them in this situation to my bolt pistol, which was back on the Emperor's Storm. I pulled the triggers once each, smiling as the weapon fired silently, with no recoil. A low powered laser, fired a fraction of a millisecond before the needle, melted through the target's armour. The needle followed, inserting itself in the target's body, releasing a deadly neurotoxin into the target's blood.

Both dropped on their backs within a heartbeat, if not dead then rapidly dying. I rushed past them, and leaned on the wall beside the bridge entrance. I fished out a frak grenade. Pulling out the pin, I stuck it to the bulkhead, and dived behind the cover of the sandbags. The sandbags toppled over as the blast rippled through the corridor. I clambered out of them, and sprinted through the smoke and onto the bridge, needlers holstered and force sword drawn. I cut the first guardsman in half, and dived behind a console as another opened fire on me with his lasgun. I stayed in cover for a few moments as other followed suit, the bridge exploding into chaos. The berserk guardsmen began to charge my position all notion of ordered laser volleys out the window. They were armed with a gruesome array of weapons more likened to a butcher's equipment than a warrior's blade. I drew a needler and popped up from behind cover, running down the steps to the main deck, shooting traitors as I went. I felled three, then had to engage a fourth with my sword, charging it with psychic energy. The impact and discharge sent the heretic flying into a wall. I looked around me frantically, searching for Kelt amongst the rabble of blood thirsty half-humans. I caught a glimpse of him before having to react to a cleaver wielding soldier, blocking him then attacking his mind with a brutal hammer-blow of psychic power. I ran round the deck again, towards Kelt, who was escaping through a vent. I shot a guardsman who was leaking blood from various gashes, obviously inflicted by his crewmate's crude equipment. He fell dead, the enhanced tetrodoxin causing instant asphyxiation. I turned to slay another heretic, but watch with satisfaction as his head exploded. I looked up at the observation deck, seeing a Storm Marine tactical squad run in, weapons blazing at the crowd of crazed men. With the immediate threat to my life taken care of, I looked towards the vent, seeing it open, and Kelt gone.

[Icarus Athrasuriel]

CHAPTER 1 - PART 2

It was dark and wet in the ventilation pipes. It was like swimming through a stream of manure, and I had to wear my rebreather to avoid inhaling the gases floating around. At each turn, I had to hesitantly locate Kelt again, and follow his track. It took me a while, but eventually I came to a dead end, and clambered out. I surveyed the corridor hurriedly, seeing carcasses piled up everywhere. For the first time since I boarded the traitor ship, I felt sickened by what had taken place here. No false god could be worth turning into this for. I was filled by hatred for what Kelt had done, and more so, hatred for Kelt himself. I would make sure that he paid with his life. Stepping over a body, I forced open the door opposite me, and slid inside.
I found myself in what seemed to be a control room, with many joined decks rising upwards towards the top of the ship. Pistons and consoles littered the deck, jutting up through the floor then back down. I was well and truly in the bowels of the ship, and I had to weave and climb over various obstacles. There was no sound, and I began to have doubts about my psychic abilities (Though now I would perish such a though). I was assured, however, that I was correct by the ringing of a man running across one of the upper decks. “Kelt, this is Inquisitor Erendalios!” I had shouted, “Repent your unforgivable sins and I will make your death quick!”

There came no reply for a moment, and I began to move towards a staircase when Kelt shouted, “Never, Akrais! You cannot win! Khorne shall drink your blood, Nurgle shall infest your flesh, and Slaanesh, yes, the almighty and most holy dark prince, will revel in your pain!!” I moved on, the heretic's insane ramblings all too familiar. You see, Kelt was a servant of Slaanesh, that much I know, but somehow he seemed connected to both Nurgle and Khorne in some way, though I had not yet fathomed how. Only now do I recognise my folly.
I climbed the steps to the next deck, and stayed low as I heard Kelt running, nearby, it seemed. I moved slowly now, stowing away my needler, and draining my force sword of it's energy. Silence fell upon the deck. Neither me nor Kelt could have told who was hunting who now, trapped in here, with nowhere to go. It was, as they say, an endgame. It continued for a while, as I became more and more aware of the work of the Chaos Gods upon this place. Only Tzeench did not seem to be involved in this conspiracy, though my forbidden knowledge of the Great Architect told me that, although not directly, he must be involved somehow.

Then, as we stalked each other, the first mistake was made. Kelt pounced on a shadow. I knew instantly where he was from the sound alone, and leaped onto a rusting piston. I moved swiftly towards him, finding him ready with a bolt pistol. I dived to the side to avoid his fire, and ran round behind him, going feet first between two pipes and kicking him in the back. He fell flat on his face, and the pistol slid across the floor and under a console. I raised my force sword, now crackling with energy, and cut down, but Kelt was surprisingly quick, and he rolled onto his feet before my strike landed. I turned now, and looked into his dark, blank eyes. His face was mutilated by self inflicted gouges. I was surprised he could talk. For a moment, I was captivated by his features, his slick, combed over black hair, his face and eyes, all catching my eye. For a moment, I was under the spell of Slaanesh. A moment to long, I reckon now. He struck fast as a snake, knowing that I was caught in his web. I broke out of it, and ducked just as his blade moved to decapitate me. I think that the daemon blade had shaved the tops of my hair off, as it was slightly shorter when I showered later.
And so we engaged in a duel of lightning fast strikes and equal blocks, ducking and weaving. I could not tell when it was Kelt striking or when I was battling his blade. Indeed, I could barely tell when it was me or my lively sword making the move. Occasionally I would attack his mind, but each time it was blocked by some aura emanating from his blade. Kelt would do likewise, but his psychic powers were far less powerful or refined than mine were, and non made it past my ever vigilant guard. It seemed like our fight lasted forever, a dance of epic, and deadly, proportions.
Eventually, when the fight seemed to be going on forever, Kelt made a mistake. I took advantage of it, no longer thinking, instead acting on my trusty instincts. He tried to get below my guard, but I had initiated my attack a fraction of a second before him, and I lopped off his sword arm as he struck. The sword flew out of the now lifeless hand, sliding across the slick floor and over the edge of the deck. I kicked him against a pipe, and knocked him to the ground. He lay there, propped up against a decayed piston, cradling his stump, but smiling still, as though enjoying the pain. I stepped towards his, sheathing my sword. I knelt opposite him, lifting his head with one of my hands.

He began mumbling his insane prophesies of doom again, but I silenced him with my will.

“Tell me,” I asked, “about your plans”
“My plans?” he had laughed, leaking blood from his mouth.
“What do you mean, your plans? Of course they were your plans! Your plans to appease your false gods!” I roared, my steel cold rage finally being let loose, my hatred of Kelt flowing fully through me.
“No, they are not my plans. I was but a tool of my gods, in a plan stretching back a decade..”
“Describe it to me!”
“No, not even I understand them fully, Inquisitor...” he said, gurgling an attempt at laughing.
“Tell me now,” I said, focusing the full power of my will upon his unguarded mind.
“We -- we planned to destroy...”
“I know that, you have done so.”
“Yes...yes...victory against the false emperor!”
“No, you have not won,” I quietly assured him. He was growing pale now, the blood draining from his body. “Who commanded you?” I pressed, without the will, knowing that he probably would not yield anything to me.
“Nobody,” he smiled. I could see in his eyes, the first sign from those dark pits, that he lied. I concentrated my will.
“Who commanded you?”
“No – no,” he tried to resist, but I could see it caused him discomfort not even Slaanesh himself could enjoy.
“Who commanded you!” I roared, standing and drawing my sword.
“Araskel!” he screamed, and then his head fell limp. I lowered my sword, a dark silence falling on me. Not many living men knew the name of Araskel. I did, but more so did Icarus and his Captains. Araskel, Renegade Captain of the Storm Marines 1st Company. I thought he was dead.
I was wrong.