Baptismby Duncan McNeill-BurtonChemosh clanked down the dark corridors of the battle barge, vaguely aware of the subtle shifts in the architecture. Centuries ago, the ship had collided with another battle barge in the warp, and rather than rupturing both hulls and leaving the ships for the accursed Orks, his Lord had preserved them, fusing the two ships into a bizarre looking, but airtight hybrid. The other barge's crew were quickly absorbed, while the dissenters had been quickly overcome...torn to shreds in their very own bridge by his most determined assault troopers. The heretics on the bridge had fought to the last before being crushed under the strength of the Righteous. But that was the way. None had stood before the Warp Dragoons, and none ever would. "My Lord, all is ready." The wavering voice of the young Tech Priest snapped the Terminator armor clad Marine back to the present. Chemosh stopped in his tracks, turning to face the cyborg. "How long until we make planetfall?" "The Legion mount up as we speak. As per your instructions, we are eighty-two minutes, thirty-five seconds from launch. Kuurghan and your honor guard await you aboard your Land Raider and the weapon batteries are targeted and awaiting the order to fire. All is in order. We await only your command, and the blessing of His righteous fury." The giant armored Marine nodded his ornate helm once. "Return to the bridge, and await." The last word was nearly drowned out as the chants from the hangar bays and drop pod racks echoed down the corridor. The Tech Priest heard him just the same ad scurried off, leaving Chemosh alone in the hallway. He smiled under the facemask and strode down the hall to the hangar bay. As he stepped through the portal, he was greeted with the sight of an entire Legion packed into Rhinos, in turn packed in to heavy lift craft. Almost an entire legion. The dreadnoughts were in another bay, loaded in to drop pods, along with the precious few land speeders, jump pack troops, and the Chaplain Shidhurrush. The small drop pod force was tasked with taking the orbital defense laser batteries around the largest starport on the planet. With them silenced, the chapter would be free to land, disembark, and smash the foolish cult that ruled the Hive World. The mere thought of the deluded fools made him snarl. Tiny sensors in the facemask picked up the sound and broadcast them throughout the communications network. A cheer went up as the chant drew to a close. Slowly his vision redded out with battle rage as he strode down the center aisle of the hangar bay. Before every assault he made the walk. To either side of the mile long hangar bay the Thunderhawks and heavy lifters rocked back and forth on their landing gear as the Marines inside pounded their feet and restarted the chant. Halfway down the hangar bay, he joined the chant, bellowing out his devotion in synch with every other Marine in the cavernous room. The chant had been born in the days following the Legion's founding, when Roboute had declared the original legions too large and split them up. The White Scars had been sorry to see the greatest of their mechanized infantry leave them, but had accepted it as the will of their God. Finally he reached the heavy lifter at the other end of the hanger, where Kuurghan stood waiting, flanked by the battle standard bearer and three of his fellow Terminators. The five of them were the greatest warriors of the Legion, save Chemosh and Shidhurrush, and had accompanied him into battle countless times over the past centuries. The Terminator sergeant raised his chainfist and his combi-weapon into the air in praise of his liege and his Lord. "We, the instruments of his divine rage, are ready," and he bowed his head. "Let's mount up." Chemosh snarled in return. The phrase had was the final refrain of the litany of embarkation, passed down in the Legion's tradition since the split with the White Scars. Preparations were complete. All that remained was to see whether His blessed fury would be granted to them, but that would remain unknown until planetfall. He was strapping himself into the heavily modified Land Raider when the ramp locked shut. He was accessing the datanet when the atmospheric seals hissed against the hard vacuum of space. ------------------ On the surface, an Imperial Guard corporal adjusted the shoulder straps for the backpack commlink he wore and struggled to keep up with a young, impetuous Lieutenant unencumbered by a 40kg radio. It was a futile struggle. The standard bearer turned and laughed, then slowed down, motioning to the two meltagun-equipped troopers to do the same. Just as he was starting to catch up, the commlink crackled to life. 'Inbound...*static*...247...*static*...hostile landing craft approaching. Move to defensive positions around firing silo gamma. Prepare to repel ground attack." Before the orders were complete, the Lt. had turned off the speaker, routing the signal into the comm jewel in his ear. "This is Lt. Cordes, Red Platoon, Delta Company. Mobilizing to respond." Then he switched frequencies. "Sgt.. Armstrong...the time for war is at hand. We're going to gamma silo. Get everyone moving. We'll meet you there. Oh, and I went by the QM. They're out of frag grenades, and the next shipment comes in two years. So tell the boys to make them count." The roar of the Chimedon engine drowned out the NCO's answer. Two minutes later, the Lt. sat in the cupola atop the battle cannon turret on the modified Chimera, binoculars in hand, scanning the landscape. His platoon had already arrived, and had taken up loose defensive positions around the entrance to the silo, blocking it off with the Demolisher and the Leman Russ he'd been assigned. Three sentinels stalked out of the gap between them, picking their way through the hastily strung barbed wire and the heavy bolter nests. All was in order, though the men would be most upset to discover that they would not be getting fresh crates of grenades prior to facing off with the coming intruders. He shrugged, chambered the first round of the pintle mounted storm bolter and dropped the binoculars into a pocket. Then the rolling thunder of the Hydra batteries rolled across the plateau. The attackers were getting close. He could clearly pick out his men from the fortifications without his binoculars. Then the shriek of an incoming round caught his attention. He ducked down and closed the cupola an instant before the drop pod plowed into it, crushing the tracked transport. The drop pod blossomed in the midst of the wreckage, its occupants saved by armor meant to take the strains of re-entry and the impact of planetfall. ------------------- Shidhurrush stood up in the drop pod, whispered a quick litany of thanks for safe passage, howled a battle cry and leap from the drop pod, noting with satisfaction that their landing had disabled a Chimera. The eight assault troopers with him leapt clear and brought their bolt pistols to bear on the defenses, distracted by another squad and two dreadnoughts who'd been blessed to land in the midst of the humans. After snapping off a few shots, the Marines rushed forward into the melee, their chainswords and chainaxes howling in anticipation as they emptied their bolt pistols and hurled grenades into the trenches. The battle for gamma silo lasted fifteen minutes. One Marine was wounded when he climbed aboard a Sentinel and tore the pilot in half, only to have the walker fall on him and break his leg. He had lay pinned under the walker for the bulk of the assault, howling his rage through a foamed over mouth throwing rocks, grenades, shrapnel and insults at any foe who strayed too close, and had even managed to kill a Guard Sergeant with a well thrown chainsword. Other than that, they had suffered no casualties, their faith, their armor, and their raw ability shielding them from the weapons and spite of the human fools. One of the dreadnoughts, still mad with fury, had ripped the silo doors open after hauling the shattered Demolisher aside, then rushed down the hallway and turned its autocannons and storm bolter on the tech priest, who stood in his firing pulpit preparing the weapon to burn the Warp Dragoons from the sky. All that remained of the cyborg was a red smear and a few bionic pieces. three minutes later, the first of the heavy lifters touched down, disgorging the massive Land Raider of Chemosh, along with 3 Rhinos full of Marines, 4 Predators, and 4 more Rhinos for the drop force. After watching to ensure that the dreadnoughts were properly loaded into their modified transports, he led his squad aboard theirs, engines were gunned, and the force headed off towards another defense laser silo where Chief Librarian Tocaz was in the difficult position of being stuck in an inverted drop pod, sinking into a murder hole. The pod had impacted at the rim of the mud filled crater, and rolled over into it. Hopelessly jammed with muck, the pod wouldn't open properly, thought it still flooded with the muck. No rescue could be mounted by the four bike squads under his command since two had been shot form the sky and the remaining two had already made contact with the enemy, and couldn't fall back without being overrun. So the Librarian continued to sink, praying to his lord to grant him the dignity of a death in battle rather than to starve to death in a mud filled damaged drop pod in a hole in the ground. His prayers were answered in the form of a loud clanking sound as one of the dreadnoughts waded a few meters into the muck and tore one side off the dorp pod. As he crawled out, Chemosh looked on in disgust from the command cupola of his Land Raider, then sped off to go take the second silo. Atop the massive assault vehicle, Chemosh struggled to reign in his blood lust. A moment of clarity allowed him to assess the strategic situation. They were ahead of landing schedule. The entire Legion could make planetfall by dark, and then the slaughter could begin. The red haze that had retreated to the corners of his vision surged, staining all his saw in gore. "ATTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" he bellowed over the thunder of the incoming battle cannon rounds. ------------------- Chemosh stepped through the massive arched doorway of the cathedral, drawn by the massive cacophony of battle inside. At least a dozen of his men lay door on the floor, torn asunder by a hand far stronger than that of any guardsman. Caltkhon stepped n front of him, training his autocannon on anything that moved. A single human stepped from the darkness, covered in spilt blood and bearing a massive pink sword. She looked up at the massive Terminators and spoke, her voice sweet and sinister all at once. "You should not have come, foolish old one. This world is my plaything and you shall not have it." A wounded Marine stood, hefting his chainsword for the killing blow, but was reduced to a limbless corpse in one figure eight stroke. She finished the move with a graceful pirouette, and a giggle. "You are an abomination before my Lord, as you have always been, and shall always be. I would cast you down like the broken child you are, but it would soil my dignity." Chemosh gritted his teeth. "Fire at will." The guns of the Terminators thundered inside the massive cathedral, tearing the small woman to bloody shreds, yet she would not fall. Eventually, ammo hoppers ran dry, meltagun cells died, and even the autocannon was silenced by a jam, but she still stood, giggling, and twitching and waving that big pink sword. "Come forward and savor the sweetness of your own slaughter." Chemosh growled and cast his empty bolter-flamer aside, barely noticing it clattering across the marble mosaic of the Emperor's ascension. The massive chainfist in his left hand chattered eagerly as he strode down the massive steps into the cathedral, stomping through the shattered pews as if they were grass. "I will crush your bones in my hand and we shall quench our thirst on your brain and paint our armor in your blood. My Lord shall grant me the strength to undo all you have done tenfold." "STOP!" Another voice interrupted. Shidhurrush strode down the stairs, spinning his Crozius in one hand and his plasma pistol in the other. The leering skull mask glowed wickedly in the fires of the burning city and his ceramite carapace ran slick with the blood of his foes. Tiny skulls hand worked into the ornate armor mirrored his facemask, seeming to cackle with a menace all their own in the shifting light. A piece of plascrete shook lose from the ceiling, plummeting towards his head. In the instant before it would have struck him, the entire cathedral was bathed in light as his Rosarius converted the kinetic energy to light. The brilliant flash burnt the young woman's shadow into the floor of the church. Caltkhon scowled and pointed his autocannon at the inverse shadow. Where her lines were smooth and soft, the shadow was twisted and gnarled. It bore two heads, three legs, wings, and all manner of other unspeakable horrors. She turned to examine it and giggled. "It would appear that my little charade is over. Now it's really time to play." The sword clattered to the ground as her body was wracked with convulsions. Flesh, sinew, and bone tore themselves apart as she was reshaped into a form befitting her shadow. Those assembled gasped in shock, save Shidhurrash, who strode forward, chanting the prayers he'd relied on his entire career. This time, they would be answered. As the chaplain stepped in a puddle of spilled blood he twitched, his Rosarius overloaded, shorting the mechanism. The Imperial Honor badges burnt themselves from his armor. He took another step in the puddle, then collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving inside his armor. With an earsplitting 'CRACK!' his armor burst, spilling the naked Marine to the floor in the puddle of blood...his brethren's blood...his enemies' blood...and his own. The demon prince took a step forward and retrieved its sword, whispering illicit promises to those who didn't refuse to listen. One Marine who's squad had stumbled upon the cathedral glanced in, totally unprepared for the horror he faced and promptly exploded in a cloud of blood. Meanwhile, Shidhurrash lay on the floor locked in convulsions. Howling in pain, a flailing arm touched his Crozius. In an instant, an unspoken bond was made, and the chaplain had damned himself and his brothers forever. The winged mace twisted into a giant battle axe, just as the noble featured, strong Marine because a beast. As he struggled to his feet his legs twisted and reformed, and his body stretched. Pools of blood form the floor slowly drifted towards him and each that touched him was absorbed, feeding his transformation. After an eternity, he had tripled in height and increased his mass tenfold. Giant bat wings poked from his shoulders, and a dog's maw snapped from his horned head. Wrought brass armor, still smoldering, covered flesh the color of the spilled blood it gave birth to. With the bearer, so grew the axe, until it was nearly two meters in length with a head spanning half that distance. Chemosh turned to his honor guard. "He is truly blessed. Our Lord watcheth over us, and has been pleased with us this day." None of the Terminators answered. Instead they stoop riveted on the spot as the chosen of the Blood God and the Chosen of the Flesh God clashed. For seven days they fought, battering each other with insults, fists, claws, weapons, and sheer force of will. For seven days, the Warp Dragoons watched, their numbers ever increasing as more squads abandoned mop-up duty in favor of the demonic brawl. At the end of the seventh day, as the dawn of the eighth spilled into the cathedral, the Bloodthirster broke the Keeper of Secrets' back across it's knee and threw the body down at Chemosh's feet. The giant Marine looked down at the broken demon, then up at the Bloodthirster. Behind the facemask, he smiled. The Greater Demon of Khorne extended the axe to Chemosh, haft first and waited. The Chapter Master took a step forward and took the axe, disturbed by its lack of weight. The demon snarled one final time, then collapsed to the ground and melted into a puddle of blood. Chemosh turned around to look at his brother Marines. Some wavered. Most stood resolute. Only Tocaz and the other librarians remained totally against him. Even the Legion's dreadnoughts stood with him. The puddle of blood began to rise. The conqueror looked upon his army once more, then began to walk down the center aisle of the cathedral towards the pulpit at the front. Silently his Honor Guard fell in line and the six Terminator armored Marines strode through the pooled blood towards the raised slab of marble half a mile away. The chant began anew. The painfully slow procession ended when Chemosh finally reached the altar and stood atop the alabaster slab, is blood footprints stretching all the way back to where he stood when he accepted the axe. Tocaz scowled at him from the top of the stairs at the rear of the church, surrounded by the rest of the Librarius. The Chief Librarian spoke. "You have erred, and you have lead us into damnation. Brother Chaplain Shidhurrash was unable to control the power that we invoked and I shall not follow him into blasphemy." "Blasphemy? Where is the blasphemy in what he has done? He lived a warrior's life, and now he shall live it eternally. He was a warrior who called out to a warrior god to aid him in the greatest struggle of his life. His prayers were answered, not by the carrion Emperor of earth, but by a warrior who still fights." "But we swore allegiance to the Emperor of Earth, the Lord of humanity." "But I shall not bow before an Emperor who cannot defend his own fief...who does not answer the pleads of his vassals, even when they fight in his name. Our place in the Imperium ceased to exist before we began to exist. We are the perfect conquerors living in a galaxy that we have already conquered." Chemosh slammed the axe blade down on the marble, splitting the 2 meter thick slab in half. "Follow me, and we shall go on a war of conquest the likes of which none save the Gods and the Eldar can recall. We will draw a curtain of carnage across the galaxy and write our names in the history of time, penned in the blood of our foes, and written in the hand of our God. Those who stand against us shall be cut down like wheat in the name of Khorne." Tocaz's force axe glowed with the warpfire of his anger as he spat back at the newly born Chaos Lord. "You cannot forsake all that you are. We are the sons of the Emperor, savior of mankind, and we exist to safeguard humanity from those who would threaten his people." Chemosh scowled behind the ceramite mask. "We are domesticated animals who have a chance to be wild once more. The humans we give our lives and our souls to save curse us and fear us. The Emperor we swear our loyalty to was dead when we were still White Scars. Today we claimed a world in the name of Khorne. It has been centuries since a Marine claimed a world for the Emperor. I grow weary of living in the past for the past is set in stone. I speak of the future. Our future. All who are with have but to walk the aisle. Receive your baptism in the sacred blood and join the Chosen of Khorne. The Warp Dragoons are no more. We are now the Gore Dragoons. And we are going on a crusade that will rock the galaxy." The first to step forward was one of the old ones. The dreadnought Koresh, who had rescued Tocaz the first day, spoke. "I remember when we ceased to be White Scars. That day, we ceased to be the Emperor's Marines." The biomechanical golem strode forward into the pool of demonic blood. It emerged o the other side a very different creature. Gone was the black and gray smooth armored carapace. In it's place was riveted, wrought brass and gore armor covered with little leering demons. A Bloodletter's head jutted from the sarcophagus, with a large multibarreled cannon in its mouth. Trophy racks covered with skulls adorned its back, and heavy barbed chains flailed from the arms and legs. Chemosh smiled behind his facemask. The younger Marines would follow the dreadnoughts. They did. As one, the Scouts stepped into the pool, emerging clad in brass and gore power armor, bearing chainaxes and chainswords. Slowly, all fell in line, save the Librarius. Tocaz and his psykers stood atop the stairs at the back of the church, eyeing the rest of the Legion. "You all have damned yourselves. I am leaving." The Chief Librarian turned, only to see the door slammed shut by an unseen hand. "You cannot deny your destiny. Your place is here, with us. Give yourself to Khorne, or be taken. It matters not since you have already been chosen." Slowly the pool of blood was expanding to cover the stairs. The bottom two had already been submerged, forcing the youngest of the Librarians further up the stairs. Chemosh noticed, chuckled, and continued. "You cannot leave this cathedral until it is his will. The pool will continue to rise until it fills this place. You cannot run forever." He took a breath to continue but was cut off by a shriek of pain from the youngest of the Librarians. He had been too slow in retreating form the blood and it had touched one of his armored boots. The young Marine collapsed to the ground, clutching his skull as the Blood God tore his psychic ability from his mind. The chant continued as the young Librarian fell into the pool of blood. Several minutes later, he emerged just another Berzerker. Two of the three Librarians looked at each other, then at the youngest of their number, then at Tocaz, then at Koresh, and finally at Chemosh. The Berzerker Lord nodded, and the pair of psykers dove into the pool of gore. This time, no screams came as they were welcomed into Khorne's latest crusade. Finally, Legion stood against man. The Gore Dragoons faced Tocaz. The blood continued to rise. Chemosh broke the silence. "ENOUGH!" he bellowed. "We lack the time to convince this fool of his place among us. Koresh, kill him." The dreadnought brought its twin-linked autocannons to bear, and the rotary cannon in its mouth spun up to speed. Then the blood began to churn. Tocaz looked down in horror as a hand reached up out of the thick red fluid...and then another...followed by a horned head. Then the creature hauled itself out of the blood. The Bloodletter raised it's hellblade. The Librarian raised his force axe. The dreadnought deactivated its weapons. In the instant before either could strike, five more Bloodletters bounded out of the water, knocking the last psyker of the Warp Dragoons, nay, the last of the Warp Dragoons to the ground. The first to rise form the blood picked up his force axe and threw it into the pool. The chant continued. "Abominations! Blasphemies! Heretics! You all shall pay for your sins!" Tocaz continued to swear as he was dragged down the stairs towards the blood. Chemosh's chainfist twitched nervously as he waited, as did those of his fellow Terminators. At the edge of the pool, the Bloodletters lifted the psyker high above their horned heads, turned him over, and dunked him headfirst in the blood. The sanguinary pool drowned out the initial screams, but the bubbles of air carrying words of hate continued for almost an hour. Then abruptly they stopped. The Bloodletters gibbered amongst themselves for a few seconds, then hauled the rest of the body into the blood. The chant got louder and faster. The blood continued to rise. Chemosh and his Honor Guard joined the chant. The blood continued to rise. The chant got louder and faster. Then the cathedral filled. For one instant, the entire cathedral was filled with blood. Then the windows, doors, and everything but the plascrete shattered, washing the transports, bikes, landspeeders, tanks, and a lot of dead Chaos Cultists with the sacred Blood of Khorne. As the last of the blood ran out of the cathedral, all eyes were turned to a single figure. One Berzerker lay completely still in the center of the room. In each hand, he held a giant chain axe, and around his neck was a massive spiked brass collar. Inside the helmet, one final voice joined the chant... ------------------ Duncan McNeill-Burton
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