Radamanth Nemes

by Arthobald Trist

"The teleportation has been successful" This thought flashes in Nemes mind. Teleporting troops in a restricted area is very risky but the Emperor had been watching over them this time. All lights are green in the helmet of his dreadnought tactical armor. His squad and him have landed on a little platform, dominating the big hall. In front of him, the disloyal World Eaters look surprised. Something is wrong, though.

     Arthobald, his master and friend is not on his side. His heartbeats accelerate as he scans the hall. Hell breaks out around him exactly when he localizes the first HQ squad, about a hundred yards from him, right in the middle of the berserkers. The first wave of chaos warrior hits his position and he has to concentrate on the hand to hand fight. His squad has the great advantage of being above his opponents. Nemes beats two terminators with his Crozius Arcanum and glance at Arthobald's position. The master of the Emerald Warriors is hurrying to the far end of the hall. Nemes's heart nearly stops when he understands why. A huge chaos lord, obviously the leader of the horde is waiting near an altar. He can easily guess who is the girl tied on the bloody stone. A second wave of World Eaters hits their position. Nemes is distracted, he can't help to keep an eye on Arthobald, who now faces the chaos Lord. His Rosarius saves him, absorbing the incredible energy shock of a powerfist blow. One of his brethren rescues him, knocking down the heretic terminator with his Thunder Hammer.

     Seizing the opportunity, Nemes orders his squad to follow him and moves towards the altar. Never before his armor had seemed so heavy and so slow. He begins to scream, raging to be so clumsy. An horrible certainty strikes him: he will be late. Twenty yards to go. Arthobald hits the Lord with his hammer, nearly crushing the helmet in two pieces. Nemes tries to run but his armor has not been designed for such emergencies. Ten yards. The berserker retreats towards the altar, seizes Laurelyn hairs and cuts her head. Blood spurts, red, so red, so much blood. Arthobald is too shocked to move. Behind him, the armor of a chaotic marine explodes, replaced by an enormous creature. The demon raises his axe and strikes Arthobald. The antique armor fails to protect its owner. Arthobald drops on his knees, then falls on the floor. Nemes barely notices the death of his beloved brethren, his eyes caught by the red blood flowing from Laurelyn's neck. Still yelling, he could not stop anyway, even if its life depended on it, he collides with the Chaos Lord, trying to tear the lovely head away. Desperate gesture. His armored fingers slip on the bloody hairs. Movement at the corner of his eyes. Too late to parry. Shock. Pain. Fade to black.

     Nemes regains control of his thoughts. His heart is racing, he is sweating, tears are flowing on his cheeks, on one cheek at least. Damn, flashback once again. The insane diving in the Eye of Terror is more than two centuries old now but he is still haunted by this terrible day. He knows the Blood Angels are suffering of the same kind of disorders, but much stronger. Poor guys. He would like to meet one of their chaplain some day. But for now, he must lead the fourth company against corrupted chaos adepts. The fourth company, his company, no captain in this one, just him. No slow and heavy terminator armors neither. He won't wear his helmet today, he wants to see the fear in the cultist's eyes when they will look at him. Half his face is made of bare metal, his bionic red eye gleaming. On his shoulder pad, the drawing of the Eye of Terror will remind his brethren of the fate of Laurelyn and Arthobald. The Thunderhawk is about to land. He checks his stormbolter. He's ready. He hopes that the heretic's blood will cover the ground today. Red blood. So red. For vengeance...

End.