NWITBE: Part 1: Prologue
#1 of Not What Is To Be Expected
Prologue: We Are The Other Meanings of Light
Warhammer 40,000, description and races do not belong to me. All characters and races in this chapter belong to Games Workshop. The army name here belongs to me. Anything on claims will be placed here.
Enjoy something new dear readers of Yiffstar.
We are the Emperor's Imperium Imperialis finesse. We are his chosen ones. We march in his name and execute the mutant, the witch, the blasphemer, the heretic and the traitor. If things come to worse, the demons of reality and dreams. With bolter fire and flames, we cleanse and purify all we touch and see.
Planet after planet we descend and conquer. Foul hostile xenos lie await for us, watching our very move as we hunt them down as animals and beasts they are. We the adeptus astartes are only deployed when the situation comes from bad to worse. We, the Emperor's chosen never sully our hands unless we deem it fit to do so. While the enemies of the emperor still draw breath, there can be no peace. Our battle cry is the last thing these foul abominations hear as we bolt them to the ground permanently and send their souls back screaming to the warp.
We cleanse and purify, we burn and purge, and we slash and kill. We can live near immortal lives and keep on fighting with wounds that can even down a normal human. Centuries of never ending war keep us fit for what we are built to do for. Death is nothing compared to the taint and corruption of evil. Demons whispered into the ears of man and xenos alike, making the foolhardy do their dark deeds as they laugh from the safety of their demonic realms. How they come to this area of our lives is no mystery. Evil will always be there and destructive as always, and as always, there will always be light to fight back. Many like to think the bright light is always associated to good, calm, naive, innocent and peaceful. We are the anti-thesis of the light. We don't just shine out brightly. We also burn those that come too near and blind those that stare at us in hate. We light up the darkest corners of worlds as we purge and cleanse the impure, and the hostile unknown.
Death to the enemies of light. We are no impish do-gooders. We don't just sprout words of courage, honour and glory. We don't just draw swords to any plea of innocence calling for help. The plea of innocence is guilty of wasting our time and our time is precious in cleaving an important enemy in two. We only help those when they do not even have a chance in life to die properly, hence we are called the angels of death. That is when we come.
Many countless times, the natives look to the sky in awe as our Vanguard assault brothers dive from the thunderhawks, sternguard veterans always on the run on land with their rhinos, their storm bolters never cease chattering as they compete with their close combat brothers for the highest kill score. Tactical teams in twos and threes speed across the frigid ground in their rhinos, bunching out to hit and harass the enemy. Devastator teams and their razorbacks establish kill zones with land speeders creating pockets of deceit to deceive the enemy to get in close and flank the devastators only to be destroyed with fast strikes. Vindicator tanks chase the enemy to the sights of lascannons and heavy bolters of the devastators. The captain and his retinue charging bravely in razorbacks only to be out numbered as suddenly, their kin, the Grand master of the Lodge Explorator Grey Knights and his retinue arrive with crackling light to cleave the way through as other grey knights teleported and assault the enemies' rear. The make matters worse for the enemy, is the timely arrival of the much dreaded sisters of battle. An angry lady is a sight to behold, but a mob of angry women armed to the teeth with bolters and grenades, screaming their fervor and performing acts of faith in the name of the emperor is enough to make even the dauntless enemy fear for their lives, with the image of them being torn to shreds on the battlefield by the very nails and grasp of women.
We and our battle brothers and sisters come to fight for them, and then teach them how to die standing with pitch forks in their hands instead of kneeling to the invaders crying for mercy and innocence. There is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt. In this universe, there can be no mercy. There can never be any respite for anything that is sentient and draws breath to live. It's either them or you. Nothing else matters. We are the Aphelion Crossguard Templar Chapter. We are the Space Marines.
If you have read this far into this second page, dear xeno readers, you might wonder why this story is written and placed here. Why should we xeno hating humans decided to share our story here? The answer is within the question we ask you xenos. We hate xenos. We hate the mutant and abominations that copies the way of human physiology. We hate the mutant.
Only one problem.
They are an enigma in which maybe once human, but human no more. The operative word is once human, and that is all that matters.
That is all that matters.
That all matters.
It matters.
IT.... MATTERS.
Next
Book One: Chapter One: The xeno, the demon and the heretic.