Author: Alex Muck

Buck:

I jogged through the forest, dead leaves and branches crunching underfoot. I pushed through the shrubbery, always eyeing the tree line for movement. The edge of the city drew nearer, but it was no sanctuary, just better than wandering aimlessly. Anyway, I had made this voyage many times and always found some kind of food that no one else had discovered. Sometimes, I was even lucky enough to find a berry bush that hadn’t been infected yet.

Even though I knew this route and its intricacies, I never let my guard down. Brothers and friends had been foolish enough to assume that others would not mean them harm — even in this world, where we had to fight for every scrap. The fact that I hadn’t seen anyone in weeks did not put my mind at ease; raiders often hid among the ruins of old cars and buildings, patiently waiting for a sickly wanderer to take a wrong turn. The scavengers were cunning, ruthless, and cruel. They felt no pity, just a remorseless hunger.

I was happy I had not been born into that life, the life of a merciless killer. But I cannot say I was happy to have been born into the life I lived, either. The world was harsh and unforgiving. The weak did not make it, but even the strong were at risk from fellow travelers. The world had become a free-for-all, every man out for himself, only himself.

As I neared the outskirts of town, I climbed up a hill and looked around below. The fog was dense today, but the sun began poking through the layer of clouds that seemed to stick to the city. I listened tentatively, aware that in a world of complete silence, a small noise echoed like a gunshot. Hearing nothing, I made my way into the city. With each step I scanned the windows of the houses and offices, searching for a color out of place, a shadow where there should be none.

Wandering down a dirt road, I found myself in a cul-de-sac full of rusted cars and dilapidated houses. I realized this was a part of the city I had yet to explore, and it was actually quite beautiful. Flowers bloomed, a sight I hadn’t seen in months. I pressed my face towards the brightly colored petals, inhaling deeply.

I turned away from the plants and explored a different path, still feeling unusually safe. I couldn’t pinpoint what put my nerves at ease, but I felt a deep joy wandering around this neighborhood. It was as if this bit of land had somehow escaped the horrors of the rest of the world. What took over me I do not know, but I began prancing about, racing from one house to the next, feeling truly alive. It was as if all the worries and fears that had plagued me for years suddenly disappeared, and I was free.

Tom:

The Geiger counter read 3,448 mSv, a dangerously high level of radiation, much higher than most other parts of the city. My stomach was seized by cramps, and sweat chilled the skin under my clothes, sure signs of radiation poisoning. But I figured anything below the threshold of instant death was fine.

I sighed heavily, lifting my eyes to survey the remains of the supermarket. The windows were blanketed with thick layers of dust and grime. I exhaled once more, the gas mask clamped on my face transforming my breath into a monstrous gargle. I scanned the decrepit building one last time but came to the conclusion that the risk of entering outweighed any reward that could be inside. That grizzly in the kitchen of the restaurant on 6th Street had made me more cautious; I’d been lucky to escape with a gash running down my leg and a permanent limp. I still had enough supplies to last another week or so; no need to be brave here.

Deciding to move on from the market, I returned the Geiger counter to my backpack and swung my hunting rifle off my shoulder and into my hands. I trudged back up the side road to the main street, eyeing the horizon. There was no movement, no sound. The birds had ceased their chirping long ago. The cars that once flooded the roads sat empty, their occupants robbed, killed, maybe eaten.

A few scraggly plants somehow peeked through the soil. Everything else alive had left the area in search of a more hospitable environment. Good luck to them, I thought. I knew this was the only city for hundreds of miles, and at least I had shelter. But like any oasis, this could be a mirage, drawing in survivors and then quickly giving them up to the buzzards. For all I knew, I was only the person still alive in the Greenfield area. Hell, I might’ve been the only person left on the planet. That was fine with me. I had survived.

I meandered along the pothole-ridden street. A tin can slowly rolled into my path. With a kick, I sent the can sailing high and over a nearby yard, far enough away I couldn’t hear it land. “Field goal,” I whispered to myself, but the words were distorted by the mask.

Buck:

Without warning I heard the clatter of metal on concrete, a noise unlike any I’d heard in months. I sprinted through a hole in a nearby fence and hid in the bushes. Most of the animals that survived had a distinct, pungent odor about them but I could smell nothing. I kept my eyes locked on the road and waited. After a few moments, the bush gave way under my weight, exposing my hiding place. A high wall blocked my retreat to the rear; the only way out of here was the gap in the fence which I’d entered. Assuring myself that I was in no danger, I moved towards the noise. A glint of light caught my eye. It was a tin can coming to rest in the road. I edged closer to it, looking it over carefully.

Tom:

Abruptly, from behind the house, I heard a loud rustling. I raised my gun towards the noise. A huge snout popped out from behind the wall. It inched cautiously towards the can, sniffing vigorously. Soon, the entire body was in view – a deer, its antlers crowning its head.

I marveled at the magnificent beast, its coat gleaming, untainted. I closed my left eye, focusing through my scope. The crosshair settled on the head of the creature. Loosening my mask so that I could take the shot, I realized too late that I was standing on a concrete walkway, not on the soil. My mask fell with a clatter that echoed through the streets. In complete silence, even the quietest of noises can sound like a gunshot.

Buck:

Something on the street drew my attention. I looked up, locking eyes with a man, his gun pointed directly at me. A gas mask lay on the ground next to him. I felt the sun beating down on me now, warming me all the way to my bones. I returned my attention back to the man. His left eye was closed shut, his right staring down the scope. I knew it was trained on me, but nothing in my body would allow me to move, to react and run away. The man’s finger vibrated on the trigger of the device; he was nervous. Panicking. Almost remorseful.

Tom:

The deer’s head snapped into place, staring straight at me, into my soul. I stared back into the black abysses that were his eyes, unflinching and unwavering. My finger fluttered on the trigger. This was the first animal I had seen that wasn’t covered in blood and scars, looking to kill whatever crossed its path. This deer was beautiful, graceful, my last reminder of what the world used to be like.

Buck:

I was furious, not because I had been fooled or surprised, but because the man was hesitating. End it, I yelled at him, Do it. He didn’t move. I realized I was ready to leave this world, to put all my suffering behind and move on. Why did he hesitate? My heart skipped a beat as the shot rang out, and my body immediately felt very, very cold.

Tom:

And even still, my finger squeezed the trigger. With a bang, all the memories of the past were erased, and hope for the future was extinguished.

Arax’s cell was bitterly cold. Being stuck in this windowless room had driven him to the brink of insanity, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would be incapable of rational thought. He hugged his legs close to his body, but it was futile; his thin robe was barely enough to keep him from freezing. A week before, in an anger-fueled rampage, he had ripped his only good cloak and bed covers. The Man hadn’t bothered to bring him new ones.

In fact, now that he thought about it, The Man hadn’t talked to him in nearly a week. Food was slid to him through a narrow opening in the bottom of the door, along with a bowl of water, but Arax never heard footsteps approaching. As each day passed, he lost more weight and his hair grew longer. On good days, his voice was hoarse; other times when he tried to talk to himself as though he had company, no noise came out. Before, the lights above Arax’s bed had illuminated the stark white room. Now they flickered, and occasionally they stayed off for hours before coming back to life.

But one noise was nearly constant. It was a loud humming sound that seemed to be coming from all around him at once. And it was getting worse; Arax hadn’t slept in days because the noise pounded in his head. Arax had asked The Man about it over and over, but on each occasion, The Man shook his head, smiled slightly, and said nothing.

Then there was Arax’s mattress, scratchy with lumps throughout. After several nights of trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, Arax decided it would be best to sit in the corner until he could nod off. That way, he could save the bed for when he really needed it.

Arax’s lone table seemed to embody the young man, sitting alone, cold to the touch and unmoving. He occasionally used it when he had a reason to pull out the pack of cards that had shown up without explanation on his bed, late one afternoon. Arax couldn’t stand playing blackjack, because no matter what he did, the dealer always triumphed. He fared no better with poker. He decided to test his luck with solitaire, the only card game he had ever won. Even then victory was rare. It seemed that each time he replaced the cards in their pack, one would mysteriously disappear. First it was an ace, then a queen, a three, an ace again, and finally a five. He figured he didn’t have many more games left with only 47 cards, so he saved the remaining ones for special occasions. Some nights, for example, The Man brought a fresh loaf of bread and milk. Arax was so happy on those nights that he would pull out his cards and play, always careful to count how many cards he placed back into the package when he finished.

One day, Arax realized that he had finally lost track of the outside world’s time. At the beginning, The Man used to tell him whenever he asked, but now The Man had stopped responding to Arax’s questions, and he was left with no sense of whether it was day or night, which day of the week it was, or which month it was. Arax had tried to measure the passage of time by counting off each minute of each hour, scratching tally marks into the wall using a broken spring that he had fashioned into a sharp point. However, it became harder and harder for Arax to concentrate, and he gave up trying to keep track of time.

But on this particular day, Arax heard an unexpected sound. It was no ordinary sound, not like a voice or the humming that drove Arax crazy. It was something entirely new and distant, a sound of something moving and shifting that echoed around the room. Startled, Arax knocked over his deck of cards, spilling them onto the floor. A couple of cards slid right under the door, some fell on the bed, and the rest fluttered to the ground. He scrambled to pick them all up. When he arose, returning the cards to the pack, he froze.

The massive metal door to his room was open, emptying into a white hallway, its lights flickering. Haltingly, Arax stuck his arm through the doorway. Nothing happened, no force grabbed him and thrust him back or beat him down. The Man was nowhere to be seen. The door was just open. He peered out of the chamber that had kept him prisoner for weeks, or months, or years; he didn’t know which.

Arax stumbled into the hallway. After a few steps, the lights flickered once more and then shut off. He stopped in surprise, wondering why. The hallway ahead was pitch black, but he could hear the strange shifting sounds and knew they were coming from that direction. They sounded like huge doors being locked and unlocked, over and over. Behind him, his room was still open, the lights shining, brighter than before. He dashed into the cell and grabbed up his pack of cards, pulled them out and counted.

“Forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty, fifty one, fifty two… they’re all here,” Arax whispered to himself. He noticed that the rasp in his voice was gone. He sat down on his bed but felt himself sinking into plush cushions. He jumped back up, not understanding what was going on around him. He didn’t feel as cold as before, and his clothes were as good as new, his cloak sitting clean and folded at the foot of the bed. Last of all, the terrible humming sound which had haunted him for so long had stopped.

For the first time in what seemed like years, Arax was comfortable. He thought about sinking into that plush bed, enjoying the warmth, finally getting some sleep. But as he took one step toward his bed, he stopped himself. He knew he couldn’t stay. Arax dropped the cards to the ground and sprinted through the door and out into the darkness, toward the strange mechanical sound. As Arax ran down the hallway, he once more began to hear a low humming noise behind him, emanating from his room.

Day One: D-Day

Captain William Harris of the 131st Airborne sat in the darkness of the C-14. The cabin shook violently as rockets, flak, and other planes exploded all around. Yells from the engine room and cockpit echoed around the tightly packed room, twenty soldiers lining the walls. Suddenly, the dim red light bulb overhead buzzed, flashed a bright white light, and then stayed green. They were over the jump zone.

The door latch loudly retracted into the wall, and several soldiers stood up and slid it open. A huge gust of wind blew into the chamber, and guns, packs, and papers flew about. Harris rose quickly and slapped his parachute and machine gun to make sure all was order. The other soldiers did the same, checking that each pulley was primed and ready to work when needed.

“Alright boys!” Harris shouted over the airplane engines. “This is it! Jump on my signal!” Each man signaled a rapid thumbs up and readied themselves.

“One!” Tension rushed over each soldier, and they grasped their guns tighter, and placed a hand upon their parachute strings.

“Two!” The sky began to clear and the men could now see that the city lay in heaps of rubble, bodies and artillery strewn everywhere, hundreds of planes and chutes dotting the sky.

“Three!”

Just as the men pushed forward, a mass of flak slammed into the engine and blew them all backward. Part of the wall exploded, sucking five men out into the air. Packs of equipment and supplies rocketed out of the gaping hole in the plane. Harris’ own gun was torn from around his neck. Steadying himself against what remained of the wall, Harris forced his way to the ventral exhaust, a gash in the floor used to drop bombs. He motioned for the remaining men to line up then helped one after the other squeeze through with their chutes, until finally, each soldier was out.

Before Harris could lower his feet into the hole, the plane suddenly lurched forward, launching Harris back towards the cockpit. Smashing his head into the cabin, Harris felt the g-force yank his parachute off his shoulder and into the night. Harris clawed at the wall to keep himself from falling out of the plane but he felt only air.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harris’s shoulder. He looked up and saw Thomas, the pilot. His forehead oozed dark red blood. Thomas opened a small compartment in the plane’s ceiling and strapped the emergency parachute across Harris’s shoulders, then shoved him toward the gaping hole. Harris tried to grab at Thomas but felt only a rush of freezing air.

Squirming around in his parachute, Harris looked down onto the battlefield below him. Planes roared under his feet and above his head. He could see men falling all around but couldn’t decipher which side they were on. He looked back over his shoulder as he heard a loud screeching noise. It was the C-14 diving blindly toward the ground.

The plane exploded in a gigantic fireball, sending rubble and shards of metal in all directions. Fearing that his chute would be destroyed, Harris tried to steer his body towards a small lake below but the thrust of the explosion slammed him into a grove of trees, the lines of chute becoming entangled in the branches and his head smacking into the side of a trunk. A fog of pain and darkness swallowed him.

He woke some time later, dangling above the ground, one leg twisted grotesquely. Far below him, a German soldier sprayed the beach with machine gun fire. Harris wormed one hand into a pocket, pulled out his army knife, and quietly sawed at the ropes of the chute to free himself from the prison of branches. As he cut the last shred of rope, he let himself fall onto the stunned soldier’s back, wrestled the soldier to the ground, and then stabbed his knife deep into the soldier’s neck.

The German soldier was young, no more than eighteen, the same age as the boys in the 131st. Harris waited for the soldier to die. Then he limped over to a burning church and quickly hid inside.

I am from the house on top of the hill
The one-story shotgun style building that looks out over both the bay and the bridge
My dog runs in the yard, and my sister lounges on the hammock
The uncommon sunny day blazes brightly on my backyard
The smell and smoke of food on the grill making me eager to eat

I am from the artifacts my family holds dear, stored away for safe keeping
Old wine glasses and menorahs look like ordinary relics but have deeper meanings
The essence of my family still inside them
My own room of artifacts that I alone value
Trophies of home runs and soccer goals, old video games stacked high

I am from a tradition of Judaism, each holiday celebrated
With family, grandparents, cousins and history
Following the teachings of an ancient religion,
Bringing me to my coming of age, my Bar Mitzvah
Agonizing months to train and plan and anticipate the day, the party, the success

I am from my family, even when I’m by myself
Alyssa, sister, rarely walking through the halls these days,
Instead texting or calling from miles away
My parents working from early to late, coming home to the warm welcome of me and my dog
When they arrive, I am back with my family, and am happy to see them once again

I am from the hot days I spent playing sports and hanging out with friends
The cold days I spent inside, with my dog, awaiting the sun, savoring the warmth
I am from the fog as I watch it roll over the hills toward me at the end of every day
And when each morning comes as I head off to school, be it coincidence or some odd thing controlling it
The sun always emerges and I smile

I love her and she doesn’t know.
She doesn’t try to capture my heart or make me feel flustered when I speak to her
Or invade my thoughts every waking minute.
She simply does.
She’s extraordinary and perfectly normal at the same time.
She’s sunshine, happiness emanating from her perfect face.
Her smile lightens the mood; her laugh causes my heart to skip a beat.
She doesn’t try to make my life worth living.
She simply does.
The joy she shows the world every day hides a pain she never reveals.
But I can see it and beyond it and I know we will find joy together.
As others pass by I sit idly, waiting for her to take notice.
She doesn’t try to make me feel not alone in a world full of sadness.
She simply does.
And I await the day when she finally does try to make me love her,
Because I will be ready.

Danny nervously fiddled with his empty paper cup, rolling it over and over in his hand. “He’s coming, you know.”

Harrison paused, looking up from the carpet, bewildered. “How the hell … how could I not know? The man has been hunting me for as long as I can remember. He’s a bloodhound. Don’t tell me what I do or do not know. I check my back every three steps on the street, expecting to see him trailing me. I open the door to every room, every closet each night, imagining that he’s skulking in the shadows. I’ve feared him longer than you’ve been alive, boy. I am very aware that he is coming.”

Danny hesitantly looked down at the carpet, realizing his mistake, and said nothing more. Harrison leaned back in the armchair, withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth. He blew a small cloud of smoke from his nostrils, then put the stub into the ashtray. Without warning he began coughing violently, thrusting his arm toward the bottle of scotch on the floor near Danny’s chair. Danny jumped up and handed over the half-empty bottle. Harrison downed what was left and then set the empty bottle on the table next to him, alongside a dozen other empty bottles. The motion knocked the cigarette pack to the floor, scattering cigarettes and tobacco.

Danny’s eyes scanned the bookshelves behind Harrison. When he’d first arrived, Danny had been awestruck by Harrison’s collection of novels, but he had soon realized the story that most fascinated him was that of the old man hunched before him. Danny quickly knelt, lit a new cigarette for Harrison and gathered the rest back into the pack. Harrison nodded in appreciation, although the scowl never left his face. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the chair, taking a long drag.

Danny fidgeted in his seat before speaking once more. “Have … have you ever seen his face?”
Harrison grunted, a deep guttural sound. He flicked open an eye, looking Danny up and down. “The thing ain’t even human, boy. I hope I’m never close enough to see his face. Don’t want to.”

Danny reached for one of the empty bottles, turned it over hopefully then replaced it on the table. Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. Danny looked at Harrison, who sighed, put out his cigarette, and slowly reached for the gun on the side table.

“Time’s up, boy. He’s here.”

The night was unusually dark and weirdly quiet. No moonlight permeated the thick cloud of fog that hung over the city. The streetlights lining the block stood unlit. Along the rows of houses not a single window was illuminated. The wind and rain whipped at my eyes and cheeks but I heard nothing else. I tugged the collar of my jacket up and over my mouth, shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat, and trudged into the darkness ahead.

I finally came to the dead-end. Shielding my eyes from the rain, I looked up at the low slung building to my right. Windows and doors were gaping holes and a chunk of one wall had collapsed into the alleyway below, spewing glass and brick across the ground. Mr. Creed awaited rescue from the third floor, and while I could do a lot with my power, I couldn’t fly.

I made my way to the rear of the building, looking for the fire escape. With a quick wave of my hand and a word muttered under my breath, the ladder unfolded and crashed to the ground. Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching – multiple sets of footsteps. I crouched against the wall below the metal stairs, groping in the darkness. The smell of rancid food told me I was next to a dumpster, so I stayed put, squinting toward the end of the alley.

I could see one outlined figure near the front of the building where I had stood moments before. Two more creatures joined him. As the monsters came into view, I couldn’t help but grin. They had taken the form of businessmen wearing suits and ties. This would be easy.

I downed the first monster with a single kick to the head, then plunged my knife through the breast pocket of his suit and watched as he furiously tried to claw his way to me before he evaporated into shadow and returned to his own realm. I imagined it hurt like hell.

The remaining monsters lurched at me, weighted down by their heavy shoes. I ducked under the arms of the first and stood between them. Grasping each by their red silk neckties, I swung the monsters in a circle above my head then launched them into the wall of the building. They disintegrated, leaving only a couple of coat buttons behind.
Winded but satisfied, I shook the dust off my jeans and began scaling the ladder, determined to reach my destination.

Book 1: Blood Angels
—————————————————–
Mission 1: The Defense of Ummet Baal

Commander Locke’s 3rd Battalion, the last remaining cohort of the greatest fighting force of the Blood Angels, has one of the saddest histories in the entire Adeptus Astartes. Also known as the Clocks, the 3rd Battalion’s motto is, “It’s only a matter of time,” and it means more to the members of this platoon than just a simple phrase; it epitomizes the struggles of the entire military detachment under Commander Locke’s leadership. It all began the night of the most horrid act of treachery in the entire timeline of The Imperium of Man, The Horus Heresy.

On the eve of the Tyranid assault of Ummet Baal, the base of operations for the Blood Angels, the Clocks were called in to defend the base while Horus and Sanguinius, the Blood Angels primarch, were embarked on a dangerous mission. Unbeknownst to the Clocks, their fearless primarch was struck down by his own allies. However, they had no time to mourn even if they knew about the betrayal, for the Tyranid Hive Fleet Hydra swarmed towards Ummet Baal. This army was unparalleled by any other Hive Fleet before or after it. Their numbers overwhelming, and their ferocity was unmatched by any other creature – man or alien.

While the incoming army was terrifying, the defenders were dauntless. The Clocks formed the last line of defense against the Tyranids. Taking the lead was the platoon known as the Maroon Talons, under the leadership of the grizzled Commander Cojack. The Maroon Talons were comprised of 1,000 Predators, along with 300 scouts. They were the most infamous group of Predators in the entire Adeptus Astartes army, and by far the most lethal. They feared nothing, not even an unending swarm of ravenous Tyranids. Led by Cojack and his signature Baal Predator – painted with the blood of Orks, Tyranids, and heretics alike – the Maroon Talons drove their war machines into the fray, relieving the scout party which had originally identified the incoming Tyranid force.

Seeing the speed at which the hive fleet traveled, the scouts engaged the oncoming force, hoping to hold out until help arrived. At last, the Maroon Talons burst forth from the forests behind the scouts’ position, immediately tearing apart a rampaging Carnifex brood, only moments away from slaughtering a squad of the Blood Angels defenses. Eager to return to their base, the scouts boarded their bikes and fled right past the Predators, trying to signal the remaining defenses of Ummet Baal to come to the aid of the Talons.

But to the dismay of Cojack and his troops, the signal was intercepted by the Zoanthrope psykers of the Tyranid horde. The Maroon Talons realized that help would not come, and many of them would be unable to return to their brothers at Ummet Baal. For six days, the two armies bombarded each other with all the weapons at their disposal. Bio-weapons rained down from the Tyranid positions, spraying toxic ooze along the hulls of the Predators, which then sealed the hatches and doors of the tank.

As a result, the operators of the vehicle would be forced to fight, and die, within their steel prisons. But the Blood Angels returned fire with their equally powerful ordnance. Huge unmanned drop pods forced the Tyranids off of key vantage points, allowing the Talons to make a push towards the attackers. On the seventh day, the artillery stopped from the Blood Angels’ side. They could no longer spare their munitions, nor could they afford to launch any more drop pods, lest their forces on the warship Gorewrencher need to escape.

Now, the Tyranids began to seize their advantage. They became bolder, launching pincer attacks on the left and right flanks of the Blood Angel positions. Their bombardments continued to hit key targets, cutting off any escape route of the Predators, and Cojack began to feel growing pressure. He knew there was only one way left for the Predators to hold off the Tyranids. Cojack’s tanks rushed for the tallest hill on the route to Ummet Baal and set up their positions at the crest. While this gave them the advantage of having the Tyranids rush at them uphill, inevitably slowing them down, it also meant that the Talons were forced to give up even more ground.

Finally, on the eighth day, the unthinkable happened. A swarm of Tyrannofexes, one of the fiercest units in the entire Tyranid army, appeared out of nowhere and charged up the hill, using all of their might to drive toward the center of the Blood Angel defense. Yet one by one, the attacking monsters fell. Cojack knew that this was no simple failed attack on the Tyranids’ part. There had to be something more – and there was. After the Tyrannofexes bodies’ laid on the battlefield for hours and began decomposing, it became apparent that a strange bile was excreting from their bodies. As time went on, the tanks continuously rolled over these bodies, their tracks picking up liters of this ooze along the way.

Cojack saw this was not the Tyranid bio-weapon. It was a diseased plague. The Tyranid siege became more aggressive, and as each monster died, more bile filled the battlefield. Finally, a Swarmlord brood charged up the hill, directly towards Cojack and his Predator. As the enemy creatures rushed toward him, Cojack noticed their eyes: pale, white, and no pupils. Their skin was a pale green. At that moment, something clicked in Cojack’s mind and he ordered an immediate retreat. He realized that the swarming invaders were the dreaded Bringers of the Plague, the servants of the Chaos God Nurgle.

With no warning, the ground beneath the fleeing Predators erupted, and Mawlocs, Gaunts, and Trygons emerged. They now stood between the Talons and Ummet Baal. Cojack was immediately aware of his entire platoon’s imminent demise. Scout bikes rode from the base, roaring past the Plague-ridden Tyranids, and picking up as many of the Predator operators as they could. When Cojack and his men tried to open their gun hatch, they realized it had been sealed by the bio-ooze. Knowing he had no other choice, he and his men filled the entire carapace of the vehicle with explosives. Melta bombs, krak grenades, missile shells, even extra munitions. As they watched their men ride back to base, trying to evade the oncoming Tyranids, Cojack forced his Predator the opposite way: towards the Swarmlords.

The impact was sudden and powerful. The explosion crippled the entire Tyranid force. Shock waves knocked Tyrannofexes and Gaunts alike to the ground, giving the escaping bikers just enough time to join the second line of defense. The Blood Angels had no time to mourn the loss of their commanding officer, for the Tyranids now charged toward Ummet Baal. It was clear that they were being controlled by a greater force. The Hive Mind meant nothing to them now, for Nurgle was the only one they followed. Led by Chaos Daemons with the mark of Nurgle seared upon their chests, the attacking army drove relentlessly through the forests surrounding the base.

It was now up to the second line of defense: the Sanguinary Guard’s 12th Battalion, leading the 201st, 203rd, and 214th Death Company Divisions. The most highly trained soldiers in the entire Blood Angels force, the Sanguinary Guard were masters of all weapons, swords and guns. However, as a result of the decision to dispatch Sanguinius to another theater, the 12th Battalion found itself leading the second defense of Ummet Baal.

But they were not alone, as they brought with them the three strongest platoons of Death Company forces. These were The Undaunted, warriors who had fallen so far to the Black Rage that they were confined to suits controlled by the Sanguinary Guard to prevent them from killing anyone around them. These suits also provided powerful protection, as any bullet would simply ricochet off them and even the strongest missiles could often not penetrate them.

However, the suits required fearless operators. Anyone within the suits required surgery to alter their vital organs and nerves, so that they could be controlled remotely. No regular man could withstand the pain caused by the surgery or its aftermath. However, the members of the Death Company were perfect. After succumbing to the Black Rage, they no longer felt pain and craved blood. Moreover, they knew they would be put to death if they refused to join the company. Their insatiable thirst for destruction made them fearless warriors, capable of completing almost impossible tasks. Finally, to prevent their Chaotic enemies from capturing the suits and creating their own version, the suits were set to detonate once their operator’s heartbeat fell below a certain level. This meant that the suit-wearing Death Company warriors were essentially time bombs, sent out to fight until they died while taking down as many of the enemy as possible.

The second line of defense pushed forward to meet the opposition. More than 7,000 Blood Angel soldiers marched at the oncoming swarm. Immediately, they felt the overwhelming size of the attackers. The smaller versions of their brothers, Carnifexes were about half the size of Tyrannofexes, yet they still towered over the average Space Marine. Gaunts swarmed over the defending forces, biting and tearing at their armor, trying to pierce it so they could spit their putrid bile into open wounds. As each creature fell, another two swarmed to take its place in the fight. Toxic gas foamed and bubbled around the battlefield, creating a thick green mist around the soldiers, eventually preventing the Blood Angels artillery from being able to see any of their targets.

All that the defenders along the wall of Ummet Baal could hear was the smash of metal on bone, and occasionally laser bolts and bullets whizzing by. Moments of silence were quickly shattered by massive explosions, followed by Death Company soldiers falling.

The battle continued for hours. The defenders within the base were hesitant to fire into the gas, lest they shoot their allies. Slowly, the fighting died down, the sounds of war faded, and with the green gas that blanketed the ground slowly lifted. All that remained of the Blood Angels line of defense was a small contingent, about 325 Sanguinary Guard and 180 Death Company soldiers. The battalion was demolished. The surviving Plague bearers fled back into the forest, and toward the remnants of their army. The Space Marines slowly returned to Ummet Baal, out of breath and devastated by the loss of their brothers.

The defenders rushed out to bring the wounded into the infirmary, while the Sanguinary Guard rounded up the Death Company to prepare for imprisonment and execution. They herded them into the courtyard, where the chaplains slowly inspected each soldier. The chaplains divided the Death Company into two groups: those who would be sent to combat another day, and those who would be put to death.

Most members of the Death Company were put into the first group. They were ordered into special cells designed to hold Death Company members, who could easily become unruly and attack people at random.

The remainder of the Death Company soldiers were deemed to have succumbed completely to the Black Rage, unable to be controlled by any being. After being sentenced to death, there was only final step: The Reaping, the ceremonial ritual which would call upon Astorath, the Dark Angel, to execute the soldier. Execution by Astorath would not send the soldier’s soul to the Dark Abyss, but instead to the Emperor’s side. Apart from falling in battle, this was the only honorable way for a Death Company member to die.

Brother Axuss, the highest ranking Sanguinary Priest remaining at Ummet Baal, began the summoning ritual. Before he could finish, Astorath appeared. However, the Dark Angel did not strike down the first Death Company soldier. Instead, he turned to face Axuss and the men of Ummet Baal. He told of the coming trials, a Harlequin raiding force on its way to the base. After hearing of the heresy of Horus, and the following fall of some of the primarchs, the Dark Eldar quickly decided to seize some of the unfortified space marine bases nearby.

After destroying the three bases on Graia and the two on Proxus III, the only base left within the sector was Ummet Baal on Oren. The Blood Angels were horrified to hear of the death of Sanguinius. Axuss pushed to have the defenders abandon the base to the Harlequins to assist the Ultramarines in their attack on the heretics, but Astorath quickly put an end to that plan. He knew the strategic power of Ummet Baal, and that it would prove indispensable in the eventual resistance against Horus.

At that moment, a loud eruption caused the entire base to shake. Within the courtyard, Plague-ridden Tyranids burst forth, bringing with them hordes of Daemons. The Blood Angels had no time to react. The Tyranids quickly slaughtered the unarmed defenders around them, before moving to destroy the transport Valkyries on the landing platform.

The Sanguinary Guard tried to respond, but were struck with a wave of toxic ooze. The men screamed out in pain, as they clawed at their faces trying to rid themselves of the bile. As they struggled, the Tyranids paid them no heed, and sprinted towards Astorath and his men. Just as they repelled the creatures, the Sanguinary Guard sprinted for them as well. Their eyes glowed white, and their skin pale as the moon. They were no longer human; they were now Daemons.

Seeing that his forces were outnumbered and outmatched, Axuss called in the Clocks from their positions on the hill above Ummet Baal. As they began to move down the hill, Daemons closed in on them from both sides. The only force far enough down the hill was Locke’s 3rd Battalion. The rest had been cut off, and Locke found himself in a predicament. He knew that Ummet Baal would surely fall without his help, but he could not leave his men behind. So he resorted to the only real option available to him: he used his Iron Halo to summon the Host, the strongest embodiment of Sanguinius in the entire Blood Angels army. With a crack of thunder, the Host appeared, and seconds later, he flew to the aid Locke’s trapped battalions.

Locke then led the rest of his force down the hill. They quickly moved to seize the courtyard, clearing out the rest of the base. After hours of the two armies pushing each other back and forth, Locke made a breakthrough on the right flank. They sprinted into the command center, finding Astorath, Axuss, and the Death Company desperately holding off a Tyrannofex from destroying the comms array. Locke quickly unhinged his combi-plasma pistol, took aim, and blew a hole in the creature’s right eye. The wound was instantly singed and cauterized, keeping the toxic ooze from spitting out, and also finishing off the beast. Quickly, the squad moved to secure the gap in the courtyard.

Astorath saw swarms of Tyranids climbing from the depths towards the opening. Thinking quickly, he shoved a Death Company soldier down the hole. Locke followed, as did his platoon. As the soldiers fell into the pit, Astorath took aim, and shot the first soldier right through his brain. Within seconds, the blast caused rock and stone to fall down, sealing up parts of the hole. One by one, the remaining soldiers exploded, killing the oncoming Tyranids, and preventing further engagement. Locke fell back onto the steps, wiping his brow as the rest of his men regrouped.

Meanwhile, the Host, accompanied by the Clocks, methodically pushed back the Daemons. Eventually, just one Daemon remained: a Daemon Prince named Ezgorith. The Host approached Ezgorith, sword at his throat. As he prepared to slit the Daemon’s neck, it jumped up, grabbed the Host by the shoulders, and spewed bile down the Host’s mask. The Clocks opened fire, shredding the Daemon to pieces. However, the damage was done.

The Host turned to face the Clocks, eyes glowing a pale white. His armor was covered in ooze, and without warning, he struck down the closest soldiers. He flew from man to man, cutting them down. Astorath, who was momentarily lost in wide-eyed amazement, finally gathered himself, grabbed Locke and Axuss by the arms, and teleported onto the hill. There, they watched in horror as the rest of Locke’s battalion was slaughtered. Locke stood still as Astorath and Axuss charged back to help the dying soldiers.

As they reached the tree line, the Host arose, his sword thick with the blood of his own men. He turned to face Astorath, quickly parrying his attack.

The Host then wheeled and struck Axuss in the chest, nearly cutting him in half. With no other options available to him, Axuss pleaded for Astorath to come to his aid. The Dark Angel had no chance of winning, but Axuss knew of one way – one sinful way – to defeat the Host. He called upon the power of the Black Rage, filling his body with unimaginable power. As payment, he slowly felt his mind slipping out of control. With his last bit of strength, Axuss sent the power out of himself and into the Host.

The Host was instantly filled with the Black Rage. He lost control, right before moving to strike Astorath. The Dark Angel then seized the moment.

Calling upon the Judgement of Sanguinius, Astorath decapitated the Host, and felt the being’s soul slowly being dragged into the abyss. Astorath then turned to see Axuss fall to the floor, his eyes red with bloodlust. Seeing that Axuss’s wound was too deep, and that the priest would never recover, Astorath quickly put the sword to him as well. Locke stumbled numbly toward the Dark Angel, trying to process the devastation caused by the Host. Slowly, and painfully, Locke came to the realization that all of this was caused by his own decision, and that he was responsible for the destruction of his own legion.

Astorath led Locke back to Ummet Baal, where the men were busy trying to recover the bodies of the dead and care for the injured. After completing a headcount, they tallied the final records of surviving soldiers. Of Cojack’s 3,300 Maroon Talons, only 478 survived. Of the 5,000 Sanguinary Guard in the second line of defense, 127 remained. The Death Company of Ummet Baal had been completely wiped out. Locke’s battalion left their base upon the hill over Ummet Baal with 4,000 men. Now, with only the 3rd Battalion remaining, he had 573 men left. The original defenders of the base, the Blood Angels tactical squad, had begun their defense with 9,500 men. They were now left with just 1,022 defenders.

Astorath reported the results to the leader of the Ultramarines, Cato Sicarius, who was on the front lines of the response to Horus’ attack. Stunned by news of the horrible defeat, Cato Sicarius immediately called for a full retreat, knowing that the Blood Angels could not support the marines in their attack. Without the highly trained and well-armed forces of the Blood Angels, any attempted invasion by the marines would be a suicide mission.

Astorath was exhausted, but his fight was not over. He had sworn to the Emperor that he would aid the Blood Angels, who now faced yet another enemy force. The Harlequins’ raiding ship, the First Act, neared Oren, and Astorath had to prepare the defenders for the incoming attack. All along the perimeter of the base, the Clocks readied to defend their base against a furious attack from the famed Dark Eldar, and also secure the hangars to ensure that they would be able to receive desperately needed reinforcements from the space marines.