Editing Heresy of the Angry Marines (Pt 1) (section)

===Old Wounds===

Techmarines dropped down alongside apothecaries to assess the battlefield and the downed marines. In regular instances, the Adeptus Mechanicus would try and preserve holy machinery and weaponry, and the two often overlapped. Now many of the techmarines were shuffled next to apothecaries, directed by the Chapter Master.   

“GET SOME FUCKING BIONICS ON MY MARINES BEFORE I SHOVE THIS CHAINFIST UP A PLACE THE SERVITORS WILL NEVER FIND!” he bellowed, taking a step forward and shoving a techmarine in the right direction. The mere threat of Temperus’ directed ire on one of their shoulders made the process of fitting ‘KICKASS ROBOT LIMBS’ run a lot more smoothly, a few marines testing out their new appendages with a forceful strike to the unfortunate apothecary or techmarine. This resulted in more than a few brawls within the chapter ranks, many of the Astartes feeling much better after pounding a battle-brother for a few minutes. Tyber was one of those marines, really understanding how the Angry Marines functioned. He clenched his new fist tightly, lamenting the violent loss of his brothers. He would never say it in those words, though. He would die like a chump, like Rex, that chump. He smashed a rock into tiny fragments with his fist, venting.   

Dune held an ungloved hand to his throbbing skull, grimacing and snarling. What had happened to him? What the fuck?   

“HEY, NERD! YOU’RE A LIBRARIAN, RIGHT?” Tyber asked him.   

“MASTER OF MINDFUCKERY, YOU STUCK-UP SHIT! GET IT RIGHT!”  

"WHATEVER! YOU DO LIBRARIAN JOBS DON’T YOU?” Dune got up and walked with a heavy step over to Tyber and grabbed the unsuspecting marine in a headlock, squeezing his head in his arm.  

"DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING INSULT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN! AND YES, I’M THE ONLY FUCKING ONE WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK ABOUT HISTORY IN THIS CHAPTER. BECAUSE HISTORY IS FOR PUSSIES AND THOSE WHO DON’T LEARN REPEAT LIKE DOUCHES!” This part perplexed Tyber. Why would the Master of Mindfuckery denounce his own role? However, this was far from the forefront of his mind, the most important thing being the ever-growing frustration and rage at not being able to break Dune’s grip. The Astartes wriggled and squirmed, hitting the psyker in the ribs repeatedly until he yielded. Dune, however, was too enraged by Tyber’s audacity to resist his grip to give an inch to the marine, instead deciding to piledrive the junior marine into the dust. Now the one with the stronger headache, Tyber surrendered, receiving overwhelming disapproval from the Angry Marines. “FUCKING MARINE FOETUS-FUCKER ROOKIE! HE DOESN’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT US, ABOUT OUR SACRIFICE. WE ARE ANGRY FOR THE EMPEROR AND OUR LOST RECORDS!”   

“LOST RECORDS? WHAT THE FUCK?”   

"FUCKING GONE, SHITHEAD! CHAPTER HISTORY STARTS WITH FIRST CHAPTER MASTER FAL…” Dune turned his head away from his audience, heavy browed gaze averted, knowing what memory accompanied the Chapter Master’s fate. “…FAL, WHO WAS THE FIRST BELLIGERENT ENGINE TO FUCK CHAOS SIDEWAYS. THEN OUR ESTEEMED MOTHERFUCKER TEMPERUS TOOK OVER. SEEMS LIKE A NORMAL SECOND FOUNDING CHAPTER, RIGHT?” Several Astartes nodded. “WRONG! GO BACK TO SCHOOL, COCKSTROKERS! THE ANGRY MARINES HAVE OUR VERY FIRST RECORD AT THE END OF THE MOTHERFUCKING SIEGE OF TERRA! THERE WASN’T A FUCKING FOUNDING BACK THEN WHEN THE HOLY EMPEROR BITCH-SLAPPED THAT CUNT, HORUS! SO WE HAVE TO BE DESCENDED FROM A LEGION! A FUCKING ANGRY LEGION!”   

“I AGREE WITH HIS MINDFUCKERY. YOU DON’T ASK FOR RECORDS IN THE ANGRY MARINES, YOU GET KICKED IN THE DICK! NOW GO JOIN A DEVASTATOR SQUAD, COCKMONGLER!” Tyber hissed at the order, raising his fist. But he didn’t dare go against the orders of Temperus Maximus, lest he be treated to a fate worse than being sent to find Fulgrim’s Slaaneshi world alone, a quest so horrid just thinking about it was cause for a commissar to come visiting. He muttered some profanities and found a devastator squad to join, the marines he insulted now beating him with their weapons as repayment.   

Elsewhere, a scout walked alone, bleeding profusely through numerous holes in his armor, each step punctuated by a feeble ‘FUCK’. He turned his head rigidly, looking for danger in the gloom of the dark. Nothing seemed to appear for the time being, so he set his eyes forward, continuing to what would certainly be the vigorously burning flame of the Angry Marines’ forward base. They didn’t care for visibility. In fact, they hoped the enemies of man would be attracted to the fire so that they could exact the Emperor’s justice on their skulls, limbs, spines, possibly in that order. Some dust crunched together. The Astartes whipped around, his chainblade whirring meaninglessly in the dark of the night. He could definitely see figures now, dancing beyond the shadowy darkness, just out of reach. The scout turned to face this intangible threat, firing pointless punches at everything and striking short. Something moved ahead of the others. The scout took his chance and grabbed the black shape by the head and smashed it as hard as he could into the ground. The head flattened and pulped, spilling thick blood onto the loose dust over the rocks. The marine dropped the body and kicked it into the crowd that he couldn’t see, hearing it hit something organic. Before he could continue his assault, the marine heard a click and the night in front of him lit up with bolter fire.