Uzas
An amateur story (still in progress) Most characetrs torn from Aaron Dembski- Bowden (Night Lord Trilogy)
Fan Fiction: Warhammer 40k, during the battle of Terra. Based of Aaron Dembski-Bowden’s Night Lords series.
Note: I have WAAAYYY too much time on my hands. *BLAM* Impossible.
(Like I said before, still in progress.. please refrain from messing with it)
UZAS
The rain fell on the scarred world. It fell from the sky like the drop-pods that landed only weeks ago. Each drop pounded out small divots, like a miniature bolter round. It dispersed the smoke, quenched the flames that hung over and on the horizon. But it pissed Uzas off. The constant rain had a way of getting on ones nerves, endless hours of constant dripping, slowly driving you insane.
Uzas, captain of the Night Lord’s 12th Assault Company, wormed his way through the trenches. What had started as simple ditches, neatly made by The Iron Warriors, were now festering hellholes. Cermite clad bodies acted as floorboards, Brass shell casings making a glittery carpet. Flecks of meat acted as wallpaper, while blood and gristle was the plumbing. Although Uzas rejoiced in killing and death, crawling over the bodies of his company was too much, even for his sadistic views. He risked a peek over the lip of the trench, his helmet hidden by an Imperial Fists’ ribcage. He saw the golden walls, scarred and pitted with bullet holes and rents. He saw the Gate of Benevolence battered, but still standing- the dark armoured forms of Night Lords lying broken in the wreckage.
Uzas ducked back down, not wanting to risk his luck and continued down the trench. He passed Havoc Caradin, his autocannon propped across a stack of shoulder pads. Caradin nodded as Uzas passed, but his eyes never left the wall. Brothers Haraf and Kojil lay slumped against each other, their wounds binding them together. Haraf was blinded, while Kolif was legless, one serving as the eyes, the other as the legs. Uzas passed the rest of the company, nodding to the warriors around him.
Then, the horns of war blared. Uzas sprinted back down the trench, not caring if his head showed, not now, if there was blood to be spilled. “To war brothers!” He voxed. “The False Emperor dies tonight!” Howls answered his call, The wordless cry reached high into the air, chilling the blood of the loyalists.
The universal vox activated. “Brothers all- this is Talos. Strike in Midnight clad. The Emperor falls now, as does his lapdogs.” The vox clicked out. The flanks-held by the World Eaters- moved first. Hordes of berzerkers charged forward, axes whirring, pistols firing at the defenders. Sons of Horus moved up next, in a more controlled spearhead, bolters flickering in the dark night. That’s when all hell broke loose. Imperial Fists and Blood Angels fired at the traitors, blasting away with heavy emplaced weapons. Armour split, as did bone and flesh. Dozens-no hundreds fell, but they kept charging.
Iron Warrior havoc teams began their deluge, Massive cannons blared in tune with multi-barreled machine guns, plasma turrets, and missile silos. Dreadnaughts of the Death Guard lumbered forward, pus encrusted, ooze dripping from fleshy joints. Alpha legionnaires fired sniper rifles up at the wall, loyalists falling with pinpoint headshots. World Eaters lunged forward, screaming curses and prayers in the name of Khorne. However, the first legion to break the wall were the Night Lords. Uzas dove behind the leg of Dies Irae. The massive titan had almost reached the walls, and, from what Uzas could see, was sheltering most of the 12th company. It charged up its Blastcannon, blueish-green light coruscating around one of four arms. It fired, momentarily blinding Uzas. However, a few minutes of blindness was more than worth it. Where Benevolence Gate stood, there was now a massive crater of fused glass. Blood... Skulls... Kill... Burn... Uzas fell to his knees as each word that echoed through his head brought waves of pain. He pulled his helmet off, and howled, fresh blood running from his mouth. Apothecary Churnak ran toward him diving between explosions and tracers. He almost made it. An unlucky ricochet off Dies Irae’s leg put a round through his skull, blasting his brains across a splayed claw. Uzas watched in horror as the titan began advancing... leaving his company behind. He saw Garl blown in two, stitched in half by heavy bolter rounds. He saw the twins- Makus and Toril crushed by an advancing loyalist warhound. And Uzas snapped. He charged from behind the leg of the titan- straight at the walls. He roared, Spittle and blood staining the inside of his helm. “Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!”
He dove straight at a knot of guardsmen in the trench system circling the palace. He first swing brought his chainaxe into the gut of the sargeant. Blood sprayed across Uzas, obscuring his vision. Pulling his helmet off, he slammed it into the skull of a charging mortal, teeth and bone breaking from his skull. He waded through the rest of the squad, tearing them apart. The survivors mewled in terror, trying to flee. Uzas caught one, pinned him to the ground, and proceeded to rip the mortal open with savage swings of his gore-drenched axe.
Talos’ voice echoed over the vox, as if through a tunnel “Uzas- fall back! your--” Uzas deactivated his vox unit and roared again- “I care from not where the blood flows- so long as it flows!” With a cry of rage he charged again, this time at a knot of Blood Angels. They began firing, streaks of glowing plasma tearing across the landscape. Uzas ran headlong into the fire, taking multiple hits across his breastplate. Red runes flickered across his retinas, which he dismissed as he continued his charge. His shoulder pad melted, then fell away, baring his shoulder. He smashed his axe into the first Blood Angel, the teeth grinding against his armour. Uzas pulled out his Gladius just as the Blood Angel grabbed at his chainsword. Uzas pulled his weapon out first, burying it in his opponents skull. He used the body as a shield, plasma bolts impacting against the dead loyalist. He threw the body at the nearest enemy, then tackled another. However, luck was not on his side. The loyalist smashed his searing gun into Uzas, burning a line across his face. Uzas fell, spitting blood. The Blood Angel grabbed his gorget, pulling him up until they were face to helmet.
“Know this traitor.” the Blood Angel said. “That the one who slays you is Aratis, Scourge of the Outer Worlds, Champion of the Blood Angels.” And with that, the Blood Angel began to slice Uzas apart with his power axe.
Captain Tragath of the Night Lords 18th tactical company knew something was wrong. He was supposed to have heard from Uzas several hours ago, but had received only fragmented reports of the captain charging the enemy lines alone. Tragath looked toward the palace, drinking in the sight of the Dies Irae which was blasting away at the walls with its Gatling-pattern bolter.
Then, Tragarth saw what milled around its feet. Zooming in with his helmet, he made out the sight of 12th company legionnaires being torn apart by loyalist fire, despite the cover of the titan that towered above them. Increasing his zoom even farther, he saw a Blood Angel straddling a Night Lord... A Night Lord with honours and heraldry that belonged to a captain.
Tragarth called to his company- “Brothers- to war! we must save the 12th companies’ skin yet again!” With a roar, the company began to run forward. Bolter fire rippled from the walls, blasting warriors off their feet, but still they charged. They tore through the few remaining guardsmen that huddled in the trenches, blasting away with bolters and plasma and melta weapons. A Havoc paused to level his heavy bolter at the wall and fired a hail of high-explosive rounds at the ramparts. Tragarth saw several Imperial Fists fall from the wall, their yellow armour broken and stained red. He saw a small group of White Scars grimly hack their way through the vanguard squads, their large scimitars lacerating flesh and bone. Tragarth grinned, and activated his power fist and advanced toward the enemy.
Uzas grunted in pain as the blade began to burn through his flesh. Aratis grinned, pushing down on his blade, transfixing the struggling Night Lord. “Blood... Skulls...” Uzas grunted, blood drooling from his mouth. He felt his second heart kick in, its beat a deep death chime, heralding Uzas’ death. But it was not so. The voice returned to Uzas, bringing with it strength and rage. Kill... the weak fall... the strong survive....blood, skulls, burn... “I wi-will not... DIE!” Uzas roared, adrenaline filling his bleeding limbs, he lunged up, the axe ripping through his heavily damaged breastplate. Thick organs flopped from his ruined abdomen, dark red vitae spilling across the mud. Uzas grabbed the Blood Angel by the throat, throwing him to the ground. He ripped his gorget open, and tore his throat out with his teeth. Blood coursed from the wound, spilling dark crimson over Uzas. He fell back, the axe still buried him. “Now...” Uzas sighed, and passed out.
Tragarth saw Uzas lunge upward, kill the Blood Angel, and collapse. He howled, seeing his brother collapse in a pool of blood. He pounded a White Scar in the face, smashing his head off. Tragarth kicked the body to the ground, swearing to take the totems adorning it as trophies. He blasted away one handed with his bolter, massive rents appearing in another loyalist. A White Scar captain saw him from across the killing field. He began to stalk toward Tragarth, pausing only to cut down another Night Lord. Tragarth reloaded, and began to fire, slowly advancing forward. Mass-Reactive rounds stitched across the White Scar, but-unlike his squad- was near invulnerable. Clad in thick Tactical Dreadnaught armour, he stalked forward, his massive sword swinging in a deadly figure eight pattern. The White Scar raised his storm bolter and began to fire. Tragarth was forced back, then thrown onto the ground as the hail of fire lifted him off his feet. Moments later, The captain was above him. Tragarth closed his eyes, and relaxed his grip on his bolter. The White Scar spat on the prone Night Lord’s face and plunged his power sword into his face.
Havoc Caradin, still in the trenches saw the 18th company captain fall, and growled angrily, He hefted his autocannon across his back, and began to run toward the faltering charge of the leaderless Night Lords. Despite the heavy weight across his back he dove behind a shattered Land Raider, and slammed his last clip into his gun. He ran a muddy gauntlet over the drum, smiling wryly as he made out the virus symbol.
The specialist rounds had been granted to him by an acolyte of the Mechanicum, with stern warnings on being far away from the target when they were used. Saving the tin cans ass had its perks- anything to give him an edge over the thrice- damned lapdogs would be welcomed. Now, he flipped the bipod down, took aim, and began to fire. He was rewarded as the Terminator stumbled, then stopped, coughing loudly. His hands flew to his neck, which began to turn a midnight black. The tar-like colour crept up his face until, finally, the captain slumped, the terminator armour falling slowly forward. He fired at the other White Scars, still hacking a wedge through the Night Lords. Each fell as if poleaxed, writhing on the ground as biotoxins overloaded their enhanced organs. With a dull click, the ammo ran out. Caradin cursed in low gothic, Nostroman, and High Terran a solid mix of guttural speech and eloquent adjectives, and yanked the empty drum out. He pulled out another drum, this one with standard rounds. “It was fun while it lasted” he muttered to himself, then shrugged. Killing, for the mere sake of killing was enjoyment enough. He chuckled, then wondered if he should voice that thought to Malcharion. He might get a kick out of it- the philosopher-warrior was always looking for new catechisms. He picked new targets and began to fire, smoking casings ejecting from the side port.
Kolif cursed bitterly as he pulled himself through the mud, his stumps dragging behind him. He had to leave Haralf behind as shrapnel further wrecked his face, this time tearing apart his neck and jaw. He lived, but not for much longer, blood spurting horribly from his ravaged throat, writhing in the grime. Kolif checked the clip on his pistol- fully loaded. only one round was needed to make things right. One round to kill the Emperor. With another curse he dug his hands into the ground and lunged forward, crawling over the remains of countless bodies towards the remains of Benevolence Gate. Over the vox he heard nothing but orders- cut off as the speakers were killed or screams of rage and pain as more Night Lords fell. Kolif cursed yet again, and slowly made his way toward his goal.
Lucoryphaus screeched as his jump-pack lifted him up to the walls, and lashed out with his claws. The energized gauntlets tore through the defenders armour like smoke, spraying blood across the battlements. He impaled another in the helmet, his hands punching through the loyalists eye slits, cherry-red blood pumping over dark blue hands. An Imperial Fist charged him from behind, wielding a massive thunder-hammer. His first blow crushed Lucoryphus’ leg, the energy field pitching him over the edge- into the palace. He squawked, more avian than man, and fell to the hard, cobbled ground. A small crater formed around where his armoured form hit, enough to stun even the most predatory of warriors. The Raptor, shook his head, slightly dazed from the injury. His eyes refocused on the Imperial Fist, walking slowly toward him, hammer clasped in both hands.
Uzas awoke only when someone buried something in his broken chest. His eyes flipped open near instantly, and came face to face with a pale mortal. A single guardsman was prodding his chest with his bayonet, sinking the blade as deep as it could go, twisting it in his organs that remained. Uzas groaned, and the mortal jumped back, his face turning ashen. His hands trembling, the loyalist leveled his pitiful lasgun at Uzas’ chest and pulled the trigger.
A hail of bright blue las-blasts hit and diffused across the breastplate. Uzas whipped out with his fist, slow by his standards, but still beyond the guardsmans’ speed, catching the him in the face. He went flying, a cord of blood arcing through the air, issuing from what was left of his now crumpled. He collapsed in a small heap a metre away, limbs at unnatural angles. Uzas spit a gob of bloodied acid at his pathetic foe, and turned, servos growling as gears failed to catch. He reached down and scooped his axe from the ground, brushing a few clods of mud from the haft.He gunned the trigger, the thick teeth chewing into the air. He swung it a few times regaining his feel for his weapon. He turned back toward the walls, and set off at a solid pace, slowed only by his multiple internal injuries.
High Terran Lord Julio Yelvis scoffed as his servants scurried around in terror as explosions rocked the palace. “You there.” he snapped, pointing at one servant who was cowering in a corner. “come here.” The slave took several trembling steps forward, limbs shaking in fright. Julio motioned again, this time sharper, and with a frown on his face. The peon stood before the noble, eyes downcast, awaiting his master’s bidding. Julio opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, puzzled when a loud noise reverberated through the room. The door exploded. Julio and the servants screamed as a massive form barged its way into the room. It stood at over 2 metres tall- even hunched. Tentacles and pincers whipped around in chaotic arcs. Countless eyes blinked, matched by gibbering mouths. It twitched, then raised what must have been its head- a blob of flesh with the shards of armour embedded within. It roared, and charged forward. Julio and his servants screamed as well, and shrunk away from the beast. They would have died, if not for the Space Marine. One minute he was nowhere to be seen, the next he was standing in front of the mutated enemy. He raised his sword, blazing with etheral fire, and counter-charged, a war-cry issuing from his vox. Metal met twisted flesh, and the din of battle filled the hab spire.
Lucoryphaus jumped back again, his jump- pack gasping for fuel. The hammer slammed into the bloodied cobblestones, sending tremors through the ground and tearing up the road. The raptor lunged in, drawing blood with his claws, but too quickly the Imperial Fist was blocking yet again. Out of the corner of Lucoryphaus’ eye, he saw an armoured shape stumble over the battlements, and fall from the wall, slamming off roofs and turrets. His auspex pinged. It was Uzas.