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I shared my website with the people in my creative writing club today! And one of the students gave me one of their short stories to share with you. They’ve asked me to tell you that it’s a story based on Warhammer. They’ve also asked me to warn you that their story contains some gore.

Do you know what it means to be scared? To be hunted every second of your life? The paralysing fear of being watched? Me neither. The night lords are survivors. They are a legion of darkness. We are the shadows and the night. The sons of the night haunter. We do not know fear. Because that is what we are.

Belet-seri stared out across the void form the command centre. His death mask was hiding his facial expressions and replacing it with the bleached skull of an Ultramarine. His plasma gun was mag locked to his waist. Belet-seri’s armour wretched with battle markings and bolts of like lightning. His pale hands resting from his use of his brutal lightning claws that he had left for the tech-slaves and beastmen to handle. He cast his vision over the planet that was in view of the ships oculus. The planet was Ugolla. Situated there was the Night lords’ next target. They had been able to gain vital information about an ever-elusive chapter. The Carcharodons Astra and their grey tithes. The plan was to intercept the Adeptus Mechanicus, kill them and take their supplies. 

Then came the scraping of armoured boots across the command bridge as a marine appeared. When the armoured warrior came out of the darkness of the vast tunnels of the ship, his armour encrusted in dried blood and gore. His helmet looked more flesh and chitin than actual ceramite. His name was Nabu. Champion of the shadow, herald of the hunt. 

“My squad is ready for boarding, Belet,” Nabu whispered. His voice box had been sliced open by a Tyranid hive tyrant; he’d barely made it out alive. It was a miracle he didn’t die then and there.

“Good. Mobilise the rest of the kill squad.”

Belet turned to the tech-slaves, who were currently silent, tending to the matter disruption node on the grav-suspended lightning claws. His pallid hands reached into the grav field and felt the all too familiar click as they were grav locked into place. He had been using these weapons since he was found in the underhive of Nostramo. He called them Despair and Mortis. Many champions and heroes had met their end to the blistering power field that engulfed the blades. The moment they were grav-locked, confirmation runes noted that they had been detected and were now connected to his cogitator in his helmet. Belet blink-clicked a rune and Despair was engulfed in a blue power field. Lightning flicked like barbed tongues, hungry for something to kill.

Belet-seri smiled as he blink-clicked again to turn off the field and it spluttered out, lying dormant once again. He started to walk towards his drop pod, his helmet cogitator guiding him across the lumen lit tunnels and catacombs of the ship. The ship was called Deliverance; it was a black Templars ship that Belet had stolen with his warband at the first black crusade before the legion had reforged themselves. He found the docking port and opened the drop pods pneumatic piston hatch. He stepped inside, the harness preventing the hulking warrior from moving.

FIFTEEN SECONDS UNTIL IMPACT

Runes flashed across his vision, the bright symbols corresponding to a raptor squad or a marine squad. He saw the all familiar runes of Nabu’s raptor squad fly across his vision. With his enhanced senses, it was easy to navigate the hurricane of information being thrown at him every second.

FIVE SECONDS UNTIL IMPACT

The drop pod started to quiver, like prey being hunted by an apex Predator. The transport started to heat up; they had entered the atmosphere.

IMPACT

There was an almighty shudder as the drop pod collided with the arid dirt of the planet. The doors dropped like an armoured flower blooming. He swiftly moved out of the drop pod, Despair and Mortis in front of his face in a defensive position. He saw Amasagnul’s marine squad step out of their drop pod, their bolters raised in case there were hostiles around. They dropped them to their sides when they registered there were no threats. He saw Nabu’s raptors appear out of their drop pods. His power sword’s disruption field had already been activated; Nabu twirled it around him, the swordsman making it look like a blur of lightning and steel in front of him. Belet-seri smirked at Nabu’s show of skill; he had always been arrogant.

“Brothers. We will now advance onto the space marines, pillage and destroy everything. We will show them the true power of fear!” he voxed to all the squads gathered in a nucleated patterns around him. Replies came in the form of confirmation runes swirling around the inside of Belet’s helmet. The jump pack on the night lords back felt heavier than usual. The turbines started to turn as they slowly started the process of making enough thrust to launch a transhuman that weighed around one tonne unit the air. 

Xavier Caligari. Artisan of the Adeptus mechanicus. His severely augmented hand holding onto a tubular, brass, telescopic price if metal he uses to pull himself along. He let out a strong of binary to secure the grey tithe they were given, just as they made it into the fire raptor. The black crates were being hauled by, Skitarii and servitors manoeuvring the crates to their appropriate place. Every time one was moved passed the Artisan, he couldn’t help but peer inside from the plasteel roof of the box. Inside each box was dark age technology, archaic materials or STC files. Xavier then started to give the commands to refuel and set a course for the closest of their forge worlds. Where the Omnisaah would protect their new equipment. He went to sit down for the warp jump that was inevitably ahead of him.

Then the ship exploded.

Isn’t it very interesting how so little actions can evolve over time into something horrible, twisted and gigantic? It didn’t take that much to blow the engine. This is exactly what happened when Abzu, one of the ten raptors deployed in this mission, took a carefully well-placed shot to a very specific plate of armour in the ship. The pistol had made quick work of the ceramite casing of the fire raptor; the ship’s hull was strong, but was weak to the superior plasma shot. This was the signal for the night lords. Nabu cut through the hull. Two swift strikes of his power sword allowed him to drop down into the cockpit of the fire raptor. The pilot turned to see a massive abomination of fleshmetal. The pilot’s scream was cut short and was quickly turned into him choking and gurgling as Nabu’s sword found purchase in the pilot’s jugular. He would make sure to broadcast the man’s death scream through the ship. 

Belet-seri tore through the floor of the holding deck, where there should have been floor, was a pair of legs. The skitarii ranger fell into the waiting teeth of Despair and Mortis. The skitarii had been turned into nothing more than a pile of steaming scrap and a small amount of biomass. He blink-clicked a rune and his jump pack activated for a split second, enough to launch the warrior into the cargo chamber. He was a blur. He had been using this equipment for most of his life. For a moment, Belet-seri, the talons grace, was suspended in the air. Then came the fire. Belet’s cloak caught fire from the sustained bombardment of promethium fire. One of the reasons he allowed it to catch fire was because it was made out of salamander skin. This was historically known to be impervious to fire, but Belet had engineered this cloak to increase or decrease its fire invulnerability by blink-clicking a rune. The second reason was tactical: Making himself look like a fiery god made people fear, with fear people become anxious, and anxiety, it starts to grow, like a germinating seed turning into a dark, unmovable old terran oak. Those are the reasons why he was now engulfed in flames. Belet-seri hit the ground; he felt a bullet deflect of his right pauldron. He moved as fast as lightning, using his jump pack to engage each skitarii with staggering speed, a raging inferno slicing and consuming everything it touched.

Belet barrelled at the skitarii ranger; the ranger missed the shot — this was his biggest mistake. Both claws were now knuckle deep through his stomach; he then lifted the ranger up and pulled his claws in opposite directions. Rupturing the man’s body, carving canyons through the Skitarii’s mechanical corpse, lighting burst through the carcass. Belet moved on. In a split second he had engaged the next one. With one brutally efficient thrust, the Skitarii soldier found a massive talon straight through the middle of his head.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

The rampaging chaos lord had already killed the next Skitarii before his last victim’s body had touched the cold ceramite of the floor. He then felt the cold press of a muzzle against his head. He stopped.

Xavier on the other side of the arc pistol.

“Stand dow—” the old Artisan was cut short — both his words and his legs. He fell to the floor, only a small grunt escaping his metal lips. Belet slowly walked up, playing with his prey. He then cut the Artisan in half.

After the slaughter came the plundering. After Belet summoned the squads into the storage chamber, they started prying off the roofs of the boxes. The Chaos lord disengaged Mortis to pick up a volkite pistol; he checked the thermal coils and found it was still in good condition. He tested the sights and calibrated them. He then placed it back in the stasis chamber. Belet went across to Marduk, a Night lords sorcerer who had planted his force sword into the cold ceramite floor. He opened his eyes to look up at Belet. Marduk’s face had been damaged from a promethium explosion a few thousand years ago. His horned helm laying within an arm’s reach. His smoky eyes were blinking rapidly as he looked around the room.

“I…” his voice was a croak, after the sound left his throat he let out a muffled whimper. Belet walked over to him.

“What is wrong, old man?”

All that came out of the sorcerer’s mouth was a croaking mess of words.

“The n—n—night…” he stammered. Marduk was ringing his hands. It was at that time that Sabura spoke. Belet hated Sabura; he was one of the fresh blood of the Night lords; he hadn’t been there at the death of their gene father. Sabura was the aide and apprentice of Marduk. He would speak for the sorcerer due to Marduk’s lack of capability to speak.

“My lord.”

“What is it?” Belet snapped.

“He is trying to say…” There was a tinge of fear in Sabura’s voice, and his pupils had dilated. “Konrad Curze is alive.”

There was a massive crash as Nabu fell from the heavens. His hulking physique smashed through the cyclopean masonry. The plasteel reinforced marble fragmenting under the sheer weight and speed the lone night lord was falling. An almighty crack echoed around the chamber as he collided with the floor. He stumbled to his feet. Nabu tapped the side of his helmet. The force was enough to alight the display on his helm; the soft crackle of the box channel also came into being.

“Alpha six-zero. Do you copy?” Nabu tried to contact his raptor squad over the vox. He waited a few seconds as his sensorium came online. Nabu’s systems were still damaged from the fall. He cursed himself for not seeing the culmination of spore mines that had detonated, causing the explosion and making him fall into this temple room.

He ambled his way out of the crater, stepping onto cold, hard, rockcrete. Still no response on the vox. A massive statue of Rogal Dorn towered over Nabu, his eyes accusatory, like he was judging the night lord for the betrayal of the imperium. Nabu ignored him; he had bigger problems. The room was too dark; even with his heightened senses he could only see a few metres ahead of him.

Nabu brandished his power blade, Entropy. It’s shining blade started to spit lightning as its power field leapt into life. He stared at the tyranids. They stared back. They all moved at once, like a storm of chitin and glinting teeth. Nabu didn’t hesitate. With one sweeping arc, Entropy eviscerated at least five of the monsters, their exoskeleton fracturing and shattering, making it rain black obsidian and red globules of blood. Before the Xenos could react, he had already thrust his blade into another. Entropy slid home between the plating happily. The hormagaunt spasmed slightly, its arms moving wildly. Another jumped into his back, its teeth sinking a few centimetres into his armour. He released his iron grip on Entropy to tear free the creature on his back.

Nabu threw the body at the growing horde, toppling the hormagants like bowling pins. In a blur, he punched another Xenos. Its face (if you could call it that) bent around his fist, fracturing all the unholy bones in the monster’s face. He pulled his sword out of the pile of bodies, its blade slick with brain matter and blood.

Nabu looked back to see that the horde still hadn’t thinned. With a burst of rage he ran to the edge of the room and observed the roof. It was unstable. Most of the rockcrete was holding on to the roof with its adamantine web put into the rockcrete to reinforce it. Nabu quickly thought of a plan and scanned the room for the most unstable part of the masonry. He disabled the mag lock on his plasma pistol and grabbed it from his waist. He only had seconds left before he was overrun. After a few seconds the coils glowed a bright blue and let forth a glowing sphere of plasma. It hit the weak point, exploding in a roar similar to a thunderhawk. The last stabilization pillar evaporated as it was enveloped in the blue light, the last pieces violently floating off and dematerializing. The whole roof started to collapse in an instant. Nabu had already climbed out when the last tyranid was crushed by the rubble.

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