Dark Heresy (IC)

He followed the long line of other pathetic white forms, dressed in the tatters of animal and human skins that passed for clothing. There were millions of them, and they were all expendable for the cause of the chaos gods. They never talked to one another in the mines, and in the dormitories they got what sleep they could. There was no need to him to even have a name. He was just another head of cattle to be exploited until death. The long line, lead back down to the mines where they were forced to labor for the word bearers. Chipping out smalls scraps of precious metals from the massive holes in the surface. Down there they would beat them and whip them to work until either they died or the twenty two hour shift ended. A large man shoved a crude pick-axe into his scrawny arms, almost bowling him over. The tool was heavy in his arms, so like many others, he simply dragged it by the handle until he got to his assigned part of the mine. The sounds of pick axe on stone, ill-maintained carts, squealing up the slopes burdened with ore, and the screams of the beaten and dieing, echoed up the mile long caverns in a never ending cascade of suffering. Any sane person would go mad listening to this for a day. He wasn't a sane person, not anymore. Months of labor had rendered the sounds as mundane to him wind blowing through tree's. A mile down, a mutant slave driver with a distended gut and four tentacles where his arms ought to have been, directs the menials to their spots on the wall. As he faced the wall with half lidded and tired eyes saw the blood spatters of where his predecessor has recently been disciplined to death. He knew that could be him today. So he lifted the pick and swung it with all the might his withered form could muster. The metal struck stone and a pitiful chip of rock came off the wall. He struck again with similar results. Slowly letting a pile of loose rock form at his feet. Another pair of menials came up behind them with a cart and began scooping handfuls of the rock into it. One menial made the mistake of scooping up too little and caught the eye of the task master. A loud crack and a scream as the wretched man's back was split open by his tentacle.

"Get up you lazy cur! Get back to work!" The mutant roared. Whipping in the man again and again. The man was rolling on the ground, trying desperately to shield himself from the lashes. skin breaking open all over his body. His blood splashed him and he stopped mid-swing with his pick-axe. Frozen for just a moment as the man died behind him. At that moment, some long repressed shred of emotion surfaced in his numb mind and he felt, angry. He swung his axe. This time a fist sized chunk of rock came off the wall. He swung again. Feeling the burning energy work it's way into his tired limbs. Another chunk came off the wall. He felt his anger flooding back into the familiar places in his brain. Getting reacquainted with him again. He swung and a crack formed in the rock. The man had stopped screaming behind him and was just sobbing and dieing now. He swung, the pick embedded itself an inch into the crack. He pulled at it but the pick was stuck. He felt his hot anger surge into his arms as he pulled but he had taken too long. The slave driver lashed into his back. Pain flooded his senses and he almost dropped to his knee's. The anger flowed from his head and down his spine, soothing him, washing away the pain. He regained his footing as another whip impacted his back. He ripped the pick from the wall, sending shards of rock flying. Another whip across his back and his anger seethed, taking control of him. Like a search light it focused on his tormentor. He pivoted on one foot and with a roar came around with the pick. The pick came out of his hands and crossed the twenty feet from him to the mutant in a fraction of a second. The pick made a wet thunk as it pierced it's chest and forced it backwards off it's feet. Tentacles flailed and the mutant whimpered as it's lungs collapsed.

He was taking ragged breaths, still not fully aware of the implications of what he had done. He didn't care at the moment. He stepped over to the prone form as it died. He ripped the pick from it's chest and began to slam it into the things face over and over again, beating it's face into wet pulp even as more slavers converged on him. He was as good as dead now. That thought only spurred him to higher heights of rage. He scrambled for the slavers pistol at his waist just as a bullet traveled through the space where his head was just at. He rolled, coming up. He had never used a firearm before but somehow the weapon felt comfortable and he instinctively took aim and fired round after round into the oncoming mutants. The loud hammering of gunfire attracted even more slavers in the cavern. Menials around him either cowered or kept working for fear of the lash. He was no longer such a scared sheep. He took off towards the cavern entrance, scooping up another pistol on his way. Bullets shattered stone around him, killing other workers indiscriminately. He ran and fired his pistol blindly behind him. Letting his anger guide his hand as these bullets found home in the groups of pursuers. Up ahead he spied the blast masters cart. It was filled with volatile high explosives, used for opening up caverns. He plowed into the cart, using his new found might to push the cart uphill with him. His muscles ached and then surged forward with power and the cart began to speed along with him. He rounded a corner where he was momentarily safe from gunfire and set about ripping a box of blasting caps open. He didn't know what he was doing, but somehow he knew what to do. He jammed the primer into the waxed package or explosive and bit the end of it to start the fuse inside. He dropped the whole package back into the cart along with the hundred other pounds of explosives. He ran as fast as he could now. Past lines of new menials being herded into the mine. He pushed one surprised slave master off the edge of the cliff as he passed. He saw the entrance up ahead and lowered his head, running hard on what little strength he had left in him. The tool masters ahead paused their issue and moved to stop him. He wrenched a shovel from one of the passing slaves and jammed the dull edge of the head under the mans chin with a spray of blood. He didn't even have to pause in his stride. He just kept running. Even as the extreme light of the explosions going off behind him seared his lash wounds shut and blackened his skin. The overpressure hit him and threw him bodily through the air. In the air he smiled for the first time in ages. He had won.

The Imperial guard officer strode into the room filled with the scouts, followed by his men, they had their lasguns up, pointed at the raven guard tenth company soldiers, there faces were grim and with his enhanced eye's Enric could see that the safeties were off. He jumped to his feet.

"What is the meaning of this!"

The officer raised a seal, it was stamped with the mark of the Ordo Malleus.
"By the order of Inquisitor Hellgrund, your squad is to be taken in for questioning, put your hands above your heads!"
"For what reason!?"

The guardsman raised his bolt pistol
"Do not question the Emperors work"

This was the breaking point for Preatuss, it was always, Emperor this and Emperor that and do your duty to mankind, when all around people were suffering and dying under the iron fist of the "god"-Emperor. He swung his fist at the officer, shattering the guardsman's nose, he followed it up with another punch. The human began to fall to the floor, Enric grabbed his neck, "Listen you-!" A lack of a pulse made him stop.

Not Good!

He brought up the dead human's bolt pistol, killing one guardsman, a lasbolt skimmed his shoulder, spinning him around, he killed the man who had shot him before dashing out of the barracks, he knew that no matter what happened now, he could never go back.

Aria carefully surveyed the enemy camp, keeping close to the ground to avoid drawing attention to herself. She counted the amount of enemy marines and doubled back to where the rebel chaos marines she was working for gathered. She hurried towards their leader and reported what she had seen. "They have about 20 or so men, but there may be more hidden out of view." The renegade leader looked over to his men and ordered them into formation. The bandit leader turned to her. "You will head the attack with me. Quickly now, we must attack before they grow suspicious." Aria and the raiders climbed the crest slowly. When they reached the top the leader gave a mighty battlecry and rushed towards the camp. Aria quickly followed suit, pulling out her bolter and charging at the camp.

The enemy was slow to react and Aria had already reached the fringes of the encampment when the Chaos forces started firing. She aimed her bolter at a nearby chaos marine and fired off a few rounds, piercing his armour and killing him. She moved through to a large clearing in the centre of the camp where most of the fighting was happening. The marines held a defensive line on the opposite side of the clearing while raiders fired from behind a low wall serving as cover. Aria ran towards the wall, shots flying past. She reached the wall and hunkered down, safe from the bullets whizzing over top of her head. Next to her was the leader of the raiders. "We can't stay pinned down behind this cover. The only way we can break their line is with a full charge."The raider nodded his head and passed the message down the line, readying his men for the charge.

As soon as their leader gave the order his mean leapt over the low barrier and charged towards the chaos marine's defensive line. Aria readied her bolter as she approached the line and returned fire to a group of marines with heavy bolters. With their shots whizzing around her she drew her powersword and stabbed straight through the power armour of one marine, withdrawing her blade and slashing at another. The strike made contact with the marine's neck decapitating him and instantly ending his life. The remaining marines fired upon her and a single bolter slug pierced the armour of her right arm at her shoulder causing her to almost drop her sword. She sheathed her sword, drew her bolter and jumped to the side, avoiding enemy fire and returning it with some of her own. Two of the marines were felled as her shots connected. She ducked behind a low lying rock to avoid the remaining marine's fire. As she pressed a switch on the side of her pistol the crossbow arms sprang open. With a stake loaded she ducked out from cover and fired at the marine, the shot piercing his power armour and incapacitating him.

Aria looked around at the battle, noticing that the raiders had suceeded in breaking the enemy line and were just finishing of the remainders off the chaos marines. The marine that had been wounded with the stake was crawling away from her when she walked up behind him, put her pistol behind his head and fired a single bolt, spattering her weapon and arm with brains and blood.

He awoke from his daze and pushed himself up from the scorched ground. Coughing up dust and then blood, he pushed himself up and immediately collapsed as the skin on his back cracked open, causing severe pain. For now he would focus on breathing and savor the victory he had just won. His muscles were starting to lose their supernatural strength and started to shake in the absence of the dark energies that fueled them. He was just a man again, and that feeling left him cold, weak and in pain. He was going to die. He could feel it now. He felt so pathetic now, reverting back to one of the trillions of others who had no choices, no strength, nothing to make his mark on anyone's history. Not even a name to remember. He closed his eyes and let the world slip away from him. Just at the end he heard the whisperings. The soft voices unintelligible at first. Slowly they became clearer and clearer, louder and louder. They were the voices of his masters. His captors, his trainers, his drivers. All of them shouting obscenities, telling him how utterly worthless his life had been. That he was going to die a slave and how much enjoyment each of them had at his suffering. At first he was saddened in his near death state. As the droning voices became a roar of yelling, screaming voices, his anger rose again. He opened his eyes and the voices stopped. He was determined not to die just yet. Too many people had to pay. Somewhere out in the void, a god smiled.

New strength flooded his limbs. The dark energies returned. He pushed himself up onto his knees. His back splitting and spilling what little blood he had left, but the pain felt good to him. He was alive and hungry for vengeance. Another surge of energy washed over him and he found the strength to stand. His wounds closed and the blood stopped pouring. He took a deep breath of the hot desert air. His first breath as a free man. He would no longer be a slave to anyone. Another wave of euphoric energy passed through him, followed quickly by another and another, each faster than the last. The energies filled him quickly to the brink. The power felt so good to him and he laughed aloud as the power flowed through every cell, giving him everything he was going to need to destroy Chaos. Grinning wide he barely noticed the two massive forms of chaos marines approach. Their armor dark facsimiles of Astarte's plate but with joints dripping dark fluids and covered in faintly glowing runes. One wore the curving horns of a sorcerer on his helm and carried a massive iron staff topped with a symbol of Tzeentch. The other was a helmeted champion holding a chain-axe at his side with one hand. The sorcerer spoke.

"You there! Slave. You have some questions to answer."

He looked up at the two towering marines. Any outside observer would see the onesidedness of such a confrontation. A pale and scrawny man stood no chance against the sheer martial prowess and millenia of experience these two had. Any other mortal would have bowed and submitted immediately. Not him. Not now. Twenty meters separated him from them. He adjusted his stance ever so, preparing to lunge at them. The champion saw the subtle cues in his body language and took a lazy step in front of the sorcerer and hefted his axe. Preparing to swat this fly.

"Don't be stupid."

A chaos marine possessed genetically enhanced reflexes and eye sight. He could follow the flight of a krak missile as it hit super-sonic speeds. He didn't see the man cover all twenty meters in a single lunge and drive his fist full through his thick ceramite chest plate, past hard chords of muscles, through his fused bone ribcage and catch his primary heart which he crushed in his hand. He felt the intense pain and looked down at the pale man with his arm buried in his chest. In the millisecond it took for him to register the sight, the man hooked his arm and ripped out half the remaining contents of his chest. A massive spray of blood and organs blinded him in the last few seconds as he died.

The sorcerer just managed to mutter the first words of his incantations as the pale man shot himself clean through his protector's torso and flew towards him trailing blood and ichor. He managed to just lift his staff in defense but it was too little to stop the crazed man from ripping his head clean off a fraction of a second later.

Blood dripped from him everywhere. He felt good to be bathed in the blood of his enemies. To feel the power to rip apart the strongest warriors on the planet with his bare hands. There was just one thing missing now. He wanted a name. Something to be known by when he had finished the slaughter. In a sudden burst of inspiration he heard it whispered in his mind. Seyall.