Tales of Angrish

Tales of Angrish

Chapter 10: I'M BUSY HORNFUCKER

Pounder was bored. He and the score of marines that had fallen out the sky milled around, picking their noses, watching porn slates and complaining about the lack of a pizza delivery service. The stern warning from PRINCESS HORNFUCKER had deterred Pounder from killing any other ponies but as his patience quickly ran out, he started to wonder why he hadn’t just ripped off her head and used it as an impromptu latrine. A traveling courier had approached the waiting marines earlier, offering them some ‘exotic reading material’ but upon seeing the front covers of the magazines he was offering Pounder punted the unfortunate pony into the forest which separated the marines from the town with a choice of favoured words such as ‘CUNTMUNCHER’ and ‘GO SEE SOME FUCKING SPACE FURRIES.’
“EMPEROR’S ITCHY BALLSACKS, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” He bellowed at the sky, challenging it to drop a horde of chaotic filth on him. As if waiting for his cue, the cloud cover parted as a dozen of pristine chaos dropships roared through the atmosphere. A cheer went up from the assembled Angry Marines and the porn slates and toxic boogers were replaced by mauls, bats, chairs and sacks full of doorknobs.

“YEAH, THAT’S IT! COME GET US YOU PRETTY MARINE FAGGOTS! STOP SUCKING EACH OTHERS COCKS AND FIGHT US!” Pounder bellowed, raising both his middle fingers at the lead drop ship. The gesture was taken up by the other marines until an almost visible wave of hatred emanated from them. The Belligerent Engine at the back of the group howled with fury, the half dead Angry Marine interned inside it raising its middle finger on its pair of power fistsl, each one nearly as long as one of Pounder’s arms. With a sickening crack the lead dropship simply exploded, the reinforced alloys and metals that made up its hull deciding they were too much of a ‘PUSSY FAGGOT’ to withstand the raw waves of anger surging around it.

The vox in Pounder’s helmet clicked on, the annoyed sounds of Dipshit coming through. “I’VE TRACKED THE FUCKERS TO THEIR PROBABLE LANDING ZONES, IT’S ON YOUR TAC MAP IF YOU FEEL SMART ENOUGH TO LOOK AT IT.”

Pounder growled but opened his tactical map, the ancient and rarely used piece of software popping up inside his helmet’s display. “I DON’T GET IT.” He said after a second, the unfamiliar runes that marked units and landmarks confusing and enraging him.

“THAT’S YOU, SHITHEAD.” The techmarine rumbled, highlighting a green rune in the centre. “THE FAGGOT’S DROP SHIPS ARE THE RED FUCKERS. AS YOU CAN SEE, ONLY A FEW OF THE COCKS ARE LANDING NEAR YOU.”

“WHAT’S THE POINT, MACHINE WHORE?”

“THERE‘LL BE GAYLORDS ALL OVER THIS PLANET SOON AND YOU’RE HANGING OUT LIKE A SQUIGGOTH’S DICK OVER THERE.”

The idea of the Chaos Pretty Marines swarming across Equestria lightened Pounder’s mood considerably. Either the little ponies who’d brought him back were about to make the best friends they’d ever met or grow some fucking balls.

‘Or get slaughtered...’ Pounder thought cheerfully.
“NOT MY PROBLEM.” He barked. “HOW’S THE THUNDERHAWK LOOKING? YOU GIVEN THE MACHINE SPIRIT ENOUGH HEAD YET?”

“STILL WORKING ON IT FUCKHEAD. MAYBE YOU’D LIKE TO TRY GIVING IT A RIMJOB YOU IMPATIENT CUNT.” Dipshit yelled back before cutting the link. Pounder nodded his head appreciatively. Not being part of the chain of command, the Techmarine was technically well within his rights to slag off at Pounder without the captain bitch-slapping him back. In practice however... Pounder reminded himself to pile-drive the techmarine the next time he saw him.

“POUNDER, THE COCKMUNCHERS ARE TOUCHING DOWN!” One of the marines yelled as the gigantic landers touched down gracefully on the grass fields. The massive ships sunk into the dirt, throwing up a massive cloud of dirt, dust and grit. Large fans deployed, clearing the grime away and the massive ramps dropped, revealing an impossibly beautiful and sensual interior. Rank upon rank of cultists hurtled down the ramp, obscene standards held high and streams of twisted flower petals pouring from their clothes. While such sights of ecstasy and beauty would have most men screaming and clawing their eyes out, it just made Pounder even trucking angrier.

“ARE YOU WAITING FOR THEM TO DROP THEIR PANTS AND WAVE THEIR DICKS AROUND? GO GET THEM!” He roared, leading by example and charging at the mass of chaos warriors. “ALWAYS ANGRY!” He bellowed.

“ALL THE TIME!”

Needless to say, chaos was fucked.

***

Krull took a deep breath of air, savouring the clean, non-metallic tang that seemed to permeate his flagship. He and what was left of his elite cadre of troops had landed near a sprawling metropolis. With a large force of chaff and rabble keeping the Angry Marines busy, Krull was free to do as he pleased without their interference.

"My lord, strike force Grace and Elegance have landed and have begun the proper rites.

"Good." Krull hissed, watching a pair of pink and purple rhinos rumble past.

"What of the natives?" His underling asked, the tentacle that was his right arm twitching excitedly.

"Their souls are worthless." Krull spat, examining a few of the curious pony-like creatures that seemed to inhabit this world. "But they are so adorable!" He said in an almost fangirl like squeal. "I think we should keep some for the gardens."

The marine rubbed his forehead with his hand "My lord, your accession may require more sacrifice-."

"Nonsense, we will offer this world to Slaanesh and I will be rewarded. The fate of its inhabitants can lie with our mistress."

"Yes lord." The marine muttered, clambering into another waiting rhino.

"Just keep the Angry Marines occupied for a little while longer and victory will be ours."

***

“FUCKING HELL, MORE CULTISTS? WHERE THE HELL ARE THE REAL PRETTY FAGGOTS?” Pounder roared angrily, stomping yet another cultist beneath his power feet. The man exploded like a ripe tomato and a dozen other cultists went down in hysterics as their once pristine grab was covered in stubborn blood stains. Their cries of “That’ll never come out in the wash!” were silenced as Pounder crushed them mercilessly. A strange tingling sensation appeared in the back of his mind, enraging him even further.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD WITCHCUNT!” He yelled, looking for the psyker trying to force themselves into his mind.

“Captain, we need your assistance.” Rang the voice of the PRETTY GAY PONY PRINCESS. “Invaders have been spotted across most of Equestria. A wave of beautification is spreading and my subjects are frightened.”

“OUT OF MY HEAD BITCH!”

“Captain, they’re up to something.”

“WELL I’M UP TO MY NECK IN FAGGOTS DRESSED IN PINK SO GO SHOVE A POST UP YOUR ARSE AND GET BACK TO ME WHEN I’M DONE.”

“My commanders are receiving reports of strange rituals. I think this is worth your attention.”

Pounder stopped mid kick. The only thing worse than a FUCKING CHAOS PRETTY MARINE FAGGOT was a daemon summoned by a Chaos Pretty Marine. Perhaps the pussy Krull meant to summon daemons to this world and attract the favour of his masters. Pounder's mind ticked over slowly, barely noticing the twenty odd cultists hacking feebly at his armour. A massive explosion shook the battlefield as the Belligerent Engine tore through a shuttle faster than Doomrider through a line of cocaine. The now blackened machine let loose a flurry of swears and barreled back into the horde of cultists. Nearly a third of their remaining number turned into sprays of gory and flowers as the ancient war machine got to work.

“THOSE COCKMUNCHERS BETTER NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT SUMMONING ANY OF THOSE FUCKING PINK SLAANESHI WHORES.” Pounder roared, knocking down the cultists attacking him with a powerful stomp. He crushed another cultists head between his fingers before finding he had run out of targets. The three shuttles had been cleared with only a single casualty,, none of the cultists onboard being able to withstand the Angry Marine’s eternal rage. Before there was time to celebrate their victory, a boxy yellow gunship fell out the sky, landing roughly on top of one the chaos shuttles in a cacophony of shrieking metal and grinding plates. Pounder made a disapproving sound as the Thunderhawk’s ramp dropped and the unicorn TWILIGHT FUCKLE trotted out with a shit eating on her face. Dipshit followed her, his arms folded across his chest in frustration.

“Hello again Captain, I got your thingy working again.” She said, her smugness being replaced by revulsion as she beheld the battlefield.

“THE ONLY THING THAT GETS MY THINGY WORKING IS IMPERIAL HOOKERS. THAT’s A THUNDERHAWK, BITCH.” Pounder growled.

The unicorn rolled her eyes derisively, either brave or stupid enough to show contempt to an Angry Marine.

Pounder rounded on Dipshit. “HOW THE FUCK DID THIS SHITFACE GET IT WORKING?”

Dipshit looked at he ground, clearly embarrassed. He mumbled something under his voice, an act he’d never done in his life before.

“YOU TURNING INTO PUSSY? LOUDER YOU UGLY SON OF A WHORE!”.

“She pressed the on button.” Dipshit said at what most people would consider a fairly loud volume.

“I CAN’T FUCKING HEAR YOU PUSSY. LOUDER COCKMUCHER, OR THESE FEET WILL BE GOING UP YOUR OVERSIZED VAGINA.”

“SHE PRESSED THE 'ON' BUTTON YOU FUCKER.” Dipshit roared.

“THAT’S BETTER.” Pounder said. He turned to the still smug looking unicorn. “ONE, DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT AGAIN. TWO, DON’T TOUCH DIPSHIT’S STUFF AGAIN, WHORE.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “OH YEAH. THREE, FUCK YOU.”