Infernus Astartes: Ruinous Son

They yearned for one another.

The Old World and that Screaming Sea.

The Old World was, and always would be, a nexus of “great evil”; spawning threats throughout the coming millennia. It had been baptized in oceans worth of blood spilled countless wars, and perverted by vile, esoteric elements. It seemed as though the “dark half” of psionics and magic and metal lived and breathed in the very core of the world.

As for the Screaming Sea?

It was for all intents and purposes “Hell”. It was a realm of chaos, the amalgamation of nightmares and raw primal feeling, and other incomprehensible things. “They” rested there; ruinous Old Gods that grew stronger with seemingly every sin inflicted across 50 thousand dimensions with just as many universes in them.

The Old World and the Screaming Sea called out to each other, like soul-linked lovers wanting to embrace.

All that stood in their way was that accursed Eye.

The Baleful Eye was a tear in the dimensions; a rip in the fabric of reality and unreality. It was some twenty thousand light years across, a nexus where esoteric energy and real space-time coexisted. It had no definite origin, going backwards and forwards throughout creation. It gobbled up planets and corrupted everything its gaze rested upon.

The Old World had long broken free of its orbit, and was now on a one way trip towards the Eye, towards its unholy and equally depraved counterpart. In hours it would be swallowed up by the multicolored rip between the here and now.

The Old World wanted to be one with the Sea of Screams.

The Sea of Screams wanted to be one with the Old World.

They wanted to be together.

They yearned for each other.

The people of Immortus Imperia who rested upon the Old World didn’t desire such an unholy matrimony. Civil War had claimed the people during the later years of the Drift. Born from a fracture between the Elden Lord and one of his 8 sons, the “Everchosen of Ruinous Old Gods”, they waged a war that would someday break the world in two.

That war was coming to an end.

In hours the Old World would step beyond the veil that was the unblinking Eye, and become Daemon infested utopia like so many others the Chaotic Realm had courted. Such a thing was inevitable, but the Imperia would have to fall before they knelt to the Old Gods.

Stabbing his sword-mace into the ground, a soldier just looked down as the red at the end of his vision started to clear and his attention focused on the carpet made of corpses of brother and enemy alike. The ground is slick with blood and gore, the streets cracked and scarred so that the blood would leak into the wounds.

He looked… no different from any of them; he was equus, but his body was more of a minotaur; as such he had two legs, and two arms, only his tail was akin to a kirin. The blood splattered warrior had a mane and tail of natural sanguine red with strips of pale red, his fur was pale and his eyes were silver and slitted like that of a viper.

He had a name, but barely a handful would use it, and everyone else chose to just call him the Bloodforged.

The title being given for an obvious reason.

His origins were seeped deep in blood magic; he’d been born from it, just as the rest of the Bloodforged. It’s Taint ran through his veins, amplified and restrained by the biomechanical implants that filtered throughout his body. As a Magus and a Psyker, “power” was something he could tap into.

Taking that split second to catch his breath, the Bloodforged picked himself up and turned skyward, his attention drifting to the embers that fell like tree leaves in the fall. The heart of the Imperia; she was burning. After 53 years the Black Crusade was coming to an end, The Everchosen was standing victorious, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

‘How sickening.’ The Beast thought. As he looked ahead and pressed on, wandering the streets without much hurry or concern. In the distance he heard nothing, save the sounds left from a chorus of falling debris and distant weapons-fire.

His people were still fighting, trying to hold back the black tide.

He could do no different.

Breathing, the Bloodforged just walked on; his attention turning to the war torn city and falling embers, he watched as the city continued to burn, falling at the hands of the Black Tide. Imperia couldn’t hold this planet, but they sure as hell weren’t going to give it up without a fight.

“I can do no different.” The Beast muttered reaching down to lift a fallen weapon, a gravity hammer, with his left hand. Ahead he saw a guardsman make a valiant stand against a daemon horde only to be cut down by their overwhelming numbers. He narrowed his eyes. “As you lie blistered by the fires of Armageddon.” He started to smash his weapons against each other, earning a resounding clang that seemed to catch the hordes attention. “As you walk in the valley that preys upon the weak.” Another resounding clang. “May you stand unwavering.” Another resounding clang. “May your soul be unbroken.” Another clang. “So that when you fall, may Death herself mourn your loss.” Another clang and the small army seemed to growl at him, fumes coming from their lips as he stared forward. “Until then may you rip and tear, until it is done.” Reciting his old Chapter’s oath, Beast heard the daemons roar, a wall of wind slamming into him.

Intimidation fails.

He cracks his neck, impasse locked on his face as steps forward. His armored boots dig into the ground as they charge him; a virtual sea of enemies rising to crash down on him. He rolls his wrists. He charges, dodging and batting away daemon fire and missiles.

He collides like a runaway boulder.

Servants of Ruinous Gods channel but a portion of their masters rage and bloodlust. Claws and Armor meet. Blade and muscle collide. Rage meets battlelust. He bleeds, in turn he scars and tears through them like burning claws on flesh.

He does not see the end of the Horde, at the same time nor does he wish to see it; after all he hasn’t let the Beast out of its cage yet.

He is no - will not become a traitor in service of a mad god. He is a soldier of Imperia; bred in a tank, forged for nothing but war and death. He is clay and magic, steel and flesh. He was a weapon, and he had no regrets nor issues with what he was.

He has his purpose; fight for Imperia.

Fight the Black Tide.

Fight the Everchosen and his Lustful Bride.

Today Imperia burns.

As the Black Tide consumes the Imperia, those left on its surface display their true metal in their finest hour. Even as the Eye devours them, and the miasma of the Screaming Sea melded with the cursed soil they had grown up upon, did the people of a falling Imperia fight.

With claws and fangs, did they fight.

And they would continue to, till they broke or the Screaming Sea fell silent.