A/N: So! I honestly don't get around very often to flat out writing too many AUs in full, but this one really took the cake! A couple of days ago, almost a week now, me and Abaddon (yes the Arch-Heretic lol) were chatting up on tumblr about an alternate Heresy AU, and it came down to Sanguinius instead. Now cause I don't feel like fleshing out all the boring details to you, and because a lot of it is still in the WIP section we practically swapped a good portion of the loyalist and traitors around and stuff and what not, and their outcomes and who dies and what not but yeah.
Anyways, I'll be writing these short, pretty much incomplete, and not really revised drabbles and posting them in this single file of a "series" right here. If you would like to contribute to our little Heresy AU, please either contact me (PrayBeforeWeFall) or contact Abaddon (Ask-EzekyleAbaddon) on tumblr! Thank you and I hope you enjoy :)
The floor was smooth with a decorated tiled texture that was shown only to be visible as it was glossed over with thick amounts of polish. A soft gleam of shadowed figures reflected off its surface from the weak lighting of the thrashed corridor. Splotches of blood and collected drops of sweat were scattered from floor to ceiling, a handful of blue-green and black armoured bodies littered the ground around to add to the foul messy gore. These halls were without the once familiar golden or pearly white paint theme it once adorned, like the colours had been scraped away with dull knives, smearing clear to the undercoats to reveal a rusty black onyx surface. Rough and horribly scratched at, they were etched with Chaotic symbols that softly hissed whispers to anyone who dared to listen too carefully.
Plates of once glorious power armour had been ripped free from the security of the under fibers of the connector ribs that lined the thin coils of the underarmour. Their dulled colours of the clad ceramite plates were smashed in, dented, and beaten from the abuse of brutally violent combat. Among them lay the tattered fabric of torn and sliced away bodygloves, the thick material drenched in blood from either the dead or already obtained wounds. Heretical carved rune medallions jingled and clacked against each other and armoured plates loudly, in rushed, swift movements as the two of them clashed.
Their labored breathing was matched prefectly with one another's, like they weren't already synchronized enough as it was; a raging fire burned brightly in the focused gaze of their eyes, a glare that bled way to pure betrayal. If only they hadn't turned their backs on each other, perhaps this outcome wouldn't have ever come to see the light and would have dissipated from the smoke of the fires.
Another lunge was directed towards him as the battle picked back up from its few moments of exhausted relief, the stab was aimed straight to his throat for it was too low for a complete head shot. He swiftly raised his broken chainsword, taking no moment to recognize the burning fatigue that coursed through his muscles; sneering with hatred and anger as the weapon made contact and slapped against the broken teeth of his own.
"You traitor," his brother hissed venomously at him, practically spitting the words as he jabbed the Xenos polearm that had whispered taint to him at the broken armour that protected him; wishing to cut deeper, further to the bone into his already wounded flesh where the damaged had left him exposed. "How could you betray me?!"
"I betrayed no one," he scowled back, a snarl catching in his throat as he raised the blade quickly, trying to disarm his once called brother so that he may end this prolonged battle and swiftly. The both of them had already been in a fit of rage when they had learned of each other's conjoined campaigns against each other, it was hardly coincidental that they were here now, fighting, personally lured out to slit each other's throats. "You turned your back on the Imperium, on me! I didn't betray anyone!"
Within a continuously shortening distance, gunfire and heavily armoured footsteps could be heard on the advancing approach to their battleground. Astartes, once of kin before there Heresy had begun, now bludgeon what was considered the enemy for newer glories, revenge and spite. All of it lacked honour. The twin Primarchs only continued to rip and cleave at each other, into each other, far more determined to end the other's life before they were to fall.