Title: Angelus Erroneous

Author: Spike

Chapter: One

The escape pod was well and truly ruined. What was once a mighty construct of steel and that once travelled, with the rest of the ship, from one end of the universe to the other, was now a smoking wreck. Riddled with bullet holes, scorch marks and gaping holes in its sides, there was next nothing left of the hulk and nothing that was worth recovering.

All around the ruin was a legion of broken bodies: Some were the tall, skinny bodies of humans whilst the rest were the short, burly bodies of the Orks. And in amongst the bodies, lay a whole range of weapons: chainswords, bolt pistols, laspistols and a whole lot more besides – some of the distinctive, ramshackle Ork manufacture and some of the ubiquitous Imperial make.

As the sun began to set over the horizon, a soft call rang out across the horizon – one that came from a group of crows that had just arrived to the scene.

The battle was over.

Apart from the group of crows that has just gathered, there was not one living soul left on the battlefield. Anything that resembled a humanoid was the corpses of the many participants of the battle of the hulk.

But this scene of brutal tranquilly was about to get an unexpected interruption.

And this is where I come in.

My name is Narc. I'm a lean looking man dressed in a large greatcoat, a black shirt and blue leggings. I'm armed with a pair of bolt pistols strapped to my sides and chains of bullets wrapped around my chest. I also have a massive scar on his left cheek and a shaven head. Essentially, I don't look like the type one would seriously want to mess with.

My companion was more flamboyant in comparison. He had a more unusual choice in clothes in that he had the uniform of an Imperial starship captain accompanied silver shoulder pads. This was accompanied by a chainsword strapped to his side and a shoulder holster concealing a laspistol. He also had a real sharp face, accompanied with a well-trimmed goatee, a gaze that radiated with deep intellect and a smile of winning proportions.

His name was Xerxes. And him and myself slowly strode into the battlefield, each surveying the place with greedy eyes.

"Would you take a look at this?" I muttered. "Just what the hell happened here?"

Xerxes rubbed his beard with his hand in a thoughtful manner, as we both fell under the shadow of the pod.

"No doubt this huge thing" he theorised, nodding to the escape pod "crashed onto this planet and the Orks wanted to plunder it."

"What the hell is that thing?" I replied. "It looks like an escape pod."

"Funny you should mention that, Narc" he chuckled. "It is an escape pod! Judging from it's construct, I say it's an Imperial make."

"I suppose you would know through your years as a Rogue Trader, hrm?" I replied sarcastically.

"Of course not!" Xerxes grinned. "I just noted the giant insignia!"

And he pointed up at the top of the escape pod where the distinctive Imperial Double-Headed Eagle was situated.

I ground my teeth. But then I shook my head.

"What do you think happened, Xerxes?" I inquired.

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he then looked up at the pod as his brow furrowed in a thoughtful manner.

"Well, I guess that this escape pod must come from an Imperial ship that ran into some sort of trouble. The pod carried a handful of people into a crash landing onto the surface of this planet.

"Judging by these marks the pod left" Xerxes went on, gesturing towards a huge rift of rock and dirt that stretched a distance from the crash site "It must've hit the surface with such an impact that it killed several of the occupants. The Orks must've found out about it and butchered the few remaining."

"Poor bastards" I muttered sardonically.

"What worries me however" he added. "Is that if those damned greenskins had been here before us, it may mean there won't a lot left of this escape pod for us to use."

"True" I muttered. "And if not, then chances are they're already on their way."

"Best we get moving, wouldn't you agree?" Xerxes inquired.

"Right then" I said, now adopting a commanding manner. "You go investigate the pod and I'll go search the bodies."

"Sure"

Xerxes than stepped around the pod whilst I proceeded to examine the various corpses strewn across the battlefield.

I knelt down beside the body of mangled human – one whose features were disfigured beyond recognition and who wore, what looked like, the remnants of an Imperial officer's uniform. The body's dead fingers still clutched an imperial laspistol.

I pried the fingers apart to retrieve the laspistol. The officer wouldn't be needing it now….

I examined the pistol: It was still in good condition and even had a fair amount of power left. I grinned – what a useful find…..

I then turned towards, to face a carcass of an Ork situated several feet away. I then aimed and fired pistol at the former greenskin. The Ork's head promptly exploded in a mass of green flesh and green blood.

I allowed myself a smug smile. Scum suckin' bastard. Who cares if it was already dead? When one has been fighting Orks as long as I have, he can always find the satisfaction of blowing one apart.

Oh and it also proved the laspistol was still in good condition.

I grinned at my newly acquired prize.

"I can tell that you and I are going to go places" I chuckled.

I then turned and picked up another weapon. This time, it was a boltgun made from the obvious craftsmanship of an Ork.

And in the terms of craftsmanship, it looked like a whole lot of metal pieces all rammed together in a haphazard fashion.

My mouth screwed into a shape of disgust. He never really liked handling Ork weapons. They were of shoddy construct and were the type of thing that would fall apart as soon as look at them. Worse still, the idea of handling the tools of the devil bothered me at no end.

Just then, a sinister smile made its way across my face. I just had a great idea….

I then began pulling at the weapon, trying to dislodge on of the crudely placed pieces of metal. Even if the Orks are haphazard with the construction of their weapons, they certainly ram the various components together in a solid manner.

I suppose, it helps them from falling to pieces….

Eventually, I'd managed to rip off an important component. I then dropped this component to the ground and brought my boot down upon it.

I grinned in evil satisfaction. Should any Orks come across that weapon, they would be for a surprise….

It was just a shame that I won't be around when that happens….

I then shrugged and continued picking my way through the remnants of the battlefield.

But the further I went, the more I realised that there wasn't really a lot on offer here within these blasted corpses. There weren't a lot of stinking Ork corpses and even they dreadfully outnumbered the amount of dead humans.

This was an interesting occurrence.

I then cast a quizzical gaze up at the pod. It didn't seem like a very large capsule: And this it seemed hardly the type of thing that could accommodate a large number of people.

But if a thing this size hit the surface of this planet, it certainly would've created a sight and roar so tremendous that anyone for miles would have seen it.

And that sense, the number of Orks attacking should've been much bigger than the number of green corpses that were strewn everywhere. Knowing how many of the scum-sucking greenskins that were stuck on this rock, wouldn't much more of them had come?

I raised my hand to my chin and tapped my cheek with my finger as I tried to piece together an explanation as to what happened here.

My guess was that the handful of humans came from an Imperial ship. The ship must've run into some sort of trouble that was so drastic that it prompted the humans to escape. And from there, the pod found its way to here.

From there the pod would have, inevitably, been discovered by the Orks. Thus, the humans would have found themselves fighting for their lives. But from the looks of it, they only encountered a small group of them. However even that was enough to bring them all down.

Poor bastards…..

Still, the humans certainly put a tremendous fight: The amount of Orks killed was impressive and, from the looks of it, they managed to defeat them all before those greedy, thieving green hands could lay a finger on the pod: It didn't show a sign of being plundered or ruined in anyway.

Quite an impressive effort.

But as to how long the pod's journey had taken, there was no proof. The pod didn't seem to show any signs of large damage so it was impossible to tell how far it had come. For all I know, it could've come from the other side of the galaxy, let alone the orbit of this planet.

Meaning the idea that there was an Imperial spaceship approaching this planet seemed rather overly-hopeful.

So much for the hope of being rescued from this accursed rock.

But what I found confusing with this assessment was that the number of Orks were surprising small.

I then looked past the pod to the amount of rock and dirt it had scooped up on the way here. If had something like the pod had hit the planet with such a force, it surely would've attracted more Orks than the small group that attacked it.

A likely explanation was that some Orks would've already run off to tell their friends. Or maybe a part of the small group went back for some help to defeat the humans.

But the disturbing thing about these ideas was they involved the concept that more Orks were heading this way.

Meaning, I had better work quickly in order to salvage something here.

My keen eyes then returned to the battlefield, looking for something that was worth picking up.

Judging from the debris of the battlefield, the humans certainly appeared to have been well prepared: There were various lasgun power pellets, scorch marks and signs of large explosions that could only have come from a frag grenade.

My eyes hardened. Lasgun? Flamer? Grenades? Damn, this was sounding very promising…

I just hope that I can find them. And they still work. …..

I quickly returned to the corpses, my eyes scanning throughout them, trying to find these highly-treasured items. If I could find these, my life fighting this guerrilla war may become a little easier….

My search took me from one end of the battlefield to the other, my eyes burning with vigilance intent, trying to find one of these worthy pieces of equipment, no matter how deeply within this battlefield they lay.

Eventually I found exactly what I was looking for.

There, several feet away from where I stood, lay one of the human corpses. And in his dead hands was a flamer.

I grinned eagerly. Jackpot….

I marched over to the corpse and slowly picked at the dead man's fingers, trying to pry his weapon from him. It wasn't the easiest of tasks, because the fingers were clutching the weapon incredibly tightly.

I frowned. Well, this guy certainly didn't want to let go of his weapon. Therefore, it was obvious that at the time of his death, he was fighting with the determination of a madman. He must have been surrounded by so many of those stinking greeenskins but, from the looks of it, he didn't seem at all prepared to give any quarter to the Orks.

I raised my hand in salute to the dead soldier. Such determination against facing those scum-sucking Orks is admirable.

Well, in my book at least.

"Rest in Peace buddy" I muttered. "Rest assured that your efforts aren't going unnoticed.

"Besides" I added. "I may have a use for your flamer!"

And with a greedy glint in my eye, I reached down and returned in trying to retrieve the weapon from the cold hands.

But it was easier said than done: The dead man still didn't want let go of his beloved flamer. Even in death, he certainly didn't want let go of the one thing that had stuck by him even in his dying moments.

"Listen buddy" I grumbled. "I know you've been fighting a hard battle but believe you me, you won't be needing this anymore!"

The man, naturally, didn't reply.

Eventually, after some effort, I succeeded. I pulled away flamer from the man's cold hands gripped it in my own two hands. I then stood up and raised this newly-acquired weapon to examine it.

The thing certainly looked battered: There were scorch marks running up and down the barrel, and the casing was missing more than a few chunks out of it. The stink of flamer petrol was strong and the weapon still seemed quite warm to touch. All of which were obvious signs that this weapon was used to its full extent by it's gunner even as death loomed.

But, at the same time, there seemed to be an aura of beauty in the weapon: Its metal body still glistened in the dying natural light; its nozzle was criss-crossed with familiar brown marks and the casing, despite the scratches that scarred it, still looked up it could withstand the impact of a Hellhound tank.

And, more importantly of all, it still bore the stench of battle. It reeked with a mixture of blood, charcoal in amongst the petrol. Ah, there's nothing quite like that familiar stench: In the world of a scavenger, it was a sign that this weapon had done a good service and was just a capable of doing even more. And in the case of this flamer, it was a machine that has sent many to their deaths and was could easily send a few more to their doom.

However the burning question was did it still work?

I noted the amount of liquid that was still in the tank: It seemed half empty and certainly up for a few more battles.

I shrugged and gripped this tremendous weapon. Aiming the gun within a mass of empty space before me, I store down the barrel and pulled the trigger.

A terrific column of flame burst out before me. It penetrated the airspace before me with a tremendous mass of orange and red.

I released the trigger and the column vanished. I then allowed myself a small grin of satisfaction. A flamer has found it's way to this miserable rock! And it still works! About damn time, I got a lucky break…..

I then continued wandering through the many corpses that made up the battlefield.

I had only gone a small way across the bloodied field when I come across something of interest: Another one of the humans was clutching a laspistol in a death grip.

I paused. Unfortunately, for me, the majority of items that were left on this battlefield were all Ork firearms and magazines. And considering that myself and my fellow deserters were involved in a never-ending guerrilla war with the Orks, it was paramount that we recover any weapons that we come across.

But exactly where the weapons came from didn't really matter.

And in that sense, some of my companions would quite readily use the Ork boltguns. Sure, they were a technology that was completely alien to us and hardly the most reliable thing in the world but they were plentiful and perhaps the best source of weaponry on the planet (One can't rely on a pod landing here everyday).

Personally, I would rather die than use a weapon made and manufactured by those scum-sucking greenskins. It may not be much of a concern to my companions as to where the weapons came from but it is to me. Relying on the weapons that were used my constant enemy is like making an Imperial Space Marine making a deal with one of the Chaos Gods and consequently being inducted into the ranks of the Dark Legions.

Besides, I have, after all, been on this planet long enough to know better.

I knelt down, placed my newly-acquired flamer to one side and proceeded to pry the laspistol from the dead man's fingers.

When suddenly, a huge green paw slammed down upon my hand.

My blood ran cold.

I slowly looked to my left…

…and was confronted with the ugliest face I had seen since looking in the mirror this morning. The face glared at me with murderous red eyes and protruded its massive array of teeth in threatening fashion.

"SHIT!" I roared in both alarm and disgust. The Ork replied with a roar of defiance.

Thinking quickly, I used my other free hand to deliver a punch – straight into the Orks face!

The accursed greenskin howled in pain and let go of my hand. This, in turn gave me the time and space to scurry out of his reach.

The Ork blinked and growled in annoyed fashion as I got to my feet.

The greenskin didn't move. And how could he? His legs were in a rotten shape, caked with both blood and dirt. Obviously, they had been blown apart by one of the grenades and his days of walking were well and truly over.

I grinned evilly. Helpless and unable to go anywhere fast – just the way I like 'em!

I drew my two trusty bolt pistols and with unabashed glee, I raised them both in front of me.

The Ork blinked at me staring at him down the barrel(s) of two well used pistols - before he let out a roar of defiance.

"Same to you, you bastard" I shot back, as I pulled both triggers.

Seconds later, the Ork's head exploded. His green flesh was torn apart by the force of the bolt shells being fired from the two pistols. Once they penetrated the skin, the shells found their way into the greenskin's brain wormed their way in. This then tore the head apart and created a small explosion. The flesh and brain then flew from the skull at an incredible rate, thus creating a small rain of green blood and green flesh.

I sighed as my gaze returned to the Ork: His head was gone – In it's place was a deformed skull that dripped with a mass of green blood and flesh. But in spite of the mess, the skull still leered at me.

The only good Ork is a dead one…..

Just then, I heard the noise of running feet approaching.

I looked up to see Xerxes hurrying over.

"I heard shouting" he said. "Is everything all right?"

"Nothing too serious" I replied. "Just managed to find a survivor"

I gestured towards the newly-created corpse – to which Xerxes screwed his face in disgust.

"Oh my" he said, as he nodded to my twin smoking bolt pistols. "You certainly made a mess out of him eh?"

"Yeah" I grinned as I slipped my two guns back into their holsters. "And believe you me, I enjoyed every minute if it!"

Xerxes sighed.

"You certainly have a way of doing things don't you?"

"It gets the job done"

"So" I went on. "Did you find anything interesting in that pod?"

"Not really" he replied. "All the radio equipment there is practically ruined. And any emergency firearms had already been removed by the crew"

"Damn" I muttered.

I then turned my back on my comrade and crouched down.

"Obviously a fair portion of the equipment must have been destroyed when this pod crash-landed" Xerxes mused. "And it's possible the Orks may have plundered the pod before we got to it"

"Did you have any luck finding anything?"

"Sure did" I replied. I then picked up the flamer and raised it over my shoulder so he could see it.

Looking at Xerxes, he certainly seemed impressed with this discovery. He blinked in disbelief.

"Is that what I think it is?" he said, his voice a mixture of awe and astonishment. "Give me a look!"

I grinned an evil grin.

"Whatever you say, pal!"

To which I threw the flamer off into his general direction.

Naturally, Xerxes' face grew into one of utter alarm. Fortunately for both of us however, he did catch it before it went off.

He then fixed me with an angry glare.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yelled. "You don't handle a weapon like that! Particularly one that operates on easily flammable chemicals!"

I didn't reply. Instead I laughed a smug laugh.

But this didn't make Xerxes feel any better: Instead he just carried on with his ranting:

"I don't find anything funny about this! What would've happen if I didn't catch this?"

"Well you did, didn't you?"

"But what would've happened had I didn't?" he shouted.

"Well then" I said, as I got to my feet and turned to face him. "I guess we would've been blown sky high, right?"

Xerxes shook his head.

"One day" he said sternly. "Your bravado attitude is going to get us killed!"

"Why should you care?" I snapped back. "You are, after all, a rogue trader."

Sensing the sarcastic tone of my voice, Xerxes paused. But it didn't take long before his facial expression grew angry.

"I wouldn't push it if I were you" he snapped.

"Why not?" I retorted. "I thought all rogue trader captains were as bravado as they come"

Xerxes sighed a defeated sigh.

"This is ridiculous" he said. "We shouldn't be arguing at a time like this. In case we should be moving"

"But…."

"The longer we stay here, the more we run the risk of attracting the attentions of some Orks!"

"Let them" I shot back. "If they want to fight me, I'm ready for them all!"

The 'rogue trader' didn't reply. Instead he just folded his arms and fixed me within a hard look.

I blinked at him before sighing. Now it was my turn to be defeated

"Sorry" I said.

"We've got what we came for" Xerxes said firmly. "Now is the time to get out of here."

And with that, he turned around and headed off, carrying the flamer in both hands.

I shrugged and followed after him.

"I don't know why we should bother" I called. "After all, we have all the time in the world."