Author's Notice: I'm taking some liberties here. I recently started playing the tabletop game and my army is Blood Angels. So, I'm using this story sort of to get my history straight and learn more about my army. I know John should have been born into being a Blood Angel, and I know he /should/ be an enhanced individual that wasn't born on some distant planet to an actual family. But, I still wanted his roots that way, so he's just not going to be a pure, but he also isn't the base warrior class, since I made him a medic, of course. So, I do know he /should/ be one way, but that's not what I'm going to do. Just getting that out there, and sorry if it bugs any of you. I just don't feel like re-writing the entire second part of the story. Also, I'd rather not have John be a huge giant of a person, and he wouldn't have been injured like that if he was all enhanced.
Anyway. I've also recently started reading the Horus Heresy series, so I'm getting a lot more insight on battle styles and Marines in general. Hopefully I can still do the Warhammer-verse a bit of justice. Also, some names here are actual characters from the universe, and others are made up. Also, I'm not completely following the timeline, though I did do research, I can't find specific dates so a lot of the history might be a bit wonky but I'm bending it to work for this story anyway.
SO THESE STORIES. They are going to be one-shots. No particular order. Just snap shots of John's life, highlights, if you will. Bits and pieces to ease the past and bulk up for the main story "Heretic". I'm also doing a Sherlock one, so look out for that, if you're interested in finding out how Sherlock became an inquisitor and how he obtained his servo-skull. Thank you for reading!
"For eleven hundred years I have fought and seen the darkness of the galaxy. I have seen the vileness of the alien and the heresy of the mutant. I have seen the sin of possession. I have seen the evil that our galaxy harbors, and I have slain all whose presence defiles the Emperor. I have seen what you will see. I have fought what you must fight, and I have slain what you must slay. So fear not and be proud, for we are the sons of Sanguinius, the protectors of mankind. Aye, we are indeed the angels of death."
- Commander Dante, Blood Angels IX
"John Watson - Apothecary"
'Reborn'
John Watson had lived.
He had endured the trials to become one of the Blood Angels; and despite not initially being born on the planet of Baal, he had defied expectation and lived where other men had not. The trials had not been easy, but he had been training, he had been prepared. He had wanted badly to become a Space Marine despite his humble roots, his lineage unable to be traced back to anyone of value. Watson had endured desert wastes, blood thirsty creatures, and even fought his own brethren. After such terrors, he had set a vigil for seventy-two hours, at which point he had nearly fallen asleep, but kept himself focused. There had been many that said he couldn't do it, couldn't attain the glory of being a Space Marine; he was mortal, weak, and susceptible to everything a gene-enhanced person with an actual lineage was not.
He had impressed everyone that had come to know him, know of what he had accomplished. He had drank the blood of Sanguinius, he had succumbed to the coma that afflicted him for exactly three hundred and sixty five days, and most of all, he had survived. Out of the fifty that had been chosen that fateful day on Baal, he had survived, where a lot of youths had not. He had been artificially enhanced by the blood injected into him during his comatose state; making him much more durable than an average mortal, and increasing his lifespan. Not completely on par as his gene-enhanced brethren but he now had the blood of Sanguinius in his veins.
Watson had then been shipped off planet to join the ranks of the third company; where he was to meet his captain and his new unit. He had been dressed in battle plate; heavy red armor with the distinct skull adorned with gold wings on the front. His battle brothers would be marked with a skull and black wings; but since Watson was the priest of the unit, his armor was gilt with gold among the crimson. His left shoulder pad was ivory with a relief of white wings and a single tear drop of blood; his right shoulder pad was primal red with gold wings shielding a ruby double helix. This identified him as the apothecary of the unit, otherwise known as the Sanguinary Priest. He would become the commanding officer of this unit(second to the Captain), sharing this role with the Chaplain whom he would fight alongside.
The Chaplain and the High Priest were the guiding light on the battlefield; responsible to keep up morale and to watch over their battle brothers. Watson's responsibility was to watch for the signs of Red Thirst and Black rage, the two dreadful flaws of the Blood Angels gene-seed. He was equipped with a chainsword, bolt pistol, a pair of both frag and krak grenades; as well as his Narthecium(the medical field bag that had everything he would need on the field), and the Blood Chalice(said to contain the blood of the primarch, to which Watson will be forced to bleed it back in). Currently, the chalice was empty, and the weapons were stored as he was transported through inky space. He was strapped into the small flight vehicle along with a few other men whom had made it through the trials.
Watson didn't formally know them, only their names, they had all met only in this moment and he wasn't sure they were being taken to the same chapter legion. Their helmets were off, but no one was looking at each other. The men were much bigger than Watson, obviously bred on Baal; they were massive in their seats, the belt restraints strained against their armor. The constant rattle of metal was white noise, he wasn't sure to make small talk, most of the men weren't so fond of him. He was young, mostly mortal, and had accomplished a trial some men of their stature had died attempting. He wasn't sure how they saw him, but he assumed in a poor light. Jealousy was not an unknown concept, even to a Space Marine, and it was clear by the way they stared ahead, that they wanted nothing to do with him.
Foolish thing, that.
Watson was tasked with keeping men alive on the battlefield. He could very well be tasked with keeping these men in particular alive, and yet they couldn't spare him the courtesy of speech? Of a glance? He frowned, but decided to keep staring ahead as well, having the glorious view of the side of the ship, silver and unremarkable. Ill feelings could be the undoing of a soldier, and Watson didn't want to be burdened by such things. Instead, he put those thoughts right out of his head, letting the other men bleed into the background along with all the familiar sounds of the spacecraft. They still had an hour before they reached the vessel he would now be living on, for the entirety of his deployment. He had come to terms long before that he would probably never see his home world again, his family, or anyone else he knew. He was now duty bound to the Emperor, and as such, his life was no longer his own. He pledged himself for the greater good of mankind, and he did not regret his decision.
The small transport vessel docked inside of the massive carrier ship; one Watson had only had a glimpse of as it loomed in the distance. Pure black with highlights of crimson, it was a formidable ship; the name painted on the side in elegant calligraphy with a bright red ink read Light of Retribution. It took only moments for the smaller ship to come to a halt inside of the giant, the men in front of him didn't move. Seems to be they belonged on a different vessel, and Watson swiftly gathered up his weapons and his helmet, stepping down the descending ramp, onto solid ground. He had his information slate at the ready, a heavy shoulder bag slung across his chest that contained the few items he had taken with him from his home world. He had to get his bearings back, the bright lights of the docking room had him blinking quickly to adjust. The room was empty, just a runway of black metal, he trotted along the strip, knowing he needed to get out of there soon so the smaller ship could take off again, and decided it wouldn't be very good if he got sucked out into space by being too slow.
Eventually he made it to the other side, not winded from the jaunt and immediately shut the double doors behind him. He turned to find himself in a smaller chamber, a long hallway that led to the upper levels of the ship, he assumed. He felt a little lost, unsure where to go or whom to call, thinking it improper to just wander around the ship. Surely someone had to approve his transport vessel to land? Surely someone is aware he was deposited here?
A door opened to his left and he was immediately greeted with the sight of a looming Blood Angel; magnificent in his polished red armor, his gold helmet was off, attached at his hip, glinting brightly in the low light of the hall. His face was pale, pinched with confusion, his green eyes sharp, roaming over the apothecary as if trying to figure out the punchline to a sour joke. His hair was a dark russet, cropped short just like Watson's, "You are the new recruit?"
"Yes, sir," Watson immediately answered, grateful for some direction, he closed the distance by a few more feet so he could properly offer his information slate. "John Watson, I have just been assigned to this vessel for indefinite service."
The other man took the offered slate, reading over the files as quickly as possible. It told of Watson's entire life up to this point in time, of his experience as a medicae on his homeworld as well as his ascension to becoming an apothecary. His credentials were in order, and his status impressive, given the fact that Watson hadn't been born for this sort of life. Obviously. Watson was only five foot five, his body protected in his power armor made him look bigger than he probably was, most likely stocky and frail like other humans that were not enhanced. Yet, Watson had made it here, had been recruited and transported, that spoke of the man's character despite his glaring mortal flaws. He huffed, offering the slate back, "I am Sigismund Victus, commanding officer of the Honor Guard."
Watson accepted his slate, having inclined his head to properly see the other man. He had been in contact with quite a few Space Marines on Baal, transported with them, they were all over seven feet tall and big in every sense of the word. Large, stout bodies, protected by even bulkier power armor that gave them the appearance of venerable giants. He had never thought he'd actually accomplish becoming one of them, he felt like an ant in a hive of wasps. He had finally achieved his dream, he was actually on a battleship, he was actually a soldier of one of the most revered legions. Watson had seen the look of disbelief on Victus's face, but thankfully any qualms the man had were kept silent. After all, he had indeed proved himself, he belonged here, even if he didn't look like he did.
"You will be located in the right wing of the ship with the rest of your assigned unit. The captain will personally come to greet you after he finishes with his war council. We have been assigned a mission that will be carried out within the next two weeks." He spoke in that same low, commanding speech, turning only to open the door and begin his stride down a new hallway and into the bulk of the ship.
Watson nodded to the information, quickly following Victus, his long strides hard to keep up with, but he managed. His gear hit noisily against his armor as he walked, and he noticed now that there were indeed other people aboard. Of course there would be, but he hadn't seen anyone until this moment. Civilians, crewman, Watson was trying to identify each person as he passed by their clothing and the seals upon their shoulders but he soon gave up, turning his gaze ahead when the crowd became too large. Apparently everyone was aware a new recruit had been admitted, and the fact that he looked exactly like one of them in armor made everyone gawk, point, and whisper under their breath.
The soldiers' quarters was located on the opposite side of the ship; away from everything else, conveniently located next to the armory and the medical bay. This side of the ship was closed off by red double doors that immediately opened once they approached, having been scanned for entry. Victus led him to the very end of the hallway of closed doors and gestured towards the room, "This will be your room." The door was black, didn't have a number or name plate, Watson notices none of the other doors did either. "Most of the soldiers are in the training area below deck." He spoke, "You should get yourself situated and then become acquainted with your unit."
"Yes, sir." He said curtly.
Victus stared at Watson a long moment before he set his heavy hand on his shoulder, "Welcome aboard, Watson." He said.
He offered a smile to Victus, "Thank you, sir. It's good to be here."
With a silent nod, Victus removed his hand and strode back down towards the entry way. He glanced over at the retreating man before he opened the door to his chamber and stepped inside. The space was large, but not overwhelming. There were shelves bracketed on the walls, a banner of the double headed aquilla above the bed that was meant to house a giant marine, and not the slip of a person Watson was. All the furniture in the room was fit for the stature of the gene-enhanced individuals of the unit, he would definitely have more space than he had need of.
He tossed his shoulder bag to the bed and decided to store his weapons on the wall mounts. He set the empty chalice on the desk as well as his medical kit. His helmet he set near those items, attempting to lessen the load he was carrying. He didn't need his battle gear with him while he roamed the ship, if that was what he decided to do. Watson ran his hand through his close-cropped blonde hair and frowned, studying the perfectly clean and tidy space around him and letting it all really sink in.
This was where he lived now; this was the only room he would know for the rest of his life, however long or short that would be.
Watson decided he did indeed need to make friends among his unit, if they were to fight alongside each other, he'd prefer if they weren't like those stone-faced men on the transport ship. He was unsure exactly where to start. Especially since he was more like an adopted brother to this legion rather than a blood related one(though he did technically have the primarch blood in his veins, he could not call Baal his home world).
He walked over to the bed and began to unpack his things. He put up the small picture of his family under the banner, he placed his few clothes in the dresser to find that it was already packed with clean clothing. The clothing was much too large, he'd have to ask about it, if there was a way to tailor them. Another thing on his to-do list, rummaging in the bag to gather up an armful of books and arrange them on the shelves. Just a few fiction war novels along with his old medicae materials and three history books. The trinkets left in the bag had been gifts from his family and the few friends he had left on his home world. Symbols of faith and omens for good luck, silly things that didn't have much value aside from the memories that were attached to them, from the people he used to know. People he would never see or talk to again. With a steady hand he gathered the fragile tokens and slipped them into a pouch attached to the metal ring on his hip. Watson didn't believe in luck, but he supposed having the items with him would soothe the ache he was feeling now; homesick, maybe, but it would pass, it had to, because there was no going back.