Son of Blood.
Fires of Rage.
The Strike Cruiser Swift Mercy dropped out of the warp trailing violet and sapphire fog in its wake.
Kerza felt and heard the ship pitch and shudder at the change of the engines, the hull reverberated as it translated back into real space. His blood shot eyes scanned the bare metal ceiling of his quarters.
The shutter covering his view-port opened like a close eye, real space finally. It like most voyages had been too long. At least in his opinion.
Swift Mercy with The Emperors blessing would soon reach its destination: two hours, four at most, depending on the calculations of the Navigator. He heaved his scared body up into the edge of his bunk engulfed in the ambient light. He wasn't ready. The blood running through his veins was hot and it unsettled him greatly. More time, more time he gritted his teeth attempting to calm himself.
He closed his eyes breathing heavily, reaching and gripping the dagger that was the only thing left of his world, so tight the leather in its hilt cut itself into his hand. Sweat built on his forehead as he tuned out the the sounds of the ship concentrating of the whale like groans of the super structure. Each time a groan ended, the off beat tap and thud of his duel heart sounded. He stared at his red and grey helm, it's lifeless eyes glaring back at him with his power armour standing ready to make him the destroyer of the enemies of the Imperium.
The armour was a deep crimson with gold trim demoting his position as First Sargent of the Second Company, the chest piece grey, adorned with the golden winged skull of the Astartes. The right shoulder plate bore proudly the sigil of The Crimson Warriors. Crimson with a crowed white helm carrying the blood drop of his parent chapter: the reminder of the oath Kerza had sworn in blood centuries ago, he spoke it over and over again.
In service to The Emperor I swear to be beaten,
Drown, burnt or killed in defence of
The Imperium. To fight till my last breath,
Whether it be my enemy or honoured brother
I will die with honour.
I make this oath in my blood and
By the blood of Sanguinius.
One line he spoke at the time without realising would have greater impact than he had ever through whether it be my enemy or honoured brother.
Within the chapter the most trusted brother would call him Son of Blood with a smaller number still who knew its true meaning, privy to his secret. To his struggles. Kerza had sworn to Captain Decius that he would beat his weakness, his curse. Both agreeing that if the time came that his Captain would do the deed. Kerza had indeed kept it in check for many months but at times it was harder and never fully went away, unlike most of his brothers his induction into the chapter made this all the worse. He remembered more than most of his life before becoming an Astarte.
On a distant feral world he was born in the darkness of eternal war. Raised in fire and fury, groomed to be the master of the enemies of the Imperium. Constant raids by the Eldar filth had made his people great warriors. Eternally true in their faith in the emperor's light. Then the Eldar came in force, this time This time it was different. They came in the night as the snow fell fast and the wind blew wild, they came to conquer, to put his people to the sword. They did, a world of 2.6 trillion people massacred to 340,000. He still heard the screams of neighbours whenever Swift Mercy pull traverse the warp. When sleep came he would remember his mother running into his room, fearful and wide eyed. The memory lingered so much so that he could on occasion still feel the cold steel knife she placed his my hand, as she made him swear to The Emperor to protect his sister. Like a video on repeat he would see his mother run out the carrying a laser rifle, the cold floor on his feet as he went into my sisters room. Her blue eyes blood shot and puffy from crying. The soul breaking screaming of his mother as she died. The armoured foot steps of the filth getting closer. The hysterically crying of his sister. And the knife. the cold serrated edge and leather hilt. He had no choice, no, choice. He pierced her heart. As tears welled in his eyes, she wouldn't be taken.
The next few days where a blur of beatings, pain and laughter. Until the sky cried red, tear drops fell from the heavens as armoured Angels made planetfall. They hit hard and fast, Stormbirds roared overhead. Missiles and cannon roaring like a hurricane as the saviours from the sky came down in vengeance. The building rocked from the impact a crashing drop pod, sending him and his torturer hard into the floor, debris flying around. That's when he saw it. The knife, the same serrated knife. He used the last vestige of strength, in his battered and broken human body and grabbed the blade. Driving it into the forehead of his torturer. Her eyes staring at him in disbelief, she fell to her knees. He wrenched it out and roared as he slit her throat, arterial blood washing over him. He fell to my knees as a Angel came through the wall. The next thing he remember he was aboard a starship. No, a warship. A helmed voice crackling through a vox asked do you want revenge. Do you want justice. He nodded.
A life time ago he though to himself, wincing he looked over to the medical table as the mechanisms whirled into action and four needles penetrated his back with a hiss. He could feel the familiar un-comfortableness of his blood being drawn out, flushed through a seeming insignificant box, with flashing runes and lights. Then concentrated, recycled, purified and then pumped back in. He knew though that this was a short term answer, he prayed that The Emperor would give him the opportunity of a honourable death in combat. With the taste of his enemies blood on his tongue, to see the chapters standard fly high against a blood red sky before the his end.
As they needles continued their bloody work he closed his eyes trying to clear his mind and meditate on The Emperors glory. But it was no use, his mind wondered like a ship lost in the turbulent warp. Jumping from violent memory to violent memory. His thoughts fell upon one day over and over again, seventeen years go. During transit to a frozen barren hellhole of planet that the 2nd would make planetfall answering an Imperial Guard distress signal.
That day was the first day the curse had afflicted him. The first day the madness overtook. When rage burned.
As with before operation, he would quietly thank The Emperor for the opportunity to serve him and The Imperium. Re-affirm his oaths to his brothers, his Captain and the chapter. Before communing with the machine spirit of his Heavy Bolter. Through countless wars this bolter had been the constant, the one thing he could rely on. His brothers would find a glorious death and he mourn them but his bolter, that would live long after his service to The Emperor had come to an end. He spoke to it softly and gently like life long friend.
Whenever I am with you, you deliver me from pain. Years have passed, like any other, and now I understand. All the misery I have endured has lead me to my true path. The moment you were placed in my hands I felt alive, the fire I thought gone was rekindled. With you, we will be the flame that will vanquish the Emperor's foes.
The heavy weapon stood ready, it's carbon body scarred and its purity seal dancing in the recycled air. He took a cloth from the bench placing it on his forehead before lifting up the bolter. Delicately he placed his weapon of destruction on its stock and attached a combat knife from a ornate wooden box as a rudimentary bayonet. He then placed his forehead on the barrel casing and whispered.
I owe you a debt, one I could never repay.
He stepped back from heavy bolter as it lay dormant eagerly waiting for its master to take it into glorious conflict. The ship shuddered. Torpedoes impacted against Swift Mercy's void shields. He ran to the viewport and a squadron of Doomfire Bombers streaked by. Lights flared as more torpedoes hit. As bombers dropped their payloads. As the ships point defence guns roared into life. He charged back over to the armoury and began struggling into his armour. The ship groaned in pain as a servitor pulled itself through the cabin door. The armour was fitted quickly, the rituals and litany done and spoken at high speed. Pushing the serf away he inserted the vox -earpiece and cycled through the channels
The had arrived in the system quicker than anticipated but the traitor vessels had been waiting. Hiding, in the atmospheric clouds on the system's second moon. At the head of the Chaos fleet was a ship once of the Imperial Navy now touched and defiled by the Dark God's power. Its shape warped, its bow resembled a gaping fang laden maw. Its escort ship scurried around the desecrated ship.
As Swift Mercy's torpedo tubes and broadsides opened fire and its escort ship broke formation to engage the traitor forces ,the battle became a free-fire zone, as the battle lines blurred into impossibly tangled mess of engaged warships, focused laser fire, parabolic torpedo contrails and explosive debris choked the atmosphere making manoeuvres near impossible. Ship to ship combat that was normally fought at ranges of tens of thousands of kilometres now began to close as the hulking chaos ship moved into position to launch boarding parties. Atomic detonations plagued ship sensors with electromagnetic distortion and phantom echoes, making it an impossible task to separate what was real and what was a sensor ghost.
Swift Mercy pushed through the fighting to engage the behemoth that ponderously advanced its flanks ablaze with broadsides fire. A squadron of bombers and a cruiser found its defences to hard, bludgeoned into molten submission by multiple decks of concentrated fire. Under command of Capitan Decius Swift Mercy discipline held firm. The glittering wire-frame holos bathed the vaulted strategium in a rippling blue and white glow. Hundreds of mortal voices eagerly distributed the Captains orders, while machine meticulously recited damage reports, void-shield strengths and firing schedules in the binary under the watchful eyes of the Mechanicum priests.
"Sergeant Kerza. Form Decalvare Squad and meet them on launch bay 3B" Ordered Captain Decius his voice crackling with vox interference. He stood slightly shorter than most astartes, but compensated in prowess with his power sword and conviction. His shoulders were broad and his eyes bold as they stared at the maelstrom de-pitched in the holos. His power armour whined as it kept his weight distributed evenly as the ship was hit again and again.
Kerza placed his hand to head "Your will, my hands" Turning he voxed "Decalvare Squad form on bay 3B. Again 3 bravo" a few seconds later his vox clicked as his men confirmed the order. As Kerza ran out of his cabin, an explosion shook the ship violently. He clung onto an open riveted bulkhead, to keep his balance. More and more brothers flooded the corridors and the alarms sounded all over the ship. That was something big he said through gritted teeth. Another explosion. This time deck plates dropped from underneath his feet. For a split second he was falling. Until the artificial gravity kicked in.
With a deep thud his armoured boots hit the something solid again and with a grunt he pulled himself back on the deck.
He broke into a full sprint.
He burst round a bend at full speed. Two brother closely behind, only finding a bulkhead slamming shut. He stopped and looked around. As the sound atmosphere hissing echoed over the pained groans of Swift Mercy.
"The hull has been breached Brother Sergeant" said a one a#of the brothers following Kerza.
"Thank you for that observation" Snapped Kerza. "The port aft-sections, and decks Delta through Victo will be sealed" Kerza said think out load. His ear-piece buzzed with activity of further hull breaches.
"By The Emperor, i will not fall here. Not before my blade tastes traitor flesh" Confidently spoke the other battle brother.
"We wont" said Kerza determination clearly in his voice. He was at full speed again even in his Devastator armour the two unknown brother struggled to keep up with him.