It is the 31st Millennium, towards the end of the Great Crusade. With the Primarchs and the Legio Astartes, the Emperor has travelled the galaxy reuniting the scattered civilisations of Man under a single banner. After retiring from the Great Crusade, the Emperor has called the Imperial Fist Legion to return to Terra to fortify the cradle of Man and to act as his praetorians. As the VIIth Legion make their way back to Terra, a call for assistance causes Primarch Rogal Dorn to dispatch a strike force to Aretus Beta to resolve the tension there. This is the story of Captain Verian Larcius, Captain of the Imperial Fists' XXth Company, his conflict against the forces of Nurgle on Aretus Beta, the brother Astartes of the Iron Warriors Legion and finally his participation in the Battle for Terra.
1: Just a soldier
Pain was all around him, within him. Every nerve in his body was set alight, causing his muscles to spasm and his insides churn with the effort of remaining impassive. Darkness closed in all around him, threatening to swallow him up and pull him into its chill embrace forever, and it took all his mental will not to succumb. To succumb would be to admit defeat, to let the weaker part of his being win over his mind. It would be to betray the essence of his legion. It was to betray himself, his primarch, Lord Rogal Dorn and above all, the Emperor.
His world was black, interspaced with visions of his long forgotten past. A small boy held a battered sword, taking practice swipes at a man made of wood and straw, falling over as the weight of it overbalanced him. A youth stood with a number of others, watching as the older students duelled in mock combat, the ring of blunted blades reverberating off the walls of the training halls. A grown warrior knelt before a giant in burnished yellow plate as his initiation into their exalted ranks began. The small boy turned giant fought alongside others like him, clad in armour and wielding bolter and chainsword against all manner of foes, war and death searing his flesh over and over.
A weaker mind would break. Endless hours of agony stretched on infinitely with no sign of release in sight. But his was no ordinary mind. Years…decades of mental training steeled his mind against the pain. There were greater things to fear than an eternity of torment; failure, defeat… He let the pain seep into him, flow through his veins and draw strength from it, to focus his mind and harden his will. His eyes opened. He swam to the surface of the darkness. Pain sought to grip him, hold him back but his ascension was unstoppable. He was a servant of the Emperor, a warrior to crusade across the galaxy and bring it order to that which was in chaos. He was a son of Dorn, the champion of the Emperor, built of iron and stone. He was Verian Larcius, Captain of the Twentieth Company of the Imperial Fists Astartes Legion.
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The pain glove hissed and parted, the neural wires retracting from his body, the pain slowly receding now the machine had been turned off. Verian slid from its embrace and powered it down. The counter read ten hours, glowing red runes illuminating the dark chamber. Around the room, a number of other Imperial Fists lay, enfolded in pain gloves, bodies occasionally jerking as intense surges of pain spiked through their systems. It was one of the Fists' longer traditions; to give oneself over to the devices in order to overcome the weakness that inhibited lesser warriors. It focused the mind and steeled the body, taught it to push its limits and resist where others would fall. He shrugged his shoulders to loosen them out and then made for the door. The battle barge would be breaking system soon and he had to prepare his arms and armour before then.
On the way, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the polished gunmetal walls. He turned, studying the man before him. He was tall, broad in the shoulder, muscled and toned from a strict regime of training. Scars criss-crossed his forearms from combat, the rest of his body clothed in a grey tunic, concealing the wealth of other injuries his body had sustained in his long life. Though he resembled a young man around his mid-twenties, the service studs on his brow spoke of almost half a century of battle. He had the light complexion and dark hair, cropped short, of those from the southern hemisphere of Terra, where he had been recruited. His dark brown eyes were sharp and narrowed in a stern expression as he evaluated himself, a look that any number of his brothers could pull off effortlessly in the image of their lord, Dorn.
In the next chamber, the familiar sound of metal and metal greeted him. It rang off the walls as two massive warriors clad in the same plain grey tunics and pants charged a third, swords flashing as they struggled to break the lone warrior's guard. Other warriors, built along the same statue, ringed the arena, cheering on one combatant or another, roars of encouragement or disapproval as one side would gain the upper hand on the other. Despite how they behaved in the company of outsiders, the Imperial Fists knew how to laugh, to be casual around their fellow battle-brothers. The bonds of brotherhood were every bit as strong as those which bound legions like the Sons of Horus or the Space Wolves. They just knew how to act stoic and impassive when needed.
The older of the three warriors duelling smirked as the two younger ones lunged forward. He spun aside, inside the guard of the first and hammered the nearest in the solar plexus with the pommel of his sword, followed by a vicious roundhouse punch that threw his opponent crashing to the floor. The other younger warrior spun, sword flashing faster than the eye could follow, but it was stopped dead, wrist encased by the older's large fist. With a flick, his legs were swept from under him and even as he stumbled to rise, the tip of a sword was pressed to his throat. From his higher vantage point, Captain Kesian Scarus of the Thirteenth retained his smirk, one foot pinning his brother Astartes to the floor. Towering, built like a battle-tank, iron-grey hair cropped short with the frequently stern features, Kesian was a true descendent of their primarch.
Alec Aurelius, Captain of the Nineteenth, was rising uneasily to his feet from where the Kesian had floored him. Lucian Scipio, the Eighteenth company captain, grinned ruefully as the sword was removed from his neck, rubbing the point from where a trickle of blood had run, already clotted by the superhuman Astartes bio system. Now the duel was concluded, the other brothers closed in, patting the losers on the back and cheering the victor, all brother Astartes, brother Imperial Fists. Verian smiled, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against, walking forward as his comrades, Alec and Lucian, emerged from the mass of bodies.
"A fine performance, brothers. If Kesian had floored you any faster, one would think he'd been facing fresh neophytes than brother-captains of the Imperial Fists. I reckon Brother Herius could give him more of a challenge than you two just put up." Mock-glares aimed at him from his brothers, narrowed eyes betrayed by the curl of their lips, struggling not to smile. To another Astartes, it may have been an insult but these two had been at his side for so many years now, joined the Imperial Fists at the same time as him that such minor jests were taken as such. Alec shrugged gesturing to the taller of the two and Lucian offered his recovered sword over to Verian. "Ha… You talk big but you show us how it's done then. We'll be the ones laughing when Kesian lays you on your arse like the arrogant whelp you are."
Verian grinned, accepting the weapon and weighing it in his hands. Solid, Terran-forged steel. "Say what you will… Just watch and I'll show you how a true son of Dorn fights, neophytes." He turned from them, towards the duelling arena, the other Astartes parting to let him through, shouts of 'new challenge' surrounding him. He stopped short of Kesian, inkling his head to meet the other warrior's gaze. "Care to go again, brother?"
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Standing at one end of the arena, training sword resting loosely in his grip, Verian appraised the opponent standing before him. Kesian Scarus was one of the legion's most skilled swordmasters, often found sparring against the likes of First Captain Sigismund. He was broad and tall, overwhelming strength bound within his form that was only matched by his agility and swiftness in battle. He had been fighting the Emperor's wars alongside their lord Dorn since Verian's days as a lowly line soldier. Verian grinned. It would be a challenge but he relished such an opportunity. It was only by facing those greater than himself that he learnt and excelled as a result.
They circled. Verian kept his sword in a mid-guard position, eyes narrowed in concentration, waiting for the first sign of attack. It came almost too fast to follow. Almost… Verian managed to get his blade up in time, blocking a furious blow and nearly threw him off balance by the force of it. He rolled with it, coming around and parrying two more slashes to his torso, the second one only just being deflected, a thin line scoring across his chest. His arms burned with the strain of holding back the older captain's overwhelming strikes, each with the force of lightning and the sounds of metal on metal ringing like a hammer on an anvil. A series of blows followed, each as powerful as the last, as fast as the last, Verian working furiously to parry and block, the sword in his hands moving on instinct, mind given over solely to the combat.
They fought back and forth, cheers rising in a crescendo around them as battle-brothers watched intently at the swordsmanship before them. Despite being put initially on the back foot, Verian quickly altered his fighting stance, body braced for each blow and following through with lightning fast counters, some coming near to sliding through Kesian's guard. He saw an opening. He lashed out but his blade met thin air, sweeping past as Kesian evaded and slid inside his own guard, hammering his sword hilt into his ribs, followed by a devastating roundhouse punch, just like the one used on Alec. Verian raised his free hand, taking the strike on his arm and kicking out to drive his brother back.
He lunged, following through, both hands grasping his weapon to deliver a downwards slice at Kesian's throat, the metal flashing in the overhead lights. The two weapons met with a resounding crash, sparks leaping from the point where they joined. Verian strained to push back Kesian's blade but the older warrior held firm, unmoveable like stone. He gritted his teeth and put all his weight behind the sword, sweat running down his face. His eyes meet Kesian's, dark grey glaring into iron grey. His body shook with the effort but neither was giving way. The stubbornness of the Imperial Fists ran in both their veins and they would stand their struggling for eternity if neither gave in.
"Enough!" The training hall fell silent, hushed in an instant. Verian and Kesian broke apart immediately, snapping to attention as the massively armoured figure of Captain Efried strode in through the doorway, black cloak billowing out in contrast to the yellow plate he wore. The captain of the third company and the overall commander of the Imperial detachment came to a halt before them, the well-known Imperial Fist stern gaze full of thunder in imitation of their primarch, Rogal Dorn. "Scarus. Larcius. We're almost at our destination. Suit up and assemble on the bridge in ten minutes. That goes for you too, Scipio. Aurelius. As for the rest of you, attend to your weapons and armour. We could be heading into a war zone and we will not be caught unprepared."
"Hmm…" Verian relaxed as the Third captain departed, sheathing his training sword and passing it to one of the attendants who swarmed up now the Astartes were departing. Kesian passed by him, clapping him on the shoulder before moving off to rejoin his company. Alec and Lucian walked over. Lucian was the first to congratulate him. "Well…it seems we were wrong, brother. You weren't laid out on your arse like a whelp. Well done." Then he split, heading for the far door. Alec grinned, starting off towards door behind, each heading off to a different part of the ship. "Don't get overconfident now, Verian. Like Efried said, we could be heading into a war zone. Even if you almost fought Kesian to a standstill, you might still get your head blown off by some cannon down there. See you on the bridge."
The door hissed and closed, leaving Verian alone in the training hall. His hands were shaking from exertion. The front of his tunic was soaked with blood where Kesian's blade had sliced into his skin. His twin-hearts were racing and there was sweat on his brow from the effort of having warded off an opponent many times more skilful but he felt alive, almost as much as when in the heat of proper battle. The ship gave a shudder as it dropped out of the Warp. 'Time to get moving…' With one last backwards glance at the duelling arena, he strode from the room to prepare for whatever awaited them on Aretus Beta.
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Aretus Beta had been encountered by one of the Imperial expeditionary fleets as they were searching for further lost human civilisations flung far from Terra, bringing the light of the new Imperium and dispelling the falsities of gods and daemons that chained Man back to its turbulent past. The secular truth that such things did not exist was the sword that broke the chains that bound Man back from fully embracing their future among the stars. This truth was brought to all human civilisations they encountered…whether it was welcomed or not.
They had chanced upon the people of Aretus Beta approximately two months ago but all attempts at to make contact had been rebuffed. Sensing brewing conflict, they had sent out a call for assistance from the Astartes legions and the Imperial Fists, en route back to Terra to serve as the Emperor's praetorians, had been the first to respond. Loath to divert their whole fleet however, the Lord Rogal Dorn had instead dispatched a strike force on the battle barge, the Emperor's Fist, with five of his companies; under the leadership of Third captain Efried.
Whether by coincidence or just chance, the Imperial fleet over Aretus Beta had received communications a week before their arrival; hails and invitations to descend to the planet and meet the planetary leaders. Lord General Isiah didn't like taking chances like that. Captain Efried didn't. Even as the Imperial emissary prepared to descend to the planet under the flags of diplomacy, the Imperial Fists readied their weapons and armour, primed their war machines ready to bring the Emperor's wrath down on them if it came to that.
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The armour joints hissed as he sealed the last part of his armour on, pulling on the heavy gauntlets and flexing his fingers. He took a few experimental movements to test that everything was in order before buckling on his sword belt and picking up his helmet. It was a deep yellow, just like the rest of his armour, red trim around the shoulder pad where the Fist of Dorn was displayed, a black gauntleted fist on a white disc, the same symbol; that of his legion was emblazoned on his breastplate, lightning bolts spreading out from it across his chest.
It was the symbol that would be burned into the minds of all those down on Aretus Beta if their intentions turned out to be treacherous, the Fist of Dorn that would close around their throats and crush the life from them. It would be a sad thing to bring destruction to fellow humans but if they came with ill intentions, the Emperor's forces would exterminate them. Verian had done so before but a heavy heart could be shrouded up duty and regret left until after the job was done.
Drawing out his sword, he examined it, the mirror-like sheen and the flawless craftsmanship of it. With this blade, he had ended the existences of countless orks, eldar and a number of other xenos filth but humans too had died on this blade. Those who resisted the Imperial truth outright or those who consorted with the alien were slain, lest their taint spread. Well…he could only hope that this would not be one of those times. Sighing, he slammed his sword back into its scabbard and marched off for the bridge.
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"You took your time, brother. The others are already there. Any longer and Efried would've been pissed." Alec waited for him at the vast doorway that led to the bridge. Verian drew level, he marching inside as two Astartes in full armour opened the doors, bolters held at the ready. They snapped to attention as Alec and Verian passed and the two captains strode out onto the bridge of the Emperor's Fist.
The bridge was a vast, cavernous chamber, some sixty crewmen swarming back and forth beneath the raised platform where the other Astartes stood, looking out over the planet below through the transparent viewing panel before them. He considered that despite the strength and power of the Astartes legion, without these normal, unenhanced men and women, they would be almost helpless, unable to be transported from war zone to war zone. But that was a thought for later. Efried glared slightly as Verian hastened over to them with Alec but said nothing.
His other brother-captains were here, now all also in their heavy power armour. The yellow plate now enhanced Lucian's already broad frame still further. He wore a heavy chainsword across his back and a bolt pistol was holstered at his side. Alec, the shortest of the group was squat and wide in his power armour, an unmoveable presence when stubbornness was needed more than fast response and agility. His right hand was encased in a heavy gauntlet, a power fist, which would multiply his strength a hundredfold when activated, giving him the power to tear through the hull of a tank with a sweep of his hand.
Only Kesian was unarmoured for now, clad in the same grey attire he had been in earlier. When battle came, he would bestride the battlefields in a suit of terminator armour, giving him the protection of a battle tank, wielding a thunder hammer that could shatter the heaviest protection any force could muster against them. Though the bulkier armour reduced the agility of the wearer, Verian had seen the Thirteenth captain match his power-armoured brethren blow for blow and emerge triumphant. Truly the soul of a warrior burned within the older Astartes' heart.
"The situation is this…" Efried began, gesturing behind him as a hologram of the planet burst to life and revolved slowly before them. "As of thirteen days ago, after months of rejecting Imperial contact, the leaders of Aretus Beta have finally hailed us, offering negotiation and diplomacy."
"I'm surprised the fleet didn't descend already and just shoot them all…" Efried fixed Alec for his flippant talk but once again didn't chastise him further. "The Lord General Isiah has already…done that on a number of worlds and there is talk that he has lost his nerve to repeat such a thing. At the same time, our astropaths report that there has been turbulence in the Warp, more than there should be, coinciding almost suspiciously with the hails from the planet."
"We can't be sure if they have found some way to influence it and if it is a sign of their ill-intentions towards us. Even so, we wish to proceed with caution, lest it is just mere coincidence. So instead we will be sending envoys to talk with them, settle this matter with words if we can…and you'll be accompanying them, Larcius. No questions. Prepare your men for the descent. The envoys have been transferred over to our ship already and will be on the transport down. Go now, in the name of the Dorn and the Emperor."
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The inside of the shuttle was dark, all power being conserved in case it was needed for last minute boosts to get them safely to earth should things go wrong. Supposedly, this was only a diplomatic mission and so he only had two squads with him, no heavy weapons and no armoured vehicles. As precaution, he had squads Laevinus and Iovius with him, each consisting of ten highly dependable and battle-experienced Astartes. They would deal with whatever came their way if trouble started. Not that it should…
He glanced over where the envoys sat, three of them, one older man as their leader leading a younger man and woman. They were resembled the standard Imperial diplomat, all immaculate deep blue dress uniform and upright bearing. They carried no weapons and wore no armour. They had the physique of a normal human and Verian considered briefly how fragile they were. But then theirs was the way of words, not actions. Words were their weapons as the bolter and sword were his. The actions were left for him. He was just a soldier, after all…