Title: Angelus Erroneous: Fabricati Diem
Author: Spike
Chapter: One
The day was coming to an end. Already the sun was well on its way into setting, thus casting various streaks of red and orange across the evening sky. Already, the various bird calls the filtered through the jungle on a daily basis were coming to an end and silence began creeping its way across the jungle.
That was, until the jungle was rocked with an enormous explosion. This was followed soon after a cacophony of loud bestial roars and the sound of boltgun ammunition being fired in a random fashion.
This was an Ork world. And since when has such a thing as silence ever existed on an Ork World?
A small group of the greenskins had been making their way through the jungle as nosily as possible. They certainly were an ugly lot, each boasting the usual characteristics of their trace: Beedy red eyes, a large of muscles and an impressive selection of sharp teeth situated within a massive jaw. Each of the Orks carried some deadly looking weapons, ranging from crude yet large axes, chipped but nasty blades to something that resembled a standard Imperial boltgun.
All were dressed in something that resembled trousers (but knowing Ork craftsmanship, none can't be too sure) made from a substance resembling leather. All bore tattoos on their arms bearing an Orkish insignia of a crude red axe and a jawbone. Several wore something that resembled armour ranging from metal plates loosely attached to each other capped off with equally flimsy looking shoulder pads. Other 'armour' looked like some scorched metal arranged in a circular fashion. All of the armour however bore the same crude insignia of a red axe and a jawbone.
The rest however went bare-chested preferring to show off their muscles – It was an example of typical Ork behaviour reminding everyone that they were greenskins and daring anyone to mess with them.
But someone did dare mess with them: As chance would have it, this mob of Orks had encountered another mob of Orks – another group wielding similar weapons that too resembled crude manufacture and brutal quality.
However this new group of Orks were from a separate tribe as they looked different, each having a deformed tuft of hair on their scalp accompanied with a batch of feathers and were dressed in ill-fitting, crudely stitched clothes.
That and the more obvious fact that these two Ork factions suddenly got stuck into each other without a second thought!
The jungle suddenly erupted into a riot of noise. All around thundered the sounds of boltguns being fired, war-cry's being bellowed in bestial roars, the crunch of jaws being broken with wicked blows, the sound of flesh being torn apart with boltgun shells, the crack as brutish axes cleaved through the air and the moans of the dying.
Such conflicts in amongst the Ork population of this planet weren't uncommon. The Orks never really abided to any type of formation, so they spent day after day roaming around the planet in a haphazard fashion. They would gladly fight with some of their own kind because they would seize any opportunity that involves a battle!
This, in turn, gave us the perfect opportunity in the terms of survival. We would find any conflict such as this and wait until the action dies down. When this happened, we would then descend onto the battlefield and pick up the remains of what we found. Say what you like about scavengers but in this case it was our only chance of survival.
Already, we had taken up positions, encircling this minor battle, waiting for the action to die down and the moment when we all move in.
I stood with my back to a tree, my two bolt pistols drawn and ready for action.
Several feet away to my left, Xerxes was crouched behind a large boulder. His hands were full with a lasgun, his weapon of choice, and his expression was apprehensive.
Next to him was a fellow outcast: A man named Laertes. He was a tall man of a thin structure and a bald head. He also had the most unfriendly of faces: Laertes had a real beak of a nose and a pair of eyes that burned with fire. He was dressed in, what looked like, the robes of an Imperial priest.
One look at Laertes and one could easily make the assumption that his mind is one of an unstable nature. And such an assumption isn't far at all from the truth: He is a religious fanatic. He is infused with an extraordinary determination to crush all infidels in the Emperor's name and won't let anything stand in his way.
Consequently, keeping him hidden in a situation like this is consistently difficult.
Why even now, in amongst the noise of the battle, I could hear Laertes and Xerxes argue.
"Why are we hiding in here?" the priest growled. I cast a quick glance at him. He's eyes were burning with righteous fervour and he bore his teeth.
He was also drumming his fingers along his flamer in tense fashion. I sighed. It seemed a stupid idea to give a fanatic like him a flamer but he was offered a variety of weapons and that was the only one he chose.
Of course, it is fitting that a priest should have a weapon that enables to eradicate all his foes in a purifying flame, but mostly I have my doubts as to whether someone of Laertes' mental stability should be wielding such a deadly weapon.
"Will you keep your head down?" Xerxes murmured harshly under his breath. "They're not supposed to know we are here!"
"Which gives us the element of surprise!" the priest said with an evil grin across his face and a zealous glint in his eye. "Come on, I want to engage them! I could take them all on! I hold the Emperor's fury in my hand and I want those blasted heretic greenskins to feel it!"
Xerxes didn't reply. Instead he grabbed Laertes and pulled the priest's face up close to his own.
"You listen to me" the former rogue trader growled through clenched teeth. "We've been over this a thousand times: We do things the correct way as we were instructed! We don't do things your way, understand?"
"Do you dare interfere with my work?!" the priest shot back. "I am on a mission from the Emperor! None shall dare stand in my way!"
"Oh for the love…." Xerxes groaned. It was anyone's guess how he managed to keep a cool head when arguing with Laertes whilst trying to not expose his concealed position to the Orks (I also had to give him credit: he seems to be showing a lot more balls than usual).
But there was no let up. Laertes must have sensed how his companion's last sentence would've ended for he then directed his flamer to Xerxes' face. Needless to say, the rogue trader got the shock of his life and his speech came to an abrupt halt.
"Yes, do continue" the priest grinned evilly. "I do believe you were saying something that involved taking our beloved Emperor's name in vain, hrmmm?"
Now this was a real test of Xerxes' exasperation. Amazingly he didn't seem to crack.
"I don't believe this" he said evenly. "Seriously, are you trying to get us all killed?"
"If it leads to absolution than that's perfectly fine by me" the priest replied nonchalantly.
I sighed and turned away from the bickering duo. My eye then fell on the battle that continued to rage.
Already there was no sign of it letting up. The Orks continued to blaze and rage with one another. More importantly, they didn't seem aware of the human eyes that were watching them. Yet.
My eyes then drifted upwards, above the battlefield.
There, lurking high within the branches of a nearby tree, unnoticed by the Orks, stood another one of the few humans on this planet. This consequently made him one of my allies.
His name was Deacon. He was a somewhat large man, dressed in dirty trousers, a grubby t-shirt and a sleeveless leather jacket. He had a pointed goatee, spiky black hair, dark eyes and a bandana wrapped around his head.
Deacon was a man of danger. He said little but what he did say was with a ruthless growl. He had the eyes of someone who had seen thousands die without a single trace of remorse and the presence that screamed menace. In short, Deacon had a look of someone who would slit a throat for a single measly cred.
He was also our resident weapons expert.
At the moment, he lurked from his high perch surveying the battlefield with a restrained expression across his face. In his arms cradled a huge heavy stubber. It was the largest weapon we had in our possession and Deacon was the only man for the job of using it.
At the moment, he looked ready to fire: he lurked in his tree under the cover of the leaves and the boughs, still going unnoticed by the Orks. Yet, I could still see him feeding a huge link of ammunition into his prized heavy stubber.
Deacon then carefully moved his weapon's barrel out from the under the cover and aimed it at the unsuspecting Orks.
He was ready to fire. All he needed now was the signal.
My eyes hardened. Knowing Deacon, once he was ready to fire, nothing could stop him. And should no enemies present themselves to be slaughtered, he could easily turn his gun on anyone – and that included those he considered his allies.
Deacon had only been with us for a short while but already showed signs of caring little towards the rest of us.
And in particular me.
Such is his contempt for me that he has made it quite clear that the day is coming when he will gun me down. But the least I can do is delay it.
My gaze then returned to Xerxes and Laertes whom were still arguing behind their rock.
Knowing what these two are like, that signal to attack had better come. Now if it sooner. Or else my allies will be tearing each other apart rather instead of the Orks.
My gaze then shifted to my right and two more figures hiding in the trees. Both stood behind separate trees to my right.
Hiding nearest to me was a man calling himself Bishop. He is a huge man, of incredibly muscular structure, who has a bionic arm in place of his right arm. He has a mass of long black hair tied in a ponytail, an unshaven chin and the eyes of a man who has seen many battles and many lives being taken before him.
He is dressed in nothing more than a pair of blue trousers and steel-capped boots. This leaves his chest bare for everyone to see: And it certainly is an impressive sight. Aside from an arrangement of muscles, it is criss-crossed with a variety of scars. One can only wonder how and where Bishop got all those from, but his experience on battle simple cannot be questioned.
Bishop used to serve as an Imperial Guardsman, hailing from the jungle planet of Catachan. And for that reason alone, he has my admiration: Anyone who was born and raised in a place (if the stories I've heard about carnivorous plants and massive man-eating lizards are true) surely is someone who can fight his way out of any situation. And Bishop certainly had the skills: He told me he used to be a lieutenant in the Catachan legions. This experience made him our de facto leader.
But it wasn't just experience: For in his eyes, this is just another battlefield. Sure the odds are greater and the tactics are different, but we're all fighting a foe in the name of survival.
Bishop was our de facto leader because we're all too frightened not to obey him.
Hiding behind the tree to Bishop's right, was a woman: She was of a slim body but at the same time she had a selection of well-developed muscles in her arms and legs. She also had a crop of red hair cut short to her lower face as well as a well-rounded face housing a pair of blue eyes and full-red lips. Yet in spite of very feminine features, she was, like the rest of us, dressed like she was ready for combat. However, unlike the rest of us, she was dressed for speed: She had nothing more than a tight-fighting pair of trousers and a crop-top. Yet she also had fixed to her belt a selection of grenades, and a machete among other knife weapons.
Her name was Jessie. And she was our best expert in the field of hand to hand combat. She could move with the quickest of movements and she use any type of sword of any size without any difficulty whatsoever. Jessie had an extensive knowledge of killing anyone with one's bare hands and could use any hand-to-hand weapon with the greatest of ease. She was also useful with ranged weapons as well and could use them just as freely. This effectiveness in battle had me wondering whether she had considered a career in the Officio Assassinorum in the Callidus temple.
And here in a combat situation, she was at her finest.
Because she's not at all interested in anything else.
One would think that being the only woman in amongst a group of men whom were stuck on an Ork World would place her in a dangerous position where she would be easily taken advantage of. Such an assumption would be correct but Jessie wasn't the type to be messed with: Her combat skills are just as good as the rest of us and we all respect her for it. Plus, she sleeps with her machete underneath her pillow.
And unfortunately for Xerxes, he found that out the hard way.
Furthermore, Jessie has an unwitting supporter in Laertes – Whenever she found herself in position of danger, she would give the priest a cue in mentioning the dangers of succumbing to the sin of lechery. Naturally, the priest would be more than happy to lecturing us about the evils that trouble the Emperor's universe.
Unsurprisingly neither I, Deacon or Xerxes shared such sentiments.
Nevertheless, it was useless trying to argue with someone of such furious zeal. Worse still, considering that he had been asked numerous times to give a lecture on this subject, it also meant that he had turned a suspicious eye on us all.
Needless to say, no one really has the gall to try to take advantage of Jessie.
Watching them both, I saw Bishop and Jessie ready to attack. All we needed was the signal from the former.
And then we will strike the Orks with such a lightening fast attack, they won't have time to grasp what was happening.
I looked back at the Orks. They were still fighting but by now they were beginning to thin out. Several bloodied corpses lay in amongst the undergrowth of the jungle whilst the battlers fought on.
It shouldn't be too long now.
My gaze then bounced back to Xerxes and Laertes.
And unfortunately for the rest of us, things weren't getting any better back there.
"Listen to me" Xerxes snapped. "In case you haven't noticed we are fighting a guerrilla war here! We can't take on this mob of Orks in a full-frontal assault!"
"I can!" Laertes argued. "I can take them all on and crush them because the Emperor is with me!!!"
Xerxes slapped his hand across his forehead in derision.
"For the last time" he growled. "Will you shut up?! You're going to get us killed!"
"Then be thankful that you have been given an opportunity to give you life up for the Emperor!"
I flicked my gaze back to Bishop. He had seen the bickering as well (Thankfully, the Orks were occupied with fighting each other to notice).
"What on earth is going on with those two?" Deacon muttered.
"Can someone please shut them up?" I heard Bishop add. "If that damn priest keeps rattling on the way he is right now, we're going to be found out!"
He then turned his irate gaze to me.
"Do me favour" Our Fearless Leader ordered. "Shut those two morons up before they give away our ambush!"
Nodding in consent, I turned my gaze back to the two idiots.
But things between them were just getting worse.
"Can you stay still and just listen to me for once?!" Xerxes was saying. "We are only here, in this position because we are waiting for those damned greenskins to wear their numbers down by fighting one another! Once that happens, we can move in and eradicate what few survivors remain! It's simple and already been planned long before, so settle down and wait!"
"I can't settle down!" Laertes retorted, getting to his feet. "I can't sit on my rear end whilst there are heretics waiting to be purged!"
And before anyone could stop him, he had vaulted his way over the rock and into the heat of the battle.
I quickly turned to Bishop. He had his hand shielding his gaze in complete and utter disbelief. Jessie also looked rather appalled.
I looked back across the battlefield towards Laertes.
Curiously enough, his sudden arrival had brought the battle to a complete standstill. At this point, only twenty four Orks remained. They all suddenly stopped fighting and stared at this newcomer. Obviously, they had been convinced that they were the only ones on this planet – thus, seeing a human turn up here was an unexpected shock.
Laertes also blinked. But it didn't take him long to pull the flamer up in front of him.
"Prepare to receive the Emperor's gift heretics!!!" he screamed.
The Orks bellowed an undecipherable reply and charged, their killer instinct driving them onward.
But Laertes didn't flinch at all. Instead he planted his feet firmly to the damp jungle floor and squeezed the flamer's trigger. Seconds later, a brilliant jet of flame burst from the nozzle. Laertes then proceeded to wave his weapon in massive arc, in a threatening manner.
Seeing the flame brought a sudden change into the Ork's charge. It would seem that they had never seen a weapon such as having spent so long on this planet dealing with combatants armed with crude boltguns and brutal axes. Thus the Orks gradually stopped – the flame keeping them at bay.
However the two in the lead weren't so lucky. Either they couldn't stop for being blinded by bloodlust or their reaction time was too slow. No matter what the reason, the two Orks charged straight into the flame and were promptly incinerated. In the blink of an eye, the two Orks were coated completely in yellow and orange blazes, thus sending their skin into charcoal and inspiring the most horrific of screams.
I looked back at Bishop.
"Well, looks like our cover's blown" he sighed.
He then looked up.
"CHARGE!!!" he roared.
And that was all we needed to hear.
With my grip tightening around my two bolt pistols, I took a deep breath and jumped out from behind my tree.
Less than a second later, one of the Ork had its left shoulder explode. A sudden piercing of the flesh triggered a huge fountain of blood. This was followed soon after by further piercing that traversed across it's face, leaving more trails of blood in their wake. A second Ork standing beside the first, suffered a similar fate when his chest was penetrated with multiple bolts that slammed into him.
My ears were ringing with the distinctive click and boom of bolt pistol fire. My hands were feeling the familiar sensation of burning metal.
One Ork still standing roared some indistinguishable profanity (not that I'm that immersed in the greenskin culture but what else could he be yelling out?) and started firing some shells from his boltgun into my general vicinity.
So I took that as my cue to get out of there.
I ducked back behind my tree and ejected both my ammo clips from my pistols. Already I could feel the perspiration of combat across my forehead and the muscles in my hand twitch from holding my two pistols with undivided determination. I could sense my teeth grit and my firing fingers going uneasy.
All of these were the signs of being in the real heat of combat
You've got to love it.
I reached into my coat and pulled out two more fresh ammo clips. As I slammed these both into each of my pistols, I cast my gaze across the battlefield.
Bishop strode slowly through the clearing, his right arm occupied with operating his lasgun – this ploughed its way through the Orks, administrating death with relentless abandon.
One Ork charged for Bishop screaming a bestial war cry and waving a massive axe above it's head. However, our leader didn't seem too perturbed. The Ork charged at a relentless pace and, with an almighty roar, brought the axe down on Bishop's head.
At was at that moment that Bishop's free arm, his bionic arm, shot upwards and grabbed the axe's hilt as it came down. This intercepted the descent path of the Ork's weapon and sent shock waves reverberating up and down the weapon. The greenskin was astonished (or at least the Ork equivalent of such a feeling) to say the least.
Suddenly, Bishop's artificial hand squeezed the hilt with all its might. Suddenly, with an enormous crack, the weapon was shattered in half.
The Ork blinked, as the newly-freed axehead tumbled from it's hilt and harmlessly over to one side. But if that moment had caught the Ork by surprise, than what happened next was equally unexpected. Using his bionic arm, Bishop dealt the most vicious of punches into the greenskin's face. But this was no ordinary blow – Bishop was driving the entire power of his artificial arm into it. Consequently, the punch managed to smash it's way past the Ork's skin and into it's skull. A sickening crack resounded across the battlefield, as the shattered skull managed to penetrate it's way into the Ork's brain.
The Ork fell without a sound, thus allowing Bishop to continue on his way
And Bishop did all this without flinching once. Nor did he cease with the firing of his lasgun. Indeed, it was moments like this that left me in awe of our leader and his prowess in combat.
Elsewhere however….
Still, in battle he was a machine!
Well, part of him was at least.
Suddenly, a huge crack rocked the battlefield. This promptly sent the Orks into further confusion as they roared. Several even looked upwards, in an attempt to find out what the noise was.
The answer came quickly afterwards: A huge mass of smoke blossomed out from underneath the greenskins' feet.
I smiled. This was one of Xerxes' smoke bombs. He was able to pull one together without much difficulty and we used them in ambushes such as these. They worked a treat in that they caught the Orks off guard and gave us the necessary cover to move in and dispatch them all with ease.
Casting my gaze upwards, I saw Deacon lurking in his tree, dealing death with his heavy stubber. He looked down at the battlefield with an expression that radiated with sadistic pleasure. His heavy stubber roared, firing enough bullets to carpet the floor that made up the battlefield. And this impressive firepower caught several Orks whom were stupid enough to stand in the way, this making them explode into a mess of blood and bone.
I shook my head. It was times like these that made me concerned on how much pleasure Deacon got out of his job. And whether or not he was concerned on who he caught in the blaze from his heavy stubber – including we, his allies.
But no matter, this is a battlefield.
And in such an environment, it is every man for himself.