Senior year is being a bitch. I have barely any time to write anymore. But I had to give you all something to prove to you that I wasn't dead. BoTE still needs some plot-proofing, DoZ requires me taking a trip back to Skyrim/Familiar of Zero for additional source material and what I have for Champion and Dancer wouldn't be fit as it is at this point in time.

So I decided to do this.

Blood Angels aren't my forte. If I were to take up another Warhammer 40k army (I play Necrons), it would be either the Ultramarines or the Raven Guard. Guilliman and Corax FTW.

Disclaimer! sayain673 does not own Warhammer 40k or Doctor Who. They are owned, respectively, by Games Workshop and BBC.

Time, if anything else, was both a weapon and food source to their kind and kindred. If under duress, they could merely wait, for years even, before the time to strike was appropriate. When it was, they would attack, swiftly and brutally, giving no quarter as they harvested the bounteous energy that the victim provided.

But over the years on the ruined hulk of twisted metal that they called their home, they planned to wait for their victims to come to them, instead of actively seeking them out as their ancestors had done. With the accord sealed, they put themselves in sleep, feeding off of the residual energies of dying stars to partially sate their hunger for energies.

It was the tearing of the empyrean that roused them out of their slumber as they felt something ease itself into reality. Extending their senses, they felt the metal of a space-faring vessel as it exited their faster-than-light travel and approached the metal hulk that they had inhabited for untold millenia. Had the emptiness of space or the physical composition of their bodies allowed them to, they would have moaned at the delicious energy that the beings of the vessel radiated, far purer and more refined than the dregs they had consumed when they had boarded countless centuries ago.

They felt a fragment break off from the main vessel and shivered in anticipation as it rocketed towards their home, carrying some of the prey to be hunted.

It had been too long since they had hunted...too long since they had struck terror into the hearts of their victims...

No longer had they required to live up to the name, branded by the mortals in their fear, that they had come to accept in the absence of prey...

The Weeping Angels would feast again.

-Scene Break-

The Angels Have the Space Hulk

Chapter One: Entry Point

[Released 10/2/13]

'...in the name of Sanguinus.' Chaplian Imos finished the litany with a rasping hiss from his scarred features, letting the words inscribed by our ancestors wash over the two squads of Terminator Space Marines and Inquisitorial Cell.

'Blood for blood. Blood for Sanguinus. Blood for the Emperor,' the remainder of the Blood Angels intoned before going over their weapons armaments and armor as they finished the prayer.

I slotted the magazine into the side of my Storm Bolter, praying to the machine spirit in the weapon for accuracy and death if any inhabitants inside the Space Hulk proved to be hostile to my Brothers. I noted with grim amusement that in almost every deployment I had found himself in, almost all of the inhabitants of whatever location we were trying to breach had demonstrated the capability to be hostile and they had payed the price for their idiotic folly to go against the Blood Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.

"Approaching landing zone," the voice of our Thunderhawk pilot rumbled over the ship vox. "Make final preparation, Brothers, Inquisitor."

Our target was a Space Hulk found drifting in the Segmentum Ultima, a ruined and twisted shell of an ancient space freighter that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It's arrival caused a stir of psychic energy that could be felt by Astropaths across entire sectors, the closer ones unlucky enough to go mad from the warp disturbance. The Inquisition was the quickest to respond among the parasites of Rogue Traders and merchants who wished to plunder whatever lay inside, promising to delver fiery retribution to any who would dare investigate before the Office did.

Though the Ordo Xenos had the Deathwatch Space Marines, they knew that my chapter, The Blood Angels, had perhaps some of the finest Battle-Brothers to ever don the Terminator power armour and navigate the corridors of Space Hulks and ships of their ilk. The Inquisitor in charge of the investigation had requisitioned our Terminator Squads to accompany him into the bowels of the wreck.

Commander Dante had reluctantly agreed, only sending two squads and a Chaplain to lead them. It was with good reason that the Commander had trouble working with the Inquisition, no matter how urgent or civil the request came. An Inquisitor was the author of our most shameful apostasy, the "Reborn Angel" heresy that turned brother against brother and nearly plunged our chapter into civil war. Only through the steadfast faith of Captain Rafen, back then a Brother-Sergeant, did the chapter ever know of the heresy's existence and the slaughter of the daemon puppet master occur.

I nodded to my men before I lifted the Terminator helm and attached it to the neck of my power armor, hearing the oxygen pressurize when it formed an airtight seal. A small moment of blackness had descended upon my vision, but I could still hear the hiss that echoed throughout the cockpit as my Battle-Brothers followed suit. With a flash of light, the interface of my helmet flared to life as the machine spirit began to perform its rudimentary function, granting me the sight of my Brothers in their intimidating forms as well as the smaller, by Astartes standards, Inquisitorial Cell that accompanied us.

"Do you expect to find something, Inquisitor?" I heard Imos ask as the man activated an entourage of servo-skulls.

Alistair Sharben of the Ordo Xenos shrugged in response. "The Seers of my conclave have consulted the Emperor's Tarot." He briefly paused to slide in a charge pack for a servo-skull with the "I" of the Inquisition stamped on its forehead and the barrel of a lasgun jutting out of its mouth. "All they had seen was that I will 'be in the company of angels'. It's not much of a divination to go on, but I can discern that I am in your company for the time being." He flashed a smile at the Space Marine that the Chaplain did not return. "You are after all, the Emperor's Angels." That man had to be the most radical- at least by personality, for what man in his line of work would act that way? - Inquisitor that had ever breathed the Emperor's holy air.

Ignoring the discussion between the Chaplain and the Inquisitor, I returned my attention to the squad I was leading. "Assault Team, make ready to secure the drop point," I voiced as the rune of landing flared in the center of the Thunderhawk ramp console. "Ready your weapons, Brothers."

"Aye, Brother-Sergeant," the response came fast and clipped, just as they had been trained.

The hydraulic system of the ramp hissed to life. The ramp opened with a loud hiss as the air from our transport ship vented out of the compartment. A loud clang on the metal floor signaled to me the appropriate time and I charged forward, thumbing the activation rune on my power sword as I exited the drop-ship. "Secure the drop zone!" I shouted over the vox as my helmet began scanning the room we had landed in, identifying nascent objects on the floor and trying to put a targeting reticule on anything that appeared to be a threat.

My squad brothers spilled out from behind me, the weight of the Terminator armor causing the floor to thud, even in the depths of space. We spread out across the landing zone so that all angles were covered in the event of an ambush, however unlikely due to the fact that a scan of the ship revealed that many sections had structural compromises that had vented, having long spilled precious oxygen into the depths of space.

"Drop zone clear, Chaplain," I reported, signaling to my squad to begin inspecting the hallway that opened into the inner chambers of the space hulk. "We are ready to proceed at your signal."

"Good," The reply was a rumble that could be felt over the vox. "After you, Inquisitor Sharben," he said in a voice that came with a gesture that couldn't be traced as either genuine or sarcastic. It was probably the latter; it was well known in the Terminator Squads that the Chaplain had a dislike for the Inquisition but the reason for such antagonism was unknown to us, save for the higher lords of the chapter.

If he had heard it, he made no display of such, stepping off of the ramp as no less than five servo-skulls floated out of the Thunderhawk. He was followed by what appeared to be a woman, if the feminine curve of her void-suit was to be of any testimony, and a man who clutched a staff as his helmet darted in nervous twitches and ticks, glancing around the entry point. Psyker, the very thought brought a foul taste to my mouth. The Inquisitor whistled as he took in the sight of the decrepit hanger, gesturing for the servo-skulls to begin taking picts of the space hulk, pointing to things such as the hole we had entered into, the entry point and an Imperial Cult statue of a Terran angel and even our Thunderhawk.

"Brother-Sergeant," the Techmarine came over to me, joining in my stare into the dimly lit hallway before us. "Activate the auspex beacon and take your squad into the depths of this fallen vessel." I nodded, my armoured fingers already activating the device atop my Terminator Helm. It was an old navigation strategy that the Terminator Squads used when exploring an unexplored structure. The auspex aboard the Thunderhawk would send out tiny pings to its twin that I bore, slowly generating a crude but vital map that would synchronize to the nav-helms of the squads.

With a jerk of my power sword signaling that I would be leading the way, I sauntered through the hallway, activating the twin beacons of light from my helmet that lit up the next ten meters of ground before me. My footsteps were heavy, constantly groaning as the machine spirit sought to deactivate the magnetic fields for every step I took. Slowly, the auspex in my display grew bigger as every step took me deeper into the metallic belly of the ancient beast, into unknown depths that no one had laid eyes on for centuries.

"Entry corridor clear," I rumbled, sweeping the lumens device mounted on my storm bolter across the dimly lit hallway. The machine spirit inside of my helmet attempted and failed to put aiming reticles on anything of significance down the dark path. "No sign of any bodies so far, neither of human or xeno origin."

"That's odd," Sharben's voice broke over the vox and I growled at the apparent lack of discretion. "Even though the scanners detected no life signs on board, there should be at least signs of prior life, bodies, skeletons, anything to indicate-"

I grew tired of listening to the Inquisitor ramble, cutting him off mid-sentence. "We have not yet reached any clearing of significant size. Brother Marius?"

The Techmarine's voice was a monotone bass in the reply that he voxed. "If you could find a data-port, we may be able to access the ship's logs. My recommendation is for your squad to continue your advance. Enter and clear any room that you can find, and perhaps the Inquisitor may have his answers."

I grunted, acknowledging the order. "Start clearing rooms," I directed to my squad, Battle-Brothers Scipio, Noxis, Jerome and Leon. "Anything of significance must be immediately reported to either myself or the Inquisitor. Stay alert, brothers. There are things within the machine that never sleep..."

As they broke ranks, neither the Blood Angels or Inquisition had noticed that in the flickering light, the statue of the Terran angel had grown fangs to match their own.

-Scene Break-

They were not normal human beings. Human beings that they had preyed on provided minimal sustenance, a mere snack of temporal energies to sate their hunger. No, these were the legendary Space Marines, the creation of that upstart God-Emperor from that backwater planet they had abandoned as a hunting ground.

But their energy, oh the energy! The potential life-span of a Space Marine far exceeded that of a normal human being, a bigger source of energy for them to feast on. If regular humans were snacks, then these children of the God-Emperor were to be the main course, providing enough sustenance for them to take their craft to a planet rich with the energies of time, to find a home among a densely populated planet where no one would notice anyone...disappear.

Yet the mortal who accompanied them brought a problem. His retainer stank of the warp, bleeding off of his body in barely restrained tendrils of the chaotic power. Psykers gave their kind the alien equivalent of indigestion, if such a feat was possible for their species. To make matters worse, even in their stone form, a warp-touched with the ability to feel the souls of others could sense their presence. They would have to find a way to...exterminate the vermin.

As they silently plotted, they gambled among themselves as to who the Inquisitor would be dessert for.

-Scene Break-

"Last room, empty, Brother-Sergeant. The rooms in this corridor are completely devoid of anything."

I allowed myself to exhale in frustration. An hour had gone by, with my squad searching corridor after corridor as the auspex charted our map of the wreck. In that hour, we had found nothing, save for empty barracks and cubicles that contained naught a single clue as to the downfall of the ship's inhabitants. This, plus the marveled babbling of the Inquisitor was slowly making my ire rise to its breaking point.

"Patience, brother." I didn't need to turn around to feel the Chaplain behind me. "The Emperor sent us the Inquisitor for a reason; who are we to defy His will?" Even as he said it, I could sense the malediction within his voice, the contempt in his voice as he spoke of the member of the Holy Ordos.

"Indeed," I cautiously returned, switching my vox channel to a private frequency. "I have no desire to let any of the Ordos be within a light year of our chapter."

I envisioned the black-armoured warrior nodding in agreement. "Aye. Their kind seek nothing but recognition in a galaxy that cares little for their petty struggles." There was hate in his words, hate that went beyond a Space Marine's (completely reasonable) suspicion of the Inquisition. I never worked with Chaplain Imos prior to this mission and what I had heard from my Battle-brothers informed me of a young chaplain just fresh out of his mentor's care, eager and willing to lead his Blood Angels to victory.

I saw nothing of the sort. It was none of my business, but I had to intervene. A member of the squad keeping secrets to himself was the loose thread that would pull us all apart at the seams, leaving nothing of use save for burning...which I did not know from making tapestries for the company. There was something dark that was simmering at the Chaplain's mind, a bitterness, a hatred for the Inquisition that policed our Imperium.

And before I could voice a concern, the vox crackled to life. "Brother-Sergeant," the monotone voice of Marius droned, "The auspex has had enough time to generate a map of the first level. Judging by the size and density of its contents, the door twenty meters down the hallway should be a storage facility."

"It is time to move." With that, the Chaplain left me to my own devices, falling to the middle as our squad regrouped in the hallway. Growling at the interruption, I moved ahead of my men, taking point at the front of our formation. I would have to deal with it later.

"Where is the Inquisitor?" I almost forgot as we stomped down the hallway.

"He is...exploring a barrack." Was that cynicism that I heard in Marius' voice? "I did not wish to deprive him or his retinue opportune sites to take picts for his investigation..."

They would never have seen it given the lack of oxygen, but I allowed myself a sneer underneath my helmet.

I pulled back the release for my storm bolter, sliding a bolt round inside of the chamber. "Ready your weapons." I received pings from the auspex icons in response as my squad prepared their assortment of weapons.

Marius' droned. "The door is locked, but the machine spirit is willing to respond to my touch. Opening the door in three..."

I found myself asking questions as the Techmarine counted down.

"...two..."

What lay inside of this floor's storage hold?

"...one..."

What was this feeling of...unease that resided in my stomach?

"Opening door."

With a woosh, the bulkhead pulled itself apart as hidden servos within the walls struggled to perform its task. I thumbed the activation rune of the searchlight within my helm, blasting the inside of the room with twin cones of light. More lights flashed from behind me as my brothers mimicked my act to illuminate the room. Within a split-second, my eyes had adjusted to the light difference that we had artificially created, allowing us to fully see the contents of the room.

"...it seems that the Inquisitor was right after all. We aren't the only 'angels' on this damned vessel."

The only occupants of the room, save for a few crates, were dozens of beautifully carved statues of winged men, pressing their hands to their faces as if in eternal mourning.

A/N: At this point in time...I'm not afraid to say that my feet are shaking as I type this first chapter...and not in the good way...

If you have any comments, threats, flames, criticisms, etc. please don't hesitate to PM me or post a review. I will accept it with my head held low and my body and mind humble. Just try not to overly curse me if I did anything overtly stupid.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.