Augusta Sevenson the Night Lords Chaos Space Marine Scout hissed in pain as a large snarling guard dog bit deeply into his leg. This surprise slave raid on a feudal world farming village was not going to plan so far, fucking dogs with their keen sense of hearing!
Augusta and his platoon of chaos cultists had surrounded the isolated village in the dead of night, and hadn't noticed the fucking guard dogs in hidden kennels outside the thatched huts!
The dogs had detected them before they could gas the village with sleeping gas and now the highly aggressive canines were going mental mauling everyone and waking up the entire village with their infernal barking!
Augusta gutted the psycho canine with his combat knife but it still didn't stop biting him. Augusta didn't know much about this village but clearly it was in the habit of breeding some of the most fearsome dogs he had ever seen in his life! The dogs were alarmingly big and surprisingly fast for such big animals, leaping on cultists before they had time to shoot them and ripping out their throats.
Augusta watched in annoyance as the dogs dropped the cultists like flies, ripping out each throat as quickly as possible before moving to the next cultist. More than half his men were now dead and the rest retreated away from the psycho barking dogs, leaving Augusta behind to fight the entire fucking pack of the angry animals by himself.
The dogs pounced on Augusta in a frenzy of snapping jaws, ripping open his jugular artery and sending blood spurting everywhere. If Augusta had been a normal human then he would be dead right now, but space marines were extremely difficult to kill, shrugging off lethal injuries.
Augusta's punctured jugular artery scabbed shut in mere seconds as he desperately stabbed dogs to death with his brutal combat knife, stopping the bleeding before he lost too much blood and letting him keep fighting. The barking of dogs was deafening as he slashed around wildly at the vicious pack, desperate to keep the slavering jaws at bay.
"The dogs have ye surrounded, surrender thy weapon and face justice stranger!" A male voice in a village accent yelled in some bizarre dialect of common low gothic.
Augusta looked around himself. The villagers were all up and armed now and they were keeping the dogs back with verbal commands. Augusta was completely surrounded by like twenty or thirty massive dogs, out in the fields just outside the village. There was no real defensive cover out here and a mob of at least 50 villager men had emerged from the village armed with medieval crossbows, longbows and similar medieval weaponry.
The villagers all had their weapons pointed at him and the arrowheads looked like they would hurt. The surviving members of the chaos cultist platoon were running away across the open field chased by psycho barking dogs and would be no help in rescuing Augusta if he picked a fight with these dangerous villagers.
Augusta looked at the peasant man who had spoken and considered surrendering and waiting for his chaos lord father to rescue him. Augusta decided that waiting to be rescued was boring and instead took advantage of the momentary pause from having dogs biting him to set off a sleeping gas grenade at his feet, wreathing himself in a noxious cloud of potent soporific chemical weapons.
Augusta was completely unbothered by the gas in his gas mask and lobbed a frag grenade into the thickest part of the mob of villagers as a fun way of provoking the dogs to charge into his gas cloud. Augusta watched in childlike psychotic fascination as the exploding frag grenade shrapnel maimed the villagers in hideous ways, the explosion was so loud that even the dogs were dismayed by it. Augusta pulled out his silenced autogun that he had been issued for this stealthy slaving mission and shot as many people and dogs as possible whilst the confusion lasted.
The dogs recovered from their shock and charged him with feral rage, galloping into the spreading cloud of potent chemical weapon sleeping gas to get close enough to bite him. Maybe 3 or 4 managed to bite him before the whole pack of them succumbed to the potent gas and dropped unconscious.
Augusta staggered slightly from the blood gushing from his torn jugular yet again, dropping down to one knee as his vision swam from lack of blood to his brain. Then his jugular healed once more and he got to his feet as his gene seed organs went crazy replacing the lost blood. He was dehydrated now, having lost a few litres of blood, but was so fucking tough that he just went on fighting only slightly weakened.
Arrows and crossbow bolts stabbed into him as the surviving villagers opening fire on him with their primitive weapons. Most of the projectiles thumped harmlessly off his scout carapace armour and hard plastic gas mask, but a few dug into his exposed arms, legs and neck. One arrowhead even managed to stab him in the balls, which hurt like an absolute mother fucker!
Augusta roared with psychotic rage and returned fire with his autogun, mowing down men like grass as more projectiles stabbed into his flesh in various places.
Within the space of 3 minutes it was all over and Augusta was left gingerly trying to remove the arrow from his testicles, surrounded by dead and wounded people with horrific gunshot wounds. Augusta radioed what was left of his platoon and the chaos Tetrarch heavy lander was flown over with the platoon survivors to gather up all the village women and children as slaves.
Augusta staggered onboard the Tetrarch and quickly injected himself with 3 litres of saline solution to give his gene seed organs enough fluid to work with to replace all the lost blood. Within minutes he felt stronger as new blood cells were churned out at a prodigious rate and in the space of ten minutes he was feeling like new (apart from having an arrowhead still painfully lodged in his testicles!).
Once the cultist combat medics removed all of the offending arrows and crossbow bolts from his various anatomy and gave Augusta a few nutrient and fluid injections, Augusta was perfectly healed by his gene seed organs and ready for the next raid on the next village. The Tetrarch took off for the next target, landing just far enough away to avoid the villagers hearing the roar of the engines and waking up.
The night was far from over yet again they needed to raid as many villages as possible to get the quota of Slaves necessary for the rapacious weekly appetite of the Hellbringer light cruiser and it's depraved crew