Shorty-short 40K fic

[Elheru Aran]

Inspired by the brief image of flying Space Marines and by a Blue Angels performance at Annapolis...

Please note: I know not that much of 40K, less of specific Space Marines, but here's the backstory for this Chapter...

The Angels of Terra were once a Chapter of the Emperor's bodyguards upon Holy Terra, in the Dark Age of Technology. They had powerful suits of armour, with what resembled jump-packs with extensible wings upon their backs, and they could fly with great speed over short distances, and soar down from the heights without needing drop-pods. However, during great warp-storms before the Horus Heresy, the Angels' star-fortress was lost near the Eye of Terror; many millennia after the Heresy, it was rediscovered by an freighter, upon which an Adeptus Mechanicus magos was a passenger. He divined the secrets of the craft after dephicering the ancient texts, and piloted it back to Mars, where they carefully examined all the technology and made what repairs were needed. Observing the blue and yellow paint upon the armour, they at first believed the Ultramarines were most suited to wearing it, but upon second thought selected their first men from the ranks of the Blood Angels and the Dark Angels. Occasionally, humans of unusual bravery are selected to replenish their ranks.

With that said, 'tis here below...

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Roll, thunder! Crash, lightning!
Upon wings of flame shall the Angels come
From the deepest reaches of Space
Unto the firmament shall they descend
To purge the unclean and burn the heretic
With their terrible swift swords of gold
~Fragment of archaic hymn, M37.578

MY NAME is Mikael. I am an Angel of Terra, one of the elite of the Adeptus Astartes, a Second Founding Chapter Space Marine selected from the ranks of the Blood Angels and the Dark Angels. We sally forth from Holy Terra when Chaos strikes and is too powerful for even our brothers to deflect; we are the last resort.

This is one such mission. I am the Sergeant commanding this platoon; we are at low orbit, descending into the warp-corrupted world below us in our Thunderhawks, to recover an Adeptus Mechanicus artifact that may tip the balance of our fight against Chaos-- or so Magos Antar would have us believe.

I care not what our reason is; there on the world below us is Chaos, and I am a Marine. It is my duty to destroy the unclean warp-spawn beneath, and my orders are to do precisely that, and make the way clear for the Techmarines to follow and recover the Adeptus Mechanicus artifact.

I glance at the time-keeper bolted onto the Thunderhawk bulkhead, and begin the Prayer for the Emperor‘s Protection. Dimly, the memories of my youth flicker forth…

I was but a youth, on Proximal II, an agri-world near Cadia, perilously close to the Eye of Terror. Warp-storms could be randomly generated at any time, and so we always had our levies of Imperial Guard ready and armed, for we never knew when Chaos spawn might flood our world, as they had many times before; infuriatingly for our devout agriculturists, spots of corruption where the unclean filth had died were all about our otherwise clean farmland.

A mighty warp storm billowed up one year; not only did it deposit much of the hellspawn of Chaos upon our land, it broke the minds and corrupted the souls of a good portion of our population. We fought as well as we could, but to no avail-- even the mighty Kasrkin of Cadia fell before the onslaught of cultists and warp-filth. And we lost all hope when we heard the dread news that an ancient but mighty black-walled star fortress, pre-Heresy, had appeared in our skies-- for what forces would use such a craft but the awful Night Lords, the Chaos Marines?

Despairing, we brought our forces together in our mountain stronghold and dug in for a last stand. Our remaining astropaths (those that had not turned into slavering monstrosities from the sheer impact of the warp storm, or simply died spectacularly) broadcast desperate appeals for aid into the aether.

Cultists gathered at the feet of our walls, broke our watchtowers, and stormed the gates alongside the snarling creatures created by the warp-storm. Behind them, the Chaos Marines stood, hefting their corrupted weapons, advancing slowly.

The Night Lords reached the piles of rubble that remained of our walls, and charged, screaming their heretical battle-chants. We teetered upon the edge of a keen blade.

And the skies blackened, lightning crashed, thunder rolled, and red streaks flamed through the air! Above us, the lines of flame revealed themselves to be the mightiest of the Emperor’s warriors, flying through the air, wings glowing red from the heat of entering the atmosphere, blue and yellow armour glittering in the light from sheets of lightning. Someone, somewhere, began bellowing an ancient hymn, long forgotten but still inscribed in the hymnals of our worship halls-- “Upon wings of flame shall the Angels come--”.

We took up the song, and attacked. The Angels, glowing in a luminescent fervour, fell upon the Night Lords. Chainsword sang, bolter barked, and with a quiet moan, one of the Emperor’s own protectors fell at my feet, breastplate cloven through by a savage chainsword swipe. A shadow fell upon me, and I saw the corrupted black visage of the Night Lord sergeant; naught remained of his face but the bones of his skull and two dimly palpitating eyeballs. The abomination that had once been a Marine reached forth with his enormous hand… but I reached down, eyes fixed upon the sergeant’s loathsome visage.

And though I was a small one for my age, somehow I managed to heft the fallen battle brother’s boltpistol, and with a shout of “For the Emperor!” I blew the Chaos Marine’s head off.

His suit of power armour juddered, quavered, and then fell apart, inky black flames spewing from its joints. A crackle of armoured feet stepping on rubble sounded behind me, and ever aware, I swept about, lifting the now-empty boltpistol with an Herculean effort. A mammoth hand carefully deflected the pistol, and the burnished blue and yellow helmet of the Angel bent as he took me within his gaze. Thoughtfully, he and I regarded each other for a moment; then a voxceiver crackle sounded within his helm, and he turned aside. With a mechanical clank, flame-scorched wings sprang from the jump-pack upon his back, and folded down into flight position, the engines upon their tips whirring. A mighty leap, and the Angel soared away, joining his battle brothers as they swept upwards towards their mighty Battle Barge, floating above in low orbit.

It was not long afterwards that the selfsame Astartes that I had run into after killing the Night Lord returned, and bore me upwards. There I spoke the oaths, took the trials, undertook the rigorous training of the Neophyte, and underwent the implantations that caused my rebirth. No longer was I human; I am superhuman. I am a Space Marine.

And the catechisms completed, we all made the sign of the aquila, and I led the final chant before we deployed: “We fight for the honour of the Chapter!”

“We are the Angels of Terra!”

“We fight for the honour of our Master’s Primarch, the Blessed Sanguinius!”

“Blessings of the God-Emperor upon him always!”

“We fight for Holy Terra!”

“Ave, Terra!”

“We fight for the God-Emperor!”

“Ave, Imperator Deus!”

“We shall win, in the holy name of the God-Emperor!”

“Ave, Imperator Deus!”

“And if we die, we die knowing that the God-Emperor protects our souls forever!”

“AVE, IMPERATOR!”

And with a thump of my armoured fist against the door control, the machine spirit groans as it swivels the hatch open. Clapping my helmet onto my head, I offer a final, silent Ave Imperator, and I leap into nothingness, and my wings crack open. The air begins to heat up around me as my wings begin glowing and streaming flame, their ablative coating slowly peeling off. I am flying on wings of flame, and the Librarians summon up a mighty storm about us. The thunder rolls, the lightning crashes, and we fly forth to purge the unclean and burn the heretic. I draw my power sword, and it glows vibrantly golden.

A small smile creases my face as I arrow downwards through the thickening air. I am ready. I feel no fear. I serve the God-Emperor, and to serve Him is to worship Him. I shall fight for the God-Emperor, and I shall be victorious for the God-Emperor!

[Elheru Aran]

*Kicks, mutters*

Bah. Looks like I went down hard there...