Post your short stories

Yah, title just about covers it. Put your quick stories here. Doesn't matter what genre or anything. Anything works, could be MKPC, Splatoon, Miitopia, Warhammer, spinoff of a bigger fanfic, or something totally from your own imagination! If you feel like writing and don't have the time for a major fanfic, this is the place for you. If you're new and want to see if the community likes your style before doing a big fanfic, try this out! If you've just got the storymaking bug, here you go!

Have fun and get creative!

Of course I was gonna do this eventually. If you're not a warhammer nerd and you can't understand some of the terms, try googling them. Or use lexicanum. Hope you like this! ; )

Through Fire
A Warhammer 40,000 Short Story

Acteon IV burned.

Heretics cowered in their temples and underground bunkers, trying to ride out the storm, hoping for a chance to escape their reckoning.

It would do them little good. It could only prolong their suffering.

Four months ago the planetary governor of Acteon IV had thrown in his lot with the dark gods. The planet, once a productive agri world supplying hive workers and Astra Militarum regiments throughout the sector, had turned from the light of the Emperor. The governor reveled in newfound power and dabbled in the occult while the planet’s citizens celebrated and turned their efforts to aiding the Thousand Sons forces that had arrived in-system. The legion had promised them prosperity, protection. The Thousand Sons only asked that in return the planet’s barren moon be given over as a base for their own operations. For a time, the bargain worked beautifully. The moon was turned into a mighty fortress, watching over and protecting the people who lived and worked on the planet below.

But no longer.

The Thousand Sons left. Abruptly. The moon glowed in the void and its guns turned on the planet. Pinpricks of light approached Acteon IV, resolving into massive void ships that rained death on the cities from high in the atmosphere. The populace fled into the wild jungles and barren mountains, or went underground in an attempt to escape the barrages.

And then the Astartes made planetfall.

.   .   .

Green-armored Salamanders Space Marines moved across the courtyard, finishing any heretics that still lived. Flames licked at the feet of the statue at the center of the open space. Sergeant Vulgis studied it. A hooded woman in flowing robes, holding a great book and a staff in her elegant stone hands. A foolish nod to the enlightenment these people had hoped to gain.

“They wanted a more peaceful life. They thought the Thousand Sons would protect them. Now they burn.” Chaplain Ur’venn’s skull helm revealed nothing of his emotions. Its vox-grille reduced his voice to a rasping monotone. “The enemy’s lies deceive many.”

Vulgis looked to the Chaplain. “A pity we could not catch the Heretic Astartes themselves. We waste time here.”

“Our brothers the Black Templars will hunt the Thousand Sons. It is our duty to amend the blight of a heretical world from the galaxy. Seek solace in your duty, brother. This is an unpleasant task, but there is a quiet glory in performing the tasks no other will desire.”

“As you say, Brother-Chaplain.” Vulgis looked to his troops, activating the squad vox channel. “Regroup at the far side of the square. We move on the temple sanctuary.”

.   .   .

Melta charges blew out the hatchway. The warriors of Vulgis’s tactical squad dropped through the opening. Chaplain Ur’venn followed them down. Vulgis took a bearing. “That way.” He gestured down the corridor they’d landed in. “The governor is here somewhere.” They jogged down the hall, passing quickly through empty rooms and darkened passages. This temple of Tzeentch stood atop a veritable warren of tunnels.

Las-bolts hissed as a defensive sentry turret opened fire. Brother Sholta staggered and fell as one of the beams took him in the side, penetrating his power armor and the mesh underneath. “Take cover!” Vulgis yelled. His warriors ducked behind piled metal crates and shoring, two of them pulled Brother Sholta to safety. “Brother Evan, we need your melta gun. Take the shot when you’re ready.”

Evan readied his weapon. “Cover me.”

“With me, Brother Kor’vann.” Vulgis ordered. “An acknowledgement rune in his helmet display blinked green. He raised his boltgun over the top of the crates and opened fire. To his right, Kor’vann did the same. Bolt shells slammed into the turret and surrounding wall, shattering lens arrays and confusing the servitor-controlled mechanisms. Evan stepped into the open and calmly put a melta beam into the turret. It made contact with a roar and a burst of sparks, and the turret went dead.

Vulgis indicated a set of blast doors under the dead turret. “Set charges. We’re almost there.” Kor’vann went to the doors and started assembling an explosive charge at their base.

.   .   .

Resistance was increasing. Vulgis swept his chainsword down through the skull of a lasgun-bearing human and blew out the chest of a second with his bolt pistol. His squad met the heretics in hand-to-hand combat, grappling the heretics and smashing them to the ground with their armored fists. Chaplain Ur’venn towered over them all, his imposing presence a reminder of the potency of the new Primaris biology. We are blessed to have such warriors at our sides, Vulgis reflected. The priest bashed in skulls like eggshells with each blow of his Crozius Arcanum, sometimes taking out multiple opponents with one blow. At Ur’venn’s bellowed command the squad pushed forward, and the heretics fled down darkened corridors. The tactical squad regrouped, dragging two slain brothers into a corner. Their bodies would be retrieved later.

Ur’venn gestured at the bodies carpeting the floor. “Remember, my brothers. Many of these were duped into serving dark powers. Do not seek revenge on them for the loss of our brothers. Let us together seek out their leaders and destroy them.”

Brother Evan spoke. “We will have to destroy every one of these heretics. You know this, Ur’venn. This corruption cannot be reversed. Why not seek our revenge? They killed our brothers!”

“We will punish them in time, Brother. But acting in haste and in anger serves no purpose but your own destruction.” The priest turned to Vulgis. “Let us go. Our mission is pressing. We are running out of time.”

.   .   .

Heat filled the forge room. The concussive ring of hammer on blade rang in the air as the warriors of Vulgis’s squad forged their new weapons. Knives and swords took shape on the anvil, the parts of guns emerged from their molds and were fitted together, interlocking perfectly.

Techmarine Vrenn stood before Vulgis’s workbench. He reached toward the nearly-finished bolter Vulgis was assembling. “May I?” Vulgis nodded.

The techmarine examined the boltgun, running a finger along its barrel. “A fine weapon. It is well made. You have great control, brother Vulgis.”

“Control. You speak of control? Control is an illusion.” Brother Undenn stood nearby.

“The machine is an example of control, brother.” The techmarine said.

“Machines will break. Malfunctions occur.”

“And why do you think control is an illusion?” Vulgis asked.

“We are warriors, brothers. You know as well as I that control is a lie. In every campaign, in every work that man creates, something happens to throw his plans. Ours is not the only voice in the galaxy.”

“You blaspheme against the Emperor and the Machine Cult.” The remaining biological parts of the techmarine’s face twisted into a frown.

“No. I’m only saying that you can’t expect to have full control over everything. That’s all I’m saying.” Undenn turned the boltgun over on the table. He pointed. “Vulgis.”

There was a discoloration in the metal. The temper was off. The metal had become weak in the forging. That could cause a misfire and be deadly to its wielder. Vulgis took the boltgun, sliding the barrel out of the rest of the weapon. He moved toward the furnaces, preparing to reforge the part.

“I’ll have to side with Brother Undenn on this one, honored techmarine.”

.   .   .

Ornate gilded doors barred the way to the underground chamber where the governor of Acteon IV hid. Vulgis’s squad joined Intercessor squad Pyrus and the Infernus marines of squad Kor’venn before the gate and set charges.

Chaplain Ur’venn intoned a litany and addressed the space marines. “Prepare yourselves. An Infiltrator squad is in place within the chamber. They will provide cover fire while we take the governor.” Runes blinked across Vulgis’s sight as his warriors acknowledged the chaplain’s words. “Control the enemy. Take the governor alive.”

The charges blew and the Salamanders rushed into the huge two-story chamber. Cultists and bodyguards dropped behind makeshift barricades in puffs of red mist as Vulgis’s squad discharged their bolters. The Infernus squad moved to the front and bathed a group of gun-toting servitors in flame. The servitors fell in pools of burning oil and promethium. Bolt fire from above revealed the Infiltrators, and more of the human defenders fell. The governor was at the far end of the room, surrounded by a few loyal bodyguards. He babbled in terror as the Space Marines advanced on him.

An invisible force blasted the Astartes off their feet and flung them backwards. Some flew clear out the door they’d entered by. Vulgis slammed into the wall by the door. Hard. His helm banged against the power pack of his armor. He groaned. Around him other Salamanders struggled to raise their weapons against the force that restrained them. Vulgis attempted to draw his pistol, muscle and technological fiber bundles straining. A crushing force kept his arm in place. He stared out his helmet lenses as light flashed across the room.

Blue and gold armored figures stepped through tears in reality and formed a line. The Thousand Sons are still here, Vulgis realized. The figures raised their weapons. Multicolored flames and glowing bullets ripped into the Infiltrators on the second level. Their corpses were released from the pressure and toppled to the ground.

“Curse you!” Vulgis shouted. “Emperor curse you!” He strained against the pressure and managed to get a grip on his pistol’s handle.

“Emperor curse us?” The voice was deep, full of majesty, but at the same time sibilant and hissing. Twisted. Full of contradiction. Like any follower of Tzeentch. “That is why we are here, loyalist. Do you not know your history? Too bad you must die so ignorant.”

One of the Infernus marines groaned as his armor buckled under the insane force. “How do you hold us like this?”

“Fool. We are the most powerful psykers in the universe. We are the Thousand Sons. You cannot hope to overcome us. You must die.” Another blue-and-gold armored warrior appeared, standing near the governor. The owner of the strange voice. He continued to speak. “You have been tricked. Just like so many others. Now we have what we want.”

Vulgis’s vox buzzed with static. “Chaplain Ur’venn! Cultist forces resurgent. We cannot -ld. - lost control.”

.   .   .

Vulgis lay bound on a cold metal slab. The room was small and dark. A green-armored figure stood on the edge of vision. He tried to turn his head to see better, but a thick strap held him in place.

“Where am I?”

“What is the last thing you remember?” The figure spoke. The voice was familiar. I know you . . .

“Fighting. The Orks. They . . . it was a slaughter. How am I still alive?”

“Vulgis, you are on board the strike cruiser Flame of Nocturne. The battle against the Orks has yet to begin. Take back your memories.” The figure extended a hand over Vulgis’s eyes. The fingertips glowed blue with arcane energy. Vulgis gasped. Training. It’s training.

A door slid open and light flooded the chamber. “The simulations went poorly?” Captain Xavus stood in the doorway. The light hid his features.

“Not necessarily, Brother-Captain.” Librarian Arkos stepped fully into Vulgis’s sight and started undoing the restraints. “We exposed Sergeant Vulgis to a number of worst-case-scenarios and he reacted quite well. The battle will go well with all the sergeants prepared this way.” The last of the restraints fell away and Vulgis stood.

“I hope so. Inquisitor MacPhaerson has told me that if the Orks take the city below, she will be forced to declare Exterminatus. And to be frank, I don’t see how this preparation will help.” Xavus shifted in place.

“Adaptability is key, Captain,” the Librarian replied. “When possible, the Astartes must consider every possible outcome before engaging the foe. When not possible, it can be done during the battle. We must be ready for anything, especially those of us who command our brothers in battle. I learned that from the White Scars,” he added, thoughtfully. “This exercise will help the sergeants read the flow of battle around them.”

“This I know,” Xavus half turned to go. “Continue the exercises with the other sergeants on board this ship. We must be ready for any situation, any outcome.” The Captain saluted Vulgis and the Librarian and left.

Arkos turned to Vulgis and smiled. “Indeed, adaptability may be the most important virtue of the battlefield. Especially when dealing with psykers. Well do I know it.” He fingered a pale scar that ran along his jaw.

Vulgis saluted and turned to go.

.   .   .

A Salamander warrior’s head exploded in a burst of multicolored flame. The fire poured out of him, spreading to his helpless brothers. The Space Marines roared in outrage. The line of Thousand Sons looked on impassively as the psychic attack continued. Have to distract him. Break his focus. Vulgis’s thoughts ran so fast it was almost painful. He pushed against the force holding him against the wall. It was no use. So I work with it, then. Adapt. He twisted his body sharply.

And fell through the open door.

The pressure vanished. Clearly the spell holding him in place had no effect outside the room. Vulgis got to his feet and reloaded his boltgun, scanning the wide hall he now stood in. He swore as he noticed the mangled bodies of several Salamanders lying on the ground. They’d flown right out the door when the psyker first attacked, and something had slaughtered them out here. What did this, and where is it?

Something moved in the shadows. A pair of blue lights. Helmet lenses. His own helm’s auto-senses locked onto the threat as a Thousand Sons Heretic Astartes barrelled out of the shadows.

The kill would have to be silent if Vulgis wanted to keep the element of surprise.

Adapt.

He lowered his gun and drew a combat knife. The heretic leapt toward him, a glowing dagger in his hand. He stepped forward and jabbed at his enemy’s throat. The heretic deflected the blow with his arm and swung his dagger at Vulgis. The knife bit into his chest armor. There was a sharp crack, and Vulgis was thrown backwards. He sprawled and leapt back to his feet, dodging another blow and slamming his knife into his opponent’s left knee. The heretic turned without pause and stabbed down at him. Vulgis caught the heretic’s wrist, pushing up against the strike. The heretic bore down on him with both hands, but Vulgis still held back the blow and gained his feet. The strength of the Salamanders was legendary. Vulgis thanked the Emperor and the Primarch for that.

The Thousand Sons warrior pulled back his fist, but he was too slow. Vulgis’s combat blade took him in the throat. Vulgis caught the body and lowered it to the floor without a sound. Dust billowed out from the rents in the dead warrior’s armor.

Vulgis returned to the great door. He peered around the edge of the opening. The line of Thousand Sons had dispersed to finish off the remaining Salamanders. The psycher was exposed. Vulgis switched his boltgun to full auto and unloaded half a magazine of bullets toward the psyker.

A shimmering field emerged around the heretic. The bullets slammed into it and stopped dead before detonating. The psycher staggered backwards, cursing. At the same moment the Salamanders within the great chamber started moving again. A vicious melee erupted as they attacked the heretic Astartes in the room. Chaplain Ur’venn led a group of Astartes through the Thousand Sons, moving toward the psyker with Absolver bolt pistol and Crozius Arcanum at the ready. Around him, Salamanders and Thousand Sons fought desperately. It was chaos.

And now the Thousand Sons have lost control. Vulgis would have to shift the balance in the Salamanders’ favor.

.   .   .

Vulgis stood before the trail of coals. Captain Xavus and Chaplain Ur’venn stood nearby, watching the proceedings. Vulgis wore nothing but a knotted loincloth, he would have no protection in the trial to come. Nine Salamanders Astartes stood beside the path. Sergeant Kol was dead now. Vulgis would replace him. But first he had to prove himself worthy of command over his brothers.

He looked down the path of embers to the brazier beyond. Thin metal rods stood among the burning fuel, leaning against the sides. They glowed orange in the heat.

The coals pulsed red in the dim light as Vulgis stepped onto them. They burned. The soles of his feet felt like they were being scoured away by the heat. He moved forward.

“As the Primarch endured the heat of the forge
So I endure the heat of this flame
In battle I stand fast
As the Primarch stood fast on the sands of Isstvan V
With the strength of Vulkan
I lay low my enemies
This trial is but a shadow”

Chaplain Ur’venn joined him in the recital.

“As the Primarch is faithful
So my loyalty shall remain unbroken”

Xavus joined the chant, as did the other Astartes arrayed in the room.

[“I am the blade in the Emperor’s hand
The holy ceramite of his armor
I do not stop. I do not slow
For the obstacles in my path are as nothing

“As the Imperium endures war eternal
So I shall endure until death
I am the Chapter’s chosen

I will bear this burden
With faith and honor
In battle and in fire
I will endure”

Vulgis stood before the brazier. Xavus and Ur’venn moved up beside him. “Vulgis, brother of the Fourth Company, The Branded. You are here to take up the mantle of squad sergeant. Are you willing to accept the burden of command?”

“I am.”

“Will you guide them with logic, serve them with honor, and endure all their trials at their side?”

“I will.”

Ur’venn nodded. “Then you are a sergeant. May the blessing of the Emperor be upon you. Laudat Imperator!”

As the Chaplain spoke the intonation, Xavus pulled one of the metal rods from the brazier. Vulgis could see the symbol on its end. A hammer surrounded by seven stars. Xavus pressed its tip to Vulgis’s left chest, searing the symbol into his flesh.

.   .   .

The Thousand Sons psyker raised his staff horizontally. Chaplain Ur’venn and those around him braced against a psychic blow. They strained to reach the enemy, but the magic held them. They won’t be able to kill him, Vulgis realized. The other Salamanders in the room were too busy fighting the Thousand Sons to help. Vulgis noticed that several more green-armored corpses now littered the floor. He made his move.

Vulgis drew his pistol and chainsword and took off toward the psyker. The heretic saw him coming and raised a hand, fingers splayed. A blast of flame shot toward Vulgis. He covered his face with his arm and bulled through it. None found a weak point in his armor. Vulgis leveled his bolt pistol and blazed away. The shimmering field manifested again around the heretic, who staggered backwards. His staff fell, and Chaplain Ur’venn and his group started forward again.

The Thousand Sons were losing ground. They started to consolidate around their leader, blocking the route to the psyker. Vulgis moved forward alongside his remaining brothers. “Squad, regroup on me!” he barked over the vox. The surviving tactical marines formed up around him. They charged together, trading fire with the Thousand Sons before crashing into their ranks.

The heretics were big. The mutations they’d suffered early on, when they’d first turned traitor, had rendered them larger than any normal Astartes. They’re like Primaris Marines, Vulgis reflected. They towered over Vulgis and his squad, but not the Primaris brothers of  squad Kor’venn and the Chaplain.

Lightning crackled from the tips of the heretic’s fingers and wormed its way toward the Salamanders. Vulgis felt electrical surges in his armor. Servos locked up and his auto-senses malfunctioned as the unnatural bolts worked their way into his armor. He fell to one knee. A blue-clad warrior swung a chainaxe at him and he clumsily deflected it. Chaplain Ur’venn bellowed over the noise. “Endure, brothers! For Vulkan! For the Emperor!”

Vulgis regained his feet and struck out as the warrior who had attacked him. His chainblade scored a nasty gash in the heretic’s faceplate. Dust billowed out in clouds. He moved past and found himself face to face with the Thousand Sons psyker.

The heretic magician slammed his staff down on the shoulder of a Salamanders Intercessor, buckling the man’s shoulder guard. The Salamander fell back and the psyker finished him with an overhead blow. Vulgis gritted his teeth and charged.

The psyker leveled his staff at Vulgis. Every nerve in Vulgis’s body screamed in pain. His armor locked up again. He fell. The heretic stepped toward him. “Clever. Very clever. Little lizard!” He smashed his staff into Vulgis’s elbow. The whole arm went limp. “It doesn’t make any difference. You will still die. All you fought for on this world will come to naught. You have failed.” The battle seemed to slow around them as the heretic raised his staff again.

“I am the blade in the Emperor’s hand
The holy ceramite of his armor”

Vulgis pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

“I do not stop. I do not slow”

The heretic stepped back, sending waves of psychic pain through Vulgis’s body in an attempt to torture him. To stop him.

“For the obstacles in my path are as nothing!”

Vulgis heaved himself upright and lashed out with his chainsword. The Thousand Sons magician stepped back to dodge the blow. He retaliated by smashing his staff into Vulgis’s side. Ceramite plate broke under the blow and Vulgis felt ribs break. He coughed blood into his helmet. One of his lungs was punctured and his armor was warning him of damage to his auxiliary heart.

Endure.

He lunged. Churning steel teeth penetrated the traitor’s armor. The psyker clamped a hand over the wound and struck Vulgis again. The pain was overwhelming.

Endure.

Vulgis blocked the next strike with his chainsword. The traitor snarled. “You. Will. Not. Win.”

Vulgis swept his other hand up. His bolt pistol was pressed to the heretic’s chest.

The psyker fell back, a massive crater spouting clouds of dust in his chest. The edges of the armor around the hole glowed with the heat of impact.

The remaining Thousand Sons lost some of their cohesion as their leader died. The Salamanders dispatched them quickly. The governor had been slain in the fight. He would be of no use to them. Their mission complete and the governor dead, Salamanders returned to the surface, bearing the bodies of their dead brothers.

.   .   .

Vulgis stood before Captain Xavus in the briefing chamber of the Unending Light. His wounds had been treated, the skills of the apothecaries evident in his quick recovery. But his armor still bore the scars of the conflict.

“You have done very well,” Xavus said. “You saved your battle-group with your quick actions.”

“It is no great thing, my lord,” Vulgis replied. “I adapt, I endure. That is what it is to be Astartes.”

“Nevertheless, Sergeant Vulgis, I am going to recommend you and your squad for promotion to the ranks of the first company. I am sure our veteran warriors will be glad to accept you.”