The purging of Medusel

They die in droves, screaming in terror and agony as my blade sinks into their frail bodies. Some try to run away while others throw themselves at me in a futile attempt to pierce my holy war plate. I howl in rage and blood-lust as I put an end to their futile attempts at fighting back.
I feel the rush of battle as I bring my blade up and strike once more, a man clad in dirty overalls screams as my blessed chain sword growls and rip his chest apart.
"I AM HIS WRATH INCARNATED! NONE CAN STAND BEFORE HIS ETERNAL HONNOR" I howl true my vox as a stream of stubber bullets ping's of my armour. How dare this rabble use such foul weaponry against me. I see the weapon crew desperately firing away hoping to pierce the plate and kill me. I aim and fire my plasma pistol, two bolts of plasma streak across the bloodstained battlefield and send both men to their daemonic master.
I know however that to underestimate these dregs of chaos is to invite dishonour. One can never feel secure when fighting such hell spawn .

When the last man falls all is silent, I stand alone surrounded by the slain and the dying. They have received their due punishment for their betrayal, I walk away while the skies burn above me.

I rejoin my battle brothers near the ruined central administration building in the centre of the war torn hive. Each of them is a monument to the might of the Emperor and mankind. For many long years we have fought in his name and bleed in his name. This will be no different, we will stand victorious on the corpses of the enemy.
But even when these thoughts fill my mind I can not help to think that this war will be my last, if I where a chaplain I would perhaps put it down to the weariness I feel in my bones sometimes. Or the simple reason that I feel the honoured dead calling to me from across the river Styx.
Shaking these unfitting thoughts from my head I join what remains of the Death Hands force sent here, with me stands my standard bearer Orion who has never left my side in battle and who holds our sacred banner up high. Also with us stands the Astartes who is considered by some Imperial servants to be noting more than a inhuman butcher and evil made manifest Brother Captain Arkangle.

I however know him to be amongst the most faithful and eternally vigilant brother I have served with. Although one would be a fool to not see the glimmer of hate in his eyes and the ferocious nature that lurks beneath his calm and controlled surface .

We came to this burning world on the request of a man we all know and respect, the commander of the Ragnarokian regiments fighting and dying here. He is amongst the few men who is not of our chapter that can my beloved captain a friend. The Imperial Guard could not break the back of the enemy held hive cities, even with the vast amount of men they command. So they sent out a call for aid to the angels of death. And we answered it.
We came here with two hundred battle brothers and five of our venerable dreadnought brothers. Our first meeting with the servants of the arch enemy was in this hive and this is where we will either win or die gloriously

Now all that remains are fifty battle brothers. The enemy was numerous beyond count and even Astartes die in war. But still we fight on for retreat or a lack of aggression will doom us all.

We are the angels of death and we know no fear.

As dawn breaks once more and the rays of the sun warms this burning world once more I stand silent and watch as my captain talks to the human commander that is named field marshal Loki. The two warriors are not very similar but yet they both have the same aura radiating from them.

Both are pious and a eternal warrior for he who sits on Terra so very far away. I feel honoured to stand in the presence of such men and Astartes.

They are discussing the plans for the final assault on our hated foe, even thou the enemy still outnumbers us we have won every battle that has been fought over this world since our coming. But it has cost us dearly but those who fell will be avenged I take a silent oath upon as I stand watch.

The very ground shakes as the guard unleash their divine fury with the aid of their siege guns. The air is filled with screaming shells and far in distance great plumes of smoke billows from burning buildings and wrecked gun sites. This is the final breath before the last charge, the one that will break our foes and leave only the righteous standing on the piles of the slain.

Myself and my brothers embark into our transports that rumbles forwards and shelter us from the enemy with their think skins of steel.
I feel the vibration of the growling engines and the muffled bark of the weapons of the vehicle bark as they unleash hell on those who dares to reveal themselves to us.
Over the vox net I hear our honoured captain preach to us, his voice filled with righteous anger, adding further fuel to our fury as battle draws near.

My blood feels like its on fire as the assault ramp lowers and we charge out weapons ready, a steady stream of bolter fire wipes out from our weapons as we close in our foes. We are the spearhead of this attack and by the eternal guardian of mankind will we not fail.
My weapon hiss its deadly battle hymn as it sends a pale blue bolt hurling across the ever decreasing ground between us and the traitors who hide behind tall barricades and pours las gun and auto gun fire on us and the advancing imperial guard. We reach the fortifications and the fighting goes from ranged to hand to hand, I flick the activation rune of my every thirsty chain sword and vault down into the trench.

There myself and my brothers are meet by a tidal wave of corruption and filth. Heretics and fallen guardsmen pour towards us screaming curses and wielding crude weapons.
We return the favour with oaths of purity and the righteous fury of mankind.
Suddenly my brother to the left of me falls down, his head caved in by a growling chain axe.
Over his slain form a testament to the dark gods stands clad in blood red armour and howling his dark lords battle cry that has been heard on countless worlds.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULLTHRONE!" the battle crazed berserker howls and lunges at me. I know these madmen from other wars and this one, of the servants of the dark gods these are amongst the deadliest. They do not run away from us nor do they fight from afar, no these heretics fight us up close and personal with growling axes and dark curses on their lips.

I parry a brutal blow aimed at my neck and strike back with a trust to his abdomen, but his defiled war plate holds firm and we once again exchange blows. Each one would kill a mere human or send them flying.

I feel the ebb of battle take hold of my mind, I am at peace with myself and the emperor as I dodge and strike back. This needs to end, I have not the luxury of jousting for all eternity with this daemon lover.
Striking him hard in the face with the pommel of my blade I fare twice in his chest at point blank, both bolts strike true and melts the heretics plate and boils his innards. Growling in disbelief his legs give out and he slumps down. I however do not let him reach the ground, with a swipe of my blade I take his head of.
Once again I charge the enemy and once more my blade drinks deep of their corrupted blood. But the battle has been hard fought and not all those who made the charge now stands tall. Several brother have died by the hands of these.....animals!

I chant the long and time tried battle chant of our chapter as I hack them apart "Timore et dedecus hostibus! In capite et imperator!"
Those of my brother who still stands also chants this eternal cry of vengance and fury.
I turn to see the banner flying in the wind, brother Orion and my captain stands firm as the foe tries to smap them in wave upon wave of heresy. But none make it past them, their blades spin and rise in a blur of movement. I also see the gush of flames as one of my brothers engulfs traitors in the dozen with the last prometium in his flamer before he draws his blade and charge them.
All around us they die by our hands and by the blazing las guns of the imperial guard who now has caugth up with us and pours fire into the fray.

Normaly I despise such frail and worthless cowards but these men stand appart from their imperial counter parts. The men of Ragnarok are stoic under fire and never run while one of them still draws breath.
I see their comader run a man true with his gleaming sword and bark orders at his soldiers. Only if all men where like, then this universe would be better of.

As brother Orion splits the skull of the enemy warlord the foe crumbels, their minds broken by fear and panic, they thougth they could stop the march of the rigthous at this bastion of hate and corruption. But they where shown their error. None who serve the dark gods are safe from retribution from those who stands firm when faced by the foul servants of darkness.

And as victory is finaly our I feel my lifeblood drip from my wounds, my brothers rush to my side.the familiar figure of the apotecrian kneels beside me and removes my helmet. His voixce worn with age says " Rest now brother, death will not claim you yet" are the last words I hear before I slip into unconsiousness induced from the painkillers and anti infectional drugs beeing injecte into my blood stream.

As my wounded and broken body is brougth back to our battle barge my captain wataches as the last traitors are burn alive in a great pyre that illuminates the wartorn hive. No one is spared the cleasing flames. They all burn since their fellow man betrayed them.

Eternaly we stannd watch over those who shelter with in imperium, eternaly we purge those who stray from the path set out by the Emperor.