The Angel’s Landing

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Anselm loved life. He loved the taste of it, the feel of it. But mostly, he loved taking it. He and his flock had finally earned their turn in the murder fields. They weren’t always called the murder fields, these crop fields that occupied the majority of the southern continent, surrounding an ancient imperial stronghold of some sort, but Anselm couldn’t be bothered to remember their old name or why they had existed. The only crop that mattered to him and his flock in this locale was the satisfaction and pleasure of hunting the non-mutates; those who still refused Slaanesh’s touch after their imperium had abandoned them. Anselm hadn’t been the first but he always prided himself as the one who went most willingly into the Chaos God’s arms. He tried to put all of those jumbled thoughts out of his mind as he and his flock began the hunt.

They had earned this privilege by finding some very precious information for Lord Gryff’Rodh concerning some bauble or what have you. Anselm didn’t care what it was, just that it allowed him this fine pleasure on a world with so few. He soon became immersed in it and began feeling the tingling that only those blessed by Slaanesh could feel. The air became thick with the non-mutate fear and anger and Anselm could feel his heart racing as anticipation built of the coming climax.

He would feel nothing else though after a sharp pain in his back and through his torso. Anselm couldn’t be bothered to look down and so he did not see the razor sharp edge of a combat blade sticking out of his chest. Nor did he look back at the crimson armored warrior who held the blade and retracted it from his limp body with disgust. Truth be told, none of Anselm’s flock saw the angels descend in silence and none of them so much as uttered a scream during their assault. Quick and deadly, the Crimson Sons of Vengeance set foot onto the largest planet of the Symeon System, found within the Dolchiate Sector, and began to retake their home.

***

“First Company reporting in. Foothold confirmed.”

“Second Company reporting in. Foothold confirmed.”

“Third Company reporting in. Foothold confirmed.”

The confirmations continued until all ten companies of the Crimsons Sons had reported their foothold on Kavillion Secondus. Commanding Chaplain Alvoro listened to each one with intent and yet knew that these men had been more than ready for this task. He had sent the first company into battle and they had performed admirably by wiping out any spec of corrupted scum from the southern part of the main continent. Some pre-reports had started flooding in that humanity had attempted to survive in these foul conditions as only humans could. Prognostics on the survivors were also coming back positive as there was little to no taint on them. He had smiled at that fact, remembering his own travels through the Warp and how fearful the Space Marines under his command had been with becoming corrupted. By the Emperor and Sanguinis’ blessing, none of them had.

Now they would get the chance to face their mortal enemy and inflict more than a flesh wound to these hounds.

“First Company to Bridge.”

“Bridge here.” Responded Alvoro.

“We have contact in the volcanic region.”

“What are the numbers?”

“A sizable force Lord. We may be delayed.”

“They will be aware of our presence then Chaplain.”

“That is correct my Lord. But they will not be allowed to speak of it again.”

“Second and Third Companies, converge on the First Company’s position. Eradicate the fiends from the face of this planet.”

“Affirmative Lord.” Came the joint reply from the Second and Third Company Chaplains.

So the enemy has the audacity to have a militarized presence on this world. Alvoro smiled as his guess had proved correct about how Gryff’Rodh operated his force, if it was indeed still Gryff’Rodh which ruled this band of miscreants. It did not surprise him that they had grown in strength, the last few centuries had proven peaceful for the scum and gaining supporters both from the weak locals as well as from the mutants and daemons escaping Warp Storm Rott would have been quite easy. The Commanding Chaplain began to plan their next move as his Battle Companies took care of any loose ends left behind by the First Company and as his Reserve and Scout Companies began digging in the to form the bastion that this world would be for the Symeon System and beyond.

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