Editing Bound Fate (Warhammer High) (section)

===Courting Habits of World Eaters===
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Gorechild screamed its unearthly wail as it tore down the streets, Doug clinging on for dear life even more than he thought he'd have to. Furia only grinned as she felt his heart pick up with the acceleration, his arms wrapping even more firmly around her. The grip Doug had was necessary for him to stay on the stable and ungodly fast battle bike. While a normal person would be gasping for breath right now, or even feeling the strain on her ribs, the compression was like a strong hug for Furia. It only served to remind her of what they didn't do last night.

"So, Furia, tell me. What exactly will happen if I don't pass your father's trials?" Doug shouted over roar of the wind, but his erstwhile girlfriend could only hear him due to the press of his chest into her back, the words rumbling through his sternum and into her spine.

"What, you havin' second thoughts about this Doug? Don't you turn shitbird on me like Calvin did." Furia grinned. She knew Doug would agree to face her father in ritual combat for her, or at least it felt like that after what he pulled on her last night. ''Fucker.'' Her grin spread wider under the helmet.

"I'm simply curious, Furia. I'm not familiar with the, ah, courting habits of World Eaters."

She laughed at how calm he was. ''The last boyfriend I had, well, before Coby, dropped a load in his pants when dad brought out the axe.''

"Well, it means I get to fuck whoever I want, and if you do something I don't like I tell daddy you hurt me. Fair?" Furia began to truly laugh now as his hands dug into her firm stomach, fingers strong enough to tickle her through the leather jacket. She swerved Gorechild to throw his grip, but he compensated by moving lower.

"Doug!" The word came out as a high squeal, and Furia felt him grin against her shoulder. "You keep this up and he's gonna be the least of your worries."

Doug's hands prodded again and she thought back to the session they'd had in the very bathroom Coby had cheated on her in. Furia smiled larger still. Gorechild finally began to pace down, the massive promethium burner turning only reluctantly as it accepted the task of slowing.

Furia gently patted the mechanical monstrosity as she parked. ''It's alright, buddy, we'll get some more action later.'' They dismounted and began walking for the door and Furia felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

Doug spoke lowly, the near subvocalization she was now so familiar with. "Tell me, Furia, and be honest." 
Furia nodded in assent, more intent on lighting up her lho-stick than his current words, anything to calm her nerves without Gorechild's distraction.

"Has your father ever struck you?" She almost laughed, having seen people thinking that very thought so many times, throwing it out into the world with their eyes like an accusation.

''At least he asked now, instead waiting until dad can hear.''

"N-" Furia turned and saw his face.

His expression had changed: Doug's face was almost always mild, unreadable. But around her today it had a positive cant, a tangible happiness. Furia froze as she looked at his face, glowering darkly at Angron's house, waiting for the the Primarch to appear. The change was so subtle, so ineffable that very few would have noticed. It was as if his personality rotated over to just the other side of complete neutrality, from happiness and love to hate and anger. But to Furia he seemed to be a tower of darkness, a singular malevolence that caused a brief chill to pass over her neck.

"NO!" She grabbed his hand, thoroughly unnerved, and her heart pounded in her chest. She looked at the door, unwilling to imagine what would happen if her father saw that face. Furia briefly wondered if she would have to mourn her father or her boyfriend, and laughed flatly that she'd considered it at all. Without looking she could tell Doug had returned, his hand steadying her, calming them both at the same time. "No, no, never!"

"Marvelous." Doug gave Furia a quick smile, his face back to normal, and she was all the happier for it.

She slipped her hand back out of his just before Angron's minacious form appeared in the bay window, trundling towards the back door. Furia opened the gate to the back yard, and together they stepped into the Primarch's domain.



The backyard was spacious, a forest visible just on the other side of the closed-in fence. A humongous grill sat near the house, closed and smoking. Angron stood here, prodding at a hunk of sizzling meat. His brief appraisal of the entire auroch flank apparently satisfactory, Angron turned and spoke.

"ALRIGHT YOU LITTLE BASTARD." He passed Doug the axe, enormous and ponderous. The boy took it easily, muscles visibly straining, but his posture did not alter.

He laid the massive head gently down in his free hand, scrutinizing the grain of the wood, the blade. The implement turned over with unexpected deftness, and Doug nodded as he finished his quick analysis of the other side.

Still looking angry, but with an undercurrent of amusement, Angron continued. "NOW. HOLD YOUR ARMS OUT ALL THE WAY.” Doug did so hands barely trembling with exertion. “ALL THE- GOOD. NOW-" At this the Primarch smiled, elephantine teeth exposed. Muscles flexed under Angron's outdoor clothes, stretched taut, resembling more than anything to Doug a holotheater hot dog squeezed into a too-small wrapper.

Furia rolled her eyes and shifted from one foot to the other, ripped jeans rustling.

Angron smiled wider as Doug held the pose, an exceptionally distressing sight. It was like watching a warp storm erupt into being, like seeing an Ork Space Hulk violate itself into reality.

"KEEP YOUR ARMS STRAIGHT AND TOUCH THE AXE TO YOUR NOSE. AND DON'T TURN CHICKENSHIT ON ME."

Doug nodded began to do just that, in a manner best described as very rapidly staying still. The tool descended and began to gather an unquenchable bloodlust, a terrible momentum. Although weighing perhaps no more than twenty kilos, the vast majority of the weapon's weight was in the head, exerting maximum leverage. He nodded with resignation, the air itself seeming to still in the eternity it took for the Thing to bulldoze through the now-thick atmosphere.

Furia stopped breathing, her eyes widening more and more, a silent roar of stark denial, unwilling to believe the reality before her. She began to step in, to try to grasp the axe, but Angron caught her without looking. His grin was now raging, as alive and full of menace as the dreadnought making its horrifyingly certain way towards Doug's fragile skull.

The cessation of Angron's breathing caused every animal to give pause, showing deference to the area's apex predator. The wind halted to allow vindication and grisly relish to play over his face. The trees, long suffering from his ravening presence, seemed to rest. All was silent as the sweat beaded on Doug's brow and temple. His lips clenched, a sudden hiss! of breath bursting through as his entire body shuddered and flexed.

The axe began to halt, all too slowly, until it seemed the head was already past Doug's nose, already through the bridge, its momentum so great that it was not slowed by the crushed cartilage and rent flesh. A loud, ghastly crack! sounded as the instrument of deific wrath finally stopped, something visibly flying off to the side. Doug's face was now hidden behind the gargantuan hunk of steel.

Angron simply smiled still, letting Furia go. She ran to Doug's side, whispering close to him, uncomprehending. She stood there for a long, long moment. Her head dropped, crestfallen, and for a moment Angron felt sadness for his daughter, empathy. But it was quickly wiped away by the certainty of his victory, of ensuring his daughter didn't end up with another chickenshit loser or spineless, cheating noble. His face was almost serene, flush with the satisfaction of protecting the most important part of his life. 

So, when Furia started to laugh, a drawn out, relieved chuckle, mirrored in the rankling smirk of her annoying-little-prick of a boyfriend, Angron felt an enormous tightening of his features. When the little bastard had the audacity to turn, revealing the axe resting heavily, but gently on the bridge of his nose, Angron's neck swelled.

The sight of a single crack, a flaking and splitting of the axe's wood, was merely an excuse for him to vent his rage.





Doug stood calmly, slowly working the strain out of his arms with measured breathing and stretches, while Furia managed to rein in her father through no small effort of her own robust vocal cords.

''Charming girl.'' The air finally cleared, though Angron appeared only slightly less angry than he had for the past fifteen minutes. "Apologies for the axe, Lord Angron, I assumed a tool you employ would be more durable."

"WELL FINE, THEN, SMARTASS." Angron thrust the axe out, the intervening three stride length a perfect distance for his overawing reach. "JUST SPLIT A DAMN LOG." Doug took the axe, rocking back on his feet at the enormous momentum the simple action translated. "AND DON'T BREAK MY AXE."

Doug complied effortlessly, setting the axe one one shoulder, ignoring the pain of the old bite mark. He turned his head, as if inspecting one of the logs, but peripheral vision of Furia was his true intent.

''She seems anxious, yes, but it's now of a slightly different character. She believes I can complete this senseless endeavor and impress her father.'' Another lho-stick crumbled from Furia's lips, and Doug noticed for the first time Angron puffing gaily on a truly stupendous cigar. ''I shouldn't disappoint her.''

He briefly wondered where Angron could've pulled the cigar from, then thought better of it and returned to the task at hand. Doug inspected each of the half-dozen 'logs' in turn. He poked and knocked, eyes darting and scanning the bark, the wood. He moved smoothly and efficiently, seemingly unimpeded by the hulking axe on his shoulder, and finally seemed to settle on the largest among those arranged. Doug looked over a chunk of timber quickly, fingers prodding and dancing. It was enormous, at least a meter-and-a-half tall and of such girth he could not wrap his arms around it. He tested its weight. ''It's light, too light for its size.'' He looked again at the top, seeing a slight but recognizable discoloration. 

He allowed himself a small smile.

Doug suddenly stood up again, checking the wood once more, now for spalting, the presence of fungal growth that colors and pigments wood. ''Properly tended and stabilized, pleasing patterns of various colors emerge in the lumber, giving the wood a distinctive appearance.'' He looked again at the axe, with its winding lines and streaks of red, dotted throughout in black.

"Lord Angron, did you cut all these logs from the same tree?" He gestured at an array of three logs, his own taken from the middle of them.

Angron scratched his chin, and nodded testily.

"Excellent, very clean cuts." Doug reassembled the tree in his mind, overlaying the discolorations, noting their intensity and placement, with special interest in the bleaching. He then knelt and tilted the log against his left shoulder, hefting it one-handed onto the enormous stump. ''Yes, very light for its size.'' It was adjusted for a long minute, coming closer to the edge, turning just so. He set the axe down gently and Angron snorted in a rare moment of humor, reminiscent of Furia's quirk. Doug cupped his hands in front of his body at his navel, then inhaled and lifted them slowly. He was visualizing the air filling him as if he were a wine bottle, freshly approved and fully laden. 

It was Furia's turn to snort as a ridiculous image appeared in her mind. She visualized as well, the tall, disciplined Doug now replaced by a haggard old spinster, enormous sagging breasts draping like fried eggs on a nail to her hips. The crone inhaled, drawing herself fully to her unimpressive height, hands lifting and supporting her wobbling, misshapen teats. Angron turned a beady eye on his snickering daughter and the prominent artery on his neck, already disturbed by its recent travails, threatened to rupture and cut her in half through sheer blood pressure.

Furia looked back at her father and somehow he only completed the picture, incongruously threatened by and angry at the diminutive old woman, as if her impudence was an affront to his pride and lifestyle. Tears rolled freely, her stomach twisting and racking with laughter, pain unable to contain mirth. Doug exhaled sharply, a prelude so familiar from last week's LFT that it shook Furia from her daydream.

He tapped the top of the log as he slid back over the ground, twisting to apply torque to his planned strike. The scene played out in perfect choreography as Doug closed his eyes. It began to tip, slide down the facing side of the stump. As it drew level, half atop and half below the lip of the fat stump of birch, Doug rebounded, driving the heel of his palm into a precise spot above the center of the log, just offset from a bleached spot.

The punky core of the tree gave way after only a moment's hesitation, the white rot exposed, the weakness and lightness of the log now given justification as it tore neatly in half. Half of Doug's log slid down the stump and the other was levered up by its brother, placed on display.

"Please, Lord Angron, allow me to square our accounts." Doug plucked the axe from the ground, then darted to the other side of the stump, scraping gently, hewing away the punky, bleached wood. After a few expert strokes with the heavy blade, he stood back, satisfaction evident on his face. Angron took the thick stogie between two fingers, exhaling a car-size cloud of smoke, and stepped over in four great strides. His rough hand brushed away more fibrous white wood, revealing a great burled eye surrounded by an oblong swirl of red zone lines dotted throughout with black specks.

Angron exhaled again, "NOT BAD FOR A DUMBSHIT." A buckler-sized hand clapped down on Doug's shoulder, his knees visibly buckling. "BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I TOLD THE LAST ONE." The Primarch inhaled, drawing the remainder of the cigar down in one prodigious breath. "YOU MAKE HER CRY."  Angron leaned in close, smoke coming out of his mouth, nose and tear ducts. "I MAKE YOU CRY. GOT ME?"
"Of course." His face again mild, neutral, Doug bowed slightly. "Lord Angron."

Angron trudged back over to the grill with his prize in one hand and lifted the lid. He hefted the still blistering flank of auroch, thick black bark deposited from hours of smoking, and bit into it, juice dribbling and spraying everywhere. A great horking noise accompanied the obscene bulging of his throat as Angron swallowed a human head-sized clod of meat. "NOW GET OUT OF HERE." The Primarch turned back to the house, a tantalizing trail of glistening fat and pungent sauce marking his wake. He began to bite into the meat again, then stopped.

"And take my little muffin out somewhere nice." Angron was in the house now, mouth full of muscle fiber and gristle. "She's a growing girl, needs to eat."

"Indeed." Doug proffered his arm to Furia, who took it. As soon as they were out of Angron's sight the enervation appeared, his right arm jarred and bruised through, his left quivering and the bruised deltoid tender.

Furia shouldered up under the boy, practically carrying him back to the battle bike. "Let's get some beer and barbecue."

Doug stopped for a moment, finger pointed on his chin. "Brisket." Furia nodded in agreement, stifling a laugh as she settled in front of him and revved up the engine. 

"To go." Furia smiled giddily and bestowed a not-quite slavering kiss on her boyfriend's lips, the rumble of the engine drowning out a gleeful cackle as they sped off into the unburdened evening.



Doug and Furia finished the off the first paper dish full of hand-shredded auroch brisket. Her hand rummaged around the greasy brown bag holding the other plate, still wrapped, and pulled out a napkin. It quickly fell to the floor, soaked through with grease and sauce, and she took another, wiping her mouth and chin off.

"Here." Furia was still panting a bit, cooling down as she passed Doug a napkin.

"I'll decline, thank you." She looked over at him, pausing in the task of unwrapping the second plate. He was breathing more heavily than she was, chewing the last of his brisket. Not a speck of sauce or meat was visible on his bare torso.

"How do you do that-" Furia slapped at his hand, the brisket nearly being flung all over, "-you bastard?"

Doug gasped, chewed. "Monastery, remember?"

"Fucker." Furia tossed aside the wrap and rolled up on top of Doug, straddling him once again, the cover falling away to reveal her own bare form. Her fingers dipped into the fresh, steaming brisket, a healthy portion slopping out and mostly into her mouth, the rest plopping down to her chin and chest. Doug smirked at her slovenliness, happy for an excuse to visually inspect the afflicted areas. "Don't look at me like that." Another portion of brisket slopped out, dropping onto his face, chest and stomach.

Doug lifted himself up, sucking down what brisket he could as Furia giggled madly, feigning a struggle against him complete with mock screams. He pinned her down, and smeared brisket onto her lips and cheeks from his own. She began to lick and slurp the fare down in response, and he joined her. They continued long after every trace of barbecue disappeared. Furia turned the tables soon enough, straddling him a little farther back this time, only slowing long enough to dip down, her chest dropping onto his, her hair sweeping over his face, to bite his shoulder. Doug bucked slightly, still not quite used to the ritual, and she grinned at it, finding her rhythm soon after.


You can find the conclusion to Bound Fate here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9580671/29/Bound-Fate



[[Category:Warhammer High]][[Category:Stories]]