Editing Angry Marines (section)

==A Literal Shit Storm==
Note, this story is a work in progress and thus the title and story elements will change over time, you have been warned. I have moved this from the discussions page so that a. I can work on this story from my phone, not just my computer and b. to free up space in the discussions page for other stories people might want to post and discuss.

{{MattWard}}

Chapter 1


It was not originally realised what the greatest impact the Fiery Aggressors would have on the Angry Marines would be. If you’d asked the average Angry Marine (assuming he didn’t pick a fight with you, correction, after he had picked a fight with you) he would have said “THEY’D FUCKING SET STUFF ON FIRE!!! WHAT KIND OF RETARDED QUESTION WAS THAT?!!!” And this is actually correct, their greatest impact on the chapter was to set stuff on fire, more specifically, setting stuff on fire using flamethrowers utilising promethium laced ground up copies of the Codex Astartes. This didn’t make the flamethrowers any more burny, but it did make them far more FUCKING AWESOME.


The only downside to this was that the Fiery Aggressors would get through a lot of copies of the codex Astartes, and as much as the Angry Marines despise the “FAGGOTY, GIRLYMAN FAP FICTION!!!”, it is still used by the chapter as toilet paper, resulting in a conflict of supply and demand on a galactic scale. As the Angry Marines attempted to gather more copies of the Codex Astartes to wipe their increasingly filthy arseholes, the Fiery Aggressors would steal those copies to use as fuel, leading the rest of the chapter to search ever more desperately for their dwindling supplies of shithole-wiping pages. Things became so desperate that the Angry Marine’s Chapter Master, Temperus Maximus, recalled all the Angry Marines command structure to one place to discuss/argue the crisis which was threatening the very existence (or at least hygiene) of the chapter, as the chapters astropaths could sense the attention of Nurgle being directed towards them.


“FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK!!!” shouted the Chapter Master to bring the assembled marines before him to silence (or at least to swearing under their breath out of habit). He had chosen to hold the meeting in his private quarters aboard the battle barge Maximum Fuck. Around the large, circular table (already covered with pizzas and skittles) he had had constructed for this very purpose sat the galaxies angriest beings. Directly opposite him sat Commissar Fuklaw, glaring at a single point on the table so hard it had started to smoke and give off squeals of “please, I have a family, be merciful”. Around him sat and huddled a contingent of other commissars, their trigger fingers twitching in anticipation of the first sign of HERESEY!!! A few seats down sat the Chief Mindfucker, Moarfistin, who had been called back from his crusade into Tau space, making him even more pissed than usual. He was flanked on either side by his two seconds in command, Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Cunt, who were currently staring down Captain Satchel with beady, bloodshot eyes. Captain Satchel paid them no heed, he’d faced far worse than those cunts. Noticeably absent from the meeting were the Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third (who being mostly mechanical required no need to shit, except on special occasions, say to take a massive dump on an ultramarine) and Chief Reclusiarch Mofo (who was still locked in his quarters watching cartoons, and had access to the roll of emergency purity seals, and as such had no shortage of toilet paper).


“NOW THAT YOU’VE STOPPED FUCKING ABOUT WE CAN GET TO THE CUNTING PROBLEM!!!” started the Chapter Master, “THANKS TO THE FLAME THROWER CUNTS WE’RE ALMOST OUT OF BOG ROLL TO SCRUB OUR ARSEHOLES FUCKING CLEAN!!! NURGLINGS HAVE BEEN SPOTTED FOLLOWING THE MORE SHIT SMEARED MARINES, WE NEED FUCKING BOG ROLL AND FUCKING FAST!!!” At the mention of Nurglings, Moarfistin let off several psychic bolts of pure fury which melted part of a nearby wall to slag. “HERESEY!!!” bellowed the group of commissars who had levelled their bolt pistols at the Chief Mindfucker out of sheer muscle memory. After a quick break to disarm the commissars and repair the wall the meeting continued with an Angry Veteran asking “LET’S JUST FUCKING USE MOFO’S PURITY SEALS!!! THAT SHITS SOFTER THAN UNICORN FUR THREADED WITH THE FINEST FUCKING SILK, AND IT NEVER FUCKING RUNS OUT!!!” There was a chorus of swearing in agreement at this until it was pointed out by ones of the Apothecaries present that “YOU CAN FUCKING TRY!!! BUT I’M NOT GOING TO BE THE ONE TO REMOVE FAGBASHER FROM YOUR BOI CUNT WHEN MOFO FUCKING CATACHES YOU!!!” There was a moment of silence as everyone present remembered what had happened to the last motherfucker who had been desperate enough to try and steal and use the roll of emergency purity seals from Mofo. It was the first time a lot of the marine’s present had ever heard a fellow Angry Marine beg for mercy.


“WE COULD JUST USE NORMAL FUCKING BOG ROLL!!!” chipped in a lieutenant to break the silence, who was then immediately beaten to the ground by the marines surrounding him and dragged, kicking and swearing, from the room. “NOW THAT WE’VE GOT THE STUPID FUCKING QUESTIONS OUT OF THE WAY!!!” shouted the Chapter Master “DO ANY OF YOU CUNTS ACTUALLY HAVE A FUCKING GOOD IDEA?!!!” “LETS FUCKING INVADE MACRAG, THE ULTRACUNTS HAVE GOT PLENTY OF BOG ROLL!!!” shouted someone from the back, which got a cheer/war cry from all the Marines assembled who then charged to the door to prepare for a crusade against the ultramarines, not that they really needed an excuse to do so.


“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE YOU PUSSIES I DIDN’T GIVE YOUR SORRY CUNTS PERMISSION TO LEAVE!!!” screamed Maximus at the now motionless pile of marines stuck in the doorway. “AS FUCKING NICE AS IT WOULD BE TO TAKE A HOLIDAY TO THE ULTRA CUNTS!!!” continued Maximus, reaching under the table and grabbing something “WE’D END UP WITH THE INQUISITION SO FAR UP OUR FILTHY ARSEHOLES THAT WE’D BE ABLE TO HEAR THEM SHOUT HERESEY OUT OF OUR MOUTHES!!!” And at that he pulled an inquisitor with a microphone out from under the table, and gave the man such a withering stare that his hair began to grey and char at the ends before everyone’s eyes.


“AS INVADING OTHER CHAPTERS IS OUT OF THE FUCKING QUESTION!!!” shouted Fuklaw as the inquisitor was “politely” shown the way out of the room to the nearest airlock “WHAT FUCKING IDEAS DO YOU BASTARDS HAVE?!!!” The room erupted with swearing and fighting at this, as every single marine present tried to get his idea heard, throwing chairs, pizzas and other marines at each other. At some point Fuklaw lost his patience and began unleashing his withering gaze upon the room, which started to catch fire and melt, drops of metal landing on the fighting marines to eat away at power armour and just generally making them even more pissed off. At some point Maximus and the other heads of command finally lost their patience as well and joined in with the fighting, which actually helped, as at least half of the fighting marines were immediately knocked out as they e.g. Received a face full of Dick Haggard’s fists, or got catapulted into the ceiling after taking a swing from the back of Dylad.


“I think I have an idea,” said a strong, yet quiet voice. Immediately, the fight stopped as a wave of unease spread across all those assembled, their minds suddenly becoming calmer, as if someone had put a large pillow over each man present. In unison, the fight (the official collective noun for a group of Angry Marines) turned their heads towards the door to the Chapter Masters chambers, where there now stood a marine clad in the same armour as everyone else, except for an ancient rope adorned with the colours of the desert fangs; a Silencer Ancient. For a moment, no one spoke, the Angry Marines normal desire to swear and curse abated by the presence of such a large, ancient psychic void. Even Fuklaw and Moarfistin’s rage abated somewhat as their otherwise uncalmable minds were also embraced by the cold void emanating from the incomprehensibly ancient figure before them. As one, the fight got itself up from the floor and stood (as much as an Angry Marine is capable of) respectfully towards the silencer, each marine holding his breath in anticipation.


Sighing a sigh which somehow managed to communicate what it was like putting up with Angry Marines, the Silencer continued. “We could ask the head of Ward; such an ancient and vile creature must know of where we can acquire enough copied of the codex Astartes. He did after all, influence its creation.” A ripple passed through the crowd at the suggestion. They all hated and feared the head of Ward, even the Silencers, who were normally untouched by the warp, could feel its vileness and plot defying aura. Dropping the three unconscious marines he had forgotten he had been head locking, Maximus walked to the Silencer in the doorway, his head bowed in reverence and uncertainty. He never knew how to treat the Silencers, they were simultaneously his superiors, his subordinates, and his equals. Under normal circumstances he would have punched the man in the face just to break the ice, but his mind was still unnaturally calm, and incapable of its usual divisive fury.


The Silencer rolled his eyes behind his helmet, as he reached deep into his mind for his rage, a rage built up over millennia of fighting demons and babysitting the red and yellow fucks, and threw it at the chapter master in the only form of communication the Angry Marines seemed to understand. “STOP GROVELLING LIKE A FUCKING GROT!!! GET YOUR FIST OUT OF YOUR SHIT HOLE AND MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND YOU OVERSIZED MUSHROOM!!!” Instantly, all the eyes in the room were once again lit with fury again as they all straightened themselves up despite numerous broken bones and bruises and shouted their reply.


“ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!! FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!” And with a smile on his face honed over many centuries of bloodshed and swearing, the chapter master glared deep into the silencers eyes. “SO BE IT!!!” he shouted to those assembled, “INFORM THE TECH PRIESTS!!! TELL THEM TO PREPARE THE MAIN HANGAR, WE SHALL SPEAK TO THE FUCKING HEAD OF WARD!!!”


A few hours later and the battle barge Maximum Fuck's main hangar had been cleared of ships to make a large space in which the chapter master, Reclusiarch Mofo (even he could not refuse being present for such an event), Moarfistin and Fuklaw now stood in a semi-circle. All other marines had been banished from attending this event (not that they would want to attend it, as even greater demons and machines do not suffer the... thing's presence willingly). “BRING IT IN!!!” shouted Mofo, wishing he could just go back to watching cartoons. The blast door at the far end of the cavernous room opened with a menacing thud, and three dreadnoughts strode through. The central one held something draped with a thick, black cloth, while another carried a large chunk of metal, which seemed to weigh down the dreadnought far more than its size would suggest. Behind them followed a looming, mechanical figure covered in servo arms and measuring devices, two red eyes shining from its yellow and red robes; Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third. The event would have been awe and fear inspiring, if it hadn’t taken the mechanical procession two minutes to reach the centre of the chamber, with the master of the armoury scuttling along to try and keep up with the lumbering dreadnoughts, but finally, they reached the centre of the room, and set down the object wrapped in cloth.


“THIS HAD BETTER BE FUCKING WORTH IT!!!” complained Pissedoff, “WE LOST THREE TOASTER FUCKERS JUST GETTING THIS THING OUT OF THE FUCKING VAULT!!!” “YOU’LL FUCKING GET OVER IT!!!” countered Maximus as he stepped forward and tugged the black cloth away to reveal the dreaded Head of Ward. Immediately, the air of the hanger seemed to grow colder, and less awesome.  Every marine present felt the head began to whisper heretical thoughts, as if directly into his Codex, starting with “tseb eht era sthginkyerg”. Almost as immediately the dreadnought carrying the slab of metal (which was the Codex Angry Marines) began the smash the book repeatedly into the head, which began to scream and wail in pain. After several dozen or so strikes, the dreadnought stopped and slumped its shoulders in disappointment to see that the head was still whole, but at least it was no longer whispering vile heresy.


“SPEAK, CUNTING CREATURE OF SHIT WRITING AND MARY FUCKING SUES!!!” started Fuklaw “FUCKING TELL US WHERE WE CAN FIND MORE COPIES OF THE CODEX ASTARTES, OR ELSE WE’LL GET TO FIND OUT WHICH OF THE TWO OF US WOULD WIN IN A FUCKING GLARING CONTEST!!!” (Fuklaw has yet to lose a staring contest, even Sly Marbo blinks under his gaze). “And why should I tell you anything?” replied the shrunken head, in a voice like sticky fingers being rubbed over a brand new codex. “You will only lock me back up with the vile chunk of metal you call a codex. I think you can go fu…” Chief Reclusiarch Mofo began the beat the head over and over again with Fagbasher. “FUCKING (smack) TELL (crack) US (crash) WHERE (punch) WE CAN (deep throating action with Fagbasher) GET MORE (kick) SHIT PAPER!!!” Mofo bellowed, followed up by several more impacts just to drive the point home, leaving the head softly moaning on the floor, then strided over to the dreadnought carrying the codex angry marines, snatched the impossibly heavy book and hefted it over the now quivering skull.

“Alright!” screamed the head “I’ll tell you, please, just get that vile…” only to be interrupted as Mofo swung the Codex Angry Marines onto the head. Fuklaw instinctively shouted “HERSEY!!!” “TRY AGAIN YOU PRICK!!!” said Maximus “THIS TME WITH LESS FUCKING NECKBEARD HERETICAL SHIT!!!”. “There is a place,” whispered the head, “A shrine, built by the ultramarines, the Necrons, grey knights and Eldar for myself to sit in. They filled it with my greatest works, and a giant portrait of my beautiful face from when I was still whole (KICK) OW!!! (whimpering) One of the many things they put there was crate after crate of the codex Astartes. They built the shrine's foundations out of it, it is the centre of the word of ward and all that is goo… (repeated stomping my multiple people) (silence, whimper) There’s enough copies of the codex there for you for thousands of years now please, please just FUCK OFF!!!” There was a moment of silence as all those assembled considered this, or at least all except Moarfistin, who just stood there, steam pillowing from his ears and lighting trickling from his fingertips. “WHERE CAN WE FIND THIS MOST HERETICAL AND SHIT PLACE?!!!” Asked the Chapter Master, his tone mellowed somewhat by the thought of such a vile place even existing. “In a part of the web way which has been cut off. It is only accessible via a gate on the planet of…” pausing for dramatical effect “Solemnance!”


After a moments pause Pissedoff almost gently placed the Codex Angry Marines on top of the head (which began to squeal) as the large blast doors behind the assembled group opened, to reveal a Warhound titan, which began to stride towards the squealing head on the floor. Backing away to watch the show, the Angry Marine high command watched as the titan stood looming over the book and the head, raised one of its gigantic feet, and brought it crashing down with a force to powerful enough to crack open tanks, on top of the book/head sandwich. “IS IT FUCKING DEAD?!!!” shouted the assembled marines hopefully as the Master of the Armoury scuttled towards the impact point, only to start cursing and kicking the Warhound’s leg. The head was, unfortunately, was still alive. As the three dreadnoughts escorted the now violently swearing and sobbing Pissedoff from the room, the remaining marines turned towards Temperus Maximus, awaiting his decision.


“PACK YOUR SKITTLES AND YOUR FUCKING CHAINSWORDS!!!” shouted Maximus with a sinister grin on his face, “WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING SOLEMNANCE!!!”

 
Chapter 2


Behind the scenes however, the galaxy began to respond to the angry marine decision to go book hunting. Some, like the followers of Nurgle and Tzeentch had been planning for this for a long time, slowly guiding or anticipating the actions of the angry marines. The mortal follows of the word of ward felt the reveal of the shrine of ward's location as a psychic backlash, activating built in plot points and narrative arches which the fifth (sixth) chaos god had drilled into them. As the chapter master was making his proclamation of a grand, angry marine crusade to Solemnance, a death guard fleet was beginning to exit the warp into real space to surround the assembled angry marine fleet, led by the champion of Nurgle, bringer of Crotch Rot.


“Our sorcerers have homed in on the scent of their festering anuses my lord, when we exit the warp we shall be right on top of them.” Said Crotch Rot’s second in command and Tallyman, Counter of Infectious Blessings, to his master, “The Angry Marines will be learning of the shrines location as we speak. They will be completely unprepared for a surprise attack, or at least as ill prepared for a fight as an Angry Marine can be.” Everything was going according to plan thought Crotch Rot. Grandpa Nurgle had seen fit to bless him with many mutations and gift him with his own flagship he had named “Free Hugs”, and now he was about to bring the blessings of Nurgle to the Angry Marines and prevent them from discovering the Shrine of Ward (shiver), ensuring that their anuses would putrefy for all eternity.


“My Lord,” Counter of Infectious Blessings interjected into Crotch Rot’s thoughts “What are we to do with the… Head of Ward, once we have hugged all of the Angry Marines into submission? Even the chaos spa… (cough) that which will not be named are becoming nervous at being so close to such a relic.” “I have been informed by the Great Unclean ones that Nurgle wishes to possess the head for himself, that he might create even more gifts and blessings for the galaxy. The mild discomfort of it being aboard our ship will be repaid a thousand times over in the form of our father's love.” Replied Crotch rot, who was very much looking forward to receiving a bed time story from Nurgle himself, and maybe some pet nurglings.


Counter of Infectious Blessings was about to say that he’d happily give up all of his pet nurglings if it meant that he didn’t have to be around the head for a prolonged period of time, when a sorcerer barged into the room. “My lord!” oozed and sputtered the mass of putrid flesh “We have just entered real space, but we have detected the presence of another fleet of ships also exiting the warp!” Crotch Rot and Counter of Infectious Blessings looked in confusion (or as confused as you can look when your facial muscles have rotted away eons ago), they were not expecting anyone else. Had papa Nurgle seen fit to provide reinforcements? “Who is it?” asked Crotch rot “is it more Angry Marines? We’ve got enough people to bless without more of them turning up.” “No, your infectiousness,” stammered the sorcerer, chunks of flesh flicking of his form in agitation “it’s far far worse its….”


“JUST AS PLANNED!!!” cackled the champion of Tzeentch, Trololololol “THE FOOLISH DISEASE WORSHIPPERS HAVE FALLEN INTO OUR TRAP, WE SHALL SWOOP IN A STEAL THE VILE HEAD OF WARD AND I SHALL BRING IT TO TZEENTCH HIMSELF AND ACHIEVE DEMON PRINCEHOOD, JUST AS PLANNED!!!” Behind him, stood and sighed quietly his second in command, sorceress Elzbeth the Mind Shaper, who had frankly grown tired of all her masters scheming and plans. Once, his plans had been some of the finest around and his followers followed him not purely out of the power he had been granted by Tzeentch (although that is certainly part of it), but because of the brilliance of his plans. However, his insanity had begun to show more and more as the centuries had ground on, to the point that he would plan decades in advance the arrival of a cup of tea, screaming “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” when it was finally delivered after many years of manipulation, while neglecting to plan for major battles, merely stating that it was all “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” as his forces were slaughtered. In her youth, her ambition had had a razor edge to it, now, after centuries of following an insane genius, her ambition had dulled, although it still had enough weight to club someone to death (Tzeentch followers are big on analogies).


“Are my troops ready Elzbeth? Don’t answer, I already know, they’re all assembled in their boarding torpedoes as I speak.” Said Trololololol, his hands moving their erratic spiders up and down his staff in excitement. Elzbeth smacked her palm into her face in exasperation. “You know that the troops are all assembled your allseeingness because you asked me that question two minutes and I told you the answer,” replied the exasperated sorceress, not even bothering to conceal her anger now, especially as she knew that all he was going to do was shout just as planned. “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” shouted Trololololol (“told you,” she thought) “give the signal for the assault to begin, the head of the fifth (sixth) chaos god shall be MINE!!!”


 
Chapter 3


The first thing the Angry Marines knew of the assault was when Moarfistin exploded into a scream of “FUCKING NURGLINGS!!!” which could be heard across the entire Angry Marine fleet (sound may not travel through a vacuum, but fury does), followed almost immediately by the detection of two separate fleets disgorging boarding torpedoes and unleashing barrages of void missiles and lance batteries at the angry marine battle barges. Immediately the battle barges began to return fire, with automated weapons and serf manned batteries firing upon the encroaching torpedoes. Those torpedoes that did meet their mark were greeted by a traditional angry marine welcome of Chainswords and kicks to the balls, but the combined pressure of two separate fleets backed up by demonic powers was clearly too much for the chapter, which now ran the risk of being annihilated.

In the winding corridors of the Maximum Fuck, a squad of serfs were desperately trying to hold the corridor leading the main hangar as they were advanced upon by space marines of Nurgle from one side and Tzeentch on the other, bolter fire, warp lightning and gushes of oozing pox felling any serf who out of cover (and many who were in cover). But the Angry Serfs would not retreat, partly because they were all Angry pricks, one of these angry pricks (or ovaries in this case) was Ching Shin, once a special weapons expert for the imperial guard until she one day saw some demons and was scheduled to be sterilised. Until the Angry Marines rescued her and recruited her as an Angry Serf, where she had let a very angry but happy life, until a bunch of Tzeentch and Nurgle worshippers had decided to be a bunch of cunts and attack her ship. As it stands, her situation is hopeless, thankfully for her at least, Temperus Maximus will appear behind the Tzeentch worshippers and shout “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” in about a paragraphs time.


“Fuck these festering cunts!!!” shouted Ching to her commissar who was the last member of her squad left as she fired her plasma rifle down the corridor towards the cover camping Death Guard. As angry as she was she was glad they were staying put, and knew that the only reason why they were staying put was because they didn’t want to charge into the corridor of Tzeentch worshippers behind her. “STOP YOUR FUCKING COMPLAINING AND JUST SHOOT THE CUNTS!!!” screamed the commissar, who was too far into HERESEY!!! Mode to care what she was saying and simply kept firing their bolt pistol towards the hiding Tzeentch marines. Chunks of metal plating erupted from the walls as the bolt rounds missed their mark until finally, the commissars bolt pistol and Ching’s plasma rifle ran dry. A veil fell over the corridor as their foes all smiled behind their helmets, and began to advance on their position.


Or at least, the Death Guard marines got five metres down their corridor before arches of lightning began to spike between them, putrid flesh boiling and melting away as the marines embraced their inevitable demise. Through the puddles of bubbling puss, faecal matter and fleeing Nurglings, strode the Chief Mindfucker, Moarfistin, warp energy curling around his right hand while his left hand held his fisting stick, with a chaos marine suitable impaled up the backside upon it. At the sight of one of the galaxies most feared and brutal psykers the Tzeentch worshippers tried to flee the way they came, lest their behinds be subjected to a fisting, only to run straight into the adamantium chest and Cheshire grin of Temperus Maximus, each fist enclosed around the crushed heads of two marines. “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” bellowed the Chapter Master, as he began to rein down his fists into screaming faces and power feet into soon to be obliterated genitals. It only took a few seconds, but as Ching walked from her cover she walked through ankle deep blood mixed with chunks of flesh and power armour, and what did she say to her two saviors?


“Took you fucking long enough you bunch of lazy cunts! Where were you earlier? Licking each other’s’ arseholes while you platted your hair! For fucks sake, even the fucking commissars dead now as well, we’d have about fifty angry bastards left if it wasn’t for you brown nosing bastards!”


In most other chapters, this would have earned Ching a bolt round to the head, or perhaps Slow lobotomization into a servitor, but as she stared down one of the galaxies angriest beings and called him a cunt, the Chapter Master could only smile a grin so wide it showed all of his dirty brown teeth. “YOU!!!” he almost whispered at Ching “I THINK I MIGHT HAVE A FUCKING JOB FOR A CUNT AS ANGRY AS YOU!” Striding forward and grasping Ching by the scruff of her flak armour and lifting her into the air. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW, ABOUT THE HEAD OF WARD?!!!”


Five minutes later, Ching found herself running down a long corridor carrying a black bag over her shoulder holding the Head of Ward, while Moarfistin kept up beside her carrying the Codex Angry Marines, barely taxing his superhuman form to keep up with the now panting Ching, as they both made their way towards the Maximum Fucks second hangar. The orders the Chapter Master had given Ching had been very clear, take the fucking head, get off the ship, and make her way to Solemnance and either find the Shrine of Ward, or meet up with the rest of the Angry Marines along the way after they had dealt with the ambushing fleets, as without the worry of protecting (preventing other cunts from stealing it) the Head of Ward from enemy hands the Angry Marines were free to simply run rampant through the enemies ranks, and it would be only a matter of time before the forces of chaos started fighting each other. But firstly, Ching and Moarfistin had to find a way off the Maximum Fuck without getting shot/stabbed/turned into that which will not be named/hugged, and although Moarfistin was more than capable of annihilating anything before him his sheer rage and psychic outbursts made him visible to any psyker within a mile, and thus the two adventures had become prime targets for anyone lacking a target to shoot at.


“Why the fuck did you have to come along you pansy cunt?!” Ching shouted as she kicked Moarfistin in the shins hard enough to be felt through power armour “your fucking attracting every cunt nearby wanting to make their points cost back and you keep stopping to stamp on Nurglings!” “FUCKING NURGLINGS!!!” Moarfistin simply screamed in response as he stamped on yet another fleeing ball of adorableness and heresy but otherwise didn’t bother to respond to the “INSOLENT BITCHES” insults, he had been ordered by the Chapter Master to a. ensure that the serf fucker completed her job and b. hit the Head of Ward with the Codex Angry Marines whenever it wouldn’t shut up. He still wasn’t happy about it (he was furious about it, which also pleased him) but as long as he was able to purge all traces of Nurgle he found then he would do his job and only complain slightly more than usual. “You stink like a Death Guard toilet now as well, you fucking idiot! Emperor fucking save me the smells getting even shittier!” Gagged Ching as a wave of nausea overtook her, she tried clinging Moarfistin’s side to balance herself only to be hit by a fit of stomach cramps and vomiting which forced her to her knees, one hand clutching her stomach and the although desperately holding onto the Black sack which held the Head of Ward. “GET UP YOU FUCKY PUSSY!!!” Ordered Moarfistin as he took up a stance in the centre of the corridor “WE’VE GOT MORE SHIT FOR EVERYTHINGS INCOMING!!!” Ching managed to raise her head enough, vomit still dribbling down her chin, to gaze, eyes watering, towards where Moarfistin was facing and the source of the ever-encroaching stench.


Advancing towards them from where they had come, strode (and oozed) the Champion of Nurgle, Crotch Rot, flanked on one side by Counter of Infectious Blessings, a pen in hand as he wrote in a huge human leather volume which dripped puss and bile as if it too were alive. Behind them scampered, rolled and chittered a mass of tentacles and mouths which Ching knew enough about to not even name them in her mind. Things would have gone rapidly downhill from there for Ching (probably starting with her face melting off), as without power armour, a super human constitution and some heavy weapons, an Angry Serf’s (no matter how angry) no match for a champion of chaos. But before Crotch Rot could say anything along the lines of “who would like a hug?” Moarfistin, instead of firing bolts of lightning or Bolter rounds, rested the spine of the Codex Angry Marines against his chest, and opened it towards the advance pile of bile and happiness. Immediately the corridor erupted into a long and impossibly load scream of “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU....” which rattled the very skeleton of the ship, with chunks of metal plating being ripped from the walls to impale the advancing forces of Nurgle as chunks of rotten flesh were ripped from their forms, forcing the horde back the way they had come and forcing Moarfistin, despite his super human strength, to slide in the opposite direction, picking up speed as the longer books fury was unleashed. Almost as an afterthought, Moarfistin grabbed the still gagging and deafened Ching from the floor before she got out of reach, and as he slung her over his shoulder like a very ill rag doll, he fixed the somehow still standing Crotch Rot with a glare which communicated all of his disgust towards his very existence, stuck up his middle finger and screamed in a voice loud enough to be heard even over the books war cry “FUCK YOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU....!!!” As he sped faster and faster down the corridor towards the second hangar.


As the books screams became quieter and the wind abated somewhat, Crotch Rot straightened himself up and surveyed the destruction around him as his tally man picked himself up, having lost his book and an arm in the carnage. “You know,” started Crotch Rot in a weird voice as his cheeks had been ripped from his face “something tells me that they didn’t want any hugs for some reason.” “Better luck next time my lord,” replied Counter of Infectious Blessing, in an optimistic voice even as his other arm fell off “maybe they had an important appointment to get to, and look on the bright side, now we have the chance to grow some new limbs.”