Editing Angry Marines (section)

===Making a Fucking Entrance===

The Angry Marines didn't have to worry about the Shadow in the Warp as that only deterred pussies. Cackumbabo exploded into the Illis system with a sound like Slaanesh's whip cracking across Khorne's buttocks. This is not to imply the Angry Marines and their serfs have anything to do with Chaos, it's just what was going on in the warp at that moment. 

One Astartes vessel faced off against the incoming swarm of bio-ships. Red and yellow stood against star-bleached purple, scowling faces against faceless maws, human courage against implacable hunger. The Astartes vessel surged forward. Its course took it close to the planet, so close in fact that it nearly fucking landed at one point, and spat drop-pods at the surface. Then the Cackumbabo rocketed into the mass of Nid ships, blazing firepower in every direction, only to be seen again one hour later when its warp engines detonated and dragged a hundred bio-ships to hell. One last FUCK YOU from the Emperor's finest.

Twatsplasher, Terridyne and the chaps landed directly on top of a vanguard swarm that was trying to eat a city. Roaring, frothing Space Marines emerged, screaming an endless “FUUUUUUUUUUUU-” and blizzarding fire into the hurricane of Gaunts, Gargoyles, Stealers and Lictors, creating their own fucked-up biosphere of destroyed bodies. The 3rd Company despised guns as much as the rest of their Chapter but when you were up against a fucking Hive Fleet on your own, you want some bullets for when the enemy is out of headbutting range. Despite applying such tactical prudence they ran out of bolter ammo almost straight away. Wrenches, steel bars, chainswords, foreheads, fists and believe it or not elbows did most of the killing. Twatsplasher was at 160 kills in the first two minutes. The rest of his men thinned the alien herd until only a few traumatised Hormagaunts remained. 

“-UUUUUK YOUUUUU!” the war cry ended. The battle was over but the war was only just kicking off. Thousands upon thousands more Nids were coming. Some of them were big bastards too. The Angry Marines formed a circle, pissed off beyond mortal measure that the Emperor's enemies had been allowed to defile this world, and realising that they were now trapped as three additional swarms closed in around them. Smoke and clouds of spores swirled in the air. The sun was almost eclipsed. 

“THIS IS IT YOU INBRED AMATEURS!” roared Twatsplasher. “IF THEY OVERRUN US HERE, WE'RE THE CUNTS WHO DOOMED THIS SHITHOLE AND LOST A BLOODY GOOD SHIP IN SO DOING! WE HOLD!!! FIRST ONE TO DIE SUCKS ELDAR KNOBS!!!!!!”

“Get your heads down, Astartes!” a human male said across the vox. He sounded in considerable pain. “This... is going... to be close.”

Missiles the size of Land Raiders screamed through the air towards them, coming out of the smoke clouds. Explosion after explosion swept across the land. Buildings collapsed, dust and flames flew, two whole Tyranid swarms were reduced to purple smears. The survivors fell back to find more Synapse creatures or whatever those xenos pricks did when they'd fucking lost.

“BASTARD!” Twatsplasher roared. Shockwaves had thrown him over backwards and he had to pull his head out of a Mawlock's arsehole with a loud pop. “IF THERE WERE CIVILIANS IN THOSE BUILDINGS YOU'RE GOING UNDER LIKE NECROMUNDA YOU ANONYMOUS FUCK-GRUBBER!”

“Your gratitude... lightens... my soul,” the human panted. “This city was... abandoned.”

The smoke began to thin. Twatsplasher saw their rescuer.

“DORN'S DICK!” he whispered at 90 decibels.

The smoke drew back to reveal a Warlord Titan, Beetleback-class. Its legs were scratched and acid-scarred. Void shields flared as if the crew were having trouble keeping them up. A multiple rocket launcher mounted on its carapace belched burning gunpowder; the other carapace gun was some kind of giant assault cannon. Its right hand was a power fist painted with black and yellow stripes that seemed dangerously close to traitor colours, and its left was some kind of shitty short-ranged laser thing.

“AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS FUCKING DUMP'S GOT THE BALLS TO FIGHT!” said Brother Hammerhead. The other rank-and-file Marines agreed.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Twatsplasher voxed to the Titan's crew.

“I am... Princeps Abnettius,” the Titan's controller replied. “I regret that I am... mortally wounded... There are survivors making... a last stand. They need... your help.”

“WELL WE'RE NOT HERE TO ENJOY THE FUCKING WEATHER!” roared Twatsplasher. “LEAD THE WAY PRINCEPS PANTSHITTER!”

“I know... something of your... abilities,” Abnettius panted. “I cannot... make it. Perhaps you... could take... my place. My senior crew... have gone to join... the Emperor. I cannot control it... much longer.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED, BITCH!” Twatsplasher said without fear. “OPEN UP, WE'RE FUCKING EMBARKING! TERRIDYNE, DAMMIEL, HAMMERHEAD, WOGAN, I REQUEST THE FUCKING MISERY OF YOUR COMPANY – THE REST OF YOU TESTICULAR POLYPS FOLLOW ON FOOT AND STAY OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY, I'M IN THE MOOD TO STOMP SOME FAGGOTS!”

Abnettius opened a secret hatch in the Warlord's left leg and the Angry Marines ascended. The spiral staircase was narrow and sized for humans; it wobbled dangerously under the combined weight of the five rage-infused bastards clambering up it. The Titan was tall and the Marines had to spend at least two minutes staring at the sculpted bum-cheeks of the Brothers in front until they reached the Warlord's head.

Princeps Abnettius didn't look wounded. He must have suffered some neural feedback shit that nobody understood. He peered vaguely at the Astartes, blinking, unfocused.

“Thank the Emperor...” Abnettius whispered. “You possess the ability... to learn quickly... from others?”

“YOU BET YOUR BLANK-FIRING BOLLOCKS WE DO,” said Twatsplasher, “BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'LL LIKE HOW IT FUCKING WORKS!”

“I care not... just do it... save those people... end the xenos.”

“YOU FUCKING ASKED FOR IT,” Twatsplasher warned. He broke the Princep's head open with a tap of his power-wrench as if it were some kind of egg and ate his brains.