WIP fiction

I’ve put this here mainly to show a few friends what I’m working on without e-mailing updates and stuff. It’s a fan fiction related to the Warhammer 40,000 universe. Granted it’s more than just a little exercise in writing, hopefully it’ll materialise into something bigger. If you read it you’re welcome to leave a thought though…

– Visions of Hell –

A rich blue sky dominated the view. It’s soothing colour seemed to instill a delightful calm into Kharoum’s soul. Idyllic clouds of pure white floated lazily high above and the very wind seemed to sing of the joy of life. Suddenly though his spirit was overcome by a feeling of wrongness.

The blue sky turned red in a matter of seconds. The once calm, white clouds changed until they were darker than even the sky. Their orange forms pulsed with sickly yellow light, while powerful currents swirled and soared through the stinging atmosphere spreading unbearable smells. They also seemed to be ridden with screeches and howls of unnatural origin. Here and there a small purple vortex appeared, like the blister of a huge, planetary disease. Each one pulsed unnaturally as if something behind it was trying to break through. Then a flashing light with no apparent origin made everything blindingly white for a fraction of a second, and suddenly the whole sky turned into a maelstrom of colours so vivid they seemed alive.

The screeches and howls became louder and louder as dark dots started appearing everywhere, growing and growing, falling like comets. But these were not celestial bodies falling through the atmosphere. They had wings, heads, tails, limbs and claws. Some soared on the air currents, graceless and chaotic, while others flailed with dozens of limbs as they were about to splatter helplessly on the darkened ground. Then more purple vortexes opened on the very earth itself, and through it more hellish creatures jumped, howling the pleasure of their release. The entire world was being torn asunder, as more and more of it came under assault from the unholy creatures. They gnawed at the reality of its existence with a hunger that seemed infinite in its savagery.

Steadily all the creatures seemed to head in one direction. They flocked towards a great tower of gold that still shone through the hazy corruption that covered the surface. The tower rose into the sky like a mighty bastion of faith. Kharoum’s sight seemed to fly to it as if it was the only thing protecting his sanity. Its walls were adorned with huge statues of great, armoured angels, each armed with sword, spear or mace. As one they suddenly moved their heads, noticing the stream of daemonic creatures running towards their keep. They all took flight from the battlements and dove into the unholy ranks, slicing, crushing and cutting through their numerous foes. The horde of invaders broke around each golden hero, but more and more were coming, both on the ground around the tower and from amidst the dark clouds above. The tower’s light soon started to dwindle under the burden of so many grotesque monsters.

A beam of bright light descended from the heavens to illuminate the besieged tower. The mighty angels, on the verge of being overcome, seemed to gain new strength and with renewed vigour resumed carving through the hellish warhost. It didn’t last long though, for now larger daemons joined the fray, some nearly as big as the golden guardians. One by one the protectors fell under the onslaught, and the light around the tower began to dim again. Soon the entire monument was covered in crazed monsters howling their triumph to their gods.

Kharoum woke up from his trance screaming. He was back in his cold room, on his mattress. He felt his body tired, full of sweat, extremely heavy. He raised his hands and saw they were trembling worse than ever. Every vision had been tough on his body, but this was by far the worst. He still felt the despair in his spirit. The horror of what he saw was still over him like a shroud, and his vision was somewhat murky. He felt tears down his cheeks and tried to dry them, but his face felt somehow wrong. It was sticky… bumpy. He withdrew his hand and looked at the blood upon it. Then once again felt his face, realising it was covered in scratches. He then noticed his own fingers were full of caked blood. While in his trance he had scratched at his own flesh in a futile, reflex attempt to block out the sheer terror of what his mind witnessed.

Slowly, wearily, Kharoum got up. He was going to clean himself at the lavatory when his chamber’s door burst open. A dark, armoured figure pointed a laser sighted autopistol at him for a brief moment, then scanned the room. Satisfied, the figure stepped in and remained to one side, while another entered. This one was robed…


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