inb4 CREEEEEEEEEEED

Mykless pondered briefly the sequence of events leading up to the capture of their prisoner. Some months prior, Chaos vessels from the Eye of Terror to the Maelstrom were sharing tales of sporadic attacks by bands of rogue Astartes.

Nothing unusual about that as such. The World Eaters were known to attack anything they could see. What was unusual about the attacks was their seeming purpose- the desecration and destruction of shrines to the Four Blessed Gods of Chaos.

Such foul heresy could not be tolerated, of course. Scouting vessels and mercenaries were sent far and wide to search for the demagogues. Time after time, the small band eluded capture, continuing their raids and blasphemy.

That was, until the Night Lords intervened. Lead by the towering hulk before Mykless, the Night Lords laid a trap for the blasphemous traitor Astartes.

In before Bel Air.

The trap worked, but many good bodies were lost to the wanton, almost senseless violence of the Astartes.

They had fought like madmen, all of them. Their armor bore no Legion markings, their soulfyres showing no taint from any of the Four Blessed. Yet they surged and seethed with Warp power, most especially their captured leader, the prisoner who sat not ten yards away in his cell.

The Night Lord before him- no name had been given, the Night Lords a secretive, aloof bunch- had taking particular interest in the prisoner. The purpose of his presence was an interrogation- to find out who the prisoner was and how he had come to possess such raw Warp power.

god dammit post faster you fucking cunt

>>5852856

>magickal

You just lost me as a serious reader. That being said, I'll pretend to give a crap and critique.

1: It's "magical". Using a k in it makes you sound like a pretentious faggot.

2. The proper word would have been "sorcerous", considering the environment of the story. DnD has magic. 40k has psykers and sorcery.

That, and there's too much bizarre/poor word choice.

>suddenly spat, his voice low and cool

The word "spat" in reference to speaking, emphasizes frustration and loudness. having the speaker "spit" out a question while at the same time keeping his voice low and cool is a logical fallacy.

Yes, I just wanted to use the word "fallacy" in a sentence.

>Slamming a gloved fist against the tainted wall, Mykless let the blade fall into his hand from its hidden storage space.

It's hard for me to pick out what is wrong with this sentence. You have someone slamming his fist into a wall, and then a completely unrelated action occurs. It would have been better had the Space Marine simply pressed a button and the blade popped out of a storage unit built into the wall.

TL;DR: reads like a high school book report. Unimpressive for what is supposed to be the "attention grabber" of written work.

>>5852953
>equating semantic errors with logical fallacies.

HURF DURF.

"Good morrow, Night Lord" came the slow, even, mocking drawl of the prisoner as the tall, dark shape of the traitor Astartes slipped into his cell.

The prisoner sat on a cot opposite the Night Lord, stripped of his weapons and his armor. His body was lithe and lanky, reminiscent of the warp-addled forms of Slaanesh Noise Marines. His flesh was pale, almost white, what little hair on his head a shocking purple color.

What was most curious about the Astartes, aside from his actions, was his face- it seemed as if he or an enemy had played a cruel joke, exending his smile by forceful, messy surgery. Whoever did it was a diabolical surgeon- most Astartes would have healed from such a trivial wound.

Even as the Night Lord noted that disfigurement, the prisoner smiled. As he did so, mechanical hooks attached to implants on his temples pulled, extending that smile into a painful rictus grin.

"Shall we get started, then?" the prisoner drawled.

>>5852980
Fuck you.

>>5852980
inb4 kill the batman

>>5852980

>>5852980

I was going to repost >>5852856 but change
> "What information do we have on him?" the Night Lord suddenly spat, his voice low and cool through his helm's voice modulators.

to
"I'm Batman" the Night Lord suddenly spat, his voice low and cool through his helm's voice modulators.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EvcItjITGk

>>5852953
Using American high school level grammar to try and troll someone who quite obviously uses grammar far beyond your level is simply idiotic.

>emphasizing
It is EMPHASISING, you bloody American cunt.

"You are a traitor to the Corpse Emperor and his maggot-infest Imperium, are you not?" Queried the Night Lord, unable to shake a profound sense of...not fear. Astartes felt no fear. Dread. A profound sense of dread at the prisoner's strange smile and slow speech.

"Oh, but of course. Chaos is the true path to humanity's salvation among the stars." Responded the prisoner, his eyes appearing to look through the Night Lord's helm, right into his own eyes.

"Then why do you destroy altars to Chaos? Are you not a worshipper of Chaos Undivided?"

"I did not destroy altars to Chaos. I destroyed festering piles of hubris dedicated to obscene Gods pretending to be Chaos." That calm, slow drawl had stopped, replaced with a smoldering fire that was threatening to kick up.

"You tread dangerously close to filth and blasphemy, prisoner. Have a care, as your fate is in my hands. Speak not these abominations, or I shall have your heart on a pike." The Night Lord's voice modulaters strained, lowering the pitch of the occupant's voice to increase its power.

The prisoner seemed to take no notice. To the Night Lord's astonishment, he laughed- giggled would be the more appropriate term, shaking with repressed humor.

"Oh...oh, my, that is...You and your little lackeys have no power over me..." The prisoner slid his tongue out to wet his lips, leaning forward slightly. "I'm a servant of True Chaos. Do with my body as you see fit- killing this sack of meat would only gain me more power."

Bumping

Power. Now there was something the Night Lord could relate to, and a bit of information he could use. Fear was but the Night Lord's path to power over their enemies. There were many paths to power in the realms of Chaos. This wretch seemed to have convinced himself he'd found a new one.

"Explain yourself, prisoner. Speak swiftly, as my patience grows thin."

"Your little Chaos gods are NOT CHAOS..." The prisoner roared out, climbing to his feet so fast the Night Lord's body reacted a second too late, spilling adrenaline and combat endorphins into his system.

"What you worship are benighted, bloated Gods, beings of infinite vanity who seek to bring their vision of order to True Chaos. No, I worship True Chaos, a force that CANNOT be tamed or even COMPREHENDED."

"You speak nonsense." The Night Lord reached out and wrapped his hand around the prisoner's throat, hefting him up and pressing him against the wall.

"Deny it as much as you want, slave." Chuckled the prisoner, hands holding tight to the Night Lord's arm. "The mind seeks to bring order to whatever it sees. Your Gods are extensions of all the sentient minds in our Galaxy. They seek to bring order through self-satisfaction...or conquest...or-"

"Silence! I will hear no more of this blasphemy!" The Night Lord tossed the prisoner across the brig, watching with cruel delight as his pale body flew end-over-end, hitting one of the hard metallic walls with a loud BANG before slumping.

His triumph ended as more laughter, keening and somehow more dreadful than a warcry, filled the room. The prisoner bled from the corner of his mouth, a tooth missing as he smiled.

"True Chaos is not your Gods. It is the Warp itself. It is the master we have sought for ten millennia, when we saw the folly of our 'Imperial Truth'..."

Malal.

>>5853200
ends with the night lord asking the "prisoner" what his plan is and the prisoner replys "Plan? I have no plan, I'm like a squig chasing cars, I wouldn't even know what to do with one if i caught it...."

"You speak...of Malhahl?" The Night Lord spoke slowly, his voice in disbelief. Some Sorcerers of Chaos claimed that there was a fifth Chaos God, a God that delighted in his brother's warrings against one another- in Chaos itself, in simpler terms.

"No!" Laughed the prisoner, grinning in that strange way. "Have you not been listening?! I speak not of Gods, but the collective will of the galaxy! The rudderless power at our fingertips. You can only taste its potential in mutations and daemonhood. Only the Orks utilize it to any degree...and the foolish swine don't even know they're accomplishing anything..."

>>5853200

The movement is slight; anyone who hadn't worn power armor would have heard only a faint whir, but it is enough. The Night Lord's suspicious glance at the Legionnaire is broadcast loudly to all three. The idiotically drooling madman makes what could be a giggle as his limp smile further creases his face.

The faint rumble that follows stops all three, and the soft hiss of armored joints swiveling towards the aft wall is the only sound heard for a moment. There is, perhaps, half a second after the enormous, rumpled dent bangs itself into the wall, where the Night Lord's carefully scheming mind manically paws through hundreds of potential betrayals before turning on the Legionnaire with a his, the Legionnaire already reaching for his bolter as screaming, tearing metal fills the small cell.

After a few moments, and after the twitching body of the Night Lord pinned to the wall, like an armored butterfly, stops, a servo-encased hand wraps around the hilt of the glowing, demonic blade buried in his chest.

The mentally deficient lunatic slumped on the floor is unmoving, his cheek caved in, most of his teeth scatted behind his skull and one eye splattered past the other, and the Legionnaire is half slumped against the wall, his severed legs turn upside down against the opposite.

The only sound in the small cell the low rev of an engine, and faint crackling followed by a gravelly, sepulchral tone.

"Sumbitch. None of these fuckers have cocaine." With a single rev and squeal of demonic rubber, the Doomrider spins his bike around and roars off into nothing.

oh wow

>>5853369
noice ending there

>>5853369

>>5853339

(Sure, why not?)

"Ah...speak of the devil." The madman's grin seemed to widen to impossible measures as he stood up straight.

-Ork vessel off port bow. Repeat, Ork vessel off port bow. Boarding initiated on decks C, D, F, E, -- The automated voiced slurred through tainted speakers as cultists ran past the Legionairre outside the cell.

"What madness is this?" Queried the Night Lord.

"Oh, just a little trick using that power you claim blasphemous. See...once I knew you were looking for me, I decided it was time to...make a change in leadership."

The madman stepped closer to the Night Lord. The towering war machine stepped back.

"You see, Chaos may be Chaos, but I have plans for the Traitor Legions. But you and your antebellum friends here...well, they just have to go."

"You let yourself be captured..." The Night Lord whispered. Awe. He hadn't felt that in a long time.

"And I brought friends." The madman's grin seemed neverending.

-end-

I think I like the troll ending better.

For those who can't follow:

>>5853319 is from the author (me)

>>5853339 is from someone else

>>5853409 is from me again, interpreting that screeching metal as the beginnings of an Ork boarding action.

>>5853425

Author here. I'd say I do, too. I like stories that end themselves.

In case anyone is interested, this is up on suptg.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/5852856/

Remember, writefags: Disposable tripcodes are your friends. Keeps away the threadjacking trolls.

>>5853474

That's only for people that aren't making the story up as they go. Me, well...I take the prisoner's lessons to heart.

>>5853409
and then the Jokermarine died of a combat drug overdose

>>5853511

OH GOD LOL

I'm going to bed, guise. If some drawfag wants to do the Jokermarine, be my guest.