Warhammer: The 11th Primarch - The Black Emperor

Using life signals scanned by the Auger Matrix, they locked onto an Ogryn camp with a similar density of life forms.

Both First Captain were supremely confident in their own strength.

To ensure fairness in their contest, Cezak asked Abaddon how many warriors he had brought, then sent his own adjutant to lead the rest of his Company to attack a different Ogryn settlement.

After disembarking from the landing craft, Cezak gathered his team, each one equipped with bolt pistols and chainswords.

Over the channel, he addressed the warriors clad in Mark II Crusade-pattern power armor.

The first-generation armor had once accompanied the Astartes in unifying the Sol System, but had slowly been phased out due to battlefield damage.

Even before the end of the Unification Wars, the Emperor had already begun designing newer, more advanced armor.

This new battle-plate, more powerful and complex, had been completed before the legions even ventured beyond the Sol System. Its protection far exceeded the first generation.

Cezak's voice boomed over the vox:

"Brothers, our Father did not choose us to fight by his side in his first campaign. This is a shame upon the First Company."

"We must, in this conquest, announce our worth with blood and death. Only then will he choose us for the next campaign."

In the front line, standing to the right, was a Shadow of Order without the red scythe insignia on his right shoulder pad.

Only his left bore a red falcon, marking him as a lieutenant Captain.

Frowning, he spoke up.

"Lord Captain, I believe Father told us to remain rational, not indulge in slaughter."

A flash of anger sparked in Cezak's eyes. He roared:

"Dixon, what are we!?"

"We are the Emperor's Angels of Death! The crimson butcher blades! Slaughter is our duty!"

He paused briefly to contain his fury; he wasn't criticizing Nareth, but instead stubbornly declared:

"I will prove myself in my own way."

Raising his chainsword high, Cezak turned to his men:

"And what about you!?"

Aside from Dixon and the two squads behind him, the rest of the First Company warriors raised their weapons and shouted:

"We'll prove ourselves, in our way!"

Cezak locked his black eyes on Dixon and the others.

"And you?"

Dixon felt as if a beast were staring him down, but he didn't back down.

"I'll fight."

"In my way."

Cezak sneered.

"Then watch carefully how we win glory for the First Company."

"Move out!"

He sealed his helmet. As the killing began, the integrated scanner in his visor would automatically identify slain enemies and update his kill count.

This duel wasn't just between Companys; it was a personal contest as well.

Cezak took the lead, charging toward the Ogryn camp.

The nomadic Ogryns, who herded zebra-like creatures, were in the middle of selecting their next meal.

Suddenly, Cezak crashed into their midst.

He gave no orders; his philosophy was to lead by example and always score the highest kill count in battle.

He viewed any brother who fell in battle as an unworthy reaper.

Like a speeding tank, he charged into the herd, smashing green-striped zebras into pulp.

Blood drenched his black armor.

Cezak basked in the familiar euphoria.

An Ogryn charged at him with a massive club. Cezak swung his chainsword with savage grace.

His movements were faster and more violent than the Ogryns'.

The spinning blade tore into the Ogryn's chest and churned it apart.

Bathed in gore and flesh, Cezak felt blissfully alive.

"We are the Emperor's Angels of Death, his butcher blades! Governance is for Malcador and the rest; slaughter is our calling. Father will understand. I will make him see."

He wrenched his blade free, knocked aside the corpse, and charged again.

He let his instincts run wild, relying not on logic but raw instinct to detect enemy weaknesses.

Cezak became a grim reaper of ancient legend, wielding his blade mercilessly through every Ogryn he encountered.

His blood-soaked fury infected his honor guard and quickly spread to the rest of the warriors.

First Company had, at the outset, lost control, letting their slaughter instinct lead them like wild horses.

Meanwhile, Dixon led two squads away from the main force.

One of his squads had already succumbed to bloodlust; they dismissed their lieutenant's calls for restraint.

"Stay calm!"

"Get back here!"

"Maintain formation!"

Dixon kept shouting, trying to rally the Shadows of the Order, who were breaking formation.

In some ways, he was relieved the other squad was already lost to the blood frenzy.

Looking toward them, he saw a warrior bathed in blood, charging headlong into a swarm of Ogryns.

Dozens surrounded him. The Astartes struck out, using a savage cross-cut to cleave through his enemies.

But then, multiple massive clubs came crashing down on him.

The Astartes didn't dodge; he charged toward another Ogryn, blade raised.

Just as the roar of his chainsword rang in his ears and flesh flew.

Two clubs smashed into his side.

He staggered.

Then, another swing, a fatal blow.

He collapsed into a pool of blood.

Dixon had no time to grieve.

Eight warriors, four from each squad, let out roars of rage, their reason overwhelmed.

They too charged into the Ogryn horde.

Meanwhile, Abaddon was nearing the final stage of his battle.

Leading his Luna Wolves, First Company Captain Abaddon swung his power sword, killing Ogryns while never neglecting his command duties.

"Katuran, two o'clock."

Katuran's Reaver Squad, the assault spearhead of the Wolves, soared into action.

Their jump packs erupted with blue flame and high-pitched screams as ten Astartes descended behind the Ogryn lines.

They raised their left arms and unleashed a coordinated volley, tearing open an entrance before diving in.

With chainswords in hand, they struck not as lone berserkers but as a well-oiled team.

They covered one another, leveraging their mobility in tight spaces, unlike their wild competitors.

They were like bullfighters, gracefully dodging Ogryn attacks and countering with devastating strikes.

Abaddon watched with pride as his elite tore open the enemy's rear.

Focused fully on the battle, he remained silent until the end.

He opened his vox and sent a message to Cezak.

"I've completed the mission," Abaddon said, glancing at the tally in his visor.

"Eighty-six kills."

As expected, there was no reply.

His Company had already won.

Looking over his men, he added:

"Not a single casualty in my Company."

Two minutes and sixteen seconds passed before Cezak finally responded.

"I lost. Eighty-four."

Abaddon's tall topknot rose higher; he had won again.

As always.

As it would be in the future.

At the same time, Nareth arrived at the rendezvous point with Fourth Company.

...

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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