Hjalkar Redmane - Death and Decay!

His eyes steadily scanned the dust strewn rocks and crags on the alien landscape. The planet’s twin moons began to set. Sweat trickled down his back, cooling his body. Most importantly, it cooled his temper. The coppery taste of blood, mingled with dusty sweat, seeped into the corners of his mouth. Nostrils flaring, the Deathwatch Marine inhaled the putrid, lingering stench of decay in the surrounding area. His vox barked to life, “Brother Hjalkar, do you see anything?” Hjalkar Redmane, of the Space Wolves, had been seconded to the force militant of the Inquisition. These Adeptus Astartes of the planet Fenris, were of the more savage chapters in the line of the All Father’s sons. He constantly had to fight the urge to delve into combat from his days as a Blood Claw. However, the constant threats against the Imperium of Mankind, allowed him to put his battle skills to good use with regularity... so he didn’t mind. 

“No, Brother-Captain, at least not now.” He retorted, gore still oozing from the teeth of Tratiorsbane, his chainsword. He had just used it to dispatch a small brood of unsuspecting, and mindless, reanimated walkers who had been unfortunate enough to meet him. His genetic enhancements, coupled with the reinforced bone structure and power armor had him standing almost three meters in height; tall even for a Space Marine. Hjalkar, being modest, was worth a hundred guardsmen by himself. While he dispatched this brood of walkers with relative ease, one had managed to get in a lucky blow to his head knocking off his helmet, and bloodying his lip.

His kill-team had spread out, and while still in vox range, he could not see anyone. Suddenly, he caught movement. “Wait!” He said, more to himself, then to his team. He realized with these putrescent walkers around, their masters were certain to be close at hand. He squinted in the twilight, nerves on edge, clutching his chainsword tightly and adjusting his grip on his bolter. He activated the shot selector to load his Hellfire rounds. “What do you see, Brother Hjalkar?”

Then, it appeared. Cumbersome. Bloated. Puss oozed, dripping from various sores and infections rotting on its fetid armour. Small clouds of blackness moved and danced around its disgusting girth. Warp flies, no doubt. Its lethargic movements belied the deftness, and strength of its armoured cast. It hefted a massive, corroded battle-axe. Chorded muscle underneath the decaying, fleshy-plating, twitched with anticipation of the kill. “A Lord of Contagion.” he replied, almost at a whisper. Then, he felt it rising again: the anger, the fever, the berserker inside! The penchant need to destroy anything that stood within an arm’s reach! With jaws clenched, he offered up an incantation to the All-Father to guide his hands. He activated his chainsword, the chitinous teeth whirring to life, thirsting for another victim. Then, with a bellowed oath, he charged...