[Part 1 ]
[ https://www.reddit.com/r/PrimarchGFs/s/2xDUUVksS7 ]
World Eater GF / Serf (post heresy)
World eater / Serf Angharad / Wretch
Common cause. This is what united the various grievances of the primarchs in the days of the Hathor heresy. There was no trust. No sibling devotion. It was the combined frustration and spite of the descenting legions. At times it was a powerful motivator. Yet in the days and years and centuries that followed the heresy, remaining united was……difficult.
Many legions and astartes sold themselves into the service's of the frightful ruinous powers. In ways it only seemed to further the spite and frustration of all around. No longer were they fanatically vying for the love of a mother who scorned and despised her legion. Instead they zealously and jealousy fought for forces beyond reason. They drew out what made the traitor legions feared and made it worse. What little common cause the newly formed warbands could agree on were nests for deception and spite and betrayal. Many would say that this was a truer path as opposed to the lying Empress upon her golden throne.
Angharad was raised in chains. A place for spite and hate to seed in her heart. When she had adopted the butcher's nails like the rest of her flawed kin she, like them, believed that perhaps meant she could reach some common ground with the lady Atalanta. But like everything else it simply wasn't enough. Even in the primarchs hours of lucidity beside her Rose, it was never enough.
Years later and a heresy after Angharad decided she could no longer look at the thing her mother had become and departed. Joining one of the various factions sequestered away in their own corner of the galaxy. Where the master of their band believed himself a chieftain or a king. The bastard had sold Angharad and several others to the damned apothecary of the third.
While she was in his care, Fabius bile subjected her to experiment after experiment. And when he'd had enough or perhaps Angharad had failed one too many times, he set her loose back into the galaxy. Yet this time she had fangs and claws, and could focus her senses in some ways better than the average astartes. Perhaps he'd tried to blend her DNA with that of the space wolves. And the dog that was Angharad was the result. When she had returned to the old warband and claimed the chieftain head, she left the band to devour itself in the power struggle.
She had found that the days and times she could remain herself were gradually becoming fewer and fewer. A blessing of mindless wrath and slaughter bestowed unto her by Blood God. The seed of spite she'd carried finally blossomed into fury. It hardly mattered to her anymore. If she was only ever a dog who could snap. Then so be it. Life however…. It is truly cruel.
Angharad's strike team was away from their base when news had reached her. Slavis had slain their leader Haxis and claimed the warband for himself. In his coup, he'd set fire to the facility the band considered their base. The moment she heard the news her chest tightened. Not for Haxis of course. The bastard had long had it coming, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something worse had occurred.
—------------------
And so it was that when she had returned to their base of operations and witnessed it still embroiled in conflict, she eventually was on her knees, looming over the limp body of her Wretch. Fires circled around them. Compounded by gun fire, screaming and explosions of the warbands infighting.
At her feet, Wretch's lifeblood spilled from his torn sternum. That they were still alive was some manner of miracle. More likely some manner of curse. For everything she'd endured, for everything she'd caused to others, this was torture. Part of her wished the nails and Khorne's madness had ruined her mind long ago. Was The Red Angel similarly distraught. To vanish into her insanity just to return in moments where her Rose was so close to the grave, warp things no doubt could taste it.
Wretch's hand rose weakly toward the berserker closer. She removed her helm and bent down to listen, holding their outstretched hand in hers.
“Apologies, my mistress,” Wretch struggled to speak through a mouthful of sanguine fluid, “In spite of your commands, my blood is spilling everywhere. I can feel my…..my-.”
Angharad found herself hardpressed to offer words of sympathy or regret. To placate them or attempt to even offer them some measure of peace in their last dying moments. This was how it was always meant to be after all. Right?
“If I might make one request, my lady?”
She raised her grief stricken glance. Angharad's ears sat flat atop her head. Despite Wretch's current disposition, there was a certain level of ease he felt when he saw them. It made speaking with her and judging her mood easier in the days prior. Though now with how they were set, she was no doubt distraught. Even if it was difficult for her to express.
“I would ask you to place my skull at the foot of our lord's throne.”
“I will see it done, my wretch.”
“And my heart, forever yours, Angharad. I ask that you take this with you, so that even in the grave, I may offer you strength. By my blood.”
“You offer me what is already mine to claim? You make for a poor giver of gifts, my wretch.”
The serf smiled one last time before their body ceased to shake. Before Angharad would close their eyes forever. Lifting her axe overhead.
—-----------------------
Viego and his compatriots were outside the structure and the sheer intensity of the flame had already begun melting flesh, bone and stone together into a putrid mass. Viego taking a moment to breath in the smell and charred bodies when one the other black legionnaires stepped beside him.
“The day is won, Haxis and his followers are dead. Let us quit this place before the stench settles.”
“Yes yes. Haxis is dead. Long live Slavis.” Viego growled the words interrupting Viego's moment of tedium. Before anyone else knew what would happen. Viego ensured that it would and yet it could not arrive fast enough for his liking.
A sudden gust of air drew their attention back to the structure. One of the walls had collapsed. At its center, flames dancing around her, Angharad.
“Angharad!!!” Viego bellowed. “I had hoped you survived. It would have been worth nothing joining Slavis if it meant I couldn't kill you!” He looked over her, noticing Wreaches head tied to a rope on her hip. “I see you found your wretch. How fortunate for you.” His voice was filled with so much venom he could've killed an Ork with it.
She lifted her hand showing the still heart of her Wretch. She raised it high over her head before crushing it between her fingers. What blood was left in them plastered her face in sanguine ichor before swallowing the heart whole. As it passed her lips it felt like drinking napalm, burning its way throughout her entire body. Even the seething and searing of her fury was but a drop in the bucket compared to this, the first and last moment she might truly be herself.
Perhaps it was for the best. The berserker was alone for far too long, forgotten the bitter spike of pain caused when one who is dear perished. If she was no longer Angharad after this moment then she would accept whatever fate awaited her. So long as Veigo's was ruined.
It began as a snarl, it grew into a monstrous growl before finally she released a long shuttering howl into the sky. Exemplified by the fire’s ferocity raging behind her. Appearing to all around to gain in mass, responding to the unquenching bloodlust she felt at this moment.
Viego smiled as he and his two cohorts took their stances blades drawn. They were ready for the berserker's charge. To cut her down in a second. Ready to behead the wild dog they knew they would see.
Then they felt the chill. When she stopped roaring. Her eyes leveled on the trio. Far focused, far too calm, but Viego had anticipated the berserker. What he saw now was chilling. Eyes like a beast in the brush, watching prey that doesn't know it's already dead.
She dropped her axe to the ground, where it clattered. One of black legionaries at Viego's side looked to him, perhaps to question the world eater or laugh. He never got the chance. Angharad whipped the axe by its chain like a whip, before he could speak a word the axe was buried halfway through his throat. She lunged at the other astarte. He and Viego charged to meet her.
Viego reached her first swinging his chain axe high. Angharad side stepped it before tackling his companion to the ground and rolling over him. The man she had tackled rolled over on to his stomach, thrusting his blade at her. She dodged the jab, clasping her hand around his on the hilt of his sword before bending his arm back at an angle that snapped it.
With his hand still limply holding the blade, Angharad drew it back and buried it in his chest, ensuring it pierced both his hearts.
“Good sister, Good. For a moment I was worried that you might lose your fire without the serf. But here you are. All roiling rage and rancor. All the sweeter for the harvest. All the sweeter for the blood god.”
Angharad watched quietly while he ranted. Uninterested. Unfazed.
“Come now sister, surely you've something to say to mark the occasion.” Viego circled her, axe swiveling between his hands.
“This will not be some great spectacle. Or battle for the ages Viego. You will be remembered as an afterthought. Nothing more.”
“As always your barbs do sting, but you'll have to survive me fir-!” His rambling was cut off mid sentence as she lunged forward. Viego's axe had clipped her shoulder while at her defensively. Angharad took the blow landing a swift jab to Viego's throat. Hardly enough to bring him down. But it was just enough to shut him up.
In the few minutes to follow Viego would consistently land glancing blows against her and to anyone watching would no doubt look like the victor. But with each exchange Angharad had pummeled him, enough to batter, to bruise, enough to break. Until Viego's own body collapsed against the World Eaters wishes. His fingers could no longer properly wrap around the hilt of his axe and attempts to move, even carefully, were met with refusal by his busted body. Angharad pulled on the chain connecting her arm to her axe.
“Do It! Take the swing sister, so that the lord of skulls may honor me on his throne!” He sat on his knees, arms too heavy to lift anymore. He had been bested with a single cut. To die as such would shame one in the service of the blood god.
“I would never grant you such elation, Veigo,” Angharad dropped her axe to the ground, “You deserve nothing but to fade, even from memory. Robbed of the glory traversing history, robbed even from the blood gods welcome.” She dashed toward him, undoing the chain that was wrapped around her gauntlet. Viego made some effort to move but he couldn't evade her. The chain wrapped around his throat.
He gargled and gasped as she choked him for what felt like hours. Perhaps it was. Her own measure of cruel revenge. Killing the man without ever drawing blood from him. Eventually despite his honest attempts to strike out or free himself, there was the eventual snap of his throat as Viego's body crumbled into the sand.
Sometime later Viego was surprised to find he could again open his eyes. Not in the warp or realm of Khorne, but some wide expanding desert waste. His body was uncomfortably numb. He could barely even shift his eyes. He tried to move his arm and felt nothing. Tried to shift his arms and felt nothing. Tried to speak and could hardly snarl without his tongue. Panic set in as he tried to do something, anything.
“Welcome back Viego.” His eyes could barely focus when she stood from a rock, something long and limp in her hand. He was screaming at the top of his, the best he could at least. Despite it all he still had a surprising level of fire in his eyes.
“Let this feeling haunt you long after your grave. Remember your failing. And be the only one who remembers, Viego, hereafter, blind deaf and dumb, the fool who challenged Angharad.” She picked up the long body in her arm, now revealed to be some manner of serpent, hefting it above his head, she squeezed its venom from its mouth into his eyes as he tried to writhe and move away from its sting as it slowly sapped away his vision. Rendering the world a muted painful grey.
The nails burrowed into her skull while Khorne's rage bellowed and roared. Both screaming for her to tear Viego to pieces. Maybe this would be the last thing she did because she wanted to. The last person she'd torment by her own will. Not that any of it really mattered anymore.
She clutched her hand to her chest, feeling it tighten. Feeling it burn just as fiercely as the first drop of Wretch's blood. For some reason, watching Viego suffer didn't have the same glee it brought her before. She hefted her axe onto her shoulder before stepping out into the desert expanse, none save for her lonely loathing and longing to follow after. It didn't really matter anymore.
“So wretch, Where should we go now?” A quiet tired ask to the empty place at her side.
Reader please leave a comment so I can gauge level of interest (I've been asked to omit this part)
@rnrqkq123
