‘Descent of Angels’


Jenkins lifted his head, the hot ash and dust cascading off his helmet as he unfurled himself from the rudimentary shelter provided by the command post. Slowly, he raised his eyes and peered warily over the top of the battered trench line. Other guardsmen were emerging from their hiding places too, looking nervously beyond the rampart and into the thick black smoke below.

A tide of rippling green muscle and savage metal weaponry erupted from the gloom, roaring as it boiled up the slope. Wielding a crude two handed choppa high above his horned helm, a colossal Warboss bellowed as he led the charge of frenzied Orks.

Captain Jenkins let out a small but audible sigh, and sagged against the rampart in resignation to his fate. Somewhere near at hand, and man screamed in blind panic, while another raised his fist to the heavens and tore a blue streak of profanities out of the air. The bombardment had failed. Their position was about to fall, and with their death went any hope of Perdition’s salvation.

A high pitch whine cut through the air, piercing the cacophony of the Orks advance. Jenkins looked up into the hazy sky for the source of the noise. The air before the torrid green mass shimmered in a blast of supercharged heat. Descending through the pall of drifting smoke, an immense black figure bearing the white raven on his jump pack slammed into the mud of no man’s land. With both hands the figure bought his colossal hammer, crackling with energy, around in a flowing arc that smashing the advancing Warboss full in his dumbstruck face. A sharp crack of discharged energy and splintering skull launched the vile creature back over the onrushing Goffs, spewing rivulets of blood and teeth as he span.

The hordes advance stuttered, the Boyz hesitating as more Raven Guard thumped into the mud along the line. With them came the chatter of bolters and the roaring of promethium flamers. Green bodies burst apart, spraying blood and viscera in all directions. Others burned, their bodies flailing widely under the leaping flames. The Ork charge faltered under the onslaught, and then crumbled into retreat.

Jenkins smiled as he drew his sword and mounted the rampart steps, motioning his guardsmen to do likewise. This was not their day to die after all!


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