Regular and incidental fan-fic competitions, for review and contributing to.


Postby Xisor » Thu Jan 11, 2018 11:13 am

A 500 word limit challenge prompt word for what remains of the month of January 2018 is to be:


Have at it!
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Postby theCrowe » Wed Jan 24, 2018 1:15 am

Hot Ride

I ran.

The whole place it seemed was burning. Mighta been the whole damned spire for all I knew. Shoulda been... What do I care?

They like it that way. The Redemption. They like you runnin' scared. Runnin' in circles in the smoke. Y'know they got flugs in them masks of theirs? Yeah sure, the smart ones do anyhow. Not just a pretty face... Well them masks ain't pretty, but you know they come prepared to torch stuff. Photo lenses and smoke filters built in. Kitted out better'n the Arbites in some quarters. They're outlaws, sure, official line, but you make no mistake, the Redemption's the law, the Arbites don't come round their turf.

I made it out of the hab. Street so choked in smoke you can't tell inside or out but for the gak in the gutter. I found a trans-cab parked up behind the hab block and made for it. They make some of'em right tough to get into, but I got a knack for it by now. Picking the easy ones that is. Real gak-piece this one, it aint no hot ride. Been had before now, a fella can tell. Throne, some of 'em been wired so often they don't even bother to fix it.

Kept my head down and got to work, but I can still hear 'em close. Autorifles rattlin' up there in the hab-block. Heard something hit the deck just outside, a chair maybe, or a body. I didn't look.

Smoke was gettin' in the broke window. I was runnin' out of air, runnin' outa time. Got one wire in my teeth, not the live one, that I'm knifing bare. I'm prayin' to the thing, ya know, like a cab driver at the lights. Y'ever hear 'em do that? They pray to their cab, to the machine, cabbies do. Throne, I dunno, guess the cab spirit didn't much appreciate my havin' at the ignition like that but I was prayin' all the same.

Thought I'd seen enough of fire but right then the sparks were a fella's best friend, I tell ya. Never was so glad to see 'em through the smoke. The engine fired up and the whole thing jerked alive. Hit my head on the wheel coming up, then I seem him. Ugly gold mask, glint of fire from beneath, he's lit and ready to burn, but then so am I.

Feth, I never floored a pedal like that. Tore outa there backwards on tyre smoke and promethium fumes. Big Ugly-masked feth was screaming, think I broke his foot maybe. He burned off a tank of juice but I was rollin'. Flipped it into drive and took off dodgin' slugs. Gave it one last look in the rear view but nobody's chasing. Just all flames and smoke behind. Out front its just a dark road to nowhere.
Last edited by theCrowe on Thu Feb 01, 2018 8:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Fallen » Wed Jan 31, 2018 11:42 pm

Armand uttered the order calmly, sanctioning what came next. Sergeant Arcasius repeated it, his tone grim and resolute. If either of the of the other two Exorcist Aggressors replied over the vox link, the Inquisitor didn’t hear them. Their response though, was clear enough. There was a loud whoosh as three pairs of flamestorm gauntlets flared, filling the dark cellar with the glow of burning promethium. Armand stared through the flames despite the intense heat he felt on his face,
“Hold!”, he voxed abruptly.
“Inquisitor Konstantin?” Arcasius sounded surprised. Armand ignored him and stepped in quickly to focus on their quarry. Cowering in the corner of the cellar were several disheveled looking humans, arms raised against the fire, eyes wide with fear. He scanned their faces, looking for the hint of corruption in one that would allow him to spare the others. His scrutiny revealed nothing beyond terror and blind panic. He retreated, nodding curtly, and the marines moved in. The roar of their weapons drowned out the screams of agony. The inquisitor watched impassionately, unmoved by the scene.
“Enough!” he ordered when the last victim had ceased thrashing, falling atop the charred husks of the others. There was a sudden silence as the Exorcists extinguished their weapons. Darkness also reclaimed the underground room, defied only by the guttering corpses and the gobbets of burning promethium dripping from the barrels of the Aggressor’s weapons. Armand stepped forward and kicked at the bodies with an armoured boot, his own glowing force sword gripped tightly in his hand. The charred flesh crumbled to ash. The inquisitor scowled,
“The daemon is here somewhere. We continue the hunt.” he growled into the vox-link, turning and stalking past the Exorcists to the stairway. His foot had hardly touched the first step when he heard it - a whisper, barely audible in his mind, like a memory, a voice he thought he recognised but couldn’t place,
He turned sharply, staring back at the blackened bodies. Something was shifting in the ashes. The voice spoke in his head again, its timbre now dry and cracked,
“What... was it... that you... said… dear Konstantin?”
Armand gritted his teeth against the psychic invasion, looking up at the Exorcists who seemed unaware anything was wrong as they turned away from their smouldering victims.
“Sergeant Arcasius!” he tried to say, “the daemon is-”, but the psychic voice boomed in his head, drowning out his words and leaving him unsure whether he had actually spoken or not.
“I.. thought... you... said…”, the voice was laden with menace now, as if every word it uttered strengthened its potency and anger.
“Arcasius!” Armand yelled, stricken by an overwhelming augury of disaster about to strike.
“Ignite!” the voice screamed into his mind. Armand span and flung himself up the staircase, the image of a dark figure of crumbling bone and shadow rising from the corpses behind the marines even as their promethium tanks exploded into an roaring fireball, engulfing the cellar with blistering flames.
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Postby Kentigern » Fri Feb 02, 2018 3:12 pm


“Wotz dat?”

Skrashnik’s face was scrunched up in what passed for concentration for him, clearly a painful experience. He was examining the range of gubbins and wotnotz which Big Mek Frunk had constructed in the hanger.

“Dat, ya stinkin’ grot, is a thingamabobbin. It’s probably the bestest weapon eva’ made by an Ork before. You should be grateful you is here for this moment ya squig dropping.”

Skrashnik nodded enthusiastically, clearly desperate to give the impression that he knew what was going on. “Yeah boss, I can see dat. But wot does it do?”

The Big Mek’s face lit up with maniacal joy as he mimicked an explosion with his oil soaked hands. “It blows stuff up. All da stuff. I’ve connected it to the oil fields da Humies are hiding on. Press da big button and ‘kablam’ – bye bye humies!”

Frunk started to laugh, the noise booming around the hanger. Skrashnik stared at him silently for a while, until the Big Mek’s angry glare startled the Grot out of his incomprehension.

“Oh boss, dat is ‘mazing, you gonna be leading a Waagh dead soon. Humies won’t know what’s hit them.”

Krunk smirked an evil smirk. “I know. And den da boyz will see I’m way better than Warboss Mansquisher, and dey will follow me.”

He allowed himself a briefer period of frenzied laughing, keen to get on with destroying things.

“Right, we press dis button and the humies go boom. Do you want to do it Skrashnik?”

The Grot’s face lit up with joy, frantic excitement making his whole body shake.

“Really boss? You’d let me do that? I’m honoured, this is the biggest day of my life, I’ve never been so…”

Frunk backhanded the gibbering Grot across the room, laughing cruelly. “Of course I’m not going to let you press da button ya dumb Grot, you’d probably get it wrong. Dis one’s for me”

Turning to the control panel, he hovered his claw over the big red button. Skrashnik, cradling his bruised face, watched from the window at the far side of the hanger, excitement to see the humies below explode outweighing the pain of his face.

“Countdown!” shouted Frunk. “Ten…nine…eh…free…eh…oh frak that!”

He pressed the button exultantly, the sound of explosions rumbling through, followed by the screams of burning enemies. What a triumph, what glory he would face, what…

Skrashnik suddenly piped up. “Boss, nuffin seems to be happening to da humies.” He scratched his head, attempting to think. “Eh, boss…didn’t Warboss Mansquisher capture the oil fields yesterday?”

Krunk glared at the grot, violent intentions emanating from his body. “And?”

The Grot gulped nervously. “Well, if the oil fields were covered in Mansquisher and our boyz, den you have blown them up, which means….means…dat you are now da Warboss?”

Krunk smiled. “You are right! I’m now da boss. Told you dis weapon was da best. Nuffin to it. Now let’s go find ourselves some new boys, I fink the other ones might be a bit burnt now…”
Good guys go to heaven.

Bad guys send them there.
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Postby Kentigern » Wed Feb 14, 2018 11:07 am

Lol, re-reading my submission I've realised I kept changing the Big Mek's name between Frunk and Krunk. :oops: Maybe time to work on my editing skills... :lol:
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