Angry Marines

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Angry Marines
Angry Marines SP.png
Battle Cry ALWAYS ANGRY!!!!! ALL THE TIME!!!!!
Number Unknown
Founding None/Unknown
Successors of None /(Desert Fangs)
Successor Chapters None
Chapter Master Temperus Maximus
Primarch Rachnus Rageous
Homeworld Angrymar / McRage
Strength More than 1000 marines (Fuck you, Girlyman!).
Specialty Close combat and assault with an overwhelming excess of brutality and profanity.
Colours Bright yellow with a blood-red trim.

In any society, fanatics who hate don't hate only me - they hate you, too. They hate everybody.

-Elie Wiesel

The Angry Marines are, in essence, what would likely happen if /tg/ could magically turn themselves into Spess Mehreens and express their opinions towards certain aspects of the canon of 40K. They were in fact actually created by some guy using the Dawn of War army painter for the first time in ye olden days of yore. They are not the Alfa Legion; they symbolize the fa/tg/uy's love for 40K, as well as rage. Which /tg/ has in copious, albeit impotent, amounts.

Edit: "We’ve been silent because we’re reviewing our plans, our plans for Early Access, Closed Beta, Open Beta, Launch, Expansion and whether Angry Marines are a real chapter or not (they are). This also means we’re reviewing when individual things are ready at what time, and what’s included in each of these scenarios. We’re not going to talk about that yet, because we aren’t done." Canon chapter confirmed.

The Angry Marines are a popular /tg/ homebrew Chapter of Space Marines, and by far the most famous homebrew to gain fame outside the realm of /tg/. They are angry for the Emprah and skittles. All the time. Angry Marine tactics focus on getting into melee as quickly as possible, and proceeding to bust open several crates of FUCK YOU in the various directions of the Imperium's enemies. Due to this, Angry Marines tend to have low BS (by low, we mean Ork boy low), but have terrifically high WS/S/I, meaning anyone getting into CQC would be utterly annihilated.

There is even a Codex - Angry Marines (7th Edition) detailing the special rules required to adequately represent their rage. There is also a Codex - Angry Marines 8th Edition you can use ... even if it's not quite finished yet and the rules are not balanced at all, THAT'S NOT AN EXCUSE FOR YOU ULTRASMURF BLOWING FUCKTARDS NOT TO READ IT!!!

The Angry Marines employ a variety of weapons notably different to the standard Space Marine arsenal. These include power heavy bolters (for melee and ranged use), dual power fists, power feet, power bats, power wrenches, and even the Predator Angrinator, a modified version of the Predator Whirlwind artillery tank that fires the Angry Marines themselves directly into the enemy ranks. They also possess a Titan Legion, which is fully comprised of Angry Titans. These are detailed in Codex: ANGRY MARINES. The Angry Marines also think that pistols are for faggots who can't hit worth a damn, and so these marines rarely never go into battle with the traditional pistol+CCW combo, opting instead to engage opponents in mêlée combat.

Even when not in combat, the Angry Marines are so goddamn angry that even the words of their out-loud speech seem to be made with the CAPS LOCK key left on. As such, They are sometimes disparagingly referred to as "Tourettes Marines" when FUCKING RETARDS are unable to differentiate between seething anger and lolrandom cursing. The people who do not understand this are DOING IT TERRIBLY WRONG and are the real faggots. Nevertheless, properly reflecting Angry Marines' verbal communication REQUIRES that everything be typed in full-caps.

You've probably seen how Space Marines feel emotions with a strength that normal people cannot even comprehend, right? Well, the Angry Marines feel rage to an extent that leaves other Space Marines entirely speechless. You think you've ever been angry? The most rage you've ever felt is like a minor annoyance compared to what an Angry Marine feels all the time.

Some believe the Angry Marines to be loyalist World Eaters, but this is merely one of many theories floating around. Another theory is that they are the missing 2nd or 11th Legion, but it is not known what the Angry Marines think of this statement. In fact, whenever someone asks an Angry Marine about the chapter's founding history, the one asking the question is given a swift, forceful kick to the balls with a power foot.

Yet another theory is that they are successors of the Ultramari-OH GOD PLEASE NOT IN THE FACE *BLAM*

At present, the prevailing belief is that, like the faggoty-ass Pretty Marines, the Angry Marines are a first founding chapter and used to be the Eleventh Legion. However, due to Rowboat Girlyman accidentally hitting the backspace key when he meant to copy and paste something while typing up the Codex Astartes, the Second Legion was stricken from official records, as were the Eleventh Legion. Thus most of the Imperium and indeed the Galaxy at large doesn't know about them, even though they are not classified as any kind of secret in any way shape or form.

There are some pretty cool guys out there that believe an old meme is old. Others disagree, using the argument memes have no expiration date!

Should an Inquisitor ever find a planet to be rife with HERESY, the people of that world (as well as many of the adjacent ones) better hope that the nearest Chapter Fleet isn't one from the Angry Marines. Very often, the resultant fallout of their measures to purge heresy results not only in the absolute destruction of the world on which heresy was first detected, but all things within a radius of 10 sub-sectors as well. Such fruit may be borne by the Angry Marines by, for example, ramming battle barge after battle barge upon the very surface of the world itself.

The most astonishing thing about the Angry Marines is that they need no testosterone to be in as foul a mood as they are. Despite the fact that like all other Space Marines their ability to produce sex hormones is completely removed as part of their introduction, they are still very much able to act as if their blood was all replaced with testosterone.Just as planned .

Someone's trying to make a more serious version of them called the Desert Fangs, via Deathwatch materials. It's pretty cool.

The Angry Marines[edit]

  • Varied as the many accounts of the Angry Marines are, some tend to shed more light on their nature than others and are thus recollected here. Also, skittles.

The Guardsman's "Savior"[edit]

Guardsman "Church" of the 8th Cadian regiment was stranded with his battalion on a unknown planet surrounded by hordes of Chaos traitors. Church was almost certain he was going to die today, until, screeching down to him, was a yellow drop pod. Once it crashed down, right in front of him, crushing his commissar, and what came out was bewildering. What came out, was Angry Marines. Everyone was silent as the drop pod opened, and out came sheer terror. "WHAT THE FUCK TYPE OF LANDING WAS THAT" said one marine. "MAYBE YOU SHOULD QUIT YOUR BITCHING YOU COCKSUCKING ASSPIPE" said another. After 20 minutes of arguing they all held up their weapons and yelled to the Chaos forces, "ALWAYS ANGRY" as they charged at the enemy. Heretics fled, died, had a foot stuck up their heretical ass. But not a single traitor lived that day. After the battle they quickly left and left Church wondering " What the hell just happened"?!

The Primarch of Rage[edit]

"Lo, in the histories of the many Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, every Primarch listed that has ever come across my sage and learned eyes, has found root and home upon a planet, which hath shaped and set in stone the character of that warrior of The Emperor that he would become.

Therefore, one must give pause to the Primarch of our brothers, the Angry Marines, that great warrior of rage for he hath never fell upon a planet. Nay! Legend has it he was borne upon the ethers and drifts of space, alone in his capsule save for a discarded copy of Battletoads that The Emperor had thrown out, a legendary artifact that hath fueled research into vast weapons of war that it might be unmade and erased from history.

When the capsule had finally been rammed into a drifting hulk of an old Imperial battleship, it is said that the Primarch was so enraged and frustrated with the vile game that he headbutted out the Adam's apple of the first survivor that he encountered, and thereafter killed every inhabitant with the remnants of the dying initial combatant."

--- Historian Nwabudike
Histories of the Ill-favored Chapters

The Friendly Fire "Incident" of Klaxus XII[edit]

  • From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents".
  • Section #511: The "Friendly" Fire Incident of Klaxus XII
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The records of this dire moment in Imperial history were (until I came upon them) known only to the two Space Marine Chapters that took part in the skirmish. However, only by putting the two records together is the truth found.

The Pretty Marines tell of a conflict fraught with glory against the odds, and of dire betrayal:

"Prior to the sortie against our enemy, our glorious Chapter Master graced us with a speech. With eloquence, he spoke before the resplendent lines of the Brother-Marines. Sparkling under the twin suns, he recounted for us the beautiful victory, and of the fates of our enemies. As one we cheered, as we awaited his inevitable dance number.
But lo, from the skies fell a drop pod, smashing into our forward lines and engulfing the area with thick dust. It took us only a moment to clear the air with our blow-dryers, but it was a moment too late: the Chapter Master was verily embedded lying-down onto the desert's surface face-first!"

The Angry Marines tell the other side of the story, though in far less words due to a lacking in vocabulary beyond many four letter utterances. Hastily inserted into the annals of their Chapter, glory is simply a picture with the words "OWNED" across it, and the image of the Pretty Marines' Chapter Master unconscious on the ground, a crude mustache drawn on his face with paint, and what appears to be a set of testicles on his forehead.

So began the greatest internal feud within the Imperium.

Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.

Astartes Most Unusual[edit]

  • Excerpted from Hidden Imperial Histories by Adept Voliusnius Brouyt
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Of the many Space Marine Chapters that protect the good citizens of the Imperium none are as well respected, nor admired as the warriors of the Ultramarines. Such is the greatness of their deeds. Their stories are told on innumerable worlds, their reputation as the saviors of the Imperium of Man is both well deserved and proven, time and time again. Indeed, such is their martial prowess that even other Astartes can only but compare themselves forlornly inferior to those that hold Guilliman's geneseed.

This does, however, occasionally leads to friction amongst some of the more bellicose chapters of Astartes that still stubbornly refuse to yield to the wisdom of the blessed Codex Astartes. Such antagonism is best illustrated with an anecdote from an instance when the Ultramarines encountered an obscure and ill-recorded chapter whom records merely identify as the "[Angry??] Marines".

The Angry Marines had apparently chased a Tyranid splinter fleet into Ultramarine space to which they brought absolute devastation. Impressed by their sheer ferocity the blessed Calgar offered an invitation to their Chapter Master, a man identified in the records only as Temperus Maximus. However, the invitation to meet their spiritual liege was responded to with the head of the slain hive tyrant -- on which was crudely scrawled an insulting cartoon of the Ultramarines defense of Macragge as well as depictions of male genitalia -- and the message, "STILL NOT AS GOOD AS THE HEAD YOUR MOM GAVE, YOU POMPOUS FUCKING DOUCHEBAG FUCKTARDS!!!!1!"

Infuriated by such a blatant and insulting Snub, Calgar personally took it to on himself to demand an apology from the arrogant Temperus Maximus. He subsequently traveled to the offender's battlebarge's throne room in person. Unfortunately, he little expected the animalistic temperament that would greet his justified demand for obeisance, from the maniacal Temperus Maximus. The exchange between the two soon escalated into an argument, before coming to blows.

The clash between the two occurred behind closed doors, with no clue exactly what words were exchanged. Yet when the doors opened again it was Calgar that was battered and bruised, with the sacred Gauntlets of Ultramar torn from his shoulders. Only the wise counsel of the Inquisition prevented him from declaring immediate war against his unruly brethren, a war that would no doubt have cost the Imperium greatly before the Ultramarines' Angry Marines's inevitable victory. The story stands as a clear example of how the refusal to follow the Codex only promotes discord and strife between erstwhile brothers.

As to what occurred in the Angry Marine chambers, few can know, the only clue perhaps the jeering cry raised by the Angry Marines whenever they cross paths with the Ultramarines during campaigns. A nonsensical mantra of "STOP HITTING YOURSELF STOP HITTING YOURSELF", repeated ad infinitum. What such a bizarre and crude chant could mean, a scholar can only guess at. Ultimately, it is telling of the less than exemplary mental nature of non-codex Astartes.

Thought for the Day: Do not ask, "Why kill the alien?" rather, ask, "Why not?"

Assist on Vesuvius[edit]

  • From the personal diaries of Brother R.C. Mongler, 4th Chanian Combat Group.
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My Chapter had landed on a barren little ball of rock called Vesuvius. The Inquisition had ordered us to the planet on suspicion of Chaos corruption. Surely enough, we ran into a group of Chaos Marines within a day of landing. The fools, turning their backs on the God-Emperor for whatever sick rewards they received from the deceiving Warp fiends. The battle started the second morning. Their attack was especially fierce, and my brothers and I had great trouble keeping them at bay. It seemed that for every one of them we killed, three more showed up. Our own losses were of no small concern. In a rare moment of calm, Brother-Captain Morgan confided in me that if we were not killed by these berserkers, we would almost certainly be killed by the Inquisition for failure. As our numbers dwindled, I grew concerned: surely we would all be killed, and The Emperor's work would not be carried out. We prepared for a final assault, one which had been coming for near a week of the most intense fighting I had ever seen. We surrounded a small hill, atop which stood our last Dreadnought, Brother Klarr. We saw their force coming from below. We knew this was our end. But suddenly, a shadow passed over us. Some great demon come to finish us off? No. It was a drop pod. Out of it stepped a small company of our brethren. They wore bright yellow armor, a bizarre crest upon their shoulders, unlike any Chapter I had yet heard of. A circle, with two lines crossing it and two dots in the middle - almost as if to suggest an angry face. They formed a line between us and the now charging Chaos Marines.

The Chaos Marines' bright red armor shone in the late afternoon sun, the spikes upon their shoulders menacing. The new arrivals stood fast. As the distance between the two forces began to close, there arose from these yellow warriors the loudest scream I had ever heard. It shook the ground. Even through my helmet, it made my ears ring and my skull ache. And it simply kept getting louder as their Captain's fist slowly rose into the air. As it rose to a nearly supersonic volume, I finally made out the words contained in the scream:


In a chorus louder even than the Captain's scream, the soldiers returned:


Then it began.


Without a word, the yellow Space Marines returned to their drop pod and soon whisked away from the battlefield. There had been no more than a dozen of them, not a single word exchanged between our two Chapters. To this day, I have never seen any Marines fight with such rage and fury. The mass of enemy berserkers was reduced to mere chunks, legs, arms, heads, and craters full of blood. Bits of red armor lay strew about the field. We had not even had the chance to advance by the time the screaming - both theirs and the enemy's - was over. I turned to my Captain and asked, "Who were they?"

"I had thought it was rumor, but no. Emperor bless us all, those were the Angry Marines."

Thought for the Day: The Emperor protects.


The Salvation of Calamitis Prime[edit]

  • Loading excerpt from Tales of Valor: Reports from the Ork Invasion of Calamitis Prime.
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The PDF sold their lives dearly to stop the greenskin advance upon our primary Hive, but on the horde came. There would be no escape-- but for the Planetary Governor, whose escape shuttle was prepped to leave before the attack had even began.

As our leader left us to die, we prayed to The Emperor for deliverance while we continued risking our lives to protect his works. Glory be to his swift answer.

A yellow Thunderhawk, identified as Necrogoth Fuckshit, descended like a falling star, the much larger transport vehicle crushing the smaller one as it demolished the landing pad, and through the fire and smoke the mighty figure of a Space Marine strode forth. I will never forget the seething expression on his face as he looked upon us, then upon the Hive, and then upon the xenos.

The Marine did not pause, he drew his chainsword and charged down the stairs with a battlecry upon his lips, screaming "FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-" or something of the sort, a cry with no end. Even as he disappeared into the Hive we heard him clearly, even as we saw the small yellow figure leap from the Hive into the throng of green below we heard him.
Drop pods followed as more Marines smashed into the horde, more yellow armored Marines echoing the endless cry.

The xenos were crushed utterly, and still screaming in rage, the Space Marines ran up the Hive once more, to where the Governor still stood staring at the crushed wreckage of his escape shuttle in disbelief. The Marines poured into their Thunderhawk, but the Marine from before ran right up to the cowardly official, and his finger pressing painfully against the man's forehead, ended his warcry at last,:


Rather unceremoniously, the Governor was then pitched off the top of the Hive, with his underwear pulled up over his head.

Thought for the Day: To question is to doubt.

They called me a Cunt[edit]

Extracted from the testimony of Inquisitor Seros

Extract #221B, as follows...

During the 38th millennium, a young scribe was tasked by the Adminstratum to launch a complete inventorial investigation into an Adeptus Astartes chapter listed as the ”Angry Marines”. For some reason the chapters quartermaster had not supplied the Adminstratum on Holy Terra with copies of the chapters procurement's and requisitions. And as the Mechanicum wasn't obliged to supply reports about deliveries to individual units, the Administratum had no idea of the current state of the chapters inventory, upkeep or even numbers of Astartes. The promising young scribe chosen for this task was named Arturius, he had a flawless record and knew instinctively how to deal with bureaucracy. As the chapter had not even supplied the Administratum with a home world, the scribe was sent to the commander of the “somthingth” company, a marine named Shitkicker. After months of travelling aboard a supply vessel, Arturius could finally get on with his mission. The “Somethingth” company was currently deployed on the world Akdov Prime, and was in the final stages of liberating the planet from rebels and heretics. As the small craft boarded the battle barge “IDONTCAREYOUNAMETHEDAMNTHING”, Arturius braced himself for a meeting with a chapter which the elder scribes only talked about in hushed whispers. But to his surprise, when the airlock doors opened there were no one there to greet him. He wondered if they might have misunderstood the ID signal he sent when he asked for permission to board the immense ship? Slowly he made his way through the corridors of the battle barge, walking intently towards sounds that sounded suspiciously like swearing and punching. The noises increased in strength and clarity as he stopped just in front of a large bulkhead with massive dents in the thick metal. He took a deep breath and pressed the button to open the bulkhead doors and before he knew it, he stood eye to eye with the quartermaster of the ship. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT YOU BATHROBE-WEARING SCROTUMGOBBLER?!” Arturius was taken aback by the sheer volume at which the yellow clad Astartes operated. “Oh, ehm well you see Sir, I've been sent by the Adminis...” and before he could even finish his sentence the quartermaster had removed his helmet and planted it a mere inch from the young scribes head. “YOU COME FROM WHERE?! DON'T FUCKING TELL ME THE DICKSNIFFERS FROM THE FUCKING 'LIBARY' SENT YOU?!” he shouted at a deafening level, whilst spraying Arturius with spittle.

“I'm afraid that i am, oh thou protector of humanity, they've sent me because...” again he was interrupted. “I COULDN'T GIVE A LUBE-SMELLING JIZZPOT AS TO WHY THOSE TAINTFONDLING NERDS WOULD SEND YOU HERE, I'M NOT SORTING ALL OF THESE BOLTERS OUT JUST SO THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO JERK OFF TO”. Arturius had a feeling he would get nowhere with the quartermaster, who now was so annoyed that a vein were throbbing alarmingly on the side of his bald head. With great haste he backed out of the disorganized arsenal and ventured further into the ship, towards the bridge.

Unlike most of the Imperium's bigger vessels, this battle barge didn't have any markings to indicate as to which direction one would proceed to a certain location. The only thing close to it were lewd drawings and four letter cursewords scribbled on the walls. After almost an hour of guessing as to where the bridge might be, having only depictions of genitalia with jet-engines attached to them to go by, he had finally arrived. Again he heard muffled shouting behind the immense bulkhead, and thought that caution was needed for this possibly violent encounter. Never in his wildest nightmares could he have expected Adeptus Astartes to behave in this manner. With a trembling finger, he pressed the button to open the bulkhead and in an instant the shouting became clear. “I DON'T GIVE TWO LUMPS OF SHIT ABOUT WHAT THE GOVERNOR ASSHAT THINKS, WE'RE THROWING IN ALL OF THE ANGRY GANGS!!!”. “With all due respect my lord, we don't have enough pods for all t..”, “FUCK YOU BUTTPIRATE, THEN WE'LL FUCKING LAND THIS PIECE OF DICKSPIT ON THAT SHITHOLE EXCUSE OF A PLANET!”. Captain Shitkicker had not even registered the arrival of the nervous scribe, and with a very unsteady voice he spoke, “Excuse me your excellency, may I have a word?”. The Captain sharply turned his head towards Arturius, and with only three strides he stood face to face to the trembling Administratum emissary. “AND WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!” the Captain shouted, not even breaking eye contact for a millisecond. Almost soiling himself, Arturius spoke up; “Revered Captain of the glorious Adeptus Astartes, this humble scribe have ventured forth from the Administratum in order to f...” “YOU'RE FROM THE FUCKING 'LIBARY'?!” the captain roared, and now his eyes flashed with a rage even greater than when Arturius had arrived at the bridge. “THAT FUCKING DOES IT, I'M COMPLETELY BLOODY SICK OF THIS!”. Seemingly from nowhere the furious Captain Shitkicker produced a melta-grenade, pulled the pin out but kept his hand firmly on the safety latch. Again he took three angry strides towards the Mechanicum Officer that he had verbally abused before, stuck the grenade in his hand and screamed mere millimeters from the face of this Servant of the Omnissiah. “IF YOU EVEN MOVE AN INCH OR SPEW ANYMORE BULLSHIT FROM THAT CUM-ENCRUSTED SPHINCTER YOU CALL A MOUTH, THEN I WILL KICK THIS GRENADE FROM YOUR SHITSMEARED HANDS AND DESTROY THAT FUCKING CONSOLE CONTROLLING THE SHIP!!!”. Even under all the cybernetic modifications you could see the already pale Enginseer going full white, knowing full well that the Captain meant every word. “HEY PILOTING ASSWIPES, LAND THIS FUCKING OUTHOUSE ON THAT FUCKING SHITSTAIN!” Captain Shitkicker again roared whilst pointing to Akdov Prime, even from orbit you could see the massive fires in the hive-cities, where the Imperial Loyalists battled against the rebel scum. The servitors looked up and responded with a “Yes my lord” in that neutral voice of theirs. The mighty battle barges engines fired up and started to move the immense ship towards the planets surface, the void shields being calibrated on the move to account for the pressure of the atmosphere. The Captain had now retired to a large room adjacent to the bridge, and by the sounds and constant swearing, Arturius knew the mighty Space Marine was looking for something. “AH THERE IT FUCKING IS, THIS IS GOING TO BE MEGA-FUCKING-KICKASS-AWESOMESAUCE” the Captain gleefully exclaimed as he had found an ancient power-weapon of some description.

Before Arturius could investigate the issue further, the ship was well on it's way to the surface with the creaking sound making it abundantly clear that the ship wasn't too happy about the sudden atmospheric pressures and gravity pulling at its massive frame. After some serious piloting from the Servitors, the ship was stable a couple of kilometers above the surface of the battle scarred planet. Without even a single curse, obscenity or threat, Captain Shitkicker ran at full speed down the corridor that young Arturius had arrived from. Having given up on handling the situation as per any protocol he knew of, he ran after the Astartes to the best of his abilities. After almost losing the large Astartes in the corridors of the battle barge he finally caught up with him, standing in front of a Vox-console trying to plug into the ships loudspeakers. “ALRIGHT YOU DICKBADGERS, WE'RE OFF TO KICK ASS!” the Captain roared into the microphone he held in his right hand, violently gesturing with the other. “REPORT TO THE FUCKING DROPPODS ON THE FUCKING DOUBLE!”, after screaming the last order into the Mic, Captain Shitkicker again made off towards the hangars of the mighty ship. Arturius had abandoned all pretense of knowing what to do at this point, thinking that it might be best to report his failings to the Administratum and receive his punishment instead of spending another minute aboard this floating madhouse. He knew he had come from the hangars when he arrived, so again he followed the mad Astartes. After just a minute of intense running he had arrived in the hangars, seeing Captain Shitkicker violently screaming at a group of Sergeants near the droppods. He tried to make his way to his own craft, but after walking just a few paces he was lifted up by a pair of extremely strong hands, and he heard a voice bellowing behind him; “FUCK YOU NERD, YOU'RE COMING WITH ME ON THE THUNDERHAWK, I NEED A SURFBOARD”. It was one of the Veterans of the chapter, adorned in the yellow and red livery with the strange crest upon their chests. Powerless to protest, Arturius was dragged towards on the Thunderhawks in the hangar, intensely praying for his life.

Going through the flight checks which basically consisted of banging on the crafts instruments and swearing loudly, the pilot started the engines of the mighty Thunderhawk. Arturius was mushed in between two massive Space Marines and was holding on for dear life as the craft suddenly jerked forwards and started speeding up out of the hangar. Within a moments notice the mighty Thunderhawk was in a screaming descent towards one the main hives of Akdov Prime, and Arturius feared for his life. The Astartes on the other hand were just laughing manically or/and loudly screaming obscenities at each other, which must have been a bizarre pre-battle ritual of the chapter. As the craft closed in for a landing, the Astartes suddenly started chanting their battlecry, “ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME! ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME!” as they rushed out of the landing craft. Not even having time to react, the poor scribe was again picked up by the grumpy Veteran, “LOOK, NOW THE FUCKING FUN STARTS!” he roared into Arturius ear as he carried him into battle like a sack of doorknobs. He had no idea why the mighty Astartes had picked him up in the first place, and were know properly starting to fear for his life, his purpose became clear after they entered a hastily set up base of operations in what used to be a beautiful plaza. “FIX MY FUCKING POWERBAT YOU SPHINCTER!” someone roared in his already ringing ears, and felt something being dropped in his lap. “I.. I don't know how to repair weaponry such as this!” the young man exclaimed, with the Astartes just staring at him. “USELESS FAGGOTROCIOUS CUNT!” he screamed as he threw the scribe right into a pillar.

He woke up days later in a hospital, dazed and confused. Next to his bed stood a man in inquisitorial livery. “I see you too have had a run-in with the... Angry Marines” the man said slowly. Without thinking he offered the man a seat next to his bed but the Inquisitor stated “Uh, no thanks. I'd rather stand... My name is Seros, Inquisitor Seros. And I understand you have some information about the Angry Marines unwillingness to cooperate with Imperial officials, i'm currently in dire need of such information” the man said. Arturius could swear that the Inquisitors buttcheeks had tightened when he mentioned the name 'Angry Marines'. “Now, let me take down you testimony, and together we might put an end to the madness that is the 'Angry Marines', these subhuman morons who dare call themselves Astartes.”....

The Inquisition never forgets

The Life of an Asshole[edit]

  • From the records of Governor Tamel of Pathos Secundus.
  • File #34476A: Captain Asshole
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A boy was born in the year 895.M38, on Pathos Secundus. Little is recorded of his parentage. His father was a Guardsman, known only to be missing and presumed dead. His mother died in childbirth. The pregnancy had no complications, and so an autopsy was conducted. Wounds throughout the mother's uterus and all along the birth canal indicated extreme trauma. Video of the birth confirmed the medical examiner's suspicions: he had come out cuntpunching (sic).

The child spent his youth in and out of various orphanages and foster homes. Several of his caretakers attempted to name him, but whenever anyone asked him his name, he responded only by punching them in the throat. He was regarded as mad and dangerous at the very least; many believed he harbored some mutation or even the mark of Chaos. At the age of ten, however, he finally found a home. An Angry Marine Quartermaster had made planetfall to procure supplies, and the young boy happened to be in the area. The Marine shouted to him, "HEY, ASSHOLE, BRING ME THAT FUCKING HAND TRUCK IN THE CORNER!"

The youth approached the hardened battle-brother and kicked him squarely in the groinplate, breaking two of his toes but making not a sound and shedding not a tear. The Angry Marines had found a new recruit.

At the time Asshole was inducted, the Chapter Master of the Angry Marines had decreed that new recruits should become standard Codex scouts. The issue was put to a vote, and the chapter at large declared this decision to be "COMPLETELY FUCKING FAGGOTROCIOUS," however the decree stood for a time on the basis that the Chapter Master did it "JUST TO PISS YOU OFF, YOU WORTHLESS TWATS!"

This did not well accommodate young Asshole. The one thing they could never teach him to do was aim, and he spent far longer than normal languishing in the 10th Company. Finally, in 176.M39, during the Scouring of Erhlinger Prime, he proved himself. After emptying an entire magazine into an Ork horde with no effect, Asshole abandoned his cover, howled madly into the sky, and broke his sniper rifle neatly in half across his knee. He then charged the band, tearing limbs from any greenskin that stood in his way, until he was standing face-to-face with the Boss Mek. Asshole took the two halves of his ruined rifle and spitted the Ork from both ends of his digestive track-- right through his flash kustom 'ardpantz, no less. The remaining xenos turned tail and ran. For his heroism, Asshole was immediately inducted to the 5th Company and promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Nevertheless, the Chapter Master shortly thereafter judged that the newbies were 'pissed off enough', and reinstated the Angry Gangs.

Asshole rose quickly through the ranks, finally becoming Brother-Captain of the Battle Barge Killfuck Soulshitter in 722.M39. During his career, he developed a special hatred of Eldar, and would often be heard to claim that "THEY MAY AS WELL BE GODDAMN PRETTY MARINES FOR ALL THEIR FAIRYASSED PANTSHITTERY!!" In 756.M39, the Killfuck Soulshitter was called to push back an incursion on the Coluphid Sector by Eldar. The campaign was a terrifying success, and in its last moments, Captain Asshole confronted the Farseer Turiel and her daughter Sorith, one of the Seer Council, personally. Breaking Sorith and casting her blithely aside in one swift blow, the Captain approached the Farseer, shaking with rage. Before she could react, he slammed her to the ground, removed his groinplate, and raped the Eldar psyker with a brutality she no doubt ever imagined in her 424 years. As he finished, he rose, readjusted his armor, and looked the horrified Sorith in her eyes, saying "I FUCKED YOUR MOM!" He turned and left, letting the two witches steal into the Webway. A Marine in Asshole's retinue, puzzled, asked "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THOSE DYKES GET AWAY, YOU RETARDED COCKSICKLE?" In an astonishing display of restraint, Asshole replied simply "THOSE SPACE WHORES AREN'T THE ONLY ONES WHO CAN PLAN AHEAD, YOU DICKWEED!"

In 989.M39, Captain Asshole received a pizza with mushrooms instead of pineapple, and suffered an aneurysm while pummeling those responsible. Thus, his Battle-Brothers cybernetically mounted him into one of the Chapter's Dreadnoughts-- or, as they prefer to call them within the Angry Marines, a Belligerent Engine.

Thirty years later, the Chapter met the same Eldar again on the field of battle. The carnage played out much the same as before. All that remained were Farseer Turiel, and Sorith -- and the Belligerent Engine in which Captain Asshole was fused. A terrible din was heard. Suddenly, Captain Asshole's turgid member had punched right through the armor plating of the Dreadnought, with the Angry Marine himself in tow, and lodged itself between the buttocks of the Farseer with the force of 10 supernovae. He turned to Sorith and spoke his last words to her before slaughtering them both.


Captain Asshole, victorious, then breathed his last on the field of battle.

Thought for the Day: Hatred is the purest expression of love for The Emperor.

From the Flames of Furfaggotry[edit]

  • Imperial historical logs; as compiled by Commissar T.G. Wang, 137th Trondheim Regiment of the Imperial Guard
  • A synopsis of the events preceding the destruction of all heretical forces on Tertius Gamma follows
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The planet of Tertius Gamma was besieged by mutants of Chaos, the insipidness of which had never been before seen in this sector of space. The furry abominations, committing the hideous blasphemy of wearing sacred power armor as if in service to the God-Emperor, had been leveling city after city for days. And now... they had advanced upon the capitol city, the last bastion of humanity.

However, little did anyone realize that the incursion had been noticed by one of the greatest Chapters of all Space Marines -- whose mighty Battle Barge was even now entering orbit around the planet -- the Angry Marines.

"GODDAMMIT, WHY AREN'T WE ON THE GROUND YET?" screamed an armored visage. What remained of his face had been twisted recognizably by sheer rage.

"Sir, we can't enter the atmosphere that quickly, we'd burn u-" The voice of the Servitor was cut short as he was crushed beneath the sheer weight of the Marine's armor as he jumped into the pilot terminal.
Thus, the Battle Barge, the Litany of Litany's Litany, began its screaming descent towards the besieged planet.

All the while, a cacophony of sickly sounds continued to permeate from the murky planet below.
"Yiff... yiff... yiff... yiff..."
It was maddening; sufficiently so that any lesser man would have taken his own life. But it had no effect on the stalwart Marines of rage save to infuriate them like never before.

At the same time (and unknown to their brethren on the first Battle Barge, or vice versa), a second Battle Barge of the Chapter, the Maximum FUCK, hovered at the ready directly over the capital city. Upon it, poised the payload of Adeptus Astartes Angry Marines, prepared to make planetfall.

Captain Temperus of the 3rd Company watched and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens showing a wave of mutants overrunning the planetary defense force positions. He felt his blood boil as he looked upon the livery adorning their armor, their mockery of everything they stood for. Their faces were an abomination. The heretical glee, visible on their faces even from space, angered the Brother Captain even moar.

The comms-servant gave a silent nod, and although it seemed as though he hadn't seen it, Temperus was well aware. It was time-- but he hadn't the patience for any conventional strike this time.

"CUNT SNIFFING FAGGOT MOTHERFUCKERS!" He bellowed with rage. With the full force of his forehead, Captain Temperus struck the large red button on the console in front of him, destroying it in the process. Great shields on the side of the Battle Barge turned into place over the front of the craft, forming a giant battering ram shaped like a middle finger.

The Maximum FUCK began its nose-first descent into the atmosphere.

The fighting around the capitol city grew more and more fierce. The furred mutants were sending their numbers to die beneath the walls of the city, each one attempting to use their bladed weapon to try and chip away at the hardened rockcrete. At first the defenders jeered at their foolhardiness. But as more corpses piled around the walls, the more precarious became the city's chances.

"Keep up that heavy bolter fire!" the Commissar screamed over the din of the gun emplacements.
"Bring up the flamers! Show these abominations the cleansing power of The Emperor!"
Just then a Servitor scuttled up to the Commissar's side.

"Milord, crafts from off-world are making planetfall. It appears to be the Adeptus Astartes."

"Ah, at last. Now we shall TRULY turn the tide against this filth!" beamed the Commissar.

In revelry and decadence, the furries fought and continued to advance. The city would soon fall, there was none alive on Tertius Gamma who could stop them now.

Suddenly, all heads turned skywards, eyes scanning above to find the source of a terrible noise. The two Angry Marines Battle Barges collided sides-first against one another as they plummeted towards a single target. The mutants realized that target was them.

The Commissar turned his eyes skywards as the enemy fell silent and a great shadow fell across the lands.

"What the fuck..." the Commissar uttered under his breath, in disbelief.

"FUCK YOU, I WAS HERE FIRST!!!" screamed the commander aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany, as he piloted his barge directly into the heart of the mutant hordes below.

"NO FUCK YOU, I DEPLOYED THE FINGER!!!" Captain Temperus cursed back.

Traitors fled, mutants hid, deviants cried out for their dark gods to save them. As one, then two Battle Barges slammed into the enemy lines.
With a terrifying roar, the planet itself was torn asunder!
Tertius Gamma was no more.

Thought for the Day: Suffer not the Furry to live.

Tempting Rage[edit]

  • Excerpted from personal correspondence addressed to PFC. Munchaussen, then stationed in the Argos sector
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The aspiring Champion of Khorne called out to the Angry Marines before him just as they prepared to charge his host of daemons and World Eaters.

"Can you not see the similarities between your battle prowess and ours? Khorne fills you with his wrath in battle, but you do not take time even to notice. Join us, and together we can destroy all within our path! Sink deeper into your anger with the full blessings of the Blood God!"

The assembled Angry Marines took pause, and considered the words of the World Eater Champion. Chaplain Brusiarch then stepped from the front ranks of the Angry Marines' line, turned, and backhanded the closest Angry Marine. The yellow-clad Battle-Brothers then turned their gaze to meet his.

Brusiarch gestured towards the aspiring Champion of Chaos, pointing to the bolt pistol that the Champion wielded in his left hand. The Chaplain shouted to his brother Marines, "YOU DON'T LISTEN TO FAGGOTS, YOU COCKSICLES, YOU FUCKING KILL THEM!!!"

The previously backhanded Space Marine then stood up, his faceplate shattered from the force of the blow, and shouted the battle cry of the Angry Marines, "ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!"

The Angry Marines then realized their folly at listening -- even if only for a moment -- to an insufferable faggot. He dared consider himself as angry as they were but armed himself not with a second chainsword or power fist, but a pussified bolt pistol??

The next few seconds witnessed the roar of Cocknocker jump packs, the whoosh of battle-brothers being launched at the daemonic host from the Predator Angrinator's, and Brother Chaplain Brusiarch's battle cry of "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-," as he charged the World Eaters' line.

Chaos was fucked.

Thought for the Day: Zeal is its own excuse.

Acclimating to the Angry Marines[edit]

  • A brief account of life with the Angry Marines, and their Reclusiarch, Mofo
  • As lived by Brother-Sergeant Kollon, Imperial Fists
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I, Brother-Sergeant Kollon, of the Imperial Fists have been attached to the Angry Marine Chapter. In my first week training with our brothers, I had the privilege, of sorts, to encounter none other than their chapter's Reclusiarch, Mofo. After completing the morning firing rites alongside the Angry Marines, I made for the closest lavatory to relieve myself before battle practice began. The firing rites, as dictated by the Codex Astartes, involve squads honing their skills with ranged weaponry. While my fellow Astartes of the Imperial Fists attained perfect accuracy and precision with our bolters and sniper rifles, our less restrained Battle-Brothers spent most of the time missing their targets with the few bolters they had on hand. After expending his ammunition, each marine would charge down the firing lane to smash the pristine target with his bolter, his hands, and anything else within reach. We began to suspect that this non-codex treatment of ranged weaponry was the cause of the shortage of bolters in the Angry Marines' armory aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany.

I had deactivated and removed the appropriate sections of my power-armor, noticing the raised dais in the center of the lavatory chamber about which all the commodes faced. Many print copies of the legendary Codex Astartes lay upon this dais, and I found it odd that the Angry Marines would partake in the custom of reading while relieving oneself like so many of the Imperium's cultures do. I had just sat down upon one of the commodes along the bulkhead when Reclusiarch Mofo entered the chamber.

He wore his full set of armor, not even having removed his helm. He is larger than the average Space Marine and carried his signature Crozius, Fag-Basher. It is platinum, and shaped like a great fist holding an Imperial Aquila token with the middle finger extended.

The Reclusiarch tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of my presence and sat himself down upon a commode near the one I was seated upon. I quickly expelled the contents of my bowel, and experienced another tortured minute while the Reclusiarch violently did the same with much loud swearing and oath making. It was then that I realized that the commodes in this lavatory did not have a bidet function like most toilets of the modern Imperium. I had just turned to ask the Reclusiarch how his Chapter went about cleansing themselves when I saw him reach out to one of the copies of the Codex Astartes. He opened it, and Emperor preserve us all, ripped a page from it, and began cleaning his backside! I cried out,


The Reclusiarch became a blur, a lightning strike of motion. Instantly his crozius was alight in his hand, its power field sending blue energy flicking out from its surface. "HERESY!!! WHERE!!?? WHERE'S THE HERESY, YOU FISTFUCK ARSE-STRUMMER!!??," he shouted at max vox amp. He stood there, his head rapidly scanning the entire room for any sign of heresy, with the soiled page of Guilliman's life's work still wedged in his backside. It was the most astonishing sight I have ever seen in my centuries of service, and before my gen-enhanced senses could even register it, he had planted Fag-Basher in the bulkhead just centimeters from my head. "DON'T FUCKIN' STARTLE ME LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKING CUNTBREATHED, PISS-ENCRUSTED, ARSEWART!!!!!!" he roared right in my face. Mofo then turned back to his toilet and angrily finished cleaning himself with the torn codex page. He closed his armor and ripped Fag-Basher back out of the wall, causing me to duck. As he walked through the portal to the lavatory, he turned and shouted, "BATTLE PRACTICE STARTS IN THREE MINUTES FUCKFACE, SO BREAK IT OFF AND GET A FUCKING MOVE ON!!! IF YOU'RE LATE, I'M GONNA REPLACE ALL OF THIS TOILET PAPER," as he gestured to the copies of the Codex Astartes "WITH YOUR HANDS!!!"

He then stormed down the hallway, leaving me stunned on the toilet. I looked at the copies of the Codex Astartes, a holy work written by the Emperor's own loyal son and the basis for everything I have lived my long life for as a Space Marine. I had the choice of defacing the codex, or undergoing the foulest penance I had ever been threatened with. This was only the first week of a decades long deployment with this Chapter!! Had the Emperor abandoned me?

Thought for the Day: Heresy must be met with hatred.

Ruination of the Black Legion Warband on Tormus Octavion[edit]

  • The Further Misadventures of Mofo, Reclusiarch of the Angry Marines
  • Compiled from the Mission Logs of Commissar John Fuklaw of the Angry Marines Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, by the Imperial Archiving Services Staff
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Mofo, Reclusiarch of the Angry Marines, finished his oaths to the Emprah. Promises, made to his God, as to just how badly he would RIP THE FUCKING COLONS RIGHT OUT OF THOSE PENULTIMATE FAGGOTS!

Mofo recited his promise to himself as The Bird, the Thunderhawk they were riding in, jerked and swerved. They were flying close to the ground to avoid detection. Mofo recalled how the enemy had made the very serious mistake of taunting Brother-Captain Raeg, several hours earlier.

"Come and get us, striplings!" Their leader had said, his fat metal ass humming and whirring even through the pict feed. "You cannot penetrate our void shields from your precious battle barge, and your ground forces will not stop our ritual in time. The warp portal is nearly complete, and soon this whole planet shall be consumed by Chaos!" Then the faggot went on and on about how great he is and how he has such a FUCKING HARDON FOR HIMSELF!!!!

"IMMA FUCKING RIP THAT COCKSUCKER IN PIECES, THEN EAT THOSE PIECES AND SHIT THEM OUT!!!!" Raeg had shouted. So loud was his exclamation, the techfags in the engine rooms had heard him. "FIRE UP THE ENGINES, WE'RE RAMMING THE FUCK OUT OF THAT SHIELD WITH THE WHOLE SHIP!!!"

"FUCK THAT SHIT, I'VE GOT A BETTER IDEA," Mofo had interjected.


It had been difficult to convince Raeg of his plan, but the chapter had already wrecked two battle barges in recent years during the course of just one campaign. The techno-cockgobblers on Mars said they were not gonna make any more for his chapter if they kept on wrecking them every time the enemy used a void shield. Mofo had been his most diplomatic, "WITH RESPECT CAPTAIN, FUCK YOU AND THE OBSCURA THAT BURST FROM THE CONDOMS YOU SWALLOWED!! IMMA GO DOWN THERE, WRECK THAT FAGGOT'S SHIT, THEN OPEN THE SHIELDS SO YOU CAN LAUNCH THE DROP-PODS AND QUIT YOUR BITCHING!!!"

Much back and forth arguing had occurred, but Mofo's plan was agreed upon. Soon the Reclusiarch was thundering down through the atmosphere with a techmarine and cockknocker squad in tow. "REMEMBER THE PLAN, ASSFAGGOT?" Mofo inquired.



The thunderhawk closed in on the void shielded city. The Chaos Space Marines and logic engines detecting their low flying craft entirely too late. The pilot servitor aimed just above the wall surrounding the fortress as it had computed were its instructions from the screaming and shouting the Reclusiarch had done before takeoff. The top of the walls had a thin slot where the void shields did not extend, but this space was not big enough to permit passage of an aircraft the size of a thunderhawk. Facts like this did not deter Angry Marines. The thunderhawk smashed against the lowest extension of the void shield, the uppermost sections of the craft being sheared off from the collision. The flaming remains of the craft shot over the parade grounds, and into the crenelated walls of the fortress proper.

"GET TO FUCKING WORK!!! THERE IS MUCH ASS TO BE BEATEN FOR THA EMPRAH THIS DAY!!!!" roared Mofo as he and his fellow Angry Marines removed themselves from the wreck. The Techmarine and cockknocker squad moved off to disengage or sabotage the void shields, whichever came first. Mofo had a different target.

Thragarkis, the twice living, great servant of the Chaos, Warlord Triumphant of his warband of the Black Legion, gloated to himself in his throne room. "Oh this will be a mighty victory against the weak Imperium" he chortled.

"Yes master," said Aruel, his mortal savant.

"I have heard a report of intruders in this fastness, go and watch over the ritual. Insure that no mistakes are made. I would be very angry should a mistake be made over worries about a single crashed thunderhawk."

"As you desire master, your great work shall be completed, the gods shall be honored!" Aruel hurried from the throne room to carry out his master's orders.

Thragarkis looked through the fortress layouts in his tactical display, and compared them to the reports he was hearing over the vox channels his fellow Black Legionaries used. There was much fighting going on in the lower levels, and out upon the walls. Perhaps the rumors were true about this...'Angry Chapter'. No matter, there were no reports of violence in the passages leading to his sanctum or the ritual chamber beyond. He couldn't afford to let the psykers worry, they needed all their concentration for this. He would not allow his greatest work to be undone now, not when it was so close to completion.

Suddenly, he heard a blast from the side of his chamber. He turned to see a black armored Space Marine approach him through a ragged hole in the wall, a chaplain, and yes, there was his Crozius alight and ready as well. Bizarre that the Crozius, normally a vaunted and holy relic to his loyalist 'brothers', be shaped to form so crude an insult rather than some divine symbol of his chapter. This was a different chapter indeed.


Yes, very different indeed.

"Unlikely, little Chaplain. Soon, daemons will pour out from this fortress, you cannot stop them without getting through me, and I am Thragarkis! The twice living, ender of worl-."

"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!!!" The figure charged! Most approached his unholy sarcophagus with some trepidation, but not this one!

Mofo let loose a horrid string of obscenities as he charged toward the pretentious faggot. Thragarkis fired off several rounds from its twin linked autocannons, but Mofo was so angry he nimbly dodged them, hellbent on getting at the metal bitch and letting him know just how much the Emprah hated him. Mofo dodged inside the dreadnought's guard, and planted his Crozius, Fag-Basher, into the front armor of the fucking thing. Thragarkis balled up his powerfist, and smashed Mofo solidly. Mofo was thrown back by the blow, but no sooner had he touched the ground than he was charging again. As the dreadnought launched another punch, Mofo leapt over the powerfist and threw himself on the front of the sarcophagus so he looked eye-to-eye with the vision port.

"JUDGEMENT, MOTHERFUCKER, IT'S COMING!!!" Mofo swore. With all his gene-enhanced strength, Mofo punched the vision block of Thragarkis's sarcophagus. Punch after punch, blow after blow he rained upon the dreadnought's vision port. All the while the dreadnought fired off autocannon rounds at random, his powerfist desperately trying to grab the chaplain and remove him from his chassis. "YOU" *punch* "PIECE" *punch* "OF" *punch* "SHIT" *punch* "GET" *punch* "OUT" *punch* "HERE!"

At last, the vision block shattered, and Mofo's fist drove forward into the amniotic tomb of Thragarkis. Foul liquids gushed out around Mofo's arm as he fished around inside the tank. At last he found Thragarkis' mortal form squirming around at the bottom. He grasped the fucker by the neck, and pulled his head out of the hole he made in the sarcophagus. It was a disgusting thing, like a wet white turd with the gratuitous number of 8 pointed fag marks carved and tattooed here and there. Thragarkis looked through hazy eyes at his killer, and trembled. How could the dark gods forsake their loyal servant like this?

"I GOT A MESSAGE FROM THE EMPRAH!!!" said Mofo. He then reared back his free arm, as if to throw another punch. Like lightning his arm shot forward into an accusing finger pointed right in Thragarkis' face, "FUCK YOU!!!" Then, grasping the fucker's neck with both hands, Mofo headbutted him repeatedly, his hardened helm smashing into Thragarkis' skull, caving in his head. When the turd's face looked like a cereal bowl, Mofo stopped. The last neural stutters of the heretic's dying brain caused the dreadnought to stutter, and fall onto its back.

Mofo neatly flipped forward, grabbing Fag-Basher on the way, and landing upright next to the dead faggot. Just as he landed, the set of doors leading into the adjoining ritual chamber opened. "My Lord, the void shields are down! Drop pods rain upon us. Your legion brothers await your words...Ohhhh-."

"TELL THEM THEY'RE ABOUT TO GET THEIR SHIT PUNCHED IN!" Mofo roared, as he sprinted towards the stunned savant.

Thought for the Day: My Armor is Contempt, my Shield is Disgust, my Sword is Hatred. In The Emprah's name, let none survive...

The Fires of Forosia[edit]

  • Excerpted from "The Rolls of Redemption through Ultimate Sacrifice", an Ordo Xenos inventory of Exterminatus actions carried out in the Segmentum Pacificus
  • Provided by Aerkon Pollock, last surviving adjutant to Planetary Governor Gorm Leass, 655.M42
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In the middle of year 654.M41, the Forosian system was invaded by a large fleet of Draethri Xenos. The ships overwhelmed the orbital defenses in rapid fashion, and dropships swarmed over the hive cities and manufactorums in a fast and brutal raid. Fortunately for Forosia, astropathic messages pleading for aid were answered. However, the nearest response force consisted of two battle barges belonging to the "Angry Marine" Astartes Chapter. The Astartes response to the alien incursion was so much swifter and so much more brutal than the initial Draethri invasion, that the Imperial forces who had been fighting a desperate defense against the Xenos suffered numerous casualties due to entire regiments standing dumbstruck and horrified by the violence they were witnessing. Such cases resulted in troopers forgetting to defend themselves or pay attention to the enemies left in front of them for fear of missing a second of the action. Such behavior seems believable given the reports of Angry Marine Terminator squads ripping off sections of their sacred armor and beating numerous aliens to death with them, and other reports of the Angry Marines force feeding Draethri captives their own bleeding innards. It was later discovered that the Draetheri fleet was an amalgamation of ships from several worlds their race had inhabited in the southern reaches of Segmentum Pacificus. These worlds were in the path of a far flung tendril of Hive Fleet Leviathan, and were soon to be invaded and consumed. So badly were the Draetheri routed from Forosia, however, that they fled back to their home worlds to face the Tyranid hive fleet. Their leaders considered extinction by the Tyranids preferable to facing the Angry Marines again. The Angry Marines are not known for their restraint, which leads to the subject of this record. One month after the last living Xenos died on Forosia, the planet was destroyed in Exterminatus. The Angry Marines described an insidious foe that could not be destroyed by any conventional means, and had apparently waited to ambush them just as the Draetheri force was destroyed. The following transcript has been provided by Aerkon Pollock, the last surviving adjutant to the Planetary Governor, Gorm Leass.

Transcript Begins:

"Brother Captain, the Forosian Planetary Council and I have a request to make of you and your Battle Brothers," said Governor Leass. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT NOW, COCK STINK!," replied Brother-Captain Shit-Ripper, leader of the Angry Marine task force. "The Xenos are routed, and I speak for the entire planet when I express the deepest of gratitude for your help in preserving our fair planet," Leass started. "But now we have a severe threat to our planet left behind by the Draetheri. Our Hives and Manufactorums have severely damaged municipal systems. Fires rage through two of our manufactorums completely unchecked. We have no capacity to put them out. Entire stocks of weapons and food rations made ready for nearby warzones and military campaigns are being destroyed in stockyards because of these infernos. We humbly ask if you could provide some assistance in neutralizing this threat?" Brother-Sergeant Fuckus-Them-Uppus replied for his Captain, "FUCK NO, I'M NOT YOUR BITCH SERVITOR, YOU FUCKING PRICK." "SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH, UPPUS," said Captain Shit-Ripper. "FAGGOTS," he said, turning to his assembled companies, "WE BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ORKS, RIGHT!?" "FUCK YEAH WE DO!", shouted a marine. "KICK THEIR COCKS IN!", another chimed. Shit-Ripper continued "AND WE TEAR THOSE ELDAR CUNTS INTO CHUNKS, RIGHT?!" "I HATE THOSE FAIRY PANTSHITTERS", a Belligerent Engine groaned. "WELL, THOSE FUCKERS BREAK SHIT WHICH BELONGS TO THE EMPRAH!!!", announced the Captain,"AND THIS FIRE IS BREAKING HIS SHIT TOO! LETS RIP THIS FIRE A NEW ASSHOLE!!! ALWAYS ANGRY!!!!!" "ALL THE TIME!!", answered the assembled Marines. "Thank you so much Captain, we will convene immediately with the Mechanicum and-" "FUCK THOSE WIND-UP ASSHOLES, WE KNOW HOW TO KILL FIRE!!! WITH FIRE!!!", roared Captain Shit-Ripper.

Transcript Ends;

The Angry Marines attacked the fires as they would any other of the Imperium's foes-- with Power Wrench and Chainsword, Heavy Bolter and Melta Gun. That very day, the Fires sweeping through the Manufactorums grew by an order of magnitude. The next week saw the fires spreading into the hive cities. Millions died trying to escape the blaze. Matters were not helped when the Angry Marines, growing alarmed at the Fire's refusal to die in the Emperor's name, resorted to tactics most extreme to kill it. The Angry Marines loaded explosives onto cargo ships, which had been previously delegated to evacuate refugees off-planet, and flown into the blazing spires. Even orbital bombardments did not cause the flames to abate. Ultimately, the Angry Marines resorted to Exterminatus-- to prevent this grave threat to the Imperium from spreading to other worlds.

Thought for the Day: "Only the insane have strength enough to prosper. Only those who prosper may truly judge what is sane."

A Day In the Life of an Angry Marine.[edit]

  • Excerpted from Angry Marines Codex and further compiled from field-reports by P.Al. Nitschittery, Imperial Inquisitor, Junior Class
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  • 5:00 - Morning Firing Rites - The Space Marines engage in target practice with their personal and squad weaponry, awards and punishments are dispensed FOR BULLSHIT OR A LACK THEREOF AND IF ANY FUCKING SHIT FUCKER THINKS OTHERWISE TOMORROWS PRACTICE WILL BE A ROUSING GAME OF LICK THE CATACHAN BARKING TOAD YOU FUCKING WANK STAINS.
  • 13:00 - Midday Meal - Normally local wildlife killed during the morning activities. AND BELIEVE ME WE KILL A LOT OF FUCKING BUNNY RABBITS AND PEPPERS AND SHIT AND EAT ALL OF IT AND LEAVE NONE FOR YOU. BOO-HOO, BITCH.
  • 21:00 - Evening Meal - A feast (by normal human standards) is provided by the Chapter serfs, and some Chapter Masters may allow alcohol to be consumed. FUCK YEAH IT IS. WE'LL ORDER LIKE A THOUSAND PIZZA'S TO THE PRETTY MARINES HOME WORLD AND THEN WE'LL STICK IN THE DVD'S OF BLOSSOM OR 7TH HEAVEN OR...REALLY HARDCORE PORN. FUCK YOU, LITTLE FAGGOT SHOW WATCHING SHOW WATCHERS. GO WRITE IN YOUR LIVE JOURNAL.
  • 23:45 - Free Time - Space Marines are permitted this time to reflect upon their duty to The Emperor, however many Chapter Masters regard free time as a frivolous waste, and a dangerous distraction in the extreme. EXCEPT WATCHING BLOSSOM. FUCK YOU.

Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.

The Rise of Librarian Moarfistin, the Extremely Cross[edit]

  • Transcribed from the files of Vyler, Deviant Ecclesiastic of Holy Terra.
  • Profile #d4fppg6: Librarian Moarfistin, the Extremely Cross
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Some say that before being brought into the chapter for initiation Moarfistin was a proctologist's assistant on a far flung Imperial colony. It was on that colony that an experimental plague released by Nurgle cultists caused a widespread pandemic of deadly dysentery.

The colony did not have a large population, and the colony's doctors, including his master, were the first targeted by the horrific disease. Being the only trained professional for his line of work, all the cases fell upon him. He slaved for months, mired in faeces and the corpses of his loved ones. A hellish life of failure and perpetual disgust eventually took its toll and he became increasingly violent and angry. One morning, he awoke to find that the last living colonists had shat themselves to death all over his equipment, and that the faeces had transformed into capering Nurglings. At this point his psychic powers manifested, and, records say, he "completely lost his shit".

The cultists were absolutely gleeful that their plague had done its work and killed the entire population; little did they know that one man, reinforced by a healthy diet high in fibre and latent psychic powers, had survived. A furious Moarfistin (as he would become known, original records on his true identity have been lost) came screaming over the horizon surrounded in a nimbus of psychic energy and as angry as at least 25 motherfuckers. Caught off guard, and then caught with medical instruments up their colons, the cultists knew true despair. This unstoppable path of destruction continued among the heretics as the newly born Moarfistin continued to force larger and larger objects up each individual anus.

To see the sculpture of Librarian Moarfistin from which this entry is based, see the gallery.
For the deviantart page where Librarian Moarfistin was sculpted, click here [1].

Far away, an Angry Marine battle barge travelling the warp was buffeted by the waves of pure, seething, righteous rage. Impressed with this display of anger, and utterly furious that "pizza day" lunch had been interrupted, they diverted course to the world. There they found Moarfistin standing atop of pile of embarrassingly mutilated corpses; not a single daemon or cultist had survived. The scrawny, glowing figure was recorded as shouting: "THAT OUGHT TO SHUT YOUR FUCKING SHIT BOXES, YOU DRIBBLING CUNTS!!"

Although Space Marines usually recruit from feral worlds with hardy, muscular warriors, an exception was made for this otherwise scrawny butt doctor turned mad berserker. He was recruited immediately into the Librarium, where he would rise to a high rank.

Armed with the terrifying "Fisting Stick" and traveling in his mighty battle-barge, "Considerable Shouting", the Angry Marines Librarian, Moarfistin is currently leading the Somethingth Company of Angry Marines on a Crusade to "COMPLETELY FUCK UP THOSE VAGINA HEAD TAU". He decided to do this after accidentally viewing Gundam fanart of a particularly disturbing nature. Unfortunately (for all the enemies of the Imperium between point A and point B) he started the crusade while on the complete opposite end of the galaxy from the Tau Empire.

When an allied inquisitor questioned the sanity of plotting a course directly through the Eye of Terror, Moarfistin replied "IT WILL BE THE BLEEDING ASSHOLE OF TERROR WHEN I'M DONE WITH IT!!". To prove his point he then impaled a carnifex with its own head and gave the inquisitor a full body Apache burn as well as wedgie, all within the span of eleven seconds.

The "Somethingth Company" of Angry Marines is named as it is because the normally chaotic organization of the Chapter is compounded by fact that Moarfistin recruited for the Crusade by simply yelling "YOU STUPID SHITS DON'T LOOK BUSY!! GET ON BOARD, WE'RE KILLING SOME FUCKING XENOS!!". Thus began what is anticipated to be a very long, bloody campaign.

Menacing as Librarian Moarfistin's appearance is, some would wonder why he lacks a psychic hood. To which he responds "I DON'T NEED A GOOFY LOOKING MAGIC HAT TO PROTECT ME FROM HERETICAL BULLSHIT!"

Thought for the Day: Any problem can be solved with the proper application of power boots to the groin.

Fuckew McHugerage[edit]

  • Audio file #002521220, recovered from Gamorax Colony Gamorax debris field
  • Final notes of Inquisitor Phorik
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Great hero of the Angry Marines, Captain Fuckew "Nid-fucker" McHugerage, is Ranking Captain of the Second Company and imbued with the honorific title "SUPREME LARGE FURIOUS FUCKER OF THE TYRANIDS", of which the Angry Marines only have one at a given time.

This honorific is earned by a supreme act of absolutely unfettered rage that even the Angry Marines find impressive. Indeed, Fuckew Mchugerage is one of the most accomplished psychopaths of the Angry Marines.

Fuckew was known in particular for his incredible anger whenever faced by any foe who had more than one leg. While his one weakness is that he is rather sedate when faced with one-legged foes (he only screams at a moderate volume and force-feeds his defeated foes only one or two of their own limbs), his rage is multiplied as the amount of legs on a foes increases to a level rivaling that of Temperus himself.

This came to a boil in his first engagement with the Tyranids. As he and his second company, with him at the lead, fought the Tyranid hordes, he screamed with such rage that the Hive Mind itself recoiled and its control over the swarms was impaired. It was recorded that the day of the battle, a 9000-man Imperial Guard regiment in the nearby vicinity simply exploded as the wave of PURE ANGER hit them.

Coming face to face with an eight-limbed Hive Tyrant, Fucke-

Thought for the Day: From the sheer force of anger and rage overwhelming shall be borne fire to cleanse heresy.

An Inelegant Snub[edit]

  • Excerpted from the diaries of Lieutenant Pretentiousness, beautiful servant of The Emperor and amazingly good looking soldier of the Pretty Marines
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The beautiful sun rose high above the glorious desert planet and I looked in wonder at the beauty The Emperor had graced us with. I turned to Brother Starr, his microphone held high as he prepared to give a beautifully arousing speech to all the brothers gathered there. I turned quickly to brush a speck of dust off that had landed on my armor, and breathed a sigh of relief that no one had seen that. As Brother Starr gave his address I looked into the sky and beheld a yellow Thunderhawk streaming toward the planet. It landed a few meters away kicking dust in all directions.

"Brothers, evasive action!" Each member of the chapter pulled out his industrial strength hair dryer, the flashes of purple lighting up the terrain below as the brothers tried in vain to keep the dust from dirtying their armor. It was of no avail, I heard wails of despair... there would be much washing tonight. I looked out over the landscape to see several yellow glints rushing toward the lines of our chapter. I looked closer and saw the figures of five yellow-clad Space Marines rushing toward us. Three of them held what looked like glorified wrenches, and the fourth carried a most unsightly banner. The fifth marine was hidden behind a mass of cardboard he carried with him. I heard their scream as they drew closer, drowning out all other sound, a horribly insensitive scream that rose above all other noise. "SUCK ON THIS, YOU PANSIFIED FAGGOTS!!" The one carrying the cardboard dropped all of it and the five stood for a second.



The five turned and ran back the way they had come, and as their ship lifted off I saw several middle fingers on the side of the ship, still wet with new paint, and bearing the name, "The Bird". I turned away in disgust, gracefully raising my chin.

I stepped down toward the mass of cardboard, helping brothers remove dust from their hair on the way.

I approached the mass of cardboard that had marred our beautiful desert landscape. Lying next to it was a small piece of paper. I knelt down and gingerly picked up the paper and turned it over.

Printed on the paper was a receipt for 1001 pizzas with anchovies and pineapple, upon which was scrawled a crude imitation of my own signature. On the bottom one word was written in red ink, barely legible:


Thought for the Day: Consider the magnitude of your duty at leisure, but act without hesitation when action is required.

The Green-Hands Heresy[edit]

  • From the historical records of Inquisitor Seros, investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents"
  • Section #7193: The Green-Hands Heresy "Incident" of Kickass Prime
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I was sent to the planet of “Kickass Prime”, a planet claimed by a chapter of Battle Brothers known as the “Angry Marines”. This particular sector of the Marines had referred to themselves as the “Brawndo” sector of the Chapter due to their love of a energy drink from the Dark Age of Technology. This love of a drink, Emperor knows how they obtained some of the original in the first place, had caused them to complain to various sources until the item in question was mass produced. The drink spread across the Chapter like a Tyranid swarm and the sector was allowed to keep the name due to the drink being “ULTRA FUCKING SWEET!

The problem I was sent to solve, however, did not involve the drink. Rather, there were claims of Heresy amongst the ranks of the Angry Marines. It seems sometime during a cleansing of Ork, the Angry Marines took upon the “choppas” of the fallen Ork horde. While this itself is slightly Heretical, for they have slightly shunned the holy weapons of the Emperor, another blasphemy had occurred within the sector. One of the sergeants of the sector took great pride in felling a particularly large Ork and wanted its “Big Choppa” as a trophy. Unfortunately, the death-grip of the beast was too strong, even for a mighty Space Marine, and so the weapon remained in the clutch of the Ork. Not to be denied his prize, the sergeant proceeded to cut the hands off the Ork at the wrists. Afterward, when the beast was be-handed, as the case would be, the sergeant again tried to remove the hands to no-avail. This infuriated the already wrathful sergeant further. The sergeant subsequently summoned an apothecary to chop off his hands, and replace them with the Ork’s. This was Heresy beyond simply taking a fallen weapon; this was denying the hands given to him by the holy Gene-seed!

When I arrived on the planet, one of my main questions was: 'Why was this not reported by the sector and instead reported by another Chapter?'

I was given the same reply from everyone I asked: “BECAUSE IT WAS REALLY FUCKING AWESOME, ASSHOLE!” Apparently in the time after the sergeant had committed this deed, others followed his example, taking not only the weapons of the Orks, but also other body parts. I’m more than certain there was a marine with an Ork head replacing a pauldron. This I could not stand, I demanded to see the sergeant responsible for the mess. They lead me to the sergeant now known as “Greenhands”. The name was suitable, for there he was, the giant Ork hands looking ridiculous attached to his comparatively normal marine arms. He had the Choppa hung over his back when he accosted me, asking “WHAT IN THE SERIOUS FUCK ARE ONE OF YOU INQUISITORS DOING HERE?!! SHOULDN’T YOU BE OUT LOOKING FOR CHAOS OR SOME SHIT?!” I replied to him that I was indeed here due to claims of Heresy. In retrospect, I should not have said that. From the moment I uttered "Heresy", the whole of the camp within earshot began frantically running around cursing wildly, looking for any sign of Heresy they could find so they could stomp it out. This did please me, somewhat. It could very well have been that these Brothers were not Heretical, merely... simple-minded.

After about half an hour and a few small mammals squashed and shot repeatedly at point-blank range with bolters, Sgt. Greenhands returned to me and assured me that any possible Heresy had been wiped out. I told him that the Heresy was due to his weapon and new appendages. He berated me and asked if anyone told me how “REALLY FUCKING AWESOME” it was. I assured him that his fellow Battle Brothers did indeed tell me this was the case, but carrying an enemy’s weapon instead of a holy weapon given to him by fellow servants of the Emperor and replacing his hands with an enemy’s was indeed Heresy. The sergeant thought on this for a minute before calling for one of the sector’s Chaplains. After explaining to him that I was here because of his new weapon and because I “WOULDN’T KNOW AWESOME IF IT BIT HIM[me]ON THE ASS” he asked if the Chaplain could do anything to “SHUT THIS PUSSY UP!” The Chaplain looked at me and commenced a verbal tirade that very possibly rivaled that of the sergeant's. At any rate, he then reached into his pouch for a Purity Seal. He took one out, wrote some words on the paper attached (which I can only hope were Holy Sermons of the Emperor), and then proceeded to place the Purity Seal onto the weapon. The Chaplain then stood before me and without looking back, pointed at the Choppa and said “SANCTIFIED, BITCH!

I then proceeded to take my leave of the Angry Marines, assuring them they would be cleared of all Heresy charges as long as they continued to cleanse the Ork weapons of taint but this would not be excused if such matters were extended to Chaos Weapons. The Chaplain agreed saying, “WE KNOW NOT TO TAKE ANYTHING FROM THOSE CHAOS FUCKS, ASSHOLE!” He then pulled my undergarments over my head and kicked me onto my transport.

I have written this report standing up.


Thought for the Day: Faith in the Emprah is the strongest weapon we have.


The Shitkicking Skirmish[edit]

  • Extracted from the Imperial archives on Holy Terra.
  • Dataport #55892B, Section 87D-3A, Adm.Sublevel 12.
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The pissed off Angry Marines on board the Cruiser ”IFUCKDURMOM” were rushing to the nearest drop pods, wanting to be the first one knocking the shit out of the Chaosfags attacking the imperial world 'Pandaemonium Prime'. The Chaos Marines of the Emperors Children had begun an orgy of murder, rape and recording furry porn to please their dark masters.

COCKSUCKING FUCKING ARSEBISCUITS” one of the Angry Marines bellowed as a squad of Angry Marines rushed to the surface in a drop pod. This traditional pre-mission term of imminent shitkicking was hailed by roars and profanities as the pissed off death dealers started punching and headbutting the interior of the drop pod.

The arrival on the surface of the planet was as violent as to be expected.

Brother-Chaplain Smackface saw the reinforcements and immediately proceeded to give orders to the newcomers. ”TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH YOU COCKGOBBLERS, WE HAVE ORDERS TO FUCK SHIT UP, KICK ASS AND MAKE SURE THE CHAOSFAGS TAKE THE FUCKING HINT THIS TIME!!!”. Even during a heated firefight Brother Chaplain Smackface was as usual more detailed in his description of the situation than most commanders in the Chapter. To which one marine remarked; ”OH JUST LET US AT THEM ALREADY YOU BITCHING ASSJOCKEY!!”. The Chaplain, cursing and infuriated, immediately picked up the marine and threw him in a perfect arch into the fray.

The marine, nicknamed 'Shitkicker', found himself flying in a perfect arch into the fray and landing amidst a large group of cultists adorned in pink, chains, leather and fursuits. Before the cultists could even react to the surprising arrival of the yellow pissed off character, the Angry Marine let off a string of four-letter curses, infuriated with a burning rage by the pussypantsfaggotry. And within milliseconds he became a blur, tearing the cultists apart, limb by limb, still letting off violent tirades of obscenities at the chaos worshipers around him.

After ripping off the heads of countless heretics, Chaplain Smackface arrived with the squad Shitkicker had arrived with. “SO YOU WORTHLESS CUNT MANAGED NOT TO WHINE, CRY AND DIE LIKE A BITCH? WELL IF YOU DON'T STOP ARSING ABOUT AND FOLLOW ME I'LL RAPE YOUR SKULL OPEN WITH A GIANT SPIKY DILDO, YOU DILDO!!!”. After given these new orders Shitkicker started to sprint with the other marines. Their objective soon became apparent after he heard the thumping sound of large chaos dreadnoughts.

THESE CHAOSFAGS DON'T FUCKING GET THAT IF WE KILL YOU, YOU BETTER STAY DEAD AND BUTTFUCKED OR ELSE WE'LL SKULLFUCK YOUR SORRY ASS SOME MORE!!” the chaplain calmly stated after seeing the dreadnoughts making their way towards the main body of the angry marine taskforce. Knowing that if the enemy would engage the other Angry Marines before they could get their hands on the chaosfags still pants-on-head retarded enough to be named the “EMPERORS children”, the other angry marines would rip them to pieces and not leaving any asskicking for Chaplain Smackface and his squad.

While moving through the vast army of furryfuckers and pinktards, delivering some serious lecturing about what happens when you even think about heresy, the contingent of Angry Marines were closing in on the dreadnoughts. The chaplain quickly assessed the situation and exclaimed the mighty battlecry of the Angry Marines; FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-


Thought of the day: Heresy is the very definition of "Doing it wrong".


Recruitment By Fire[edit]

  • An excerpt from the Journal of Brother-Sergeant Josephus Corric, 6th Company of the Angry Marines, former Imperial Guard, Corporal of the 40th Infantry (Mechanized), Echo Company
  • Regarding events during 995.M41 on Gudrun, Helican Segmentum Obscurus
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We were moving forward to assault this Enemy held outpost when we were stopped by a company of Traitor Marines. Us softies, well, we’re no match for all that power armor and lets be candid, the standard IG issue lasgun is about as effective against power armor as harsh language.

The Enemy was dug in to this hillside deep and good. They had thrown up earthworks and camouflaged the area pretty well. Nothing had showed up on our auspex or geothermal imaging. We walked right into the area without warning and the Enemy began shooting.

It was not pretty. Textbook ambush that could have come right from basic tactics class. The Enemy waited until half of the company had passed them and then opened fire. They had at least two quad-linked heavy bolters hidden in those hills. The incoming fire was so thick I thought I could see individual bolter rounds as they were fired.

The first ranks of men were mowed down so quickly they didn't even have time to scream. One moment they were there, the next there were just steaming body parts oozing blood.

The ranks farther back... well, I don’t think I’ll ever forget those screams. The Enemy swung those quads over the line of men and watched them fall. Farther back, the rounds weren’t as effective; that is, they did not kill cleanly. The Enemy seemed to take a perverse joy in shooting the wounded. Listening to them scream, watching them bleed... We paid a heavy price for relying on those Adeptus Mechanicus instruments rather than our eyes. That won't happen again, I can tell you.

As we sought cover, I noticed that no one was giving orders. I expected some Commissar or officer to start rallying the men and when that didn’t happen it dawned on me that I was the ranking man. Talk about a weird sensation, being in charge and all. Surreal.

I figured that since the Astartes get all the credit, they might as well do the heavy lifting. So I made the command decision to call them in. Our company was supported by the Angry Marines and I got their vox frequency off my dead lieutenant.

“This is 40th ID, Echo company, transmit to Astartes detachment. We are south south-east 22 clicks from debarkation and have had our advance halted by fortified Enemy located at coordinates 37 23.516 ...”


I was startled by the abrupt reply that overrode my vox transmission. “Uh, well, we encountered some Traitor Marines dug in...”


“37 23.516 -122 02.625" I said, giving the location of the GPS coordinates.

There was an uncomfortable pause on the vox.


I reasoned they were experiencing mechanical difficulties with their instruments. So, I figured I'd describe some landmarks. “Uh, well, we’re by this mountain and there is a stream near by...”


I was a bit taken back. “Very well. Watch for the green flares.”

There was no response from the vox.

I got my troops to mark a zone a few hundred meters from our position and then we waited. I listened to the vox and gathered intel. Seems that there was some heavy atmospheric interference and that only sub orbital craft could be used.

I heard the sound of roaring engines at full thrust. Four Valkyries entered our airspace, their thrusters on full as they came in low. Was the rear hatch open? I could see glints of red and yellow through the small gaps in the hatch. Were the occupants crouched and ready to ... jump? No, that had to be a mistake, no one inserts a ground assault at full throttle...

“GET OUTTA THE WAY, CUNTSICLE!!!” I heard through the vox. The Valkyries did not slow as they approached. In fact, they seemed to speed up. When the Valkyries were directly over our position, the marines ... jumped. I’d never seen anything like it.

In seconds there were sixteen yellow and red figures raining from the sky, each armed with ... bats and wrenches?

“WE GOT US SOME HEADS TO CRACK!” We got out of the way, alright. The marines came down on the Enemy position mere meters from the redoubt. The Enemy was surprised too, they didn’t even fire. The yellow and red wave crashed over the redoubt and the combat was joined, hand to hand. Or wrench to head, as it were.

I stood up to get a better look at the battle. No, this was carnage and I wanted to join. I wanted payback for the ambush. “For the Emperor!!! For the Fortieth!!! FORWARD!!!” I yelled. Echo company sprang from their cover and rushed the redoubt. We took the position and mopped up what the marines left us. Literally. There was not much left and what was left could fit in a bucket.

In the midst of the slaughter, I noticed a change in the battle. We were no longer moving up the redoubt. Fact was, we were not moving at all. We were taking cover from plasma bolts that were being shot from further within the hillside. I moved along side a Marine that was cleaning bits of a helmet from the jaws of his power wrench.

“Status, Sir?” I asked after saluting.

The marine looked up from his cleaning, “WE’RE GETTING SHOT AT, ASSHOLE!!! YOU NEED ME TO TELL YOU THAT?!!!”

Indeed, we were. The forces of the Enemy had established another system of redoubts and had fortified them with plasma emplacements. Which were laying down an impressive suppressing fire. The Angry Marines were, well, angry, but not stupid. No one charges into plasma guns fired from a fortified redoubt. So there we all were, taking cover in that trench, waiting for... Well, I was not sure what we were waiting for. I was sure that no one was going to charge into that plasma.

The marines conferred with one another. I heard snippets of their conversation: “TOO FUCKING FAR...OUT OF RANGE...THOSE FUCKING FUCKS...CANT GET THE FUCKING ANGRINATOR IN HERE...WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LISTENING TO, ASSHOLE??!!!” The last comment was directed at me. “Sorry.”

“DAMN RIGHT, YOU ARE!!!” Just then the Marine with the power wrench stood at the redoubt’s edge and yelled, “FUCKING PANSIES!!! STOP SHOOTING!!! HONORLESS WIMPS!!!” He threw the piece of helmet he had freed from the wrench’s jaw. There was still something in that helmet...

Incredibly, the fire stopped. Even the Marines were surprised.

“Worshipers of the corpse-emperor! Surrender and welcome the embrace of Chaos!!!” The voice was silky smooth and deep, yet deadly. Like broken glass in ice cream.

All of the marines began screaming insults in return. They were imaginative and dealt mainly with detailed instructions on how the Enemy could fornicate with a Catachan devil. This then progressed into fornication with plasma engines, then fornication with various edged weapons, and then fornication with their mothers and other ancestors. It was getting... repetitive.

I figured I should do something. I approached the Angry Marine with the wrench. He paused in his insults and took notice of my presence. “Let me try”, I said.

“YOU UP FOR THIS, FUCKFACE?!” He bellowed. I did not get the impression that he was purposely hostile toward me; this seemed to be his usual means of address. “Yessir!” I replied.

“HAVE AT IT!!!” Grinning, he gestured rudely toward the Enemy ranks and stepped aside.

Incredibly, the Angry Marines stopped shouting. They were still seething, the air between them charged with heated rage, but they did not utter a word. All eyes were on me.

“This is Corporal Josephus Corrick, 40th Imperial Guard Infantry, Mechanized, acting commander of Echo Company. You are surrounded. Surrender, and we will show you the Emperor’s mercy.”

“No. You are surrounded. You surrender and we won't wear your skin on our armor.” Came the reply.

The Angry Marines groaned. I remained unperturbed. “Look, no more blood need...”

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!” Came the response. Angry Marines were shaking their heads and becoming impatient. I was feeling a bit irritated.

“This is foolishness! You have no chance! This redoubt is the last point of resistance...”

“FFFUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!” The Enemy blew me a raspberry. The Angry Marines were laughing now. At me.

I felt my face flush “Surrender now and we promise you...”

“Worshipper of the corpse-emperor! We will wash you away from this planet in an unending tide of blood! Join us and you will know true glory in serving chaos!!!”

I froze in place. The world suddenly became very quiet and time froze. It was just me with my thoughts. After watching half of my company torn to shreds by the Enemy, they were asking me to join them? The screams of my brothers in arms, still fresh in my mind, came to the fore of my mind. Suddenly, something changed, igniting a deep rage within my self that surprised me. But I embraced it. The rage and anger gave me a strength I did not know I had. My voice boomed over the battlefield as if I were using a vox.

“Join JOIN YOU???!!! Why in the FUCK WOULD I JOIN THE LOSING SIDE???!!! You traitor assholes turned your back on your legion, your species, YOUR EMPEROR to do what? TO BE ON THE LOSING SIDE??!!! You are on... what? The 11th, no, 12th , no, 13th Black Crusade? That’s an uninterrupted twelve time LOSING STREAK!!! You would think that you fucks could get it right one time in TEN THOUSAND YEARS!!!

The Angry Marines fell silent and looked upon me, with respect. I was encouraged.


I was rolling now. The anger burned within me like a plasma drive at full power.


The Angry Marines broke out into a hearty applause. There was no response from the Enemy. Just an embarrassed silence. They started shooting again, but it was just filler.

The Angry Marines were still clapping. I moved back from the rampart and the anger still burned within me. “Join them... chaos must make you stupid... fucking fucktards...”

The Angry Marine with the power wrench approached me. He removed his helmet and spoke, “HEY ASSHOLE! THINK YOU CAN FIGURE OUT WHICH END OF THIS TO USE???” He handed me his power wrench. It was beautiful. A meter long of polished adamantium, perfectly balanced and the head still dripping with the blood of the Enemy.

“FUCK YEAH!” I bellowed back.


I did not even get to respond before he picked me up and threw me boldly over the rampart directly at the Enemy position. Thank the Emperor, the Enemy was just as surprised as I was, and didn't shoot me out of the sky. I landed a half a meter short of the twin linked plasma gun the Enemy had placed in the redoubt. Without thinking, I hit the mount with the power wrench as hard as I could. Then I felt the shock up my arms and nearly dropped it. Two things then occurred to me: 1) that I should turn it on, and, 2) I was going to die. Lucky (or not so lucky as I found out later) for me, the gun-operator assumed the wrench was on and dived away from the emplacement. I lit up the power wrench, let out a warcry, and triumphantly hit the gun. There was a bright flash of light and that was all I remember.

I woke up later. Much later. I was in a hospital ward surrounded by arcane instruments of unknown purpose. The Angry Marine was there; the one that gave me his power wrench. He saw I was awake.


He shook his head with incredulity.



There was a hint of a smile in his eye as he walked out of the room.


Assault Sergeant Dickface[edit]

  • From the archives of Drywalker Fen
  • File #61225A: Assault Sergeant Dickface
♦­ ­♦­ ­♦­ ­♦­ ­♦­

Assault Marine Dickface was promoted to the rank of Sergeant during the Heresy of Drywalker Fen in 912.M41. His squad was to be deployed as an attack on the position of heretic leadership. Unfortunately the Thunderhawk that transported the squad was shot down by enemy fire and the brothers were scattered. During the attack Dickface had lost most of his equipment and had to make do with a weapon he found at the site of a bombed encampment; a two-handed chainsword. As he attempted to regroup with his squad, Dickface got his ass stuck in the fens of Drywalker. As he tried to pull himself free from the goop, Dickface had the idea of firing up his jump pack to full power. It eventually tore him free, but send him hurtling through the air. He noticed that by divine aid this was straight in the direction of his squad's target, and shouted "OPEN WIDE, MOTHERFUCKERS" before descending onto them like an angel of wrath.

Pict footage later determined that upon landing, through a combination of luck and skill, Dickface managed to shove his chainsword through the mouth of the heretic commander all the way down out of his pelvis, impaling him in a single motion. Dickface then proceeded to beat enemy command to death with the impaled body of their commander, after which he cut the weapon free through the corpse's back. Dickface then proceeded to repeat this on six infantry platoons, a score of heavy weapon teams and a trio of Sentinel walkers, killing their operators by pouncing on the cockpit and forcing the weapon through the vehicles' vision slits.

For his heroics and skill, Dickface was elevated to the position of Assault Sergeant and was granted one of the Chapter's "Angry Beakie" Mark VI Corvus suits of Power Armor. While his position as a Sergeant allowed him to wield the traditional Power Bats and Power Wrenches of the Angry Marines; he opted to keep the weapon he found, dubbing it "Throatfucker". While some Angry Marines believe him to be a "TAINTFONDLING SHOWOFF WHO THINKS HE'S TOO FUCKING HARDCORE FOR A POWER BAT". For this reason, Sergeant Dickface's skill with Throatfucker has been proven time and again.


Thought for the day: do not wonder, as curiosity invites disaster.



The dimly lit cabin filled with strained grunts under the sustained G of the drop pod's separation engine. Nine squadmates endured the invisible hand of inertia with an outwards patience and calm borne as much of familiarity as of training, genetic engineering and surgery. Nine squadmates, and one other: equally calm, if less attributable to experience.

The squad sergeant unsubtly looked his new charge over with a practiced eye, assessing everything from bearing to attentiveness. Trooper Ten was of course under significant pressure from acceleration; made worse by the necessity for the Primaris Marine to slump deeply in his crash couch to accommodate his elongated torso. His legs, too, were splayed out awkwardly either side of the sergeant's knees, a sight which filled the sergeant with no end of amusement.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me, Ten" said the sergeant with a grin that not even his fully enclosed helmet could conceal. Mutterings of laughter echoed around the drop pod as the G eased off, the squad adjusting their positions for re-entry.

"Your customs and humours are strange to me, sergeant." replied the Primaris. "I cannot imagine that Primarch Guilliman would approve of your lack of focus ahead of such an important operation; nor of the..." he stopped suddenly, weighing whether his statement would be received as insubordinate. "...condition of your wargear."

Ten had, perhaps, a point. While his own Mk. X power armour was gleaming, freshly painted in the livery of his adoptive chapter and hand-polished to a shine, the rest of the squad looked as if they'd been dragged feet-first through a chainsword foundry. Pieces of half a dozen different armour marks adorned the squad, and while the detritus of previous warzones had been hosed off as part of ship's quarantine, battle damage was evident on all.

The sergeant in particular was a trainwreck. As Ten's eyes moved down from the sergeant's dented "beaky" helmet to the acid-scarred torso, to the axe-gouged thigh piece, he was perplexed to notice the sergeant's right hand resting with the thumb and forefinger joined to make a circle. As his head exploded with pain, swiftly dampened by his suit's autoapothecary, Ten felt anger rising at the stunning blow from the sergeant's other hand; its brutal strength belying the smaller marine's stature.

The rest of the squad squirmed in their acceleration harnesses to watch as the hull started to whine against the increasingly dense atmosphere.

"Let me show you our customs, Ten" said the sergeant pleasantly, resuming his casual repose and resting one foot on a large reinforced sack full of something that gave a metallic clink under the weight; like gold bars in a concrete mixer.

"My name is Primaris Augustus."

"Your name is written" retorted the sergeant, ejecting a round from his battered boltgun, "on this shell." Ten glanced at it, noticing again that the sergeant had pinched it between thumb and forefinger to form a circle. Before Ten could react, the sergeant slammed him in the crotch with an armoured boot.

"You will have a name if and when you earn it, and wear our colours with the pride they deserve" barked the sergeant. "You carry our geneseed and a very shiny shooter" indicating Ten's immaculately maintained bolt rifle, "and you're big and quick, but Showboat isn't here to tuck you into bed any more."

Ten's choler was rising now. "On Mars, such undisciplined rabble would be liquified and fed to the servitors. I'm surprised that even works" he snarled through gritted teeth and eyes watering from the second blow, pointing furiously at the sergeant's dishevelled weapon. "And the next chaplain I see will hear of your insult to the Primarch."

The sergeant was bellowing with mirth now, barely audible over the roar of the re-entry fireball outside the drop pod hull. "You'll be lucky to see the ship again, Ten, let alone a chaplain" he shouted. "How many combat drops have you done? HOW MANY?" he screamed, almost helmet to helmet.

"TWO INCLUDING THIS ONE" yelled Ten, no longer caring to maintain discipline in the face of the open conflict that had been bubbling ever since his recent arrival with the reinforcement fleet.

"Then listen up, you damned fairy" retorted the sergeant. "I lost count at three hundred, and back then my gear was prettier than yours. You're on work experience, and you'll stay out of our way while the real marines take care of business. Try not to get et." Cocking his boltgun and hefting the heavy sack onto his lap as retro-thrusters slammed into life, the sergeant turned his attention to the exit ramps.

Ten had never felt such rage at being treated so dismissively; as the pod crashed into the planet and the ramps deployed he burst furiously into the light and started laying into the swarm of Tyranid gaunts around the pod with the butt of his rifle. Shards of carapace and foul ichor flew in a maelstrom around him as he unleashed his boiling frustration.

It was several moments before he noticed the Heirophant bio-titan standing over him curiously, like a child examining an ant. The gaunts stopped their assault and backed away as the great beast lowered its head towards him. Transfixed, Ten barely registered the sergeant's voice on his suit comm as the great maw opened to sample a new morsel. What was that psychopath shouting at him?


White hot rage exploded in Ten's brain as he leapt into the Heirophant's jaws, past the rows of monomolecular-edged teeth and deep into the back of its throat; where he hacked brutally at the soft flesh until the swallow reflex clenched bloody blankets of meat around him, forcing him down into the boiling acid in its gut.

Sergeant Ranga and the rest of the squad whooped in joyous ire as they clambered up the legs of the great beast; carving footholds with chainaxes and driving their combat knives deep into its joints. They hacked and mutilated tendons, flesh and carapace; and when the great beast finally collapsed to its knees they hacked it further, revelling in the carnage.

As the bio-titan slumped its distended belly to the battlefield, a gout of blood and meat ejected from what could only be its anus; coating the still heaving hordes of Tyranids and marines in pitched battle around it. Ranga surveyed the dripping orifice with pride and expectation and, as Ten emerged from it headfirst, tossed the Primaris a loose Carnifex talon before darting up to the beast's head.

Still raging, his armour half-dissolved by pungent fluids, Ten hacked into the sphincter until it released him and he fell to the earth trailing gibbets of innards. Landing hard he rolled and, noticing a yellow-armoured perimeter around the Titan's head, ran up the length of the Heirophant's destroyed body dragging the talon and opening the torso like a zipper.

Sergeant Ranga was screaming obscenities and battering the Heirophant's head into a bloody mess, his sack splitting with each giant blow and spilling what appeared to be brass doorknobs onto the ichor-soaked ground. Ten joined him with boot and fist until the last shudder had faded and the enormous biomachine was finally still.

They regarded each other exhaustedly, helmets discarded onto the filth around them, both bearing a resemblance closer to a half-cooked stew than marines of the Imperium.

"You lost your fancy gun" Ranga said with a smirk.

"It snagged on a tooth when I got et" replied the Primaris. "Wait... is that it?" He bent down and reached into an unidentifiable mass of bloody muscle. Ranga watched as the marine's arm went in up to the elbow, freshly coating it in slick blood. When it emerged there was no bolt rifle, but a circle made of forefinger and thumb.

The Primaris slammed his forehead into Ranga's face, sending the sergeant flying backwards and sprawling on the ground. Ranga lay there laughing, crossing his feet and lacing fingers behind his head.

"Welcome to the Angry Marines, Trooper Arsebirth."


Thought for the day: The burden of failure is the most terrible punishment of all.


List of Things the Angry Marines Hate With a Passion[edit]

There are very few things that the Angry Marines actually like. There's the Emprah, of course. And also cats. And possibly skittles. Angry Marines are also said to have a predilection for energy drinks and most anything resembling a cudgel. They hate the Iron Hands slightly less due to their intense self-hate and anger.

However, while the Angry Marines may hate pretty much everything else, there are also those things that will cause any regular Angry Marine to fly into an unfathomable berserker rage in mere seconds:

  • The Tau - Weeaboo cock suckers.
  • The Ultramarines - They hate the Ultramarines for being a bunch of pompous douchebags / Mary Sues (may also hate the colour blue, which makes sense since blue is said to be a calming color and this is the "Angry Marines" we're talking about).
  • Emperor's Children - They're a chapter of faggots who defected to Chaos and still bear the name of the Emprah. TRIPLE FAGGOTS.
  • Anything Slaaneshi - Slaanesh is the God of all that is faggotry in the Warhammer 40,000 universe.
  • Going to the planets Fenris and Valhalla, for no other reason than THEY'RE FUCKING COLD. SON OF A BITCH.
  • Avatar - Two and a half hours of furfaggotry in 3D is still two and a half hours of furfaggotry.
  • World Eaters - What they try to pass off as 'anger' is really just male insecurity in the extreme.
  • Traitor primarchs - CHAOS FAGGOTS like the daemon primarchs who hide from the ANGRY MARINES in the Warp and won't even show up to get their testicles kicked up between their ears are the worst kind of pansy-ass CHAOSFAGGOTS.
  • Thousand Sons - They are CHAOS WORSHIPPERS, worship Tzeentch and THEY ARE FUCKING PSYKERS (which are basically faggots with greater range (but the emprah is a psyker... could it be that you are calling the emperor a long range faggot? well... ARE YOU?!?! I'LL KICK SO HARD IN THE ASS, THAT YOU WILL ORBIT THE SUN IN A FRANCTION OF A SECOND. YOU PUSSY ASS CHAOS WORSHIPING FAGGOT). That makes them TRIPLE FAGGOTS,too.


Thought for the day: If something is worth doing, it's worth overdoing!


Things the Angry Marines wish for[edit]

There are some things the Angry Marines desire to happen, and if they did, it would make them slightly less angry, but nowhere nearly enough to make them less destructive. These include:

  • A good Warhammer Fantasy RTS that approaches Dawn of War's quality (heads up, the guys behind Total War are apparently heading up something that looks promising) FUCK THAT! THOSE INEPT COCKSUCKING DICKWITS AT SEGA WENT AND MADE CHAOS A FUCKING DLC PREORDER BONUS! NOT THAT ANYBODY'S DUMB ENOUGH TO PLAY CHAOS, IT JUST SETS A POOR CUNTING PRECEDENT
  • A Doom movie made in the style of the doom comic, preferably with Bruce Campbell as the Doom Marine
  • Better endings for Mass Effect 3, preferably restoring Drew Karpyshyn's original Dark Energy ending. Almost Fucking done!
  • All loyalists, especially them, being upgraded Power Fists to Chainfists for free.
  • Samus, she who ruins worlds every time of month (or every time Space pirates show up, Emperor help the Piratical Xeno who meets her during her time of the month) is an inspiration to Angry marines everywhere.
  • Warhammer, both versions, story actually going somewhere and not being stuck in status quo. The End Times is good progress on that...until Age of Sigmar happened.
  • A Warhammer 40K space shooter flight sim game.
  • Being a canon chapter.
  • Having cabbits as pets, and the cabbits knowing how to turn into battle barges.
  • To beat the shit out of all Squat and non-Squat players
  • A Good Warhammer 40k RTS with direct control that lets you beat the shit out of the eldar

See Also/Notable Angry Marine personnel[edit]


External Links[edit]