|Battle Cry||ALWAYS ANGRY!!!!! ALL THE TIME!!!!!|
|Number||ANGER CAN NEVER BE QUANTIFIED!!! But somewhere between Space Wolves and Pre Heresy legion.|
|Successors of||Desert Fangs|
|Chapter Master||Temperus Maximus|
|Homeworld||Angrymar / McRage/spaceborne|
|Strength||10.001 More than 1000 marines|
|Specialty||Close combat and assault with an overwhelming excess of brutality and profanity.|
|Allegiance||Imperium (AND DON'T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT, SHITFAG)|
|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
"When angry, count to four; when very angry, swear."
- – Mark Twain
"JUST HIT THE FUCKERS!!!"
- – Chapter Master Temperus Maximus when asked what’s written in the Codex Angry Marines
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 (and people who quote this exact line at the beginning of lore videos on the Angry Marines). They were in fact created by some guy using the Dawn of War army painter in ye olden days of yore
(suspected to be "Angry Joe"). They are not the Alpha Legion; they symbolize the fa/tg/uy's love for 40K, as well as rage, which /tg/ has in copious (albeit impotent) amounts.
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 a 9th edition Angry Marines codex you can use. The current iteration has come a long way since 7th edition, and hopefully won’t be a complete and utter mess.
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, 2 by 4 adamantium planks with a nail forced through them 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 anything worth a damn, and so these marines rarely 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 and with at least three exclamation marks at the end of each sentence.
A lot of this is due to the fact that Space Marines feel emotions with a strength that normal people cannot even comprehend. The Angry Marines simply bypass the normal emotional range, allowing them to 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.
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 Second 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 struck from official records, as the Eleventh Legion was. Thus most of the Imperium, and indeed the Galaxy at large, doesn't know about them, even though they are not classified as secret in any way, shape, or form.
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 where said Heresy was first detected, but all things within 10 sub-sector radius as well. Such fruits 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 Angry Marines are however not fans of Exterminatus, seeing it as a wasted opportunity to punch heretics in the face, but it does result in some unfortunate engagements where they would have been far better off nuking the site from orbit.
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 induction, they are still very much able to act as if their blood was all replaced with testosterone. Just as planned.
- 1 The Angry Marines
- 1.1 The Guardsman's "Saviors"
- 1.2 The Primarch of Rage
- 1.3 The Friendly Fire "Incident" of Klaxus XII
- 1.4 Astartes Most Unusual
- 1.5 Assist on Vesuvius
- 1.6 The Salvation of Calamitis Prime
- 1.7 They called me a Cunt I'll Fuck Their Shit Up
- 1.8 The Life of an Asshole
- 1.9 From the Flames of Furfaggotry
- 1.10 Tempting Rage
- 1.11 Acclimating to the Angry Marines
- 1.12 Ruination of the Black Legion Warband on Tormus Octavion
- 1.13 The Fires of Forosia
- 1.14 A Day In the Life of an Angry Marine.
- 1.15 The Rise of Librarian Moarfistin, the Extremely Cross
- 1.16 Fuckew McHugerage
- 1.17 An Inelegant Snub
- 1.18 The Green-Hands Heresy
- 1.19 The Shitkicking Skirmish
- 1.20 Recruitment By Fire
- 1.21 Assault Sergeant Dickface
- 1.22 Induction V2.0
- 1.23 Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third
- 1.24 The relics of the Angry Marines
- 1.25 A Literal Shit Storm
- 1.26 A 'difficult' beginning
- 1.27 Three way clusterfuck
- 1.28 The Making of an Angry Marine
- 1.29 Tyranids V Millennials V Angry Titans: A fucking novella, or something
- 1.30 The Tale of Shitfucker the Mildly Disgruntled
- 1.31 The Angry Marine Hall of Awesome Deaths/THE FUCKAWESOME WALL OF DEATH!!!
- 2 List of Things the Angry Marines Hate With a Passion
- 3 Things the Angry Marines wish for
- 4 The Angry Marine Lexicon
- 5 See Also/Notable Angry Marine personnel
- 6 Gallery
- 7 External Links
The Angry Marines
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. Among such tales you will find stories of titanic battles, the origin of the Chapter´s relics, biographies of key personnel, and (of course) lots of swearing. If you, after reading this, would like to join the Angry Marines, first get some help, then call 420-6969-FUCKOFF
The Guardsman's "Saviors"
Guardsman "Church" of the 8th Cadian regiment was stranded with his battalion on an unknown planet surrounded by hordes of Chaos traitors. Church was almost certain he was going to die today. Nevertheless, he stood strong, unshaken by the hordes of the damned. Inspired by the presence of his Commissar, his focus held strong Aim, Fire. Aim, Fire. Aim, Fire. Church's battalion, or what was left of it, had been shooting for hours, burning through the last of their ammo cache in one final defiant stand, they would hold their ground until the last man but he knew their ammunition supplies wouldn't last much longer; in fact, he had estimated that they'd run out half an earth hour ago. The final few dribbles of the cultists charge withered against their las fire, and the battle field fell silent. Another wave would follow soon, spurred on by their chaotic masters; Church doubted they could repel it. He murmured a litany under his breath.
The powerful voice of Commissar Harper Cut through the acrid air. "Guardsmen... Steady your will, though our weapons may fault, our armour may break, and our bones may be split, our hearts will still burn, BURN BRIGHT WITH THE EMPOR..." The sharp crack of a sonic boom followed by a huge concussive impact echoed across the battlefield, Commissar Harper had disappeared, in his place lay a huge yellow gore splattered Space Marine drop pod. seconds passed, several more drop pods hit the surrounding landscape, Finally the doors blew open, sending a second round of jarring reverberations through Church's ears.
All hell broke loose, as towering forms shot from the steel shell at lightning speed; most were howling seemingly random expletives, others were just simply screaming. For a second, Church thought they had been deep-struck by Khornate berzerkers; he savored what he thought would be his final breath and closed his eyes, ready to die... Church would not die this day, he would, however, break his right arm in several places and disintegrate most of his ribs and a good portion of his hips, for he was about to receive a very angry shove from a very angry marine. "OUT OF THE WAY RETARD", one of the marines shoved guardsman Church aside and jumped over the rampart. Church hit the ground with almost as much force as the drop pods, Church was no longer scared, or inspired, he felt nothing but confused. "what in the emperors name was-?" he murmured, swiftly proceeding to pass out.
The Primarch of Rage
"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
- From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents".
- Section #511: The "Friendly" Fire Incident of Klaxus XII
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
- Excerpted from Hidden Imperial Histories by Adept Voliusnius Brouyt
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 repu'that hold Guilliman's geneseed.
This does, however, occasionally lead 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 "Fowl 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 ME, YOU POMPOUS FUCKING DOUCHEBAG FUCKTARDS!!!!!!"
Infuriated by such a blatant and insulting snub, Calgar personally took it upon himself to demand an apology from the arrogant Temperus Maximus. He subsequently traveled to the offender's battlebarge 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' 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
- From the personal diaries of Brother R.C. Mongler, 4th Chanian Combat Group.
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:
"ALL THE FUCKING TIME!!!"
Then it began.
Without a word, the yellow Space Marines returned to their drop pod and were 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
- Loading excerpt from Tales of Valor: Reports from the Ork Invasion of Calamitis Prime.
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 begun.
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 I'll Fuck Their Shit Up
Extracted from the testimony of Inquisitor Seros
Extract #420/69, 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 Chapter´s quartermasters had not supplied the Administratum on Holy Terra with copies of the Chapter´s procurements and requisitions. 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 “Somethingth” 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 about which the elder scribes only talked in hushed whispers.
But to his surprise, when the airlock doors opened there was 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 was now so annoyed that a vein throbbed 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 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 barge´s 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 its 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 drop pods. 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 craft´s 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 moment´s 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 was now 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 would 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 am 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 write down your testimony, and together we might put an end to the madness that is the 'Angry Marines', these subhuman morons who dare to call themselves Astartes.”....
The Inquisition never forgets
The Life of an Asshole
- From the records of Governor Tamel of Pathos Secundus.
- File #34476A: Captain Asshole
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, and 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 recording 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 harboured 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.
"EVEN IN DEATH, I STILL FUCKED YOUR MOM."
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
- 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
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 cannot enter the atmosphere that quickly. The friction woul bur-" 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.
All that remained was two Battle Barges, locked in fierce combat.
Thought for the Day: Suffer not the Furry to live.
- Excerpted from personal correspondence addressed to PFC. Munchaussen, then stationed in the Argos sector
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
- A brief account of life with the Angry Marines, and their Reclusiarch, Mofo
- As lived by Brother-Sergeant Kollon, Imperial Fists
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,
"This...THIS IS HERESY!!"
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
- 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
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 politely interjected.
The Captain respectfully disagree. "FUCK YOU, THAT FAGGOT IS GONNA REGRET THE DAY HE FIRST BELIEVED IN THOSE SHITEATING CHAOS GODS ALMOST AS MUCH AS HE IS GONNA REGRET THE DAY HE FUCKING CALLED ME!!!"
It had been difficult to convince Raeg of his plan, but the chapter had already heavily damaged two battle barges in recent years during the Tertius Gamma 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 responded diplomatically, "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.
"FUCK YEAH I REMEMBER, YOU GO HAVE FUN, AND WE DO ALL THE FUCKING WORK!!!" Techmarine Techfucker replied.
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I'M GONNA HAVE FUN!!!" said Mofo.
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 THE 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.
"YOU, MECHANICAL DICKSUCKER, IMMA FUCKING BREAK YOUR METAL ASS!!" the figure roared.
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
- 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
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.
"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.
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.
- Excerpted from Angry Marines Codex and further compiled from field-reports by P.Al. Nitschittery, Imperial Inquisitor, Junior Class
- 4:00 - Morning INSULTS - Led by the Company Chaplain, the Space Marines BETTER GET THEIR PUSSY ASSES IN ORDER BEFORE I STICK A POWER FOOT SO FAR UP SAID ANUS THEY WISH THEY WERE A SQUAT YOU CUNT!.
- 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.
- 6:00 - Early Morning Meal - A light meal is prepared by the Chapter serfs. OH YES WE FUCKING EAT EGG AND SAUSAGE BREAKFAST SANDWICHES BY THE FUCKING TRUCKLOAD! WE ALSO DRINK FUCKTONS OF SUNNY D BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS FUCKING SWEET! WE ALSO SEND THE PRETTY FAGGOTS AND ULTRASMURFS A THOUSAND DONUTS WHILE WE WATCH SOME HIGH FUCKING QUALITY CARTOONS.
- 7:00 - Battle Practice - BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH YOUR POWER BAT, OR, BARRING THAT, JUST BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH WHATEVER'S AVAILABLE. AND IF YOU'RE TOO PANTS ON HEAD RETARDED TO FIND SOMETHING TO HIT THEN YOU BETTER FUCKING START BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF THE GROUND BECAUSE LAST TIME I CHECKED THIS PLANET HASN'T CONFESSED ITS SINS AGAINST THE EMPRAH.
- 12:00 - Midday Prayer - ANY ONE NOT TOO STUPID TO HIT THEMSELVES PRACTICES SCREAMING AT SHIT. EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO SUCK THE APOTHECARY'S DICK BECAUSE YOU DON'T NEED ANY MEDICINE FOR THAT TINY LITTLE BOLTER WOUND YOU FUCKTARD.
- 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.
- 13:15 - Tactical Indoctrination - THIS USUALLY DOESN'T TAKE THIS LONG. I'LL JUST PUT UP A BIG PICTURE OF THE NEXT THING WE'RE GONNA SHOOT AND SAY "SHOOT THIS YOU FUCKERS" SERIOUSLY, WHO THE FUCK NEEDS AN HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES TO DO THAT. PUSSIES, THAT'S WHO.
- 15:00 - Battle Practice - SEE ABOVE IF YOU'RE NOT WEARING A NECKBRACE YOU INCOMPETENT LITTLE NIPPLE LICKER. WE HIT MORE SHIT WITH LARGER OBJECTS.
- 20:00 - Evening Prayer - I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA. I'M NOT GOING OVER THIS AGAIN. FUCK YOU.
- 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.
- 21:30 - Night Firing Exercises - WE SPEND MORE TIME. HITTING MORE THINGS. WITH LARGER OBJECTS. IN THE DARK, FUKKEN DUH.
- 23:15 - Maintenance Rituals - FIX YOUR SHIT OR I'LL GRAB A TECH-PRIEST AND MAKE HIM FIX YOUR SHIT. ONE OF THOSE CLAUSES IS LITERAL.
- 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.
- 00:00 - Rest Period - BUT YOU BETTER NOT SPEND FOUR WHOLE HOURS SLEEPING. IF YOU DO YOU ARE NOT ANGRY ENOUGH AND TOMORROW YOU GET THE FIRST CHANCE TO PLAY PIN THE TAU ON THE CARNIFEX.
Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.
The Rise of Librarian Moarfistin, the Extremely Cross
- Transcribed from the files of Vyler, Deviant Ecclesiastic of Holy Terra.
- Profile #d4fppg6: Librarian Moarfistin, the Extremely Cross
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.
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.
continuation of Moarfistin's story
Moarfistin is the Chief Mindfucker of the Angry Marines, the equivalent of a Chief Librarian of an Astartes chapter. Due to a tragic incident involving a Nurgle cult unleashing a plague at his home colony, Moarfistin was driven to insanity, but this was also when he discovered his latent abilities as a psyker and was picked up and immediately recruited by the Angry Marines. Having risen very quickly up through the chapters ranks and now possessing his own battle barge (Considerable Shouting) Moarfistin decided to start his very own crusade against the Tau (FUCKING CHEESE LOVING CUNT HEADS!!!) and founded his very own company, the Somethingth Company, which was made up of all the Angry Marines nearby who didn’t have anything better to do and felt like a road trip to fuck up some xenos was an excellent idea.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, it is all, after all, a matter of one’s perspective) for Moarfistin his route across the galaxy (an initially quiet and pleasant one as it only went straight through the EYE OF TERROR) has been made even more difficult due to the formation of the Cicatrix Maledictum, the galaxy wide shit hole which now bisects, intertwines and flat out covers Moarfistin’s route. This has him furious on multiple levels as firstly “FUCKING CHOAS SHIT EATING CUNTS!!!”, secondly “THE FUCKING NURGLINGS ARE GETTING IN THE WAY OF ME FISTING SOME VAGINA FISH!!! And thirdly “NOW I HAVE TO START ANOTHER FUCKING CRUSADE!!! I DON’T HAVE FUCKING TIME FOR THIS!!!” As it stands, Moarfistin and his crusade are sitting right in the middle of the galactic tear in the maelstrom, and has the choice of setting up camp and simply cruising up and down the Maledictum fighting anything and everything he finds, or to ignore the galaxy wide toilet and keep on ploughing through to tau territory.
Being the smart and proactive psychic nut case that he is, Moarfistin has decided to do both, and currently has his crusade raiding and pillaging all nearby daemon worlds, cultist hideouts and chaos space marine vessels to build a brand new battle barge named the “Suicidal Insanity”, and has split his crusade down the middle (rather literally as there were an odd number of marines, said marine now has two bionic legs and an arm and his removed limbs were grafted onto a servitor), with the Suicidal Insanity staying behind to perform a crusade up and down the Maledictum, while Considerable Shouting continues onto the Tau worlds.
This still leaves the issue of who is to command the Suicidal Insanity while Moarfistin goes vagina hunting, a problem with Moarfistin had another elegant solution to, and that is to make a copy of himself to command his new crusade, using his warp presence to power it, an idea he immediately dropped (AND WAS MOST CERTAINLY NOT THE MAIN PLOT POINT IN THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS STORY!!! NO HERESEY TO BE SEEN HERE!!!) as being too crazy even for him. That left his second (AND TOTALLY NON-HERETICAL!!!) last idea which would be to promote a likeminded Angry Marine to the rank of company captain, and too this end he gathered all the Angry Marines together under his command into the mess hall of the Considerable Shouting. “ALRIGHT YOU SACKS OF FUCKING GROZ MANURE!!!” He bellowed at the collected marines “LAST ONE STANDING GETS TO BE IN CHARGE OF THE NEW SHIP!!!” He had barely finished saying “in charge” before (in true Angry marine style) the Angry Marines started fighting, with broken bottles, power bats, honey badgers, power feet and even other Angry Marines being used as bludgeoning tools.
Having seen this display plenty of times before, Moarfistin joined in for a few minutes to knock out a few marines that he just didn’t like then retired to his quarters, knowing that the entire company of marines would be fighting for quite a while, and even a good fight gets boring when it’s been going for several days. 2 days, 9 hours, 23 minutes, 6 seconds and three massive shits later, Moarfistin returned to the mess hall to see who was left standing, passing down the corridors filled with bruised, battered and swearing marines being patched up with duct tape, to find only two marines left still punching each other in their now shattered helmets. “WILL YOU FUCKING HURRY UP YOU CUNTS!!!” He shouted at the two remaining marines “I’VE GPT SOME WEEABOOS TO GO AND FIST BEFORE SLASNESHMAS COMES AROUND AGAIN!!!” The arrival of Moarfistin had roused the marines capable of being roused, who formed a circle around the fighters to add their insults to the fight “FUCKING KICK HIS NUTS!!!” “IVE SEEN ELDAR PANSIES PUNCH BETTER!!!” “CAN YOU FUCKING HURRY UP, SO WE CAN FUCKING EAT!!!” The added insults had the desired effect, as both fighters pulled back their right legs and simultaneously delivered savage kicks to the others privates, instantly knock both of them over into moaning heaps on the floor. “FUCK THIS SHIT!!!” Exclaimed Moarfistin “I CAN’T BE FUCKED WAITING ARPUND FOR YOU TO FIGHT AGAIN!!! YOUR NOW BOTH THE CAPTAINS OF THE NEW COMPANY NOW I’M OFF TO KICK SOME TAU IN THE CUNTS!!!”
And just like that, Moarfistin continued his journey (he is now fighting his way through the outskirts of tau space) leaving the two new company captains (now named Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Cunt) on the Suicidal Insanity in charge of the (aptly named) “WHY DO WE HAVE TO FOLLOW THOSE CUNTS?!!!” Company. While Moarfistin’s crusade can be kept track of via the trail of destroyed (and fisted) tau worlds, nothing is currently known of the Suicidal Insanity and it’s two captains, but it is assumed that continued their crusade instead of punching each other for all eternity.
Thought for the day: Beware the Weeaboo, the waifu, the loli.
- Audio file #002521220, recovered from
Gamorax ColonyGamorax debris field
- Final notes of Inquisitor Phorik
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
- Excerpted from the diaries of Lieutenant Pretentiousness, beautiful servant of The Emperor and amazingly good looking soldier of the Pretty Marines
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.
"ALL THE TIME!"
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
- From the historical records of Inquisitor Seros, investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents"
- Section #7193: The Green-Hands Heresy "Incident" of Kickass Prime
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 an 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
- Extracted from the Imperial archives on Holy Terra.
- Dataport #55892B, Section 87D-3A, Adm.Sublevel 12.
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
- 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
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...”
“WHAT??? PANSY ASSES HIDING IN THE GROUND?!! WHERE??!!”
“37 23.516 -122 02.625" I said, giving the location of the GPS coordinates.
There was an uncomfortable pause on the vox.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT???!!!”
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...”
“LIGHT A FUCKING FLARE, YOU ASSHOLE!!! MARK THE DZ AND GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!!!”
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 ...you. Join...you. 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.
“Power of Chaos? The only power I see is THE POWER TO FAIL!!! CHAOS MAKES YOU STUPID!!! FUCK'N A! WHO THE FUCK JOINS SOMEONE WITH A TRACK RECORD LIKE THAT???"
I was rolling now. The anger burned within me like a plasma drive at full power.
"'RUINOUS POWERS'??? THE ONLY RUIN I SEE IS YOU SHITTING YOUR PANTS!!! DUMBFUCKS!!! WHO IS THE ONE COWERING IN THE BOTTOM OF A FUCKING HOLE, BITCH???!!!”
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.
“RIGHT!!! HERE'S THE PLAN, I THROW YOU INTO THE ENEMY AND YOU KILL THEM. THINK YOU CAN REMEMBER THAT??!!!”
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.
“WHAT KIND OF STUPID FUCKER USES A POWER WRENCH ON A PLASMA EMPLACEMENT???!!!"
He shook his head with incredulity.
"FUCKING CHAOS PUSSIES RUNNING AROUND, ON FIRE, SCREAMING, AND YOU SLEEPING THROUGH THE WHOLE THING!!!” He laughed. It was an angry laugh.
“YOU OWE ME A NEW WRENCH, FUCKTARD. JUST SO I CAN KEEP MY EYE ON YOU, THIS APOTHECARY IS GOING TO RAM SOME GENESEED THROUGH YOUR FUCKING SKULL.”
There was a hint of a smile in his eye as he walked out of the room.
“WELCOME TO THE ANGRY MARINES... ASSHOLE.”
Assault Sergeant Dickface
- 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.
Original version of the story was a mess and can be found here
The dimly lit troop section of the drop pod was filled with noises that could pass for grunts under the sustained G of the drop pod's separation engine. Nine Space Marines endured the invisible hand of inertia with outward 'patience' and 'calm' born as much of familiarity as of training, genetic engineering, surgery and simmering RAGE. Nine squad'mates', and one other: even more calm, even if that was less attributable to experience.
The squad sergeant unsubtly looked his new charge over with a practiced and twitching eye, assessing everything from bearing to attentiveness. Battle-Brother 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 on either side of the sergeant's knees, a sight which filled the sergeant with no end of angry amusement.
"ARE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER TRYING TO HIT ON ME LIKE A SLANEESHY FAGGOT?!?" said the sergeant with what could pass as a grin among sharks and other species known for biting people's faces off. Shouts that could be laughter echoed around the drop pod as the G eased off, the squad adjusting their positions for re-entry.
"Your customs and sense of humour 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 Mark X power armour was gleaming, freshly painted in the livery of his new Chapter and hand-polished to a shine, the rest of the squad looked as if they'd been dragged feet-first through a chainswords 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 still 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 the show, while the hull started to whine against the increasingly dense atmosphere.
"LISTEN WELL TO THE RULES OF THE FUCKING GAME, YOU CUMGOBBLER AMATEUR!!" said the sergeant almost pleasantly, resuming his casual stance of barely contained anger 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 DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER!!!" retorted the sergeant, ejecting a round from his battered boltgun, "NOW LOOK AT THIS PIECE OF SHIT!!!" 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.
"IF YOU ARE NOT AS BIG A FAGGOT AS YOU ACT LIKE, YOU'LL GET A FUCKING NAME SOMEDAY!!!" barked the sergeant. "YOU ARE NOT ANGRY OR BLOODY MANLY ENOUGH TO BE ONE OF OURS!!!" indicating Ten's immaculately maintained bolt rifle and armor, "YOU ARE JUST A BIGGER PIECE OF SHIT THAN YOUR AVERAGE GIRLYMAN FANBOY!!!"
Ten's temper 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 visibly shaking with rage now, fully visible even in over the shaking of the re-entry fireball that was the drop pod. "IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR FUCKING FAGGOTY COCKSUCKING MOUTH I'LL LET THAT ASSHOLE MOFO HAVE A FIELD DAY WITH YOU!!!" he shouted. "HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES HAVE YOU DROPPED ON SOME FUCKER'S HEAD, YOU AMATEUR?!?" he screamed, almost helmet to helmet.
"Two times including this one!" yelled Ten, no longer caring about maintaining discipline in the face of the open conflict that had been bubbling ever since his recent arrival with the reinforcement fleet.
"THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FAGGOT!!!" retorted the sergeant. "I NEVER FUCKING BOTHERED REMEMBERING THE NUMBER OF CUNTS AND ASSHOLES I'VE KICKED AND PUNCHED SO I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU OR YOUR OPINIONS!!! SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR WAY WHILE WE KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING ASS!!!" Cocking his chainsword 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 lifeforms swarming around the pod with the butt of his rifle. Shards of carapace and gouts of foul ichor flew in a maelstrom around him as he unleashed his boiling frustration.
It was several moments before he noticed the Hierophant bio-titan standing over him and watching him curiously, like a child examining an ant. The lesser lifeforms stopped their assault and backed away as the great beast lowered its head towards him, before they were trampled by the maddened rush of his brutish squadmates. 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?
"ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!"
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. There 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 Dickface 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 power wrenches deep into its joints. They hacked and mutilated tendons, flesh and carapace. And when the great beast finally collapsed to its knees they punched it further, revelling in the righteous rage they always felt.
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 fighting hordes of Tyranids and Marines in pitched battle around it. Dickface surveyed the dripping orifice with anger and rage, and maybe... expectation? As Ten emerged from it headfirst, he tossed a loose Carnifex talon at the Primaris' head before running up to the beast's ruined 'face'.
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 Dickface was screaming obscenities and battering the Heirophant's head into a bloody mess with its own oversized (but rapidly getting smaller and smaller as it splintered) spine. Ten joined him with boot and fist until the last shudder had faded and the enormous biomachine was finally still.
They regarded each other with blood-shot eyes, helmets discarded onto the filth around them, both bearing a closer resemblance to a half-cooked stew than Space Marines of the Imperium of Man.
"WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING PEASHOOTER YOU FAGGOT?!?" Dickface yelled.
"THE BLOODY PIECE OF SHIT GOT IN MY WAY SO I THREW IT AT THE CUNT'S FACE!!" replied the Primaris. "WAIT... WHAT IS THAT SHIT?!?" He bent down and reached into an unidentifiable mass of bloody muscle. Dickface 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 Dickface's face, sending the sergeant flying backwards and sprawling on the ground. Dickface lay there shaking with raging, flipping him the bird and screaming obscenities.
"WELCOME TO THE FUCKING ANGRY MARINES, SHITHEAD!!!"
Thought for the day: The burden of failure is the most terrible punishment of all.
Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third
The latest addition to the Angry Marines command structure/brawl which makes decisions based on who’s left standing, Mightilypissedoff the third represents a step forward for the chapter as he is actually TRAINED for his job, as opposed to everyone else who simply out survived or out punched their competitors. Starting life as a boy by the name of Yarrick Smith the third from a family of comfortable standing in one of the many hive cities on Armageddon. His family's standing (Yarrick being an incredibly popular name on Armageddon being “da greatest humie eva!”) and Armageddon’s large levels of industry and mechanisation gave Yarrick the resources to pursue his hobby of engineering, with his father commissioning a shed to be built for him, which he filled to the brim with broken machines (broken servitors, vacuum cleaners, one of Vance Motherfucking Stubbs lost Baneblades, just general stuff). Yarrick even showed so much promise that he was head hunted by the Adeptus Mechanicus who started teaching him about the ways of the omnisiah (with the aim of eventually initiating him into the mechanicus), teachings which Yarrick excelled at to the point that he would be commissioned to repair complicated machinery.
This happy existence continued for several years, right up until he reached the ripe old age of 11, when his hive was given a visit, by the Angry Marines who had gotten bored and had decided that they wanted a vacation killing orks (something which Armageddon has absolutely no shortage of). While other chapters might coordinate their arrival with the local planetary governor (or in thus case, commissar Yarrick) and bring their Marines down to the planet in an organised manner, the Angry Marines are far too impatient for such nonsense and just fired themselves down in drop pods and rhinos randomly towards the planet. One such Angry Rhino was fated however, to impact with the workshop/shed of Yarrick Smith while Yarrick was inside said shed. The resulting explosion blew Yarrick free of the wreckage and left him only with minor burns, but managed to destroy his family home (along with his family) and (more importantly) his workshop filled with his tools of the omnisiah.
“FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!” Someone shouted from the wreckage “I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO AIM FOR THE FUCKING JUNGLE YOU PRICK, HOW CAN YOU MISS A CUNTING CONTINENT SIZED JUNGLE?!!!” This was followed by the sound of someone being hit over the head by a very large wrench (Yarrick was very good at recognising these things). “NEXT TIME YOU CAN FUCKING DRIVE YOU OMNISIAH CUNT, YOU TRY AIMING ONE OF THESE THINGS!!!” Shouted another, which was followed by a deep growl which Yarrick recognised as the whisperings of a machine spirit, the angriest he’d ever heard. After a few more moments the roar of an engine started and a red and yellow rhino slowly dragged itself from the wreckage, mounted by two Angry Marines fighting each other. Thankfully for histories sake, the driver of the rhino stopped his vehicle before it turned the shocked Yarrick into paste, a stop which dislodged the two fighting Marines off the tank to land at his feet, upon which they stopped fighting, stood up and glared at Yarrick as if this was all his fault. “OI KID!!!” Bellowed the one with the huge wrench “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING LOOKING AT? HAVE YOU NEVER SEEK A FUCKING ANGRY MARINE BEFORE?!!!” This broke Yarrick out of his trance, what was the marine doing shouting at him? This man had just destroyed his shed, destroyed his life’s work, his gifts from the omnisiah, and he had the balls to swear and curse at HIM. All of a sudden, Yarrick was filled with a righteous fury and before he knew it he was pelting the marine with scattered wrenches and chunks of metal while screaming a stream of profanity which just melted into one long cry of “FFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!”
After the two marines finally managed to pin Yarrick to the ground (after he had managed to dismantle a large chunk of their power armour) with some help from the ten other marines inside the rhino, the driver and the rhino itself, the first marine (which Yarrick later learned to be an Angry Tech Priest) asked “WHAT’S YOUR NAME YOU FUCKING ANKLE BITER?!!! DAMN I THINK HE BROKE MY FUCKING ARM!!!” After a bit more swearing Yarrick responded “Yarrick Smith the third YOU FUCKING CUNT LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY FUCKING SHED YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!” “NOT ANOTHER FUCKING YARRICK!!!” bellowed the tech priest “YOU LOOK MORE MIGHTILYPISSEDOFF TO ME!!!” Which drew a round of laughter (if somewhat pained due to the assorted collection of broken bones). “YOU ARE NOW MIGHTILY PISSED OFF THE THIRD YOU PRICK, AND YOUR FUCKING COMING WITH US!!!”
And thus, Yarrick Smith became Mightilypissedoff the third, and after being dragged kicking and screaming off Armageddon passed through all the Angry Marines rites and became an Angry Tech priest, powering himself along with his eternal loathing for his kidnappers/adopted family. Life after that was fairly quiet for pissed off for the next millennia or so, spending most of his time taming the Angry Marines more violent vehicles (something which he had an innate talent for) and fighting in the few hundred conflicts the chapter finds itself in at any given time. His chance to seek revenge against the Angry Marines, when the Master of the Armoury Enfurious Ragman announced that “WE’LL BE HAVING A FUCKING “CULTURAL EXCHANGE” WITH THE FUCKING TOASTER SHAGGERS, AND I NEED ONE OF YOU PRICKS TO GO TO FUCKING MARS!!!” Luckily and entirely coincidentally, all the other Angry Tech Priests were simultaneously hospitalised due to “BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE BALLS WITH A FUCKING WRENCH!!!” And thus, Mightilypissedoff was the only person available to go to Mars.
Upon arriving on Mars, Mightilypissedoff was treated like a lost son who had finally returned to the fold, and for another happy millennia or so he was taught everything he did not yet now about the ways of the omnisiah, slowly (fast by mechanicium standards as his competitors would be found dead due to “BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE BALLS!!!” making his way up through the ranks until finally becoming the head of a titan manufactorum and earning the title of enginseer. It was however, realised by the council of mars that pissedoff was too Angry a person to truest become one of their own, despite his immense skill, a flaw which they blamed on the Angry Marines, a crime which they added to the chapters very long list of offences. But the mechanicium could not just simply get rid of pissedoff, it was not his fault he was corrupted and he was still equally talented if not more so than mar’s greatest priests.
The chance for revenge came with the new of the death of the Angry Marines Master of the Armoury, creating an opening in their command structure. This was a golden opportunity for the mechanicium, an opportunity which Mightilypissedoff the third was perfectly placed to exploit, being both an Angry Marine and a child of the omnisiah, and so he was brought before the council of mars who explained their plans to him, to which pissed off replied “WHERE DO I FUCKING SIGN?!!!”
So after a millennia or so away, Mightilypissedoff the third returned to the Angry Marines with a single task, either bring the chapter to heel, or destroy them, but how could they be sure that Mightilypissedoff would get the job? Because he's angrier than even the rank and file Angry Marine (let alone an Angry Tech Priest), a being who utterly despises the Angry Marines for what they have done so much, that the Angry Marines would take one look at him now and say "CALM YOUR BALLS YOU WALKING TOASTER, YOU CAN HAVE THE FUCKING JOB!!! IT'S NOT AS IF ANY OF US CUNT WEASELS WANTED IT ANYWAY!!!" And just like that, Mightilypissedoff was the Master of the Armoury. But as pissedoff took up his new role he started to wonder whether he had been truly happy/ANGRY on mars, there you had to pray for 20 minutes just to open a vent on an air con unit, and had he really hated and despised the Angry Marines to the point that he wanted to destroy them, he’d had more freedom and fights with the Angry Marines than he could have had over the course of hundreds of millennia with the mechanicium.
And so, instead of destroying the Angry Marines, Master of the Armoury Mightilypissedoff the third embraces/head locked them, and has been happy/ANGRY EVER SINCE. He now spends most of his time on the battlefield "FUCKING SMASHING ANY CUNT WHO OFFENDS THE OMNISIAH!!! THAT COCKSUCKING LEMAN RUSS JUST LOOKED AT ME FUNNY, YOUR NEXT DIPSHIT, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!", so much time in fact that the Angry Tech priests are wondering if they should promote one of their own to the rank of Master of the Armoury (those who suggest that die mysteriously from BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE BALLS VIA A HUGE FUCKOFF WRENCH SMASHING THEM OVER AND OVER AGAIN!!!) Mars is somewhat surprised by the turn of events, and are so exasperated that the Angry Marines heretical actions are to be officially ignored until they do something really stupid, like filling a titan full of honey badgers and blowing it up for shits and giggles.
The relics of the Angry Marines
the looted, looted, looted, Pretty Marines "WARGH MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Banner.
A banner which was once owned by the pretty marines, at the time called the "Notice Me Senpai" banner, it provided space warping properties of the same manner used by deamonettes to hide their crab claws, granting all pretty marines around it incredible beauty and two-inch-thick plot armour, as it effectively made all pretty marines within its range main characters in an anime, so how could they die. Unfortunately (for the pretty marines at least) the orks don't give a shit about anyone else's plot armour apart from their own (and yarricks, da greatist an orkiest humie eva!) and proceeded to brutalise the pretty marines with their long, hard shafts/choppas, and took the banner for themselves.
The banner was used for quite some time by ork commandos, who used its powers to make them look absolutely fabulous (or at least good looking enough to a guardsman who hasn't had sexual contact with another human for months) and thereby sneak up on enemy positions. Those they snuck up on could still see the orks, but would be too busy having awkward boners etc to notice, boners which they would die with as the commandos chopped them to pieces. Over time however, the banner began to lose its strength, being replaced more and more by wargh energies, and although it still provided a healthy glow to the orks (5/10 while drunk), it was no longer enough to hypnotise the enemy, resulting in the commandos being curpstomped by a squad of storm troopers, and the banner was then taken by the inquisition.
Thankfully, the inquisitor in possession of the banner was well travelled and cunning enough to know that xenos tech should not be dismissed out of hand (do the, how do you say it? Funky monkey) and so started experimenting on the banner, to find out how it could be both orky and pretty at the same time. However, the inquisitor made a grave mistake of being within one hundred light years of the Angry Marines during the two years of the completion of the Codex Angry Marines, and thus became one of the many inquisitors who "WAS BEATEN OVER THE FUCKING HEAD BY THE LITERAL FUCKING BOOK!!!" And thus, finally, the banner fell into the hands of the Angry Marines, who used it (during their two year "book tour") for their own amusement, as anyone within its range would start talking orky (DIS FUKIN BANNER IZ DA FLASHIEZT!!! WE SHODA KRUMPED DAT INQUISTOR GIT FOR IT BLOODY AGES AGO LADZ!!!).
Over time however, like every other piece of influence before it, the orky powers around the banner started to diminish, to be replaced by "RAGE MOTHERFUCKER!!!" to the point that the Angry Marines started carrying their "FUCKIN FLASHY BANNER!!!" into battle, to great effect, as it carried Pretty, Wargh and Angry energies within it, making everyone around it "DA ANGRIEST, DA ORKIEST AND DA PRETTIEST SONS O FUCKIN BITCHES IN DA FUCKIN GALAXY!!!! WARGH MOTHER FUCKERS!!!"
The Codex Angry Marines
While most codices were written or printed by hand or machine, the codex angry marines, was forged (although it wouldn't be surprising if the codices of the iron hands or the salamanders are forged as well). Made from a slap of steel adamantium alloy which had been pissed on for seven days and seven nights and the pages and spine were carved from the block by a team of Angry Marine Mindfuckers, using nothing but profanity, and the occasional bolter round. The crude simulacrum of a book was then brought before the Angry Marine chapter master, Temperus Maximus, for he had been ordered by the inquisition, the adeptus ministorium and terra, the high lords and, worst of all, the ultramarines, to make the Angry Marines codex compliant.
Maximus admired the slab of metal before him, it would be would be a fitting vessel for his rules to his battle brothers, and a giant middle finger to everyone else, as they never said whose codex the Angry Marines had to abide by. Flicking/snapping open the book with a quick curse which could still be heard in the cargo bays the chapter master glared at the metal page, melting words into it through sheer, undiluted contempt, drops of alloy dripping from the book to sizzle on the floor. Finally, his work done, Maximus leashed in his rage and closed the book, pausing only to read the rapidly cooling words, which said;
"JUST HIT THE FUCKERS!!!"
Opening the doors to his chambers carrying the book, Maximus found a riot (one of the technical terms for a gathering of Angry Marines, another being an arse kicking) of silent Angry Marines outside. "SO WHAT DOES IT SAY?!!!" Shouted one with unaccustomed politeness and reverence, while the others waited for the chapter masters response. There was the pause as Maximus considered, only to get angry with himself for needing to pause, he raised the book high above his head, and brought it crashing down on the questioning marines armoured brow, sending him crashing through five floors to land in a wrathful heap. Then, fixing those amassed before him with a steely gaze which left a few temporarily blind, Temperus Maximus gave his response, in a bellow which could be heard back on terra, "YOU CUNTS SHOULD ALREADY KNOW WHATS WRITTEN IN THE FUCKING BOOK YOU COCKSUCKING, WEABOO, DEAMON FONDLING FAGGOTS!!!". The assembled marines didn't hesitate in their response, even the marine who had been smashed through the floor
"ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME!!! ALWAYS ANGRY ALL THE MOTHER FUCKING TIME!!! SUCK ON IT YOU ULTRAMARINE BASTARDS!!! FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!"
The resulting fight lasted several years and resulted in a death toll in the billions, but the Angry Marines didn't care, and they carried the codex Angry Marines with them every cockshot of the way, as a reminder that they didn't need some ultrasmurf faggot to tell them who they are and what to do, but mostly to "BEAT SOME FUCKING INQUISITORS WITH THE LITERAL FUCKING BOOK!!!" It has gotten to the point that the book itself hurls insults at the enemy, and the odd bolter shell, and maybe the odd lightning bolt, but that sort of thing stops once you apply a fresh purity seal.
There is a worry however that, as the book contains at least twenty blank pages, that the book may write in itself, an idea which has everyone, except the Angry Marines, absolutely shitting their collective pants. What might a book given semi sentience by an entire chapter’s rage write in itself? The main theory is that the book will write some brand-new curses (and by that, curses unknown to the Angry Marines, the galactic guardians of the offensive word), curses which will probably be specifically insulting to ultramarines, or perhaps the 40k universes equivalent of the word Belgium. Either way, any new words must remain unknown to the universe at large to prevent galactic level recreations of the "Raiders of the lost ark" final scene, thankfully though, the book is protected/owned by the FUCKING ANGRY MARINES, meaning that a force the size of every black crusade combined would be needed to rest it from their adamantium grip.
The Head of Ward
A relic from before the unification wars, the shrunken head of the fifth (sixth) chaos god. The head sits impaled on a wooden stick and has a large cock and balls drawn on its forehead in permanent marker, from the remains of the heads neck droops a thick clump of fur, described by ancient texted as the "Crown of the neckbeards", which is said to have been awarded to the fifth/sixth chaos god for fucking over an ancient table top game. The head has been in the possession of a number of different parties such as (but not limited to) the ultramarines (who built a shrine to it and masturbated to it), nurgle (as even he found it vile to gaze upon), the eldar (who used its space and time warping aura to be complete dicks) and the pretty marines (who put makeup on it). The last owner was slaanesh (who used it as a fleshlight) until it was swept up by the currents of the warp into the battle barge litany of litany’s litany, where the Angry Marines attempted to destroy it, only to find it indestructible.
Ever since that day the Angry Marines have been trying to get rid of the disgusting head, but even something as terrifying as Matt Wards head, still has its uses, mostly by warping space and time around those chapters and species he had once fucked over.
Disconcerting, the head also whispers heretical ideas in the dark of night, despite how much constructive criticism/rage the Angry Marines throw at it, things like "the Ultramarines are the only true space marines" and "why don't you guys team up with the necrons" or, worst of all "the baby carriers weren't a bad idea, it's not me who designed the fucking things". The whispers can be heard in a hundred-mile radius (even in the vacuum of space) and resulted in many sleepless nights (WHO FUCKING NEEDS SLEEP!!!) for the nearby Angry Marines until someone came up with the bright idea of keeping the head next to the Codex Angry marines, an arrangement which results in the head crying softly, and while this crying can still be heard a hundred miles around, the moans of one of the imperiums greatest foes is a lullaby to everyone's ears.
The combi-combi flamer
Before he died, Master of the Armory Enfurus Ragman (MAY HE KICK BALLS AND SCREAM FOR FUCKING ETERNITY!!!) had been working on improving the standard combi flamer, a weapon much admired/used excessively while screaming at the enemy, due to the large amounts of Dakka it could produce. Ragman desired to increased said amounts of Dakka (and maybe while he was at it add some blades or big steel rods to make it choppy as well), but was struggling to do so (like many who had come before him before they were killed by the mechanicus for crimes against the omnisiah).
It was on a normal, rage filled night, Ragman was in the armoury holding a combi flamer and a roll of duct tape. He looked at the flamer, and then to the duct tape, then to the flamer, then back again, and that, is when genius struck. He took the flamer, and wrapped it in several rolls of duct tape and fired it at the nearest object (a servitor as it happens). The gun (although it was now definitely a better gun because it was covered in duct tape) was no more dakkery than before (even if it had annihilated the servitor), and so Ragman went on a "MOTHERFUCKING, AND TOTALLY JUSTIFIED RAMAGE!!!" Through the armoury. Later he realised he folly, and this time duct taped two combi flamers together, and thus, the Combi-Combi Flamer was born.
Unfortunately, Ragman died before achieving the ultimate goal of making the flamer also choppy (duct taping a chainsword to it) or before he could make more combi-combi flamers, otherwise the Angry Marines would have eradicated all heresy a long time ago.
The Doom Guy gun
A "gift" (left behind) weapon given to the Angry Marines by the honorary Angry Marine, Doom Guy, when he appeared on the battle barge maximum fuck while it was passing through the warp. The gun (after being analysed by angry tech priests) was found to have the highest density of Dakka per kilogram, but it only worked when the wielder was moving at top speed, and it fired even faster when firing at daemons.
The Doom Guy gun was once brought to battle against the orks, who, upon seeing the gun and recognising its power, immediately surrendered to the Angry Marines (producing a level of confusion in the Angry Marines which created such a strong backlash of confusion in the warp that it prevented tzeench from pulling off a "Just as planned" large enough from destroying terra). When asked afterwards why they had surrender, the ork war boss replied "So much Dakka. What can one do against such flashy bitz." Of course, the Angry Marines now have to keep it locked up to protect it from certain Red and Black Kleptomaniacs...
The Storm Shield Surfboard
The anger child between a squad of Angry Terminators and an Angry Tech Priest, while the Angry Marines were fighting deamons of Slannesh on an ice world. At the best of times terminators are slow and purposeful, put them on a planet which is covered in a metre and a half of snow, and they might as well make them stationary. Angry Terminators are not calm beings at the best of times, but dump them in a snow drift and have deamonettes dance around and taunt them, then you get to exploding levels of RAGE (many battle brothers were lost to such deviant tactics, MAY THEY KICK BALLS AND RAGE FOR FUCKING ETERNITY"). Such rage would also have a dramatic effect on the terminator armour, as marines would claw their way out in the nude to "FUCKING FIST THOSE DEAMONETTE SLUTS!!! HOW DO YOU LIKE BEING FUCKED BY A CHAINSWORD!!!" (Ow do it harder your making me so god damn horny BLAM). Terminator armour is rare at the best of times, even more so in a chapter which uses them to walk into lascannon fire for "SHITS AND GIGGLES MOTHERFUCKER!!!", and such damage makes the Angry Tech Priests so angry that they can be used to melt glaciers.
So an "alliance" was formed based on the desire to a. Get to the enemy faster and b. To not ruin terminator armour while doing so, between a five man terminator squad, and the tech priest Jordy Motherfucker, who was originally from the water covered agri world of Spectoris. After much arguing and fighting (the equivilent of a polite hello followed by tea and biscuits for the Angry Marines) Jordy suggested the use of one of the terminators storm shields as a sled to slide over the ice slopes, in imitation of a water based pastime from his home world. "But how do we make it travel uphill or over long distances?" Pondered Motherfucker out loud (being an Angry Techpriest, Jordy only spoke in lower case most of the time). "PUT SOME FUCKING ROCKETS OR MELTAS ON THE FUCKING BACK YOU IDIOT!!! YOUR SUPPOSED TO BE THE FUCKING CLEVER ONE AROUND HERE!!!" Replied one of the Angry Terminators, who proceeded to take his storm shield and hammer some rockets onto the back of his power hammer. Then, taking a run up, said terminator jumped onto his storm shield and powered up the rockets.
When they found the terminator ten miles away (by following the trail of decapiated, mutilated and fisted deamonettes) at the bottom up an icy hole all he would say was "I'M FUCKING DOING THAT AGAIN!!!" as he kept trying to remount his now drained storm shield. Since then, the Storm Shield Surfboard has been fitted with improved fuel tanks, more reliable/non-exploding rockets, an Angry levitation system (borrowed) from the Angry Repulsor tank, a front edge force field for added decapitation, cup holders and a tv which plays constant runs of an old earth show called "Scooby Doo", a show which is believed to be the very same "FUCKING QUALITY CARTOONS!!!" That Reclusiarch Mofo has been watching for all this time. Nobody has yet been able to create more Storm Shield Surfboards, as the board is more owned by a single marine who refuses to let anyone else use/play with it, meaning that for someone else to use it, say a tech priest, he will either have to wait for the current "owner" to die, become incapacitated in some way, or have the board confiscated by a mob of Angry Tech Priests or a high ranking chapter member.
Roll of Emergency Purity Seals
One of the roles of a chief Reclusiarch is to ensure that the chapter remains full of nice, good, emperor bothering space marines, and not spikey, tentacle creatures wearing power armour. Chief Reclusiarch Mofo doesn't really give a shit as "ANY PUSSY WHO WOULD JOIN CHAOS IS A WORLD EATER WANNABE!!! NOT A FUCKING ANGRY MARINE!!! NOW PISS OFF IM WATCHING SOME FUCKING QUALITY CARTOONS!!!"
However, despite the fact that Angry Marines are as likely to fall to chaos as a grot is likely to defeat a dreadnaught, the Chief Reclusiarch services are still required, mostly in the blessing of random shit the marines have found to make sure that the inquisitors don't get any exterminartus based ideas. Even this minor task is too much for Mofo's non-existent patience, so he took a roll of standard, two ply imperial toilet paper, screamed at it "YOU ARE BLESSED YOU INANEMATE PIECE OF SHIT!!!" And drew a small angry face on the first sheet.
This roll of emergency purity seals/blessed bog roll was then slammed into the face of the first Angry Marine demanding his bolter or power wrench to be blessed and followed by a bellow which was felt by a nearby battle barge "BLESS IT YOURSELF YOU CUNT WEASEL!!!" Despite the rolls unassuming appearance, it does provide significant protection to anything a sheet is slapped onto, in fact, each sheet shouts "YOU HAVE BEEN BLESSED, NOW STOP FUCKING MOANING!!!" After being used, but what's most remarkable is that the roll hasn't run out, being destroyed after many millennia of use and still has the same angry face on the first sheet.
In the direst of situations it can even be used to wipe your arse, and marines who have done so say that "MY SHIT HOLE HAS NEVER FELT SO CLEAN!!! IT WAS LIKE WIPING MY ARSE WITH A FIELD FULL OF BUNNIES!!!" Mofo refuses to create more rolls for chapter wide, even imperium wide, use, arguing that (after he had shoved fagbasher up the arse of the inquisitor stupid enough to ask) "ANY CUNT WHO NEEDS EXTRA PROTECTION FROM CHAOS IS A FUCKING TYRANID LOVING WHORE!!! NOW PISS OFF, IM STILL FUCKING WATCHING SOME QUALITY CARTOONS!!!"
A Literal Shit Storm
Note, this story is a work in progress and thus the title and story elements will change over time, you have been warned. I have moved this from the discussions page so that a. I can work on this story from my phone, not just my computer and b. to free up space in the discussions page for other stories people might want to post and discuss.
|This article or section involves Matthew Ward, Spiritual Liege, who is universally-reviled on /tg/. Because this article or section covers Ward's copious amounts of derp and rage, fans of the 40K series are advised that if they proceed onward, they will see fluff and crunch violation of a level rarely seen.|
It was not originally realised what the greatest impact the Fiery Aggressors would have on the Angry Marines would be, if you’d asked the average Angry Marine (assuming he didn’t pick a fight with you, correction, after he had picked a fight with you) he would have said “THEY’D FUCKING SET STUFF ON FIRE!!! WHAT KIND OF RETARDED QUESTION WAS THAT?!!!” And this is actually correct, their greatest impact on the chapter was to set stuff on fire, more specifically, setting stuff on fire using flamethrowers utilising promethium with ground up copies of the Codex Astartes mixed in, this didn’t make the flamethrowers any more burny, but it did make them far more awesome.
The only downside to this was that the Fiery Aggressors would get through a lot of copies of the codex Astartes, and as much as the Angry Marines despise the “FAGGOTY, GIRLYMAN FAP FICTION!!!”, it is still used by the chapter as toilet paper, resulting in a conflict of supply and demand on a galactic scale, as the Angry Marines attempted to gather more copies of the Codex Astartes to wipe their increasingly filthy arseholes, only for the Fiery Aggressors to steal those copies and more. Things became so desperate that the Angry Marine’s Chapter Master, Temperus Maximus, recalled all the Angry Marines command structure to one place to discuss/argue the crisis which was threatening the very existence (or at least hygiene) of the chapter, as the chapters astropaths could sense the attention of Nurgle being directed towards them.
“FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKK!!!” shouted the Chapter Master to bring the assembled marines before him to silence (or at least they were only swearing under their breath out of habit). He had chosen to hold the meeting in his private quarters aboard the battle barge Maximum Fuck, and around the large, circular table covered with pizzas and skittles he had had constructed for this very purpose sat the galaxies angriest beings. Directly opposite him sat Commissar Fuklaw who was glaring at a single point on the table which had started to smoke and give off squeals of “please, I have a family, be merciful”, while around him sat and huddled a contingent of other commissars, their trigger fingers twitching in anticipation of the first sign of HERESEY!!! A few seats down sat the Chief Mindfucker, Moarfistin, who was looking even more pissed than usual having been called back from his crusade into Tau space, flanked on either side by his two seconds in command, Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Cunt who were currently staring down Captain Satchel, who as usual paid them no heed, he’d faced far worse than those cunts. Noticeably absent from the meeting were the Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third (who being mostly mechanical required no need to shit, except on special occasions, say to take a massive dump on an ultramarine) and Chief Reclusiarch Mofo (who was still locked in his quarters watching cartoons, and had access to the roll of emergency purity seals, and as such had no shortage of toilet paper).
“NOW THAT YOU’VE STOPPED FUCKING ABOUT WE CAN GET TO THE CUNTING PROBLEM!!!” started the Chapter Master, “THANKS TO THE FLAME THROWER CUNTS WE’RE ALMOST OUT OF BOG ROLL TO SCRUB OUR ARSEHOLES FUCKING CLEAN!!! NURGLINGS HAVE BEEN SPOTTED FOLLOWING THE MORE SHIT SMEARED MARINES, WE NEED FUCKING BOG ROLL AND FUCKING FAST!!!” At the mention of Nurglings, Moarfistin let off several psychic bolts of pure fury which melted part of a nearby wall to slag. “HERESEY!!!” bellowed the group of commissars who had levelled their bolt pistols at the Chief Mindfucker out of sheer muscle memory. After a quick break to disarm the commissars and repair the wall the meeting continued with an Angry Veteran asking “LET’S JUST FUCKING USE MOFO’S PURITY SEALS!!! THAT SHITS SOFTER THAN UNICORN FUR THREADED WITH THE FINEST FUCKING SILK, AND IT NEVER FUCKING RUNS OUT!!!” There was a chorus of swearing in agreement at this until it was pointed out by ones of the Apothecaries present that “YOU CAN FUCKING TRY!!! BUT I’M NOT GOING TO BE THE ONE TO REMOVE FAGBASHER FROM YOUR BOI CUNT WHEN MOFO FUCKING CATACHES YOU!!!” There was a moment of silence as everyone present remembered what had happened to the last Marine who had been desperate enough to try and steal and use the roll of emergency purity seals from Mofo, it was the first time a lot of the marine’s present had ever heard a fellow Angry Marine beg for mercy.
“WE COULD JUST USE NORMAL FUCKING BOG ROLL!!!” chipped in a lieutenant to break the silence, who was then immediately beaten to the ground by the marines surrounding him and dragged, kicking and swearing, from the room. “NOW THAT WE’VE GOT THE STUPID FUCKING QUESTIONS OUT OF THE WAY!!!” shouted the Chapter Master “DO ANY OF YOU CUNTS ACTUALLY HAVE A FUCKING GOOD IDEA?!!!” “LETS FUCKING INVADE MACRAG, THE ULTRACUNTS HAVE GOT PLENTY OF BOG ROLL!!!” shouted someone from the back, which got a cheer/war cry from all the Marines assembled who then charged to the door to prepare for a crusade against the ultramarines, not that they really needed an excuse to do so.
“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE YOU PUSSIES I DIDN’T GIVE YOUR SORRY CUNTS PERMISSION TO LEAVE!!!” screamed Maximus at the now motionless pile of marines stuck in the doorway. “AS FUCKING NICE AS IT WOULD BE TO TAKE A HOLIDAY TO THE ULTRA CUNTS!!!” continued Maximus, reaching under the table and grabbing something “WE’D END UP WITH THE INQUISITION SO FAR UP OUR FILTHY ARSEHOLES THAT WE’D BE ABLE TO HEAR THEM SHOUT HERESEY OUT OF OUR MOUTHES!!!” And at that he pulled the inquisitor that had been hiding underneath the table with a microphone out and gave the man such a withering stare that his hair began to grey and char at the ends before everyone’s eyes.
“AS INVADING OTHER CHAPTERS IS OUT OF THE FUCKING QUESTION!!!” shouted Fuklaw as the inquisitor was “politely” shown the way out of the room to the nearest airlock “WHAT FUCKING IDEAS DO YOU BASTARDS HAVE?!!!” The room erupted with swearing and fighting at this, as every single marine present tried to get his idea heard, throwing chairs, pizzas and other marines at each other. At some point Fuklaw lost his patience and began unleashing his withering gaze upon the room, which started to catch fire and melt, drops of metal landing on the fighting marines to eat away at power armour and just generally making them even more pissed off. At some point Maximus and the other heads of command finally lost their patience as well and joined in with the fighting, which actually helped, as at least half of the fighting marines were immediately knocked out as they e.g. Received a face full of Dick Haggard’s fists, or got catapulted into the ceiling after taking a swing from the back of Dylad.
“I think I have an idea,” said a strong, yet quiet voice. Immediately, the fight stopped as a wave of unease spread across all those assembled, their minds suddenly becoming calmer, as if someone had put a large pillow over each man present. In unison, the fight (the official collective noun for a group of Angry Marines) turned their heads towards the door to the Chapter Masters chambers, where there now stood a marine clad in the same armour as everyone else, except for an ancient rope adorned with the colours of the desert fangs, a Silencer Ancient. For a moment, no one spoke, the Angry Marines normal desire to swear and curse abated by the presence of such a large, and ancient psychic void. Even Fuklaw and Moarfistin’s rage abated somewhat as their otherwise uncalmable minds were also embraced by the cold void emanating from the incomprehensibly ancient figure before them. As one, the fight got itself up from the floor and stood (as much as an Angry Marine is capable of) respectfully towards the silencer, each marine holding his breath in anticipation.
Sighing a sigh which somehow managed to communicate what it was like putting up with Angry Marines, the Silencer continued. “We could ask the head of Ward; such an ancient and vile creature must know of where we can acquire enough copied of the codex Astartes. He did after all, influence its creation.” A ripple passed through the crowd at the suggestion. They all hated and feared the head of Ward, even the Silencers, who were normally untouched by the warp, could feel its vileness and plot defying aura. Dropping the three unconscious marines he had forgotten he had been head locking, maximus walked to the Silencer in the doorway, his head bowed in reverence and uncertainty, he never knew how to treat the Silencers, they were simultaneously his superiors, his subordinates, and his equals, he would have punched the man in the face just to break the ice, but his mind was still calm and incapable of its usual divisive fury.
The Silencer rolled his eyes behind his helmet, as he reached deep into his mind for his rage, a rage built up over millennia of fighting demons and babysitting the red and yellow fucks, and threw it at the chapter master in the only form of communication the Angry Marines seemed to understand. “STOP GROVELLING LIKE A FUCKING GROT!!! GET YOUR FIST OUT OF YOUR SHIT HOLE AND MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND YOU OVERSIZED MUSHROOM!!!” Instantly, all the eyes in the room were once again lit with fury again as they all straightened themselves up despite numerous broken bones and bruises and shouted their reply.
“ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!! FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!” And with a smile on his face honed over many centuries of bloodshed and swearing, the chapter master glared deep into the silencers eyes. “SO BE IT!!!” he shouted to those assembled, “INFORM THE TECH PRIESTS!!! TELL THEM TO PREPARE THE MAIN HANGAR, WE SHALL SPEAK TO THE FUCKING HEAD OF WARD!!!”
A few hours later and the battle barge maximum fucks main hangar had been cleared of ships to make a large space in which the chapter master, Reclusiarch Mofo (even he could not refuse being present for such an event), Moarfistin and Fuklaw now stood in a semi-circle. All other marines had been banished from attending this event, not that they would want to attend it, as even greater demons and machines do not suffer its presence willingly. “BRING IT IN!!!” shouted Mofo, who just wanted to go back to watching cartoons. The blast door at the far end of the cavernous room opened and three dreadnoughts strode through, the central one holding something draped with a thick, black cloth, while another carried a large chunk of metal, which seemed to weigh down the dreadnought far more than its size would suggest. Behind them followed a looming, mechanical figure covered in servo arms and measuring devices, two red eyes shining from its yellow and red robes, Master of the Armoury, Enginseer Mightilypissedoff the third. The event would have been awe and fear inspiring, if it hadn’t taken the mechanical procession two minutes to reach the centre of the chamber, with the master of the armoury scuttling along to try and keep up with the lumbering dreadnoughts, but finally, they reached the centre of the room, and set down the object wrapped in cloth.
“THIS HAD BETTER BE FUCKING WORTH IT!!!” complained Pissedoff, “WE LOST THREE TOASTER FUCKERS JUST GETTING THIS THING OUT OF THE FUCKING VAULT!!!” “YOU’LL FUCKING GET OVER IT!!!” countered Maximus as he stepped forward and tugged the black cloth away to reveal the dreaded Head of Ward. Immediately, the head began to whisper heretical thoughts, starting with “tseb eht era sthginkyerg” but almost as immediately the dreadnought carrying the slab of metal (which was the Codex Angry Marines) began the smash the book repeatedly into the head, which began to scream and wail. After several dozen or so strikes, the dreadnought stopped and slumped its shoulders in disappointment to see that the head was still whole, but at least it was no longer whispering vile heresy.
“SPEAK CUNTING CREATURE OF SHIT WRITING AND MARY FUCKING SUES!!!” started Fuklaw “FUCKING TELL US WHERE WE CAN FIND MORE COPIES OF THE CODEX ASTARTES, OR ELSE WE’LL GET TO FIND OUT WHICH OF THE TWO OF US WOULD WIN IN A FUCKING GLARING CONTEST!!!” (Fuklaw has yet to lose a staring contest, even Sly Marbo blinks under his gaze). “And why should I tell you?” replied the shrunken head, in a voice like sticky fingers being rubbed over a brand new codex “you will only lock me back up with the vile chunk of metal you call a codex, so go fu…” the head continued, only to be “interrupted” by Mofo as he began the beat the head over and over again with Fagbasher. “FUCKING (smack) TELL (crack) US (crash) WHERE (punch) WE CAN (deep throating action with Fagbasher) GET MORE (kick) SHIT PAPER!!!” Mofo bellowed, followed up by several more impacts just to drive the point home, leaving the head softly moaning on the floor, then strided over to the dreadnought carrying the codex angry marines, snatched the impossibly heavy book and hefted it over the now quivering skull.
“Alright!” screamed the head “I’ll tell you please just get that vile…” only to be interrupted as Mofo swung the Codex Angry Marines onto the head as Fuklaw instinctively shouted “HERSEY!!!” “TRY AGAIN YOU PRICK!!!” said Maximus “THIS TME WITH LESS FUCKING NECKBEARD HERETICAL SHIT!!!”. “There is a place,” whispered the head, “a shrine, built by the ultramarines, the Necrons, grey knights and Eldar for myself to sit in, they filled it with my greatest works and a giant portrait of my beautiful face from when I was still whole (KICK) OW!!! (whimpering) one of the many things they put there was crate after crate of the codex Astartes, they built the shrines foundations out of it, it is the centre of the word of ward and all that is goo… (repeated stomping my multiple people) (silence, whimper) there’s enough copies of the codex there for you for thousands of years now please just FUCK OFF!!!” There was a moment of silence as all those assembled considered this, or at least all except Moarfistin, who just stood there, steam pillowing from his ears and lighting trickling from his fingertips. “WHERE CAN WE FIND THIS MOST HERETICAL AND SHIT PLACE?!!!” Asked the Chapter Master, his tone mellowed somewhat by the thought of such a vile place even existing. “In a part of the web way which has been cut off, it is only accessible via a gate on the planet of…” pausing for dramatical effect “Solemnance!”
After a moments pause Pissedoff placed the Codex Angry Marines on top of the head (which began to squeal) as the large blast doors behind the assembled group opened, to reveal a Warhound titan, which began to stride towards the squealing head on the floor. Backing away to watch the show, the Angry Marine high command watched as the titan stood looming over the book and the head, raised one of its gigantic feet, and brought it crashing down with a force to powerful enough to crack open tanks, on top of the book/head sandwich. “IS IT FUCKING DEAD?!!!” shouted the assembled marines hopefully as the Master of the Armoury scuttled towards the impact point, only to start cursing and kicking the Warhound’s leg. The head was, unfortunately, was still alive. As the three dreadnoughts escorted the now violently swearing and sobbing Pissedoff from the room, the remaining marines turned towards Temperus Maximus, awaiting his decision.
“PACK YOUR SKITTLES AND YOUR FUCKING CHAINSWORDS!!!” shouted Maximus with a sinister grin on his face, “WE’RE GOING TO FUCKING SOLEMNANCE!!!”
Behind the scenes however, the galaxy began to respond to the angry marine decision to go book hunting. Some, like the followers of Nurgle and Tzeentch had been planning for this for a long time, slowly guiding or anticipating the actions of the angry marines, while the mortal follows of the word of ward felt the reveal of the shrine of wards location as a psychic backlash, activating built in plot points and narrative arches which the fifth (sixth) chaos god had drilled into them. As the chapter master was making his proclamation of a grand, angry marine crusade to Solemnance, a death guard fleet was beginning to exit the warp into real space to surround the assembled angry marine fleet, led by the champion of Nurgle, bringer of Crotch Rot.
“Our sorcerers have homed in on the scent of their festering anuses my lord, when we exit the warp we shall be right on top of them.” Said Crotch Rot’s second in command and Tallyman, Counter of Infectious Blessings, to his master, “the Angry Marines will be learning of the shrines location as we speak and will be completely unprepared for a surprise attack, or at least as ill prepared for a fight as an Angry Marine can be.” Everything was going according to plan thought Crotch Rot, Grandpa Nurgle had seen fit to bless him with many mutations and gift him with his own flagship he had named “Free Hugs”, and now he was about to bring the blessings of Nurgle to the Angry Marines and prevent them from discovering the Shrine of Ward (shiver), ensuring that their anuses would putrefy for all eternity.
“My Lord,” Counter of Infectious Blessings interjected into Crotch Rot’s thoughts “what are we to do with the… Head of Ward, once we have hugged all of the Angry Marines into submission? Even the chaos spa… (cough) that which will not be named are becoming nervous at being so close to such a relic.” “I have been informed by the Great Unclean ones that Nurgle wishes to possess the head for himself to create even more gifts and blessings for the galaxy, the mild discomfort of it being aboard our ship will be repaid a thousand times over in the form of the love of our father.” Replied Crotch rot, who was very much looking forward to receiving a bed time story from Nurgle himself, and maybe some pet nurglings.
Counter of Infectious Blessings was about to say that he’d happily give up all of his pet nurglings if it meant that he didn’t have to be around the head for a prolonged period of time, when a sorcerer barged into the room. “My lord!” oozed and sputtered the mass of putrid flesh “we have just entered real space, but we have detected the presence of another fleet of ships also exiting the warp!” Crotch Rot and Counter of Infectious Blessings looked confusedly (or as confused as you can when your facial muscles have rotted away eons ago), they were not expecting anyone else, had papa Nurgle seen fit to provide reinforcements? “Who is it?” asked Crotch rot “is it more Angry Marines? We’ve got enough people to bless without more of them turning up.” “No, your infectiousness,” stammered the sorcerer, chunks of flesh flicking of his form in agitation “it’s far far worse its….”
“JUST AS PLANNED!!!” cackled the champion of Tzeentch, Trololololol “THE FOOLISH DISEASE WORSHIPPERS HAVE FALLEN INTO OUR TRAP, WE SHALL SWOOP IN A STEAL THE VILE HEAD OF WARD AND I SHALL BRING IT TO TZEENTCH HIMSELF AND ACHIEVE DEMON PRINCEHOOD, JUST AS PLANNED!!!” Behind him, stood and sighed quietly his second in command, sorceress Elzbeth the Mind Shaper, who had frankly grown tired of all her masters scheming and plans, or rather she hadn’t grown tired of his plans, his plans were some of the finest around and his followers followed him not purely out of the power he had been granted by Tzeentch (although that is certainly part of it), but because of the brilliance of his plans. However, his insanity had begun to show more and more as the centuries had ground on to the point that he would plan decades in advance the arrival of a cup of tea, screaming “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” when it was finally delivered after many years of manipulation, while neglecting to plan for major battles, merely stating that it was all “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” And she had been so ambitious in her youth, or rather her ambition had had a razor edge to it, now, after centuries of following an insane genius, her ambition had dulled, although it still had enough weight to club someone to death (Tzeentch followers are big on analogies).
“Are my troops ready Elzbeth? Don’t answer, I already now, they’re all assembled in their boarding torpedoes as I speak.” Said Trololololol, his hands moving their erratic spiders up and down his staff in excitement. Elzbeth smacked her palm into her face in exasperation. “You know that the troops are all assembled your allseeingness because you asked me that question two minutes and I told you the answer,” replied the exasperated sorceress, not even bothering to conceal her anger now, especially as she knew that all he was going to do was shout just as planned. “JUST AS PLANNED!!!” shouted Trololololol (“told you,” she thought) “give the signal for the assault to begin, the head of the fifth (sixth) chaos god shall be MINE!!!”
The first thing the Angry Marines knew of the assault was when Moarfistin exploded into a scream of “FUCKING NURGLINGS!!!” which could be heard across the entire Angry Marine fleet (sound may not travel through a vacuum, but fury does), followed almost immediately by the detection of two separate fleets disgorging boarding torpedoes and unleashing barrages of void missiles and lance batteries at the angry marine battle barges. Immediately the battle barges began to return fire, with automated weapons and serf manned batteries firing upon the encroaching torpedoes, with those torpedoes that did meet their mark being greeted by a traditional angry marine welcome of Chainswords and kicks to the balls, but the combined pressure of two separate fleets backed up by demonic powers was clearly too much for the chapter, which now ran the risk of being annihilated.
In the winding corridors of the Maximum Fuck, a squad of serfs were desperately trying to hold the corridor leading the main hangar as they were advanced upon by space marines of Nurgle from one side and Tzeentch on the other, bolter fire, warp lightning and gushes of oozing pox felling any serf who out of cover (and even in cover). But the Angry Serfs would not retreat, partly because they were all Angry pricks, one of these angry pricks (or ovaries in this case) was Ching Shin, once a special weapons expert for the imperial guard until she one day saw some demons and was scheduled to be sterilised. Until the Angry Marines rescued her and recruited her as an Angry Serf, where she had let a very angry but happy life, until a bunch of Tzeentch and Nurgle worshippers had decided to be a bunch of cunts and attack her ship. As it stands, her situation is hopeless, thankfully for her at least, Temperus Maximus will appear behind the Tzeentch worshippers and shout “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” in about a paragraphs time.
“Fuck these festering cunts!!!” shouted Ching to her commissar who was the last member of her squad left as she fired her plasma rifle down the corridor towards the cover camping Death Guard, although as angry as she was she was glad they were staying put, and knew that the only reason why they were staying put was because they didn’t want to charge into the corridor of Tzeentch worshippers behind her. “STOP YOUR FUCKING COMPLAINING AND JUST SHOOT THE CUNTS!!!” screamed the commissar, who was too far into HERESEY!!! Mode to care what she was saying and simply kept firing their bolt pistol towards the hiding Tzeentch marines, chunks of metal plating erupting from the walls as the bolt rounds missed their mark until finally, the commissars bolt pistol and Ching’s plasma rifle ran dry, and a veil fell over the corridor as their foes all smiled behind their helmets, and began to advance on their position.
Or at least, the Death Guard marines got five metres down their corridor before arches of lightning began to spike between them, putrid flesh boiling and melting away as the marines embraced their inevitable demise. And through the puddles of bubbling puss, faecal matter and fleeing Nurglings, strode the Chief Mindfucker, Moarfistin, warp energy curling around his right hand while his left hand held is fisting stick, with a chaos marine suitable impaled up the backside upon it. At the sight of one of the galaxies most feared and brutal psykers the Tzeentch worshippers tried to flee the way they came, lest their behinds be subjected to a fisting, only to run straight into the adamantium chest and Cheshire grin of Temperus Maximus, each fist enclosed around the crushed heads of two marines. “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” bellowed the Chapter Master, as he began to rein down his fists into screaming faces and power feet into soon to be obliterated genitals. It only took a few seconds, but as Ching walked from her cover she walked through ankle deep blood mixed with chunks of flesh and power armour, and what did she say to her two saviors?
“Took you fucking long enough you bunch of lazy cunts! Where were you earlier? Licking each other’s’ arseholes while you platted your hair! For fucks sake, even the fucking commissars dead now as well, we’d have about fifty angry bastards left if it wasn’t for you brown nosing bastards!”
In most other chapters, this would have earned Ching a bolt round to the head, or perhaps Slow lobotomization into a servitor, but as she stared down one of the galaxies angriest beings and called him a cunt, the Chapter Master could only smile a grin so wide it showed all of his dirty brown teeth. “YOU!!!” he almost whispered at Ching “I THINK I MIGHT HAVE A FUCKING JOB FOR A CUNT AS ANGRY AS YOU!” Striding forward and grasping Ching by the scruff of her flak armour and lifting her into the air. “WHAT DO YOU KNOW, ABOUT THE HEAD OF WARD?!!!”
Five minutes later, Ching found herself running down a long corridor carrying a black bag over her shoulder holding the Head of Ward, while Moarfistin kept up beside her carrying the Codex Angry Marines, barely taxing his superhuman form to keep up with the now panting Ching, as they both made their way towards the Maximum Fucks second hangar. The orders the Chapter Master had given Ching had been very clear, take the fucking head, get off the ship, and make her way to Solemnance and either find the Shrine of Ward, or meet up with the rest of the Angry Marines along the way after they had dealt with the ambushing fleets, as without the worry of protecting (preventing other cunts from stealing it) the Head of Ward from enemy hands the Angry Marines were free to simply run rampant through the enemies ranks, and it would be only a matter of time before the forces of chaos started fighting each other. But firstly, Ching and Moarfistin had to find a way off the Maximum Fuck without getting shot/stabbed/turned into that which will not be named/hugged, and although Moarfistin was more than capable of annihilating anything before him his sheer rage and psychic outbursts made him visible to any psyker within a mile, and thus the two adventures had become prime targets for anyone lacking a target to shoot at.
“Why the fuck did you have to come along you pansy cunt?!” Ching shouted as she kicked Moarfistin in the shins hard enough to be felt through power armour “your fucking attracting every cunt nearby wanting to make their points cost back and you keep stopping to stamp on Nurglings!” “FUCKING NURGLINGS!!!” Moarfistin simply screamed in response as he stamped on yet another fleeing ball of adorableness and heresy but otherwise didn’t bother to respond to the “INSOLENT BITCHES” insults, he had been ordered by the Chapter Master to a. ensure that the serf fucker completed her job and b. hit the Head of Ward with the Codex Angry Marines whenever it wouldn’t shut up. He still wasn’t happy about it (he was furious about it, which also pleased him) but as long as he was able to purge all traces of Nurgle he found then he would do his job and only complain slightly more than usual. “You stink like a Death Guard toilet now as well, you fucking idiot! Emperor fucking save me the smells getting even shittier!” Gagged Ching as a wave of nausea overtook her, she tried clinging Moarfistin’s side to balance herself only to be hit by a fit of stomach cramps and vomiting which forced her to her knees, one hand clutching her stomach and the although desperately holding onto the Black sack which held the Head of Ward. “GET UP YOU FUCKY PUSSY!!!” Ordered Moarfistin as he took up a stance in the centre of the corridor “WE’VE GOT MORE SHIT FOR EVERYTHINGS INCOMING!!!” Ching managed to raise her head enough, vomit still dribbling down her chin, to gaze, eyes watering, towards where Moarfistin was facing and the source of the ever-encroaching stench.
Advancing towards them from where they had come, strode (and oozed) the Champion of Nurgle, Crotch Rot, flanked on one side by Counter of Infectious Blessings, a pen in hand as he wrote in a huge human leather volume which dripped puss and bile as if it too were alive. Behind them scampered, rolled and chittered a mass of tentacles and mouths which Ching knew enough about to not even name them in her mind. Things would have gone rapidly downhill from there for Ching (probably starting with her face melting off), as without power armour, a super human constitution and some heavy weapons, an Angry Serf’s (no matter how angry) no match for a champion of chaos. But before Crotch Rot could say anything along the lines of “who would like a hug?” Moarfistin, instead of firing bolts of lightning or Bolter rounds, rested the spine of the Codex Angry Marines against his chest, and opened it towards the advance pile of bile and happiness. Immediately the corridor erupted into a long and impossibly load scream of “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU....” which rattled the very skeleton of the ship, with chunks of metal plating being ripped from the walls to impale the advancing forces of Nurgle as chunks of rotten flesh were ripped from their forms, forcing the horde back the way they had come and forcing Moarfistin, despite his super human strength, to slide in the opposite direction, picking up speed as the longer books fury was unleashed. Almost as an afterthought, Moarfistin grabbed the still gagging and deafened Ching from the floor before she got out of reach, and as he slung her over his shoulder like a very ill rag doll, he fixed the somehow still standing Crotch Rot with a glare which communicated all of his disgust towards his very existence, stuck up his middle finger and screamed in a voice loud enough to be heard even over the books war cry “FUCK YOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU....!!!” As he sped faster and faster down the corridor towards the second hangar.
As the books screams became quieter and the wind abated somewhat, Crotch Rot straightened himself up and surveyed the destruction around him as his tally man picked himself up, having lost his book and an arm in the carnage. “You know,” started Crotch Rot in a weird voice as his cheeks had been ripped from his face “something tells me that they didn’t want any hugs for some reason.” “Better luck next time my lord,” replied Counter of Infectious Blessing, in an optimistic voice even as his other arm fell off “maybe they had an important appointment to get to, and look on the bright side, now we have the chance to grow some new limbs.”
A 'difficult' beginning
Battle-Brother Alfion of the Angry Marines Chapter was having one fucking shitty day. Because Battle-Brother Alfion had been part of the first batch of Primaris Marines sent - reluctantly - by Lord Commander Roboute Guilliman to the Angry Marines. The contingent had been small. For starters, there had not been many Desert Fangs Neophytes left at the end of the Heresy to be put in stasis by Archmagos Cawl until such time as he had perfected his modification of the Astartes creation process. Then there was the fact that Girly... Guilliman had been unwilling to reinforce a Chapter that so openly embodied what he viewed as the worst aspects of his tempestuous brother, Rachnus Rageus.
Battle-Brother Alfion had at first looked forward to the reunion with those other sons of his gene-father, and to share with them the ideas he had about how to mix their headstrong culture with the precepts of the Codex Astartes, taught to him after his awakening from stasis and modification, to better wield their fury against the ennemies of the Empra... Emperor. He had started to worry when he had learned the name of his distant Bothers' Chapter's name. He had understood as well as any member of the Desert Fangs Legion the need to erase the knowledge of the existence of their Legion, but surely they could have chosen a more dignified name? Then he had heard whispers among the crew of the ship ferrying his contingent to the Angry Marines Battle Barge, the Litany of Litany's Litany. The mortals were afraid, deathly so. So much, in fact, that they were planning on shooting the Primaris Marines at the Battle Barge. Literally shooting them. From their cannons. Then run away.
Brother-Captain Medina had reassured them, reminding them that righteous fury was one of their greatest strengths and sources of pride, and that devoid of their other pride, the Silencers, their brothers had just given their rage a greater emphasis. The words of Brother-Captain Media, one of the very few experienced Desert Fangs Marines put in stasis at the end of the Heresy, inspired respect and faith among the men serving under him.
And then came the actual meeting with the Angry Marines. As Brother-Captain Medina approached the nearest red-and-yellow clad Battle-Brothers to hail them, after dusting off the fragments of the hull they had been shot through, he was met by a thunderous yell of "WHO THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU SPINELESS CUNTS SUPPOSED TO BE?!? MORE ULTRASMURFS FAGGOTS?!? IT'S FUCKING BAD ENOUGH GIRLYMAN IS BACK WITHOUT COCK-SUCKING FANBOYS FUCKING AROUND OUR BATTLE BARGE!!"
The contingent was stunned, to say the least, by this lack of respect. "What did you just say?" asked an incredulous Medina. "DO YOU HAVE SHIT IN YOUR EARS AS WELL AS IN YOUR BRAIN?!? I ASKED WHO YOU FUCKING FAGGOTS WERE!!" Medina regained enough of his composure to answer "We are the Primaris reinforcement sent from Mars by Lord Guilliman to strengh..." "SO YOU ARE GIRLYMAN'S COCKSUCKING SPECIAL SNOWFLAKES?!? AND YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO REINFORCE US?!? THAT'S THE BEST FUCKING JOKE SINCE THAT TIME WE PLAYED PUNCH THE CUNT WITH THE SHIT-EATING BLUEBERRIES WEEABOOS!!"
Things had only become worse from then. Alfion could not believe he was once ready to call those assholes brothers. They respected nothing but brute strength and loud yelling, litteraly shat on Guilliman's teachings, and made him and his brothers do all the menial jobs and things they didn't feel like doing. And now Medina was one of them, having snapped after one insult too many and decked the nearest cunt in his fucking face before going on a rampage in the shithole that was the Litany of Litany's Litany. When they came to, the fags had hailed him as Tantrumus Fuckingham, and he had since then stopped responding to "Medina".
Alfion wasn't sure why he hadn't done the same already. Maybe some lingering desire to improve this hellhole of a Chapter, a remnant of his new conditionning on Mars. He would give one last try at showing them how the Codex could be put to good use...
Alfion tried to open his eyes but couldn't. He tried to shake his head but couldn't. He tried to get up but couldn't. He couldn't move. But somehow he could see. And what he saw was that fucker Mightilypissedoff III glaring at him. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, YOU SAD EXCUSE FOR A TOASTER?" He paused. "WHY IS MY VOICE BOOMING? WHAT THE SHIT IS HAPPENING?" "THE SILENT ANGRY CUNTS SENT US THIS PILE OF SCREWS AS A GIFT. APPARENTLY, THEY'RE SO WEAK THE MACHINE SPIRIT WAS HAVING FUN KILLING EVERY FAGGOT THEY INTERED IN IT!!" answered Mightilypissedoff.
"INTERED? YOU MANIACS HAVE PUT ME IN A FUCKING DREADNOUGHT BECAUSE I SAID WE COULD USE THE CODEX ASTARTES FOR SOMETHING ELSE THAN WIPE YOUR STINKING ASSES?"
"I'M NOT SOME LAME DREADNOUGHT, FAGGOT, I'M A REDEMPTOR AND I'LL FUCK YOUR SHIT!!" answered a mechanical voice.
"WAIT... YOU PUT ME IN A WALKING COFFIN WHOSE MACHINE SPIRIT IS FUCKING INSANE?!"
"YOU WOULDN'T BE IN THERE IF YOU WEREN'T ALREADY A WEAK PIECE OF SHIT. I'M JUST FLUSHING!!" answered the Machine Spirit.
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF RUST! I'LL KICK YOU IN YOUR NON-EXISTENT BALLS UNTIL YOU SCREAM FOR MERCY LIKE THE LITTLE BITCH YOU ARE!! I DIDN'T ASK TO BE PUT IN STASIS AND EXPERIMENTED ON BY CRAWLY MCGUFFINFACE!! I DIDN'T ASK TO BE SENT BY FUCKING GIRLYMAN TO YOU ANGSTY CUNTS!! I'LL WRECK ALL OF YOU SHITS ONCE I'M DONE WITH THIS FUCKING PIECE OF GARBAGE!!"
At this, the Redemptor starting hitting itself while violently shaking, as if someone was punching it from the inside. Mightilypissedoff could only make out bits of the yelling coming from inside: "-THINK YOU'RE TOUGH YOU FAGGOT?!? -I'LL SHOW YOU TOUGH YOU FUCKING TOASTER!!" Having had enough of this emo cockslaping contest, the Master of the Armory picked up his wrench and started beating this new Redemptor Belligerent Engine - the first of its kind - into sullen unconsciousness.
Thus started the story of Cunt Pounder, the first Redemptor Belligerent Engine of the Angry Marines.
The feral world of Allanus was being set upon by a warband of the Black Legion. The locals, brave though they were, could not stand against the heretical Astartes. So when some keen-eyed warrior spotted a red and yellow vessel of the "Sky Angels", hope grew. But nothing happened. No righteous demi-gods descended from the heavens to help them. Until something fell from the sky in a trail of fire and impacted in the middle of the Chaos Marines. From the crater rose a yellow and red Redemptor Dreadnought of a strange pattern. Looking at their sole opponent, the Legionnaires laughed and opened fire. The dreadnought started shaking before suddenly yelling "ALL RIGHT, WHY ARE YOU PIECES OF SHIT INTERRUPTING ME WHEN I'M BUSY COCKSLAPING THIS FUCKING TOASTER TO DEATH?!?" before punching itself in the 'face'.
Recovering from their surprise at this outsburst, the traitors fired again at the Dreadnought. "THAT DOES IT!! I'LL TEAR YOU FUCKERS A NEW ASSHOLE TO TEACH YOU NOT TO INTERUPT ME WHEN I'M TRYING TO MURDERFUCK THIS CUNTSY BOLTPILE!!" yelled Cunt Pounder before charging the bemused Legionnaires and starting to punch their faces out and crotches in, in between violent blows to its own frame.
Aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany, the Angry Marines were relaxing, downing cold ones and eating skittles while watching Cunt Pounder punch his way though the warband and their pet demons. They stopped and spat out their beers/skittles when they saw him start punching his way though the planet in sheer RAGE. "- FUCK!! YOU THINK WE SHOULD STOP THIS ASSHOLE?!? - SCREW THAT, I'M NOT GETTING ANYWHERE NEAR HIM AND THAT CRAZY MACHINE OF HIS!!"
So they sat back and resumed drinking while Cunt Pounder punched his way through the mantle of the planet, then its core, then back through as the planet exploded.
"WELP, THAT WAS FUN WHILE IT FUCKING LASTED!! WAIT... WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT?!?" The sight of Cunt Pounder spiraling through the remains of Allanus, still punching itself and shaking with RAGE, exploding the rocks in its way, was enough to make the Angry Marines bring him back on board the Litany of Litany's Litany, where he proceeded to punch them, yelling "NOW IT'S YOUR FUCKING TURN YOU PANSIES!!". Only a repeated application of power bats to its frame managed to put him back to 'sleep'. It was afterwards unanimously agreed to only deploy Cunt Pounder in the direst of emergencies. Or in proximity of Ultrasmurfs, to watch the ensuing hilarity.
Three way clusterfuck
In the 42nd millenium, there was only war. At least as far as the people living on Genericus III were concerned the world had fallen prey first to a wave of Chaos Cults uprisings amazingly well coordinated, and let by Space Marines clad all in blue and silver, with weird green-adorned pauldrons. The Loyalist forces were being pushed back by the sheer savagery and fanaticism of the damned slaves of the Ruinous Powers and the might of the Heretic Astartes when the situation took a turn for the worse: a pack of Blood Axes Kommandos made landfall on Genericus III. Nobody knew why the Greenskins had come. Maybe the battle had resonnated through their Waaaaaagh field, or maybe it had just been a coincidence. But there are no such things as coincidence in the grim and dark future of the 42nd Millenium…
The sudden arrival of the Orks had thrown the carefully laid plans of the Alpha Legion commander, Duns Scottus. Fuming at the loss of certain victory, he began to plan anew, including the new arrivals in his strategy of misdirection, backstabbing and infiltration (although that last one might prove difficult to achieve with Xenos, unless he painted some of his men green and implanted big fangs in their mouths…). Meanwhile, Boss Bestasnik was having the time of his life. He and his boys had come to this planet of humies out of sheer boredom and had found it already teeming with fun. Apparently, some of the pointy beakies were busy sneakin’ around already, so he had decided to join in on the fun and show them how to sneak properly!
The locals of Genericus III, those loyal to the Imperium that had survived, could only hole up and defend what few strongholds they still held, all the while praying to the God-Emperor for help. Their prayers were answered when a yellow and red battle barge appeared over the war-torn planet. It broadcast a message saying ‘NOTHING TO SEE HERE!!! WE ARE DEFINITLY NOT THERE TO KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING SNEAKY CUNTSY ASS !!!’ then shot down multiple drop pods that streaked towards the surface at a surprisingly (at least for those used to seeing such deployments) high speed.
From those emerged Astartes taller than those the natives had been used to seeing over the millenia, clad in power armor matching in color the battle barge, and whose helmets were fashioned after skulls. They started to march forward, ready to blast the ennemies of the Imperium to pieces. But their stance was weird… It looked as if they were… tiptoeing?
From the other side of the planet, Duns Scottus had heard the announcement and seen the drop pods falling. His anger at having to change his plans once more because of yet-other new arrivals faded when he was told that the followers of Emperor were tiptoeing around in plain sight, garbed in garish colours, and yelling at the top of their overpowered vox-broadcasters that they were ‘SNEAKING YOU CUNTS!!! NOTHING TO SEE HERE, WE’RE JUST SNEAKING BEHIND YOU TO KICK YOU CUNTSY ASS OFF-PLANET !!!’ He just could not believe that anyone would be stupid enough to broadcast to everyone on the planet that they were sneaking. It had to be a trap. He started ignoring every report of those loud Marines, dismissing them as a distraction, while he started looking for the real loyalist threat that had to be somewhere else.
Bestasnik also could not believe it when told about the weird Marines, but not for the same reason: ‘Dos beakies are doin’ it wrong, dey are all yellow so dey should be ‘splodin’, not sneakin’. It’s purple dat’s da sneakiest!’ So dumbfounded was he by that illogical turn of event that he completly forgot to keep attacking the spiky Beakies or the squishy humies.
Angry Reiver Sergeant Asshole McCuntsface was also having the time of his life. His infiltration technique, honed on multiple battlefields and brawls with those little shits that called themselves his brothers (or rather called themselves ‘FUCKING ANGRY MARINES YOU DUMB CUNT OF A GIRLYMAN’S TOY !!!’), was working perfectly. Neither the DUMB AS SHIT GREENSKINS or THOSE BLUE BELLIED WORM CUNTS OF THE WEAKASS BULLSHIT LEGION had noticed his men’s approach. They were now perfectly placed to launch a SNEAK ATTACK ON THOSE FUCKERS!!!
Two days later, Duns Scottus turned in amazement to his second-in-command and banner bearer, Swiffer.
‘- What in the name of Chaos just happened? How did our forces get crushed so easily? And I can’t even find a trace of the Greenskins…
- My lord, it’s those weird Marines. The yellow and red ones. They have been picking out our forces and the Orks since their arrivals by tearing out their balls and hitting them with it, before making a gigantic ass statue out of the corpse so that they could, and I quote here ‘KICK THE COLLECTIVE ASS OF THE FUCKERS WHO THOUGHT THEY WERE BETTER AT SNEAKING THAN US’. And then they started taking turns kicking it until it exploded. And now they’re on their way here’.
- What? We need to escape now ! Tell the men to withdraw from this planet immediatly!
-There are no more ships for us to use, Lord. The Loyalists destroyed them all yelling ‘SNEAK ATTACK!!! WE’RE SNEAK ATTACKING THOSE SHIPS YOU FUCKERS!!!’
-We’ll just use the locals’ ships then! I will not let one of the heads of the Hydra be crushed, even by Loyalists that are better at infiltration than us!
- You really don’t get it, do you? They destroyed all the ships. Even the local ones. And they are not better at sneaking. They litteraly yelled that they were sneaking, but you refused to believe it. It’s really time for me to be going. I’ve stayed here to long, and my ‘Brothers’ could catch up to me at any time.
-Swiffer, what are you saying? And why are you wearing the green of the Angels? And where did that giant sword come from? Swiffer, where are you? Swiffeeeeeerr!!’
When the battle barge 'Whisper of Secrets' of the Dark Angels Space Marines Chapter entered the Genericus system following the detection of the totally-not-fallen-Angel known as Cypher, they were quite surprised to find the Angry Marines Battle barge ‘FUCKYOURSHIT’ already in orbit above Genericus III. When transmissions from the planet finally reached them, they were even more astonished at learning their 'cousins' had completely eradicated the Alpha Legion and Blood Axe forces on the planet. More concerning, however, was the fact that they had also anihilated every single ship on the planet, be they civilian or military, Orks, Traitors or Loyalists.
Wary at the thought that their prey might still be on the planet, waiting to be found by anyone, especially the angry nutters, Brother-Captain Berith of the 5th Company decided to hail the 'FUCKYOURSHIT' to demand they be handed over control of the campaign in the name of the hunt for Traitor Astartes, something they were far better equiped to do. No response was sent by the battle barge. Although it started to leave the orbit of Genericus III. Berith was initially relieved before being informed that it was now heading straight for the 'Whisper of Secrets'. Every attempt to hail the rapidly approaching battle barge was met with silence, until it came to a sudden (and violent) halt in boarding range. A single message was sent: ‘OH NO YOU DON’T YOU COCKSUCKING KILLSTEALING FUCKTARDS !!!’
The after-action report of the campaign of Genericus III, submitted by the local governor to the Estate Imperium, stated that the Angry Marines forces of the battle barge 'FUCKYOURSHIT' had completly anihilated the Traitor Forces, as well as the vile Xenos that had assaulted the world. It also mentionned that the entire crew of the Dark Angels battle barge 'Whisper of Secrets' had been unable to sit for two weeks straight after the official handover of power between the two Astartes Chapter. When asked by the Estate about the circumstances of the handover, the Unforgiven refused to comment.
The Making of an Angry Marine
Shitforbrains stared at the console before him, his eyes not believing what he was seeing on the screen. Glancing around the room where the final initiation was to take place he saw similar looks of shock and welling anger on the other initiates while two Angry Chaplains watched over the scene before them, their furious gazes burning into the foreheads of the soon to be Angry Marines before them. “RIGHT YOU SACKS OF ORK CRAP!!!” bellowed one of the Chaplains “I DON’T NEED TO FUCKING TELL YOU WHAT TO DO!!! WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN HERE WHEN I COULD BE FUCKING PUNCHING SOMETHING INSTEAD!!!” “BECAUSE YOUR A TAU WEEABOO PRICK WHO HAS TO MENTOR SHITS LIKE THESE!!!” shouted the other Chaplain at the first, swinging a pre-emptive punch, more as something to do than out of any real anger.
The initiates ignored the two fighting Chaplain’s, they were all still too preoccupied by the screens before each of them. “Why did it have to be this?!” whispered one of the initiates, his hands visibly trembling over the ancient computers keypad while another initiate began to shed terrified and furious tears, an act which would normally have had the other initiates beating him over the head, but right now they all felt like crying, as on the screen before them, glowing on the screens which seemed to burn into their retinas was the green and white start up text of Battle toads. Shitforbrains thought back over his past five years he had been training and completing the Angry Marine trials to become a full battle brother, he had spent his time as an Angry Ganger, getting slowly furious while aiming down a sniper scope that he just wanted to swing like a bat into the nearest enemy, he’d shoved a grenade down a Homogaunt’s throat (after wrestling the terrified and retreating xeno to the ground), he’d shouted down a howling banshee and only suffered minor deafness as a result, he’d even survived for a couple of seconds under the withering glare of Commissar Fuklaw (the longest any initiate had ever done before catching fire), but this, this was the final, and most difficult, trial he and his fellow initiates had to complete.
Their task, was to complete Battletoads, the hardest and most infuriating game in existence.
Glancing over his shoulder, trying to delay the inevitable, Shitforbrains spotted the three Angry Tech Priests and Apothecary who were there to take away any initiate who completely lost his mind while playing the game so that he could be turned into a Kill-a-Tor, a proposition which Shitforbrains was seriously considering. He could just quit now, it would mean that he’d have to scrub out toilets and work in the battle barge MAXIMIUM FUCKS library for two years, but he’d be able to take the test again after those two years and he’d only receive a minor beating and cursing for doing so, the final initiation test still scared full battle brothers after all. “Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck!” screamed Shitforbrains in his head “You’re not fucking quitting now you pussy Tau weeaboo, get your dick out of your ass and getting fucking playing this stupid game!” And at that, he grasped the computers controls, and began to play.
Four hours later and Shitforbrains was still only on the second level, the tech priests had seen fit to set the game to its highest possible difficulty, and had fitted the computer with the most unresponsive of keyboards, the keyboard alone had been enough to make one initiate flee the room screaming curse words, while another had fallen to the ground foaming at the mouth, swear words bubbling up through the foam as the tech priests carried him from the room. But Shitforbrains and the other initiates gave all this only passing thought and contemplation, they were too busy being furious at the games before them, to the point that the rage filling the room had become a palpable smell, like a mix of burnt pizza and junk mail. The two Chaplains had also stopped fighting by this point, and had started roaming the room, looming over the hunched shoulders of initiates and saying things like “YOU FUCKING IDIOT YOUR MEANT TO HIT THE FUCKER NOT ENGAGE IN LIGHT FOREPLAY!!!” and “GAME OVER YOU BASTARD!!! GAME FUCKING OVER!!!” as the gamers collided with enemies or sent their character tumbling to their deaths.
Eight hours later and Shitforbrains had started getting twitchy, even with some of his gene seed implanted the long hours starring at the tiny screen before him was making his eyes hurt and he really needed a shit at this point, the rumours about the initiates being fed laxatives in their pre-test meals seemed to be true. Despite all this however, he’d managed to progress through the game to the point that he felt that he could (if given enough time) complete it, he’d got the hand of the clumsy keyboard and had noticed patterns in the ancient software’s programming, he could do this, it may take him days but he could do it, and it would be fucking wor… At this thought, a tiny avatar of an Angry Marine with a crude troll face wandered onto the display, grasped Shitforbrains character by the throat and began to repeatedly kick him in the balls, tiny pixels of blood erupting from the avatar until, in a violent and bloody coughing fit, he coughed up his own testicles. At this, the screen flashed “GAME OVER COCKSUCKER!!!” and went back to the start screen.
For a full minute, Shitforbrains simply starred at the screen, his mouth slightly open, while, out of the corner of his eye, the two Angry Chaplains watched him. What was he supposed to do? The game was impossible, the cunts had modified it to be even more impossible than it already was. At the thought, Shitforbrains slowly raised his gaze to the two Chaplains. “Those cunts,” he thought “they had done this, they were doing this for their own entertainment, they were fUCKing pLAYing WITh Him! WeLL NO FUCKing MoRE!! NO FUCKING MORE!!!” And at that moment, as finally his thoughts played out in his mind in caps locks, Shitforbrains realised that that had been the test all along, but that thought was but a fleeting one, drowned out by his scream of “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!” as he ripped the monitor before him off its adamantium housing, and (using his chair as a springboard) leapt into the air towards the two Chaplains to smash the accursed computer onto their skulls.
At the sudden release of rage the remaining seven initiates mental damns also broke, and they too began screaming and cursing in caps lock and exclamation marks at maximum setting, ripping up their tables to swing around at any moving target, even themselves, anything to express the hours of pent up fury which had grown to explosive levels inside themselves. As if by predetermined signal (in reality its more that battle brothers will hang around final initiations because they know that they’re always a good source of fights) all the doors to the test room exploded open and a tide of Angry Marines raged inwards, wielding any weapon they could carry, until the small space was a swell of swearing and fighting marines.
Several hours later, the eight initiates were dragged, bruised, broken and swearing before the Chapter Master, Temperus Maximus, who simply glared down at the initiates, the Codex Angry Marines clasped under one giant, armoured arm. “YOU!!!” bellowed Maximus at Shitforbrains as he struggled to his feet on one broken leg, news about him being the first initiate to snap must have travelled “WHAT IS YOUR NAME YOU PIECE OF SHIT?!!!” Grimacing at the pain in his leg, the young initiate bellowed his response “SHITFORBRAINS YOU SHIT HEAD!!! YOU’D BETTER NOT BE THE CUNT WHO PROGRAMMED THAT GAME OTHERWISE I’LL SHOVE A CARNIFEX DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT!!!” The Chapter Master gave the smallest of smiles at this before responding “SHUT UP YOU WHINNING PRICK!!! NOW ALL OF YOU HAVE SHOWN THAT YOU’RE A BUNCH OF ANGRY BASTARDS, AND AS THE CHAPTER MASTER I…” pausing to think for a moment before continuing “AH FUCK IT YOUR ANGRY MARINES NOW!!! WELCOME TO THE BRAWL!!!” and with snarling, broken grins on their faces, Shitforbrains and the other new Angry Marines replied in kind. “ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!”
And at that, the eight initiates charged the Chapter Master, who welcomed the fight with open arms, and as Shitforbrains saw the Codex Angry Marines being swung towards him, in the moments before he was knocked unconscious, he realised that he was finally happy, for the first time in his life. “ITS FUCKING GOOD TO BE AN ANGRY MARINE!!!” he thought before the bliss of unconsciousness took him.
Thought for the day: Happiness is a... THUMP STOP TALKING AND JUST HIT THE FUCKERS!!!
Tyranids V Millennials V Angry Titans: A fucking novella, or something
The Imperial world of Illis, located within the solar system Illis, within the Illis sub-sector (just in case there was any uncertainty about where rescuing Space Marines might have to go one day), was facing its destruction again. A shadow was cast across the Warp. Psykers began to go insane, raving about monsters and vast gulfs of time and space. Heathens on the planet thought their minor Chaos deity, Lord Cthulhu, was about to wake. The truth was much scarier: Hive Fleet Amemasu was coming, and it was hungry, and Planet Illis was going to be the main course.
Worse news was to come. A previously small and ignored cult calling itself the Millennial Falcons had been on some kind of recruitment drive and had taken over more than half the planet. This wasn't a Chaos cult, they weren't being ruled by xenos puppeteers, they were just a bunch of morons who'd never had to strive or suffer and were trying to make damn sure they never did. Why should they, when there were trillions of other Imperial citizens to do it for them? And yet, here was a request from the authorities to take up arms in defence of their world – to put their precious selves in harm's way.
Instead of building defences or learning how to use a lasgun (since they felt that they didn't have to obey the fucking Planetary Governor), the Millennial Falcons sent a strongly-worded missive of protest to the Emperor himself, believing that He would put His battle against the Chaos Powers on hold and sort the Millenials' shit out for them, because They Had Rights [TM]. When the Emperor did not magically solve all their problems, probably because He thought they were a bunch of lazy cunts, the Millennial Falcons turned completely against the Imperium; after all, this is how atheists have been created throughout human history. Heretical faggotry spread, and spread, and spread.
Governor Mellitus remained loyal to the Throne. He wished to send a message through to the wider Imperium outlining his world's situation and pleading for help. The astropaths told him to send it him-fucking-self, they would no longer be discriminated against by being the only humans who sent psychic messages these days (ignoring the fact that they were the only humans who could). So Mellitus used a cogitator of considerable power, battling through the constant pop-ups and directories full of lascivious images that had begun to choke his planet's data-net thanks to the Millennials.
Days passed without response. The Hive Fleet drew nearer. Rebellion flared. The outlook was grim. Then, at last, they received a reply.
++ REINFORCEMENTS SANCTIONED ++
++ DEPLOYING THE ANGRY MARINES ++
Fucking Warp Travel
The Angry Marines strike cruiser Cackumbabo roared through space at maximum realdrive. Its machine spirit was too pissed off to allow the Techmarines to engage its warp engine; fuck that Chaos crap, Cackumbabo was going into battle the old-fashioned way, even if it took 2000 years.
“COME ON YOU FUCKING LUMP OF WORTHLESS ORKSHIT!” roared Captain Twatsplasher, whacking the sacred warp engine with his power-wrench. “WE'VE GOT FACES TO RAPE!!!”
“DON'T FUCKING DO THAT, MY LORD!” cried Brother Terridyne, their chief Techmarine, trying to wrestle the weapon/tool/phallic symbol from Twatsplasher's white-knuckled grip. “FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WE'LL END UP GETTING BUMMED BY DAEMONS! BALANCE YOUR BLOODY HUMOURS!!”
“NO-BOLLOCKS WASTREL!!! IF YOU DON'T GET THIS SHIP INTO THE WARP IN FIVE SECONDS FLAT, I'LL BLAST MYSELF OUT OF THE NEAREST FUCKING AIRLOCK, SWIM BACK TO YOUR HOME PLANET AND BALANCE YOUR WHITESHIELD-SUCKING MUM ON MY RAMROD YOU FAGGOT!!!!”
The techmarine began to unclasp the front of his power-trousers.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BITCH?!!” screamed Twatsplasher.
“INSTALLING MY SACRED MECHA-PENIS, THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING! I'LL GIVE THIS MECHANICAL CUM-GOBBLER ALL THE THRUST IN THE FUCKING UNIVERSE!!”
The ship panicked and threw itself into the warp with a jolt. Terridyne fell into Twatsplasher's arms.
“ISN'T THIS FUCKING ROMANTIC!” the Captain yelled. “ALL FUCKING YIFFERS KNOW THE PENALTY FOR HUGGING A COMMANDING OFFICER!”
He turned Terridyne around and delivered the sacred punishment of pulling the Techmarine's undergarments over his head. If Terridyne suffered a broken neck or choked to death on his own knicker-elastic, that meant he was heathen scum who deserved it. If he lived, then he was redeemed and would have an opportunity to start fixing some shit around here.
“TWATSPLASHER TO THE FUCKING CIRCUS ROUSTABOUTS CALLING THEMSELVES 3RD COMPANY,” the Captain voxed while the tech-marine stumbled around, arms flailing. “YOU EXCREMENTAL CUNTS CAN STOP TUGGING YOUR BELL-ENDS AND MEET ME IN THE FUCKING BRIEFING ROOM! WAR IS IMMINENT, BITCHES!!!”
“YES YOUR FUCKING MAJESTY!” his men responded as they ran to the briefing room, pulling on helms and loading bolters as they ran. Twatsplasher was a singular Company Commander. His men didn't have to show the reverence he fucking deserved, as he wasn't some Slaaneshi faggot who lived on praise. Besides, the constant exchange of insults kept him sharp.
Briefing the Pussies from 3rd Company
Thirty Marines assembled. Only thirty, to face fucking shitloads of Nids. The company used to be 100 strong plus some Dreadnoughts and shit, but whatever happened to the others is not in the Angry Marines databank for some reason, and the last time an Inquisitor tried to check it, she was found hanging upside-down from a 600-foot-tall bastion by her undercrackers. The Angry Marines are equal opportunity psychos.
Twatsplasher appraised the men.
“SEEMS THESE 'MILLENNIAL FALCONS' ARE FAGGOTS, CONTAMINATING OTHERS WITH SAID FAGGOTRY, WHILE EATING LENTILS AND TOUCHING EACH OTHERS' FUCKING BUMS! IT'S BECOME A WORLD OF SELF-RIGHTEOUS THUNDERCUNTS ABOUT TO GET CHEWED!”
“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT, SIR,” Sergeant Dammiel said. “THEY'VE GOT 35 MILLION PDF WANKERS FACING OFF AGAINST A HIVE FLEET AND THEY'RE SENDING BLOODY COMPLAINTS TO THE EMPEROR AND EXPECTING US TO FUCKING DIE FOR THEM?!”
“THAT'S ABOUT THE SIZE OF IT, CUNTYBAWS! IT'S A CLUSTERFUCK OF GRIMDARK PROPORTIONS, TOO MANY LAZY WANKERS ABOUT THESE DAYS!!!”
“DICK-EATING FURFAGGOTS!!!!!” yelled Brother Hammerhead. He was in a fine fury. Spittle flew from his vox-grille. “I'LL KICK THEIR BOLLOCKS UP INTO THEIR THROAT!”
Terridyne the Techmarine had recovered from his wedgie, exhibiting only a slightly shocked look and a yellow smudge on his head.
“MY FUCKING LORD,” he said. “I WOULD NEVER GAINSAY YOU, FOR WE HAVE SERVED TOGETHER THROUGH MANY PERILS, BUT YOU MUST HAVE WRITTEN OUR BATTLE-PLAN WITH YOUR FUCKING COCK OUT! HOW IN THE NAME OF CALGAR'S CRACK DO WE STOP A SODDING HIVE FLEET WITHOUT THOSE PDF WANK-BISCUITS COVERING US?!”
Twatsplasher headbutted him with the force of planets colliding.
“LIKE THAT, CYBER-EMO, HOW DO YOU FUCKING THINK!!!”
“BUT THIS IS BOLLOCKS, BROTHER-CAPTAIN!” said Dammiel. “WHY ARE THOSE INBRED COCKS ALLOWED TO SIT ON THEIR ARSES? IT'S FUCKING TREASON!!!!!”
“THEY'RE NOT FUCKING ALLOWED, YOU WASTE OF SPUNK! AS SOON AS WE'VE RIPPED THE BOLLOCKS OFF HIVE FLEET AMEMASU, WE'RE GOING AFTER THE MILLENNIAL FAGGOTS, AND MAKING SURE THE PUSSY GOVERNOR IS REPLACED BY SOME BASTARD WITH A FUCKING SPINE!”
He looked to his men. The briefing had lasted over three minutes, surely a Chapter record, and they were ready to rip each other to pieces in frustration.
“WE'VE GOT A FUCKING TASK AHEAD!!!” said Twatsplasher. “BUT WHO ARE WE???”
“THE ANGRY MARINES!” the men replied.
“ALL THE TIME!!!” his men roared in one voice.
Captain Twatsplasher might have been a horrible cunt, but he was also noble:
“REMEMBER YOU FUCKING BUNCH OF PRATS! BETWEEN US, THE TYRANIDS AND THESE MILLENNIAL TOSSERS, THERE ARE SIXTEEN BILLION CIVILIANS WHO DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK'S GOING ON! LAST ONE IN THE DROP POD'S A FUCKING ULTRAMARINE!”
Making a Fucking Entrance
The Angry Marines didn't have to worry about the Shadow in the Warp as that only deterred pussies. Cackumbabo exploded into the Illis system with a sound like Slaanesh's whip cracking across Khorne's buttocks. This is not to imply the Angry Marines and their serfs have anything to do with Chaos, it's just what was going on in the warp at that moment.
One Astartes vessel faced off against the incoming swarm of bio-ships. Red and yellow stood against star-bleached purple, scowling faces against faceless maws, human courage against implacable hunger. The Astartes vessel surged forward. Its course took it close to the planet, so close in fact that it nearly fucking landed at one point, and spat drop-pods at the surface. Then the Cackumbabo rocketed into the mass of Nid ships, blazing firepower in every direction, only to be seen again one hour later when its warp engines detonated and dragged a hundred bio-ships to hell. One last FUCK YOU from the Emperor's finest.
Twatsplasher, Terridyne and the chaps landed directly on top of a vanguard swarm that was trying to eat a city. Roaring, frothing Space Marines emerged, screaming an endless “FUUUUUUUUUUUU-” and blizzarding fire into the hurricane of Gaunts, Gargoyles, Stealers and Lictors, creating their own fucked-up biosphere of destroyed bodies. The 3rd Company despised guns as much as the rest of their Chapter but when you were up against a fucking Hive Fleet on your own, you want some bullets for when the enemy is out of headbutting range. Despite applying such tactical prudence they ran out of bolter ammo almost straight away. Wrenches, steel bars, chainswords, foreheads, fists and believe it or not elbows did most of the killing. Twatsplasher was at 160 kills in the first two minutes. The rest of his men thinned the alien herd until only a few traumatised Hormagaunts remained.
“-UUUUUK YOUUUUU!” the war cry ended. The battle was over but the war was only just kicking off. Thousands upon thousands more Nids were coming. Some of them were big bastards too. The Angry Marines formed a circle, pissed off beyond mortal measure that the Emperor's enemies had been allowed to defile this world, and realising that they were now trapped as three additional swarms closed in around them. Smoke and clouds of spores swirled in the air. The sun was almost eclipsed.
“THIS IS IT YOU INBRED AMATEURS!” roared Twatsplasher. “IF THEY OVERRUN US HERE, WE'RE THE CUNTS WHO DOOMED THIS SHITHOLE AND LOST A BLOODY GOOD SHIP IN SO DOING! WE HOLD!!! FIRST ONE TO DIE SUCKS ELDAR KNOBS!!!!!!”
“Get your heads down, Astartes!” a human male said across the vox. He sounded in considerable pain. “This... is going... to be close.”
Missiles the size of Land Raiders screamed through the air towards them, coming out of the smoke clouds. Explosion after explosion swept across the land. Buildings collapsed, dust and flames flew, two whole Tyranid swarms were reduced to purple smears. The survivors fell back to find more Synapse creatures or whatever those xenos pricks did when they'd fucking lost.
“BASTARD!” Twatsplasher roared. Shockwaves had thrown him over backwards and he had to pull his head out of a Mawlock's arsehole with a loud pop. “IF THERE WERE CIVILIANS IN THOSE BUILDINGS YOU'RE GOING UNDER LIKE NECROMUNDA YOU ANONYMOUS FUCK-GRUBBER!”
“Your gratitude... lightens... my soul,” the human panted. “This city was... abandoned.”
The smoke began to thin. Twatsplasher saw their rescuer.
“DORN'S DICK!” he whispered at 90 decibels.
The smoke drew back to reveal a Warlord Titan, Beetleback-class. Its legs were scratched and acid-scarred. Void shields flared as if the crew were having trouble keeping them up. A multiple rocket launcher mounted on its carapace belched burning gunpowder; the other carapace gun was some kind of giant assault cannon. Its right hand was a power fist painted with black and yellow stripes that seemed dangerously close to traitor colours, and its left was some kind of shitty short-ranged laser thing.
“AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS FUCKING DUMP'S GOT THE BALLS TO FIGHT!” said Brother Hammerhead. The other rank-and-file Marines agreed.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Twatsplasher voxed to the Titan's crew.
“I am... Princeps Abnettius,” the Titan's controller replied. “I regret that I am... mortally wounded... There are survivors making... a last stand. They need... your help.”
“WELL WE'RE NOT HERE TO ENJOY THE FUCKING WEATHER!” roared Twatsplasher. “LEAD THE WAY PRINCEPS PANTSHITTER!”
“I know... something of your... abilities,” Abnettius panted. “I cannot... make it. Perhaps you... could take... my place. My senior crew... have gone to join... the Emperor. I cannot control it... much longer.”
“ACKNOWLEDGED, BITCH!” Twatsplasher said without fear. “OPEN UP, WE'RE FUCKING EMBARKING! TERRIDYNE, DAMMIEL, HAMMERHEAD, WOGAN, I REQUEST THE FUCKING MISERY OF YOUR COMPANY – THE REST OF YOU TESTICULAR POLYPS FOLLOW ON FOOT AND STAY OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY, I'M IN THE MOOD TO STOMP SOME FAGGOTS!”
Abnettius opened a secret hatch in the Warlord's left leg and the Angry Marines ascended. The spiral staircase was narrow and sized for humans; it wobbled dangerously under the combined weight of the five rage-infused bastards clambering up it. The Titan was tall and the Marines had to spend at least two minutes staring at the sculpted bum-cheeks of the Brothers in front until they reached the Warlord's head.
Princeps Abnettius didn't look wounded. He must have suffered some neural feedback shit that nobody understood. He peered vaguely at the Astartes, blinking, unfocused.
“Thank the Emperor...” Abnettius whispered. “You possess the ability... to learn quickly... from others?”
“YOU BET YOUR BLANK-FIRING BOLLOCKS WE DO,” said Twatsplasher, “BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'LL LIKE HOW IT FUCKING WORKS!”
“I care not... just do it... save those people... end the xenos.”
“YOU FUCKING ASKED FOR IT,” Twatsplasher warned. He broke the Princep's head open with a tap of his power-wrench as if it were some kind of egg and ate his brains.
How To Work a Motherfucking Titan
It took ten minutes for the Angry Marines to get ready. This involved Twatsplasher's men clambering into the gun positions with much swearing and grunting, then eating the brains of the dead crew they were replacing so they knew how to cover their positions, and reverentially chucking the bodies out of exhaust chutes. A number of lesser crew, human and servitor, remained alive, manning secondary systems. None of them were happy with recent events but followed orders to sit in their chairs and press some fucking buttons or something.
The Angry Marines then did something that would surprise most people: they said a prayer to recognise the Titan crew's heroism. Unfortunately Angry Marine prayers cannot be printed here as they make people go blind. Twatsplasher might be an outright wanker but he was the most pious man in the galaxy and his like may never be seen again (hopefully). “YOU GROT-FONDLING DIPSHITS CAN'T HANDLE THIS LEVEL OF FUCKING PIETY!” the Captain had roared a few years ago as he chased the Chaplains around, whacking them over the head with his self-made prayer book, entitled "KILL ALL XENOS FOR THE EMPRAH".
There was some debate about who should replace Princeps Abnettius. Only Terridyne had sockets for direct neural interface.
“SIR, I'M THE FUCKING TECHMARINE,” he voxed. “I'M THE ONLY ONE CAN COMMAND THE BASTARD THING!”
“WHICH TWAT MADE YOU THE NEW PRIMARCH? MAN THE LAUNCHER YOU WHINGING TOSSER, I CAN HANDLE THIS CRAP!”
“WITH ALL FUCKING RESPECT, THAT'S BOLLOCKS, MY LORD! HOW ARE YOU GONNA GET THIS PIECE OF SHIT MOVING WHEN YOU CAN'T EVEN PLUG YOUR ARSE INTO IT FOR FUCK'S SAKE? YOU NEED MORE THAN A FRIGGING JOYSTICK AND SHITTY BREATH TO COMMAND A FUCKING TITAN!!”
“I KNOW WHAT I'M FUCKING DOING YOU BRONIE WANKER!!!!” roared the Captain with superior rage. “YOUR PROTESTS ARE SNOT SHOVELLED INTO MY FUCKING EARS SO SHUT YOUR GROT-LICKING GOB BEFORE I COME OVER THERE AND INTERFACE MY DICK WITH YOUR EYE-SOCKETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!11one”
The Titan's human crew were shocked to hear this exchange. They weren't on the Angry Marine vox-net, they could literally hear the Marines yelling at each each other through hundreds of tons of ceramite. The humans had no idea that the Angry Marines 3rd Company “enjoyed” a brotherhood forged in fire, or that Twatsplasher encouraged “debate” as a middle finger to that Codex Astartes bullshit.
The Captain might not have had neural implants but he did have something: mastery of his absolute fucking RAGE. His emotional control was so good he only spent 97% of the time in a state of frenzy, although if anyone made the mistake of raising this delicate matter, he broke their spines and made them eat their own bollocks, not always in that order. The Captain summoned all the rage his genhanced body could handle, then he summoned some more, and he roared with righteous fury as the rage moulded into a mental spear jabbed straight into the Titan's heart. The god-machine was too terrified to deny such a man and bent instantly to his will.
“THERE'S YOUR ANSWER, BITCH!” Twatsplasher said. “I WASN'T MADE CAPTAIN FOR SUCKING THE FUCKING CHAPTER MASTER!!!!”
The Titan jerked forward then stumbled, and fell sideways, landing on some buildings and knocking them down. Its Angry Marine crew cried out in rage and confusion.
“FEELS LIKE A FUCKING HIPPO'S SITTING ON MY DAMN FACE!” Hammerhead raged. His weapon, the power fist, was the only thing preventing the Titan from completely capsizing.
“TRY NOT TO FUCKING FACEPLANT THE EPIC GOD-MACHINE YOU BLOODY ORK!” said Terridyne. “FRIGGING TOLD YOU I SHOULD BE DRIVING!”
“FUCKING KNOBSACKS!!!” roared the Captain. “THIS IS HARDER THAN MY ADAMANTIUM COCK!”
He concentrated on his rage, held onto it, made it flow, and the Titan clambered back to its feet. It swung around, instinctively knowing which way to go, which was pretty fucking excellent since the Angry Marines didn't. It stomped forwards with a swaying gait as if it had shat its pants. Over the internal vox Twatsplasher addressed his men:
“STAY AWAKE YOU USELESS CUNTS, WE'RE ABOUT TO ENGAGE THE FUCKING FOE! TERRIDYNE, IF THAT MISSILE LAUNCHER ISN'T LOADED BY THE TIME WE SEE PURPLE, THERE WON'T BE A TAPE MEASURE WIDE ENOUGH TO MEASURE YOUR FUCKING RING!
“WOGAN, GET THAT FANNY-FACED WRECKING BALL YOU CALL A HEAD OUT OF TERRIDYNE'S ARSE AND WARM THAT LASER BURNER OR I'LL USE IT TO CUT YOUR BLOODY KNOB OFF!
“HAMMERHEAD, UNTIL WE GET TOE-TO-TOE YOU'RE GOING TO BE AS FUCKING WORTHLESS AS EVER. I WANT THAT POWER FIST READY TO RIP AND TEAR OR I'LL SLAP YOUR MISERABLE FEATURES ROUND THE BACK OF THAT CORN-STUDDED TURD ON TOP OF YOUR NECK!
“DAMMIEL, IF THAT ASSAULT CANNON STOPS FIRING FOR ONE MICROSECOND I'LL DIP YOU IN SHIT AND FIRE YOU FROM THE FRIGGING MISSILE LAUNCHER!!!
This might have been the worst pep-talk in history but these weren't mere faggots, they were the fucking ANGRY MARINES, the biggest and meanest bastards in the Emperor's realm.
“ALWAYS ANGRY!” Twatsplasher yelled.
“ALL THE TIME!” replied the men.
The cry was echoed by the remnants of 3rd Company milling around behind them. Twatsplasher couldn't be arsed to learn how the vox worked, and he was broadcasting everything from external speakers. The Titan, whose name they didn't even know (or care about, to be honest), stumbled into the smoke, trailing a wake of yellow-armoured psychos. Vengeance had never looked so terrifying.
Eat It, Motherfuckers
The Titan strode across a blasted landscape. Burned out tanks and personnel carriers were strewn around, but there were no bodies of either man or xenos; they'd all been devoured, or dragged back to digestion pools. Speaking of which, the Titan passed dozens of rippling red pools which it cauterised with its laser burner, and kicked over a dozen strange growths that resembled hundred-foot-tall claws. Lightning struck their void shields due to a combination of dust in the atmosphere creating static, and the planet's biosphere being damaged somehow. Twatsplasher ended up ordering his crew to conserve ammo where possible until bigger, slower targets appeared, and let the fucking grunts outside deal with the scattered swarms of hunter-killers they encountered. The little bastards moved too fast for Terridyne and Dammiel to hit – Dammiel had already sent two thousand shells screaming over the horizon, the retarded fuck-cunt, claiming that Twatsplasher's odd way of walking the Titan was throwing off his aim.
Where were the armies, the carpets of Rippers, the Bio-Titans? Didn't the fucking Nids care that the Emperor's most crazed servants had turned up? Twatsplasher might have been the ugliest human being currently deployed on Illis, but he wasn't thick. Either the Nids were up to something, or the human resistance was surrounded. It turned out to be the latter.
Resistance remained in a single location. All human survivors had pulled back behind a mountain range which had been turned into an epic curtain wall. It was ablaze from end to end. Those Tyranid cunts could set fire to fucking rock, it was actually awesome, if you think the achievements of xenos scum have merit. Thousands of PDF troopers, and Guardsmen who had been stranded here by the Shadow in the Warp, still manned gun emplacements built into the wall, blazing away at an enemy even the Titan was not tall enough to see. A door made of solid adamantium was in the centre of the wall; dozens of tank companies assembled behind it, waiting for the xenos to break through, as there was now no chance of them sallying forth – the world was almost lost. This was a last stand, the enemy were at the final gate and the humans were about to get butt-fucked.
“BROTHER-CAPTAIN,” voxed Terridyne, “WE ARE APPOROACHING THE MOTHERFUCKING FRONT LINE!”
“I'M NOT FUCKING BLIND YOU BALD TWAT! TIME TO SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF EVERY COCKGOBBLER IN RANGE!”
Hundreds of human soldiers turned in shock and fear and, increasingly, in hope, as they heard salvation screaming abuse at them.
“THIS IS CAPTAIN FUCKTIOUS TWATSPLASHER OF THE IMPERIAL ANGRY MARINES! GET OFF THE WALLS, COCKSICKLES, THE FUCKING 3RD COMPANY'S COMING THROUGH!!!”
Soldiers spilled down stairways and roped down walls. A Mechanicus contingent started trying to open the main doors, but doors are for whiteshields: Twatsplasher walked his rage-powered god-machine straight through the mountain as if it wasn't there. Rock, metal, gun emplacements with glowing barrels, all came down around the Titan. Dust ran like water from its flanks. A great cloud of smoke and dust flew up to join the shit already in the atmosphere. And still the Titan kept on going, towards the hordes of alien monsters heading for man's last bastion on this world.
It was fucking hammertime.
The Tyranids swarmed in their millions. Little purple fucks milled between the hooves of giant leader-beasts. The sky was full of flying vermin. Those Nids on the ground were led by a Dominatrix, a bio-titan that all other bio-titans tug themselves off about. It walked on four clawed legs, body bowed beneath the weight of a bio-cannon that was nearly as big as a Reaver Titan. The creature had a long neck ending in a head that was all teeth and blade-vanes. It peered into the dust-cloud, trying to see what last threat the humans had sent against it.
A Warlord Titan emerged, right arm raised, power fist displaying a blazing middle finger.
“THEY WILL NOT CON-FUCKING-TROL US, WE WILL BE FUCKING VICTORIOUS!!!” Twatsplasher's atonal bellow came from its speakers. And then:
“THE HOUR IS FUCKING NIGH, XENOS!!!!!”
“ACCELERATING TO A FUCKING LUMBER,” the Captain told his crew. “PREPARE TO RAPE FACE YOU WANKERS!”
The Dominatrix reared up and gave vent to a scream that sounded like tearing metal. It began to charge towards them, not even bothering to use its cannon.
“CAPTAIN TWATFACE HAS HIS USUAL EFFECT ON WOMEN!” said Wogan. “HERE SHE FUCKING COMES!”
“FUCKING SHOOT HER THEN!” answered Terridyne. He opened up with the missile launcher. All his shots were turned aside by a field of purple force which flickered around the Dominatrix.
“GET ME CLOSER,” Hammerhead raged. “FUCKING PANSY-ARSED TWATS PISSING AROUND! LET ME GIVE HER THE ASTARTES KISS! I'D LIKE TO SEE HER FUCKING BLOCK THAT!!!”
Dammiel's assault cannon was as loose and wild as a hosepipe dropped by incompetent fire-servitors. Not a single round was on target despite the Dominatrix's ginormous bulk. It was like watching the retarded Godzilla film from 1998.
“BROTHER DAMMIEL,” said Twatsplasher, “YOU MUST BE THE MOST USELESS CUNT SINCE THE ANCIENT SCRIBE C.S. GOTO! WHEN I SAID FIRE THE ASSAULT CANNON, I MEANT AT THE FUCKING NIDS!!!”
“WITH DUE REVERENCE, I CAN'T HIT JACK SHIT WITH YOU WOBBLING LIKE A FUCKING 2ND MILLENNIUM KONG TOY! HOLD THIS BITCH STEADY!”
Twatsplasher growled with the frustration of trying to make thousands of tons of metal and pistons run like a man. Wogan laughed in the exultation of near-death, watching on his scanner screen as the xenos queen came closer. She was going to fucking knock them over. The Titan's gyro-stabilisers were already struggling under the Captain's amateurish efforts, but now they could feel the ground shaking as the Dominatrix stomped towards them. Wogan watched as more missiles sailed into her defensive field. She was virtually in range of the laser burner. Would it do any good?
“IT'S FUCKING CHEATING TO HAVE VOID SHIELDS ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER SHIT SHE'S GOT,” Hammerhead said without irony. “I'LL RIP HER ANOTHER FANNY!”
“BRACE FOR IMPACT, FUCKTARDS!!!!!” Twatsplasher roared.
Several things happened almost simultaneously. Dammiel finally hit the target, making confetti out of the Tyranid's bio-cannon; the Dominatrix pounced into the Titan's arms like a lost canid returning to its owner, bursting through the Warlord's void shields from sheer thundering bulk; the two lords of destruction fell backwards and began to wrestle; Hammerhead shat his pants from excitement as he repeatedly punched the Nid in its flank; lights went on and off throughout the Titan's structure; human crew members screamed with terror; the Titan's armour screamed also as it began to buckle beneath the Nid queen's weight.
Twatsplasher jerked his head left and right as he tried to avoid the Dominatrix biting the Titan's face off. Wogan finally had something to contribute. He fired up his laser burner and shredded through tons of flesh and chitin. Ropes of intenstines and gallons of acid blood poured out, shorting his weapon's electronics; one of the human crew reported that the weapon was self-cleansing and should be back online in thirty seconds.
Hammerhead gave them the necessary time. He slapped the Nid's face left, then right, then fucking chinned her with a straight punch. One of the Nid's claws closed around the power fist and wrenched it free, casting it away and killing the valiant Astarte with the shock of neural feedback.
Twatsplasher somehow managed to headbutt the distracted Tyranid. She lurched backwards; the Titan was able to sit up through some miraculous act of gymnastic skill, only for the Dominatrix to roar in its face. Her neck snaked backwards; she was going to lunge forward and bite the Titan's head off.
Wogan's laser burner came back online.
“FOR THE FUCKING EMPEROR!”
He swept the weapon across the Tyranid's neck, severing its head. The Dominatrix fell sideways and died with a series of explosive farts.
It was a victory that went beyond stunning: every surviving crew member felt like the luckiest fucker in the galaxy. Yet though the Tyranid swarms reeled for a moment, there must have been a good number of leader-beasts still left, and they closed around the wounded Titan – to be repulsed by thousands of las shots, heavy-calibre gunfire and explosive tank rounds. Twatsplasher tried to turn. The Titan's peripheral sensors picked up hundreds of metallic signatures and thousands of human bio-signs.
Twelve Angry Marines were still alive, riding on top of PDF Chimeras, chucking rocks, grenades and in at least one case, each other at the aliens. A vast crescent of tanks and personnel carriers followed, with waves of human infantry bringing up the rear on foot.
“READY TO FINALLY FUCKING HIT SOMETHING, TOSSERS?” Twatsplasher yelled at his crew.
“FUCK YEAH SIR!” replied Terridyne and Dammiel. They opened up. Dammiel brought down clusters of Gargoyles and other flying fucks. Terridyne's remaining missiles blew holes in the Tyranid swarm. It was too much even for the homicidal xenos shit-eaters. They turned and ran, but the Emperor's mercy is great, and every last critter was put out of its misery.
“NOW THAT IS HOW THE FUCK YOU STOP A HIVE-FLEET,” said Twatsplasher before neural damage from the titan's damaged systems finally killed him.
“WHERE THE FUCK'S CAPTAIN TWAT-KNUCKLE?” said Brother-Captain Wankel.
The surviving members of 3rd Company stood to attention. They were all torn, battered, filth-covered, but stood proudly before the 2nd Company's commander.
“SIR, HE'S FUCKING DEAD, SIR!” said Terridyne. “ALONG WITH MOST OF THE OTHER FUCKING SODS!”
“HOW FUCKING UNFORTUNATE!” Wankel said with as much empathy as any Angry Marine can be arsed to have. “GET YOUR FUCKING ARMOUR FIXED, ABADDON'S AT IT AGAIN, THE GERIATRIC, DRIED-UP, SMELLS-LIKE-OLD-MILK PUSSY! WE SHIP OUT IN SIX POINT THREE MINUTES!”
3rd Company ran headlong for the artificers, wondering how long point three of a minute was.
“Please, sir,” the Planetary Governor begged, “I have learned the error of my weakness. Release me?”
“FIFTEEN MORE MINUTES, BITCH!!”
Governor Mellitus wept. Wankel's boot was pretty far up his arse and had been for the last half an hour.
Wankel surveyed the devastation around them. Weeping civilians were thanking Angry Marines and human soldiers; Mechanicus recovery vehicles were hoisting burned-out tanks; shell-shocked Munitorium adepts were wandering round, wondering how the fuck they were going to organise this lot. Piles of Tyranid bodies were being burned. Alongside them were equally-sized piles of Millennial faggots, mostly still alive, each of them with their underpants pulled over their heads.
“LIGHT THE FIRES, COCKSUCKERS,” Wankel said to the Inquisitors who'd been called to root out all traces of Millennial Falcon heresy. “I WANT TO SMELL ROAST HEATHEN!!!”
And that's how the Angry Marines conduct a fucking campaign. I, Addius Letch, have been your scribe; now fuck off because all this righteousness is giving me a hard-on.
Thought for the day: Thought begets heresy. Heresy begets the fucking Angry Marines.
The Tale of Shitfucker the Mildly Disgruntled
Shitfucker the Mildly Disgruntled was not a happy man. Of course, he was an angry marine so he was never actually happy but he was angrier than ever right at that moment. “WHY WON’T THIS MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF GUILLIMAN ASS WORSHIPING CUNT-TRASH FUCKING WORK!!!?” he pondered quietly to himself. This was because the angry marines were rapidly approaching the dakka limit. They were at the point where they physically couldn’t strap more weapons onto other weapons anymore, despite their general attitude that “PHYSICS IS FOR THOSE TOASTER FUCKERS”. This was giving the techmarines, especially Master of the Armoury Mightelypissedoff the Third, quite the headache as they were under increasing pressure from the other angry marines to “FIX A FUCKING FLAMER TO IT YOU CUNT WAZZOCK”. This had resulted in an increased number going to the apothecaries complaining of the illness commonly called “REPEATED BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE BALLS WITH A FUCKING SPANNER”. In order to try and remedy this, Shitfucker started work on a secret project. For years he slaved away in complete silence (silence, that is, for an angry marine. Anyone else would have heard something along the lines of “WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT SCREW GO!!!!? IF SWEAR TO THE BIG FUCKER ON A GOLDEN CHAIR THAT IF ONE OF THOSE NAMBY-PAMBY GHOST BITCHES TOOK IT I’LL COME INTO THE WARP MYSELF AND SEE HOW THEY LIKE HAVING A TITAN’S POWER FOOT SHOVED UP THEIR ASS!!!” As with most things, angry marines have a warped sense of volume). After a millennia, and many test subjects being told “BUCKLE UP CHUCKLE-FUCKS”, his work was done. Shitfucker emerged from his workshop and made his way towards where the chapter master lived. Of course, being stuck in a workshop for a thousand years, many of the newer angry marines didn’t recognise him and so he responded to the many calls of “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU YOU BALD HEADED CUNT!!!?” with a level and reasoned explanation “AND THE REPEATED INTRODUCTION OF THEIR FACE TO MY RIGHT FOOT AND THEN MY LEFT FOOT”. Barging into the command room (A very polite and reverential entrance for an angry marine), Shitfucker held up a power bat. It turned out that Shitfucker had added so much dakka that he had gone right past infinity and ended up with a melee weapon. Temperus Maximus, chapter master of the angry marines and probably the angriest cunt alive or dead, was so impressed that he picked it up and then smashed Shitfucker over the head with it “BECAUSE THE COCKGOBBLING LITTLE GIT INTERRUPTED THE DAILY MY LITTLE PONY VIEWING SESSION”. This blow shattered Shitfucker’s helmet which revealed the terrible cost that developing this weapon had wrought upon him. For when you experiment with dakka, dakka also experiments with you. Shitfucker had become an ork. The first marine to point this out then proceeded to find out that tens of meters of adamantium and void shielding do little to stop oneself when thrown towards a wall at a significant fraction of the speed of light by a very angry fucker. It was then decided that Shitfucker was indeed angry enough that his minor issue of becoming a xenos could be ignored. Ever since, Shitfucker the Mildly Disgruntled has been absolutely bloody livid alongside the rest of the chapter and all marines have been forbidden to break his denial of the fact that he is an ork “ON PAIN OF FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A POWER CHAIR IS INSERTED INTO THE CRANIAL CAVITY THROUGH THE FACE”.
Thought for the day: Most problems can be solved with reason, logic, and the repetitive application of hard objects into soft body parts
The Angry Marine Hall of Awesome Deaths/THE FUCKAWESOME WALL OF DEATH!!!
During the mid to late 30th millennium it was felt by the Angry Marines that there should be a special way to commemorate their most awesome dead. Angry Marine’s already commemorated their dead via any number of ways, anything from getting blind drunk, to inscribing the fallen’s name on the testicles of a chaos space marine, to something really insane like simply spending five minutes of time they could be using to punch something to instead contemplate the achievements of the dead marine.
But after millennia of Angry Marines finding the most spectacular of ways to die (usually taking their foes with them) it was decided to set aside an entire corridor (admittedly a ten metre high and hundreds of metres long) whereupon the name, means of death and last words of the mostly awesomely fallen marines would be graffitied upon. The list below however, is incomplete as there are still historic deaths yet to be commemorated with yellow spray paint, deaths so ancient that only the silencers know of their occurrence. This fact further complicates the updating of THE FUCKAWESOME WALL OF DEATH!!! as no angry marine can bear sitting down with a silencer to unearth such mysteries.
Battle Brother Fuck Sore
Died from organ failure brought on by radiation poisoning from using a lump of plutonium on the end of a 2x4 to beat Eldar to death.
Last words: “LOOK, I’VE GROWN ANOTHER FUCKING ARM TO BEAT SHIT WITH!!!”
Battle Brother Wang Cheese
Died from drinking the blood of a Hive Tyrant after ripping its throat open.
Last words: Unknown, as the acidic blood had destroyed his voice box before he could say anything.
Battle Brothers Twice Shat On and Wife Beater Beater
Died simultaneously during a pizza eating competition when their stomachs erupted from being filled with a tonne or so of compacted pizza.
Last Words (Wife Beater Beater): “EAT PIZZA AND DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
Servitor D277-89 (SHIT CLEANER)
Died from infections brought on by using its internal machinery to compact collected waste to fire at a boarding party of Chaos Space Marines.
Last Words (translated from binary): “Who cleaneth up the shit now?!”
Private Guant Bait
Died from wounds sustained fighting of ten Bloodletters using only a lasgun and bayonet.
Last Words: “AFFIX BAYONETS, BITCHES!”
Battle Brother Cunt Brained
Died from wounds inflicted by a Tau plasma rifle. Cunt Brained ran a mile under constant plasma fire by the Tau wielding the weapon to then beat the xeno over the head with said weapon.
Last words: “WHERE’S THAT COVER-CAMPING TWAT?!!! I’ll SHOVE HIS GUN UP HIS FUCKING ARSE!!!”
Captain World Defiler
Died while doing the chainsword swallowing trick (upon death he had three down his throat). His death occurred when he could not suppress a sneeze, resulting in the complete mulching of his insides.
Last Words: “I BET YOU I CAN SWALLOW SIX OF THE FUCKING THINGS!!!”
Techmarine Binary Bitch
Died while experimenting how much dakka a Marine could use at once. He had managed to rig up a suit of Terminator armour with:
- Four Storm Bolters (two on each arm).
- Two Assault Cannons (one on each arm).
- Six Flamers (two on each leg and two on his back).
- Two missile racks (as opposed to the usual one).
- One Hurricane Bolter (chest mounted).
Unfortunately for Binary Bitch, he did not take into account the immense amount of recoil all the guns would produce, and while the Terminator armour's structural integrity was sufficient to hold all the guns in place (admittedly only after locking up the joints) the recoil was enough to pulp the Marine after a minute. It was concluded by the other Techmarines however that, with better armour, that a single Marine could carry twice as much dakka.
Last Words: Unheard of the noise of all the dakka and awesome, but it was agreed by all that they must have been some spectacular last words.
Black Brother Captain Turds of Fury
Died from having a bucket of water thrown at him. Although physically unharmed it is believed that Black Brothers eventually consider themselves constantly on fire, making water psychologically lethal to them.
Last Words: “I’M MELTING!!! I’M FUCKING MELTING!!!”
Battle Brother Ballknocker
Died while surfing a Landspeeder down a mountain whilst beating the shit out of an Ork Waaagh! that was advancing onto said mountain. He cut through all the Orks, until in a singularly glorious act of defiance, he yanked his power foot off, and flung it at the Warboss' truck. The resulting explosion knocked Ballknocker off a cliff, and moments before he died he had taken a Nob by the horn and crammed a bolt pistol down his throat.
Last Words: "EAT BOLTGUN YOU FAGGY EXCUSE FOR A BITCH!!!"
Seargent Shit Bucket
Died from jumping out of the battle barge MAXIMIUM FUCK while in orbit to smash into a Greater Daemon of Khorne, who was refusing to die until someone came down to the planet's surface to fight it.
Last Words: Nothing, as Shit Bucket was a Terminator Captain and thus never spoke while he was alive.
Commissar Pleb Organiser
Died from executing a heretical psyker with her bolt pistol. Upon death the psyker opened up a warp rift which allowed a Keeper of Secrets to enter reality. Pleb Organiser then executed the Greater Daemon while it was still transitioning, but died from multiple orgasms.
Last Words: Incoherent pleased noises and gunshots.
Battle Brother Knife Ears Shitter
Died trying to enter into single combat with a Necron Lord with only a chainsword. Despite being desperately outmatched Knife Ears Shitter survived five minutes of combat before having his atoms wrought asunder, just enough time for an Angry Marine launcher to get into position and start pounding the Necron Lord with pissed off Battle Brothers.
Last Words: “THE BASTARD’S STILL USING 7TH EDITION RULES!!! I’M IN WITH A FUCKING CHANCE!!!”
Battle Brother Mister Dakka Man
Died after using all of his Angrytalon Gunship’s ammunition fighting Fighta Bommas and deciding to use his craft to ram the remaining other planes.
Last Words: “DAKKADAKKADAKKA, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
Apothecary “YOUR NOT DYING ON MY FUCKING WATCH!!!
Died bringing a Dreadnought back to life. Upon bringing it back to life the Apothecary was immediately punched on reflex by the Dreadnought, upon which the Apothecary shot the Dreadnought to death, also on reflex. Unfortunately for FUCKING WATCH, he had been trained mercilessly to revive his Battle Brothers, so brought the Dreadnought back to life, to only get punched and then shoot the Dreadnought. This continued until the poor Apothecary was pulped to death by the Dreadnought's claw.
Last words: “THIS HURTS ME MORE THAN IT FUCKING HURTS YOU!!! (BLAM)”
List of Things the Angry Marines Hate With a Passion
There are very few things that the Angry Marines actually like. There's the Emprah, of course, along with cats, Honey Badgers (when said badgers aren’t biting their balls off) and possibly skittles. Angry Marines are also said to have a predilection for energy drinks, pizza 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:
- Abaddon - He's a plot-armoured wanker who simply won't fuck off.
- The Eldar/Dark Eldar/Anything related to elves - The regular spehss elves are stuck up, plot fucking faggots, the drug-addled spehss elfs are dickish, literal plot fucking faggots, and elves in general are just prissy, plot fucking faggots. Ergo, FUCK THOSE CUNTS!!!
- The Tau - Weeaboo cock suckers who “JUST KEEP FUCKING RUNNING AWAY FROM MELEE THE FUCKING PUSSIES!!! THAT AND THEY HAVE VAGINAS FOR FOREHEADS!!!
- 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).
- Pretty Marines/Chaos Pretty Marines - They're a chapter of faggots and the ones who defected to Chaos makes them DOUBLE FAGGOTS!!!
- Emperor's Children - They're a chapter of faggots who defected to Chaos and still bear the name of the Emprah. TRIPLE FAGGOTS!!!
- Furries - Daemonspawn of Slaanesh.
- necron - BECAUSE IF I FUCKING TEAR YOU INTO PIECES YOU CAN'T JUST STAND UP AGAIN!!!!
STAY DEAD, DICKSUCKING SHITFUCKIGN XENO!!!
- Anything Slaaneshi - Slaanesh is the God of all that is faggotry in the Warhammer 40,000 universe.
- Chaos as a whole - CHAOS IS FAKE AND GAY, GET OUT, STOP TALKING, FUCK. YOU.
- 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. Besides, furries are Slaaneshi, and Slaanesh is HERESY!
- All the Highlander sequels
- Battletoads - The original game that the Angry Marines Primarch had with him inside his stasis capsule. Is still unbeaten to this day.
- EA - for being faggoty ass dick suckers that also suck the life out of other games developers.
- Matthew Ward - Self-explanatory.
- Grey Knights- A bunch of fucking Mary Sues who think they know what REAL hatred of daemons is.
- Reddit - Have the nerve to steal all the good memes from 4chan, make them as unfunny as possible, and then shit them all over the rest of the Internet claiming they came up with them in the first place. They're also EMPRAH-DAMNED EVERYWHERE, THE RETARDED FUCKS.
- 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 FRACTION OF A SECOND. YOU PUSSY ASS CHAOS WORSHIPING FAGGOT). That makes them TRIPLE FAGGOTS,too.
- Bad grammar, because IF YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING SCREAM YOU CAN FUCKING DO IT RIGHT (WHERE IS YOUR PUNCTUATION, YOU ANAL BITING, DONKEY RAPING FUCK-TARD? THERE SHOULD BE A FUCKING COMMA HERE INSTEAD OF THIS INTERJECTION, YOU HYPOCRITICAL ASS!) YOU BASTARD!!!
- Smuckers Uncrustables - You spend twenty years on a voidship, the Skittles ran out seventeen years ago, and all you have is Uncrustables AND I GUARAN-GODDAMN-TEE THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO RAPE YOURSELF WITH A BAND SAW TOO, YOU NURGLE HUMPING FAG!
- Facebook - if it isn't immediately obvious why, then they fucking hate you too. No Angry Marine ever needs to know how many minutes it is until your shuttle reaches St Sebastian's world.
- Age of Sigmar - Because why play as a single cohesive army when you can have it split up into five different mini-factions with no synergy? A never-ending way to recharge your fucking RAGE.
- The finale of Star Trek Enterprise - Captain Archer made some pretty fucking excellent speeches at times, but the grandest, the greatest, the ultimate... well, in the words of Captain Fucktious Twatsplasher, "WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE ENDING YOU RETARDED, INBRED, STINKING, BRAINLESS, SOULLESS, DICK-GARGLING PAIR OF FUCKING FAGLORDS?!!!!!!" Many scribes died that day.
Thought for the day: If something is worth doing, it's worth overdoing!
Things the Angry Marines wish for
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 That is heretical nonsense, only Chaos worshippers like that nonsense
- A Doom movie made in the style of the doom comic, preferably with Bruce Campbell as the Doom Marine (Groovy!)
Better endings for Mass Effect 3, preferably restoring Drew Karpyshyn's original Dark Energy ending. The Extended Ending made them a bit less angry, then the skubstorm known as Mass Effect: Andromeda made them angrier than ever, cancelling this out.
- A good Dungeons and Dragons movie
- 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 the Chaos Gods raped the world and then Age of Sigmar happened. At least 40k managed well on that, but then, numarines...
- A Warhammer 40K space shooter flight sim game. This kinda happened with Aeronautica Imperialis: Flight Command and may happen with Dakka Squadron depending on how it is made.
- Being a canon chapter.
- Although they’ll accept a printed copy of their codex, scrolling through rules mid battle on your phone make the Angry Marines very Angry.
- 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
- The executives at Games Workshop's heads all mounted on sticks
- Neither of these, actually. BECAUSE ANGRY MARINES ARE NOT YOUR PERSONAL CHAPTER, FAGGOT!
- The head of anyone who’s a dick for no good reason, as being a dick for no good reason is tzeentch worship and therefore HERESEY!!!
- Although overly Angry and aggressive, the Angry Marines would actually be a beacon of hope for the Imperium as they actually give a shit about people (not using people for target practice or guardsmen as human shields), which means that (ironically) they’re one of the least grimdark parts of 40k.
- Matt Ward to retire and never return. BECAUSE THAT GUY IS GARBAGE, PITSNIFFERS!!
- Yet more Space Marine models of all kinds to be released at the expense of other factions, aka BUSINESS AS FUCKING USUAL, TOSSERS!
- A 40k VR game that let's you punch Xeno pussies in the face IN 3D!
- This one might in the works in Battle Sister, an Oculus game controlling the furious Bolter Bitches. The quality of the final product is unknown
The Angry Marine Lexicon
On the surface of things, Angry Marine speech and language may seem incredibly simple, containing a large number of (and sometimes containing nothing but) curse words. However, this superficiality can hide (sometimes that is, other times they may literally just be saying FUCK!!!") a deeper meaning and subtly almost paradoxical to their brute appearance.
Grammar and Punctuation
- CAPS LOCK: Used to define rank with Angry Marine “society” as a whole. In general, Serfs and the like will speak in lower case, with the exceptions being commissars and tech priests when they become very pissed off because something very expensive and rare has been broken, while normal Angry Marines and up will ALWAYS (AND I MEAN FUCKING ALWAYS) speak in caps lock, even in the presence of a Silencer.
- Exclamation marks (!): The only real punctuation the Angry Marines use, Serfs and the like will usually use none or one, while your standard marine will always use at least one, usually three. From there, the number of additional exclamation marks increases with the amount of rage, with the usual jump being from 3 to 6/7. Beyond that however the exclamation marks blurr into a continuous stream of punctuation, and such use is only really used in war cry’s and in sentences where all the words have blurred into one.
- Comma (,): A rarely used piece of punctuation, as pausing while speaking when you could instead just vomit up your speech like a pyrovore vomits acidic flames is frowned upon.
- Fuck (Noun, Verb, Adjective, Adverb, Pronoun, Preposition, Conjunctive, Determination, Exclamation):
- The most commonly used word in the Angry Marines possession, in someways it defines their very existence and purpose in the galaxy, and for such an important word it has a suitably large array of meanings and uses. It is also the only word which the Angry Marines draw out to express different meanings (exclamations will not be shown here but are an integral part to the word fuck):
- FUCK (by itself):
- A general expletive and most commonly used form of the word fuck, can be used in any number of contexts, for example, an Angry Marine walks into the canteen and sees that there is no pizza left, he might shout FUCK as a general sign of annoyance. On the flip side, one Angry Marine might say to another "THE WEATHER IS FUCKING LOVELY TODAY ISN'T IT?" and the other might reply "FUCK" in general agreement. As such, it is always important to pay attention to the context in which a single and lone "FUCK" is uttered, especially as lone angry marines may just shout fuck at random, just so that they don't get bored.
- In addition, it is important to note that an Angry Marines rank will also determine (to a certain extent) the context of a fuck, as higher ranking angry marines (ie. angrier angry marines) are more likely to use the word fuck in a more aggressive manner.
- FUCK (with other words):
- Simplifies the matter of understanding whether a fuck is uttered in a positive, negative or passive manner, for example, "YOU FUCKING IDIOT" is a general sign of annoyance, while "FUCK MAXIMUS IS COMING" is a sign of respect and a warning to others.
- An angrier fuck, generally used by itself as a general expletive but still short enough to be uttered quickly.
- An even angrier fuck, defined by the addition of extra c's, making it much longer to say compared to just adding extra u's and therefore a much angrier expletive.
- The addition of additional FFFFFF's is a sign that the speaker has gone from simply furious to downright livid, especially as the marine in question may decide mid speaking to upgrade his FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCK to a FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUU...
- Generally uttered at the beginning, middle and end of a charge, and is a general sign that your ass is about to be handed to you, in a million pieces. An expression of purest hatred and fury, non angry marines should preferably be in another sector when they hear this noise, and the angry marine making the noise will only stop screaming (like the word wargh, no self respecting angry marine would ever just speak FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUU...) once his rage or the object of his rage has been vented/dealt with.
- A lighter swear word used at low anger levels, and is used as a greeting in polite conversation, for example, an angry marine might politely announce the arrival of another angry marines they like with the phrase “NOT THIS BITCH AGAIN”.
- Cunt/Dick (Noun, Verb, Adjective, Adverb, Pronoun, Preposition, Conjunctive, Determination, Exclamation):
- An insult which refers to the general groin/genital region of a being anatomy, and therefore a prime target for a kick. It can however be used as a general directive, for example, "GO FUCKING PUNCH THAT CUNT" could be used as a direction to inflict grievous bodily harm via a strike to their genital region, but it's usually used as a general attack order with the additional implication that the target is also, say, an Ultramarine.
- Ultracunt, blueberry, ultrasmurf etc:
- A general derogatory word for ultramarine/s, all of which imply that the ultramarines are inferior in some/all ways. Most words/phrase can be made this way by simply adding “ultra” to the beginning of them, as long as said word is neutral or derogatory.
- Shit, crap, bullshit:
- A derogatory word for waste matter, used prolifically (the word, not the waste matter) to imply that a situation or person is somewhat lacking or disappointing, for example “THIS PINT TASTES LIKE SHIT!!!”
- Weeaboo, Weeb:
- Specifically refers to the Tau (or any being belonging to the T'au Empire), also generally used to describe someone who uses Tau tactics (e.g, not charging at the enemy).
- A general cunt etc, but refers more so to the person in question being a terrible person, while a cunt isn't necessarily a terrible person.
- A derogatory word for a machine or those who maintain them, in the latter example is is usually followed by the word fucker as well for added implication.
- Not a commonly used insult in the 42nd millennium, but generally refers to the poor grooming habits/troglodyte nature of/absent social skills of something.
- Wardian prick, cunt, bastard etc:
- A normal insult, but with the prefix of “wardian” etc, which magnifies the insults effect by invoking the name of the foulest being in the galaxy.
Angry Marine Name Generator
Like all humans, Angry Marines have a birth name given by their parents. But usually these babies are fucking annoying and have to be disposed of. Angry Marines maintain Chapels of the Emperor in his Aspect as the Self-Righteous Customer Served Dry Steak just for these kinds of babies. Usually the children have card identifying the reason the child was discarded like the FUCKING TRASH THEY ARE, but they rarely give better descriptions than "Little Shitfuck," "Lazy Ass Bastard Shits His Pants," "Worthless Quadruple Malt Distilled Shitwater." While these may seem like great names, when children are chosen to join the Chapter they get new names to symbolize their new life and because not all of them can be called "Fucking Lazy Ass Won't Clean His Room!
After years of learning how to speak Angry, many Initiates choose their own name, other times they have names gifted to them by senior marines, and sometimes everyone is just too angry to be bothered. In those cases this rubric is used to determine their name using 2d6 for first and last. An optional middle name is 1d6.
|First Name||Middle Name||Surname|
|26||Punch||26||Zhāng Sān Lǐ Sì|
|34||Dementer||34||Faire le Con|
See Also/Notable Angry Marine personnel
- Commissar Fuklaw
- Inquisitor Badasious
- Angry Marine-Bomb
- Sergeant El'Jackson
- Chapter Master Temperus Maximus
- Belligerent Engine
- Captain Titus, an honorary Angry Marine in spite of being an Ultrasmurf
- Mephiston, also honorary, so angry he's calm
- Gabriel Seth, DOUBLE honorary because that angry bastard is a crazy ball-busting killer
- The Hulk, he's always angry!
- the doom slayer (who might be there real primarch)
- Tyberos the Red Wake that mad man is TRIPLE honorary because he is so angry he makes no sound and is a master of rip and tear.
- Dirty Harry
- Angry Joe Leads his own division of Angry Marines known as the Angry Army.
- The Angry Video Game Nerd, a typical Angry Marine Techmarine
- Common Angry Marine marching cadence
- Orsus Zoktavir
- Grimlock, his Rage is more powerful than programming built into him meant to restrain him. Also, he's a robot dinosaur.
- Lucky The Foul Xenos Cat
- Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, rumor has it he is Commissar Fuklaw's brother (or an ancestor, even though the late Sgt R. Lee Ermey, who played Hartmann, considered Hartmann a failure of a sergeant)
- Codex - Angry Custodes
- Head serf Chef Gordon Ramsey, the only man angry enough to cook for the Angry Marines, although they consider him to be a pansy.
- Malcolm Tucker, Administratum liaison to the Angry Marines, the only one deranged enough to treat with them. They even speak the same language.
- korland slaughter Maximus thane and the last wall during the war of the beast because oh because they where action heroes especially those two
- logan grammar and the space wolves for Armageddon
- roboute gulliman and Dante plus the god or emperor of man kind and other loyalest primarchs beacuse we don,t want to get in trouble plus eccecarchs umburto II and sabaston Thor such legends
- helbracts and the black templers brothers .
In 1st Edition, ALL Marines were Angry Marines.
The Angry Marines fuck up Tzeentch's shit.
Angry Marines vs Kharn.
FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC, BUT MAGIC IS HERESY!
YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT WE'VE GOT A TITAN LEGION.
Yeah. It's a fucked-up Rule 63 version.
DID YOU THIN YOUR PAINTS? YOU BETTER HAVE THINNED YOUR GODDAMN PAINTS.
An Angry Marines Belligerent Engine fucking up the Pretty Marines
Original file was 1280x2304px of pure win. But the fucking site wouldn't upload it! Original at: http://j.mp/p3jxvI
Fanart with Angry Marine and Necron. Possibly from HS40K.
Librarian Moarfistin, of the Angry Marines. Read more about him above.
"Now bend over and TAKE YOUR FUCKING MEDICINE".
From the creator of the Unyuufex comes the Angry Marines Command Squad!
- Codex - Angry Marines 8th Edition
- ANGRY MARINES FUCK SHIT UP
- ANGRY MARINES CODEX UPDATED!
- old ANGRY MARINES CODEX IN A CONVENIENT PDF!
- ANGRY MARINES NATIONAL ANTHEM!
- ANGRY MARINES DO A QUEST
- ANGRY MARINES SHIRT STORE!
- ANGRY MARINES 40KWIKIBLOG. COPIED RIGHT FROM THIS PAGE. COCKNUGGET!
- Angry Marine Codex
- Forum thread where poster showcases a kick-ass collection of Angry Marine customized models including vehicles
- Angry Marines custom bits from Shapeways! Unfortunately, the search caught some irrelevant pieces as well.
- Angry Marines theme song