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[Spoilers] Book Excerpt: Saturnine - The Praetorian's wrath unleashed

Reason to post: People loved the excerpt from yesterday and wanted to see what happened next with it.
Side note: People need to get the audio book of this, it is simply amazing, and this extract does feature some heavy spoilers from the final parts of the book.
Context: Fulgrim and his entire twisted Legion of 100k marines, are fighting in and on a section of the Saturnine Wall. Leading 200 handpicked veterans from the loyalist and blackshield astartes forces, originally tasked with a separate goal nearby, Rogal Dorn himself has taken to the wall top, to reinforce the small garrison of 500 Imperial Fists and 2000 auxilia (not including support crews) that man the defence.
The newblood Captain Madius, who leads the wall garrison of newblood Terran marines, lays broken on the ground, unable to move as the Praetorian and the Phoenician duel.
Madius beheld it all. Propped up against a broken pillar, he watched his Praetorian’s wrath unleashed.
‘Your pretty wall is broken, Rogal!’ Fulgrim declared. He lashed his blade into Dorn’s shield, and drew splinters. ‘Your famous fortress is undone! It-‘
Dorn’s blow knocked the next words out of his mouth. Fulgrim stumbled. Dorn’s greatsword tore into his ribs. Fulgrim struck back, but found only shield again.
‘You are a man in a broken tower!’ Fulgrim taunted, and spat out blood. ‘You stand so proud, and so defiant, ignoring the fact the tower is falling around you! It will-‘
Another blow. Fulgrim staggered away, then spun, head lowered, hair billowing, keeping his distance. Dorn lunged anyway, driving his shield into body and face. Fulgrim threw him off, and leapt aside.
‘So silent, Rogal,’ he crooned. ‘No words of denial? No pleading for me to change my foolish ways and come back to you? You can tell me it’s not too late. You can promise me sweet forgiveness-‘
Dorn blocked into him, broke his guard with his shield, buried his blade in Fulgrim’s shoulder meat, then body-smashed him across the platform.
‘Deeds are my words,’ Dorn said.
Fulgrim nodded, and spat blood again.
*‘*Always,’ he agreed, licking blood off his teeth. ‘You were never the wit. Never one for fine conversation. Just hard at work and-‘
Dorn broke his guard again with another lunge, carving a chunk of plate from Fulgrim’s flank. Fulgrim surged, and hammered out nine rapid blows, each one a master kill-stroke. Dorn blocked each one. Their blades flew, ringing against each other, drawing sparks.
Fulgrim danced backwards. Dorn advanced.
Fulgrim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smeared blood across his cheek.
‘Are you really not going to try and convince me,’ asked Fulgrim, ‘that I have made a mistake? Talk me back into the fold, where I can make amends?’
Dorn surged, and threw two rapid blows that Fulgrim only blocked with effort.
‘No,’ said Dorn.
He struck again, a low slice that Fulgrim parried, then a high back-cut that tore through Fulgrim’s gorget, and scattered broken rings of golden mail.
‘I’m just going to kill you,’ said Dorn.
The Phoenician growled, and charged two steps. Dorn met his first slash with his shield, and countered his second with his blade. A third, he parried; a fourth, he turned aside in a squealing slide of steel that threw off sparks.
Fulgrim backed off, arms spread, circling.
‘Are you, now?’ Fulgrim said. ‘How bold. How empty. Look around.’
Dorn’s glare remained fixed on Fulgrim. He feinted a step, a bait Fulgrim took, then rammed the Phoenician with his shield, and hammered two blows into his ribs with his pommel before they broke contact again.
‘I said look around!’ Fulgrim snapped. Blood was streaming from his wounds, rolling down his gashed armour. Some had got in his hair. He tossed his sword from hand to hand, then seized the grip with both, and hacked down at Dorn. Dorn blocked with a raised shield, turned out, and raked his blade deep across Fulgrim’s chest. Fulgrim stumbled clear.
‘Look around! Look around!’ Fulgrim screeched. *‘*See what’s happening, Rogal dolt*!*** Your tower is tumbling down! No more running to daddy crying, “Look! Look what I’ve built!” It took you years to make this, and in one night, I roll down upon you, crack your shield and build a foothold-‘
Dorn stamped at him, and they traded four swift blows that chimed like bells.
‘Look?’ said Dorn. His gaze did not shift from Fulgrim’s face. ‘I don’t have to. I see it all.’
‘All what?’ snarled Fulgrim. He swung. Dorn turned the blade aside.
‘I see your siege machines burning at the foot of the wall,’ said Dorn ‘I see your sonic weapons silenced. I see your host, foolishly committed in its entirety, pouring into a run of wall that can be held by a force a tenth that size.’
Their blades flashed and rang again. Dorn lost a chunk of shield. Fulgrim took a laceration to the shoulder.
‘And is held by a force a tenth that size,’ said Dorn calmly. ‘Imperial Fists, now bolstered by the two hundred Legiones Astartes veterans I brought with me. Two hundred veterans who are skilled in every doctrine of war. Who have rallied this garrison and this wall stretch, and are now slaughtering the vanguard you so wantonly committed. They thank you for giving them such a wealth of bodies to reap. You have no foothold.’
‘I have!’ Fulgrim roared. He smashed his blade at Dorn, a series of furious strokes. Dorn parried them away. Only one got through, and gouged his shoulder guard.
‘No,’ said Dorn, as they circled again. ‘You’re a fine fighter, but a poor strategist. You committed everything against a gap that could be held. You’ve burned the cream of your host for nothing. Made them cannon fodder. Nine thousand dead and counting. I know, Fulgrim. I know everything.’
‘You know nothing!’ Fulgrim cried. He railed in, and his gleaming blade sliced the flesh above Dorn’s right eye. Dorn caved his ribs with the edge of his shield, punched him in the face with his sword’s guard and kicked him backwards.
‘You’ve let yourself be used as a distraction,’ said Dorn, keeping his gaze on his adversary, ignoring the blood pouring down his face. ‘You’ve let your host be decimated. For nothing. The Saturnine ruse – I know about that too – has failed. Perturabo played his move, and lost his piece. You’re just a pawn. Was it the Lord of Iron who fooled you into this? Lupercal? Abaddon? You must have been willing. Were you getting bored with it? The spear-tip is broken. You’re holding a gate for no one. You’re just an idiot standing on a wall.’
Fulgrim’s eyes widened very slightly.
‘It failed?’ he whispered.
Dorn lunged. Fulgrim leapt back. Dorn sliced, and Fulgrim capered clear.
‘I’m not trapped here’ said Dorn. ‘I’m not under siege today. You are. And that’s why I’m going to kill you.’
The Praetorian swung. Fulgrim parried. Dorn followed in, and the greatsword tore Fulgrim’s cheek open. The Phoenician stabbed frantically, splitting armour, and lacerating Dorn’s side. Dorn struck out, and severed Fulgrim’s left wrist so the hand was left hanging by a shred of flesh.
Dorn drove the entire length of his blade through Fulgrim’s belly.
They stood for a moment as though embracing, the length of Dorn’s sword spearing out from Fulgrim’s spine, steam rising from the blade.
Fulgrim rested his bloody cheek on Dorn’s shoulder, and sighed. Dorn ripped the sword out, and stepped clear.
‘Well,’ whispered Fulgrim, blood spattering out of his mouth. ‘What a mess.’ He straightened up, gore running from his torn face and broken plate. ‘It really failed, then? The Mournival plan?’ he asked.
‘It did. They are all dead.’
‘Oh.’ Fulgrim smiled as much as his butchered face would allow. Teeth were visible through the slash in his cheek. ‘You do fine work,’ he said.
‘I wanted a scalp,’ said Dorn. ‘I wanted his head. Lupercal. But you came instead. A Traitor primarch. I’ll make do with you.’
‘All these things you know,’ said Fulgrim. ‘So very able and informed. But there are things you don’t.’
‘Name one,’ said Dorn.
‘One,’ said Fulgrim. ‘I can’t die.’
He stared at Dorn. His wounds closed, the skin re-knitting without a scar. His dangling hand re-fused. His armour fixed itself and regained its lustre. His blood dried up, and blew away as dust.
‘Two,’ he said. ‘I am sick of all of this. All of it. The others can find a way to grind you down and bring your fortress low. I cannot die, but I feel the pain, and I won’t take any more of it.’
He sheathed his blade. His form began to grow, stretching its dimensions with an unearthly inner light. His legs fused like flowing wax, and he became, from the waist down, a gigantic serpent. The thick loops of his snaking lower body coiled out across the stonework, scales gleaming like mother-of-pearl. He rose up, his lammia-form towering over the Praetorian. There were scales around his eyes and cheek, and his tongue was forked.
Dorn stared back up. He did not take a step backwards, but his eyes narrowed and his grip on his sword tightened. There were no words for the impossibility of what he was seeing with his own eyes.
‘Three,’ Fulgrim said, no longer smiling. ‘I hope our father burns when the time comes. I hope Lupercal turns Him into a screaming corpse. But you won’t see that, Rogal. You’re the one who dies here.’
The Phoenician turned, and his huge form glided away towards the parapet. He surged off the edge. Black rose petals opened in the air, swallowed him, and vanished.
Dorn turned slowly.
They had formed a ring around him. Eidolon, Von Kaida, Lecus Phodion, Jarkon Darol, Quine Mylossar, Nuno DeDonna and fifty other gleaming warriors of the Emperor’s Children elite guard.
Dorn shook out his shoulders, and raised his sword and shield.
‘Try me,’ he said.
They rushed him.
Dorn once again shows that he can shit talk any of his brothers with facts in what they believe is their moment of glory. In Praetorian of Dorn, he shit talks Alpharius after a compliance, in First Wall he shit talks Perturabo and now in this he shit talks Fulgrim. And with Fulgrim, ignoring his taunts and launching his own worked to great effect.
Fulgrim in this is frantic in his swordplay at times, especially towards the end when Dorn has fully closed the distance between them and he can't get away. His admission that he can't handle the pain is interesting, maybe Dorn's theorised antiwarp ability has come into play here. Maybe, whilst he can't die, Fulgrim can still feel fear about dying and his human form still reacts in the ways it would do if taking such wounds.Also that Fulgrim, immediately after reverting back to his snake form leaves suggests that he was unable to maintain such a form for an extended period of time.
The true extent of their dead (not including wounded) is revealed later on in the book.
(From a stand point as well, he has 2 for 2 "kills" on Primarchs in duels. With Alpharius actually dying and Fulgrim surviving because of being a daemon prince)
submitted by Reedy957 to 40kLore

Naked and Afraid

John returned to his senses with a groan. As far as he could tell, he was lying on the ground, with the mother of all head aches. He tried to open his eyes, but the blinding sunlight shot painful arrows through his eyes, all the way up to his fuzzy feeling brain. He tried to stand up, but the world was spinning. On his ass would do just fine then for now.
- "Where am I? Did I get plastered last night ?" he asked himself.
Confused, he managed to take a look around him, through squinted eyelids, trying to clear the static in his head, and get his bearing. He was in a grassy clearing, in the middle of a strange looking forest. His eyes fell onto himself.
- "What the hell?" He was naked. Like butt naked. And in the middle of nowhere. First thought was that the guys in his crew pranked him.
Rolling a bit onto his right side, he managed to stand up. Blood rushed to his head and made him dizzy again. He stood still for a couple of second, eyes closed, waiting for the world to stop spinning so damn fast. Then he slowly opened them, and looked around one more time. The trees 50 yards farther, the grass at his feet... he didn't recognize any of them.
- "Hello? Anyone here?" he shouted.
No answer came. Just some birds that chirped and took flight from the nearest tree, and some critter that screeched somewhere deeper into the woods.
Not knowing what to do, he started to look more carefully around the place he woke up, looking for... anything, really. For his clothes, for footprints, for tire tracks, for a path... anything. And he found absolutely nothing. The grass was untouched, except for his footprints. And for his body print. It was like he had been dropped on that spot right from the sky. Seeming that being the only option his gaze shifted upwards. And his jaw dropped. There were two suns visible. TWO! He rubbed his eyes, hopping it was double vision. He looked again. Yup... two happy yellow suns were shinning bright on the peaceful clearing and on one hopelessly confused human.
About an hour later, the head ache was mostly gone, and his mind was clear. He had thought hard, and was pretty sure he remembered every last of his conscious minutes. He had been on a merchant ship, from Earth, to the colony Arcadia. Last thing he remembered, was that they were in hyperspace, with only about 10 hours left until destination, when something went wrong, and their ship was thrown out of the hyperspace lane, with all the alarms blaring. After that... darkness.
He didn't know what went wrong. He was just the accountant on board. Had no clue about how all that FTL stuff worked, or what could go wrong with it. But he clearly was on an alien planet. There was no wreckage around him, not a scratch on his body, and someone had removed all his clothes.
- "If that doesn't say alien abduction, then I don't know what will." he mumbled to himself, looking a little more suspicious around him, as if he expected little grey aliens to pop their heads out of the taller grass at anytime.
Wondering what the hell to do next, he started to go around the clearing, by the edge of the forest, looking for paths, tracks... He decided to wait around this clearing for now, and not to wander too far. Whoever put him here, might return. Maybe they saved him (and hopefully the rest of his crew too), from the failing ship? At least they put him on a planet where he could breathe. And not somewhere like Mars, or something. That meant they wanted him to live, right? But why take his clothes?
As he reached the furthest end of the clearing, he heard the faint sound of water gurgling. He followed the sound and found a small creek, bubbling through the forest. John approached carefully and squatted near the water. He tested it with one finger - seamed normal water, as far as he could tell. Picked up some into his cupped hands and smelled it. It smelled a bit like rotten leaves, but nothing really unpleasant. Took a sip into his mouth, and didn't feel anything strange. Even if he was very thirsty, he only had a few sips. He was going to wait a few hours. If he was going to feel no ill side effects, he was going to have his fill then.
Without even realizing, he had entered into surviving mode. You know - like thinking about water, shelter, fire, food... So, before he left the creek, he collected some rocks, thinking to make himself a hearth. He returned to the clearing, but he didn't go to where he had woken up a couple of hours earlier; he stayed on this end of the clearing, closer to the forest, and to the little creek. He looked up and tried to see if the two suns moved, to see if he should expect nightfall soon. Indeed, both suns seemed to have moved a bit, in different directions, but it looked like he still had a lot of daylight left.
- "Alright John... you can do this. You've watched enough survival shows, you've read Robinson Crusoe... you can make it through this, whatever 'this' is..." he mumbled to himself. "Search party from Earth is sure to find the ship (or what's left of it), and I'm guessing this planet is somewhere near our...crash? Or whoever saved me (or took me) from the ship is probably going to return... Just got to find myself an Wilson, and stop talking to myself."
Three days later, he had progressed somewhat. He had made himself a lean-to at the edge of the forest, under a solid looking tree. Packed it with soft, dry grass and leaves. Made himself some sort of grass skirt, to protect his privates from scratches and dirt. He had tested some berries and fruits he picked from the forest, and so far they were all edible. The water had been ok too. The night before he managed to start a fire, using two pieces of dried wood, just like in that old movie "Cast away".
And today he was building himself some tools. Or at least he tried. He was at his ten or ninth attempt at making some sort of blade, by chipping the edge of a flat rock, the size of his palm. He had not been pleased at all with the results of the last attempts, but his hands already hurt from banging rocks all day, so this tenth blade will just have to do.
Proud of himself, he placed the sharpened rock next to a bola he made earlier this morning. In the last three days, regarding fauna, he had seen only birds and insects. About 10 species of birds, with sizes between sparrow and geese. He made the bola thinking to go hunting for some protein. He could have made himself a spear, but his chances of bagging a few of those geese was higher with the bola. A knotty length of wood completed his "arsenal", taking the role of a club.
Finishing his project for the day, John stood up, getting ready to go foraging for some berries. He stretched, and froze. At the opposite side of the clearing, about 100 yards away, a flock of big birds was exiting the forest. He slowly crouched, careful not to spook them. They were big. Actually they were the biggest birds he'd seen so far, alien planet or not. They looked like Big Bird from Sesame Street had an affair with an ostrich. Their feathers were mostly greyish, with some more colored ones on top of their heads. They had two long, powerful looking legs. Pear shaped body, but not really upright - a bit inclined forward. Long neck, but way thicker than the neck of an ostrich. The head and the huge beak looked exactly like those of a Shoebill Stork. They didn't look like they were flying birds; they were too big.
He had to admit that they were an impressive sight. An opinion shared by his stomach, which began to grumble at the sight of all that feather covered protein. John looked at his bola and his club, looked back at the flock of birds, rubbed his grumbling stomach, and decided to try to hunt one.
Still crouching, he grabbed his club in one hand and the bola in the other. Slightly lifted his head above to tall grass to check the flock's movement one more time. After exiting the forest, the birds spread out into the clearing, slowly making their way towards the center, probably grazing, or hunting insects and what not. John did a quick count and numbered 11 of them, with what seemed to be an alfa male in the middle of them. John check the wind's direction. It was blowing from left to right. Keeping low to the ground, he slipped into the forest and began to run as quit as he could, circling to the right of the birds. His intention was to use the cover of the forest, and flank the birds from downwind. He hoped to bring down the bird furthest on the right, and scare the rest. If the birds proved too tough, he would dash back into the forest, using the trees and bushes for cover.
Five minutes later, he was on their right flank, watching them from the cover of the last trees. The birds were slowly walking, spread out almost in a row, and they were near the middle of the clearing.
"Let's do this!" thought John to himself. He lowered himself and slipped through the grass towards the closest of the birds. When he was about ten paces away, he stood up slowly, and started to swing his bola. The bird heard him, and turned it's head towards him with a surprised croak. It didn't explode into a run, as any bird on Earth would, when surprised by anything.
"They probably don't have any predators or hunters to run from", thought John, and released the bola with a powerful swing. The weapon hit the alarmed bird and wrapped around its neck. The bird managed to squawk once, and dropped to the ground. Its feathered wings, which had some small talons at one of their joints, were pointless trying to get the bola off. As the other birds turned towards him, in surprise and in alarm, John yelled like a madman, and started to run towards his victim, waving his club around, and trying to scare away the rest of the flock.
- "Shoo! Shoo, you overgrown turkeys! Shoo!"
The closest 3 or 4 birds began to run away from him, in a confused panic. But the big one in the center, the alpha of the flock, released an angry screech, stopping them in their tracks. The alpha lowered it's nasty looking beak and began to run to the aid of it's fallen flock mate.
"God dammit" thought John. "Big Bird got balls...". He considered his initial thought of retreating to the forest, but he didn't want to leave his catch to slowly die of suffocation. It was his duty to put it out of it's misery. He was also very very hungry... So he faced the charging alpha, gripping his club with both hands.
When the alpha was about two yards away, it leaped at him, with its legs (and its corresponding talons) forward. John stepped to the left, swinging his club down, as Big Bird flew past him. He hit it in it's extended legs, and the bird landed nasty, with a screech of pain. John leaped to it and swung his club again, straight at its head, putting an end to it's anguish. He then turned towards the rest of the flock, and screamed at them again. This time, seeing their leader killed, the other birds broke into panic and fled. Breathing relieved, John returned to the bird with the bola around its neck. It was almost passed out. He lowered himself next to it, put one knee over its neck, grabbed hold with both hands of the birds head and beak, and with a sudden and powerful upward twist, broke it neck, and killed it.
Aboard the cruiser "Steel Talon", the war council of the Bari was watching in horrified silence the satellite live feed from the planet bellow. The planet's designation was "Special Forces Training Facility". It was here that they tested their tactics, improved the performance of their troops, organized wargames, and where they researched how other species fought, before engaging into a war against them.
When they discovered the humans, they didn't initiate contact. They observed and studied them. Looking for weaknesses. They managed to capture one specimen, from a commercial ship, and dropped it on the Training planet. After observing it for a couple of days, to see what the human eats, how he behaves, it's sleeping cycle, and so on, a special forces squad had been sent to sharpen their talons and skills by hunting the human.
If the reports from the first days had been rather boring, the last hour of the live feed had been something straight out of a nightmare. The human took everyone by surprise by attacking the elite squad of Bari warriors. Nobody expected that. They were expecting it to run, maybe to put up a fight when cornered... But for him to attack an entire squad by himself? Madness...
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After that they watched in horror as the human carried both fallen troopers back to his camp, and began to pluck all the feathers from their still warm bodies.
- "...Why? Why would he desecrate their corpses like that?" Asked a young captain, in disbelief... "He already won... He killed them... There is nothing more for him to gain from torturing their bodies..."
The horrors did not stop there. After the corpses had been thoroughly plucked, they watched as the human picked up a sharpened rock, slit their bellies, and began gutting them. There were very few members in the councils that did not vomit when the human put his paws up to his elbows into the fallen troopers, and began yanking out their guts.
Everyone of the members of the war council wanted to stop looking. To stop the satellite feed... But it was their duty to watch. To be prepared for the horrors that a war with humans would mean. They owed it to the two fallen soldiers to watch their desecration until the end. And so they watched.
They watched how the human hastily built some sort of rack from a few branches, and then began cutting the flesh from one of the dead troopers (you couldn't tell them apart by now), into thin strips, and setting them onto the rack, one strip after another. The actions of the humans were beyond their power of comprehension.
After finishing his gruesome task of stripping the flesh from one of the cadavers, the human started a fire. When he first had managed to start a fire, two days ago, by rubbing some pieces of wood toghether, the Bardi had been impressed. Now they were numb with pain and were just wondering, with sick fascination, what would the barbaric creature do next.
The human made two holes in the ground on two sides of his hearth, and wedged a piece of wood into each hole, fixing them to stand upright. He then sharpened a longer, straight branch at one end, and the he... he... Not even one single member of the council was able to keep his face towards the big screen. They all turned or lowered their heads (some heaving heavily), as the human plunged his sharpened pole into the backside of the second corpse, and pushed, and hammered it in, until the sharp end exited through the neck of the corpse. He pushed some more, until a good length of bloodied wood was visible on both sides. With a heave, he placed the pole with impaled dead trooper over the burning fire, with the ends of the pole suspended on the upright pieces of wood planted on the sides of the fire.
The silence in the war room council was heavy. The air was thick with the smell of puke from the Bari that didn't make it to the facilities and had vomited right there. Their were staring with blank eyes at the horror on the screen. Nobody had the power to even move anymore. They stood like that for more than half an hour. In silence. Thankfully, the human seemed to have finished his horrific spree, and was now sitting calmly by the fire, adding pieces of wood on it, from time to time, and sometimes rotating a bit the gruesome pole.
General Konk, a veteran of many wars, managed to found the strength to croak meekly:
- "Perhaps the beast has finally sated his thirst of revenge and this is a... funeral pyre..."
The rest of his words died in his throat, as the human reached for his sharpened stone, and with lustful eyes, and trembling, unpatient hands, cut a piece from the corpse and put it in his mouth.
The senior general reached for the remote and mercifully shut down the screen. They all stood frozen for a few minutes.
- "This is madness... I will not send even one of my soldiers against....that! I have never seen such ... cruelty in the entire universe. War against this species is out of the question. We will continue to avoid them, and inform all of the other races we are in contact with to avoid them too. The recording of these events must be sealed and never shown to the public or to our troops."
The words of the senior general were met with mute, but unanimous agreement. The decision to avoid the humans lifted some of the heaviness from the room. That was until the big screen came back online, on its on. But this time, it was not the satellite feed. The screen was filled with the image of an angry human, in military looking outfit.
- "This is general Clegane, of the Battleship HMS 'The Hound'. May I ask what in the name of the Almighty did you had in mind when you attacked one of our merchant ships?"
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