Hark the Blood Angels sing

For Space Marines, battle and training kept them at the peak of their physical prowess. Rafen was the same as he slammed another sickle magazine of bolter rounds into his trusted weapon. The warrior had been waiting upon the Bellus along with his comrades from Cybele as the battle barge headed for the Imperial Forge World Shenlong for the past month. One knew that a Blood Angel could never sit and patiently wait and Rafen was no exception as he squeezed round after round off from his bolter to hit the targets that had been set up for him. As his clip became half-emptied, the targets were hit every time. After an hour of shooting practice, he felt sick to his two stomachs, running off to one of the numerous bathrooms that were upon the battle barge. The Blood Angel was collapsed onto his knees, body shaking as he violently expelled his morning meal from the mess hall into the toilet. Rafen couldn’t recall ever becoming sick since he had been altered to become a Space Marine, only really being ill as a child. He cleaned himself up, catching sight of himself in the reflection of the mirror, not outwardly appearing sick, but his stomach had quieted down once more. The warrior took one final glance before returning to the shooting range to retrieve his bolter from where he had discarded it earlier. If it happened a second time, he would have to speak to one of the chapter’s apothecaries about it. As he began heading to the barracks where the regular battle brothers rested, Rafen felt a presence watching him, following him. Just as he was about to turn an face his possible enemy, he felt a heavy hand on his red ceramite shoulder pad. “Dear Rafen, I’m glad that I didn’t catch you at a bad time. Come with me, brother.” The warrior growled in annoyance at how Sachiel lorded over him, having always hated the Sanguinary High Priest.


Once they were in Sachiel’s personal chamber once more, Rafen was pressed against the wall by the slightly taller male. Those lips descended upon his in a kiss that had a hunger beneath them, Rafen’s knees growing weak as a moan slipped past in the lock of lips. The high priest had him trapped, but in that moment, Rafen honestly didn’t feel like escaping. Fingers drifted along the edges of steel and cerate aromour, flicking at the locks that kept it connected to the plasteel bodysuit underneath that was molded to their bodies. Rafen tugged Sachiel’s bodysuit away from that tanned flesh, lips kissing every inch of toned muscle that became exposed, Sachiel moaning as his own hands began pulling off Rafen’s own bodysuit. When the heated air of the room hit his warmed skin, Rafen felt another wave of nausea pass over; the Sanguinary priest was given no warning as green and horrid smelling bile met his bared flesh, Rafen sinking to the floor as his stomachs revolted in anger. Sachiel was disgusted, but was also worried about his ill battle brother and scooped the half conscious Rafen into his arms and headed for the medical area of the Bellus.


Rafen groaned as he blinked up into the bright lights of the medial bay, not fully recalling how he had gotten there. “Feeling better, Rafen?” Sachiel sat close to his bed, donned in only a deep blood red robe and the warrior remembered that he had stripped the priest before passing out. One of the chapter apothecaries stood close, looking as stern as any Blood Angel as he looked back and forth between Sachiel and Rafen. “Brother Rafen, I had taken some tests as brother Sachiel was worried about your health.” Daiaxis seemed grim as Rafen sat up more in the bed he had been laying in. “What is it? I deserve to know if there is something wrong with me. I shall have my life ended in battle and my gene seed harvested if it needed.” Apothecary Daiaxis lifted a gloved hand to silence Rafen while Sachiel remained silent. “It would appear as though you are…with child, brother Rafen. I do not know how one could explain it, but by the Golden Throne you are pregnant.”