So I finally started to write a story, but decided to post a little exctract here, before putting in the real thing. I need to check if the story is flowing and typo is right, so note me if something is wrong.

The story is based in Games Workshops Warhammer 40K universe, with the added twist of characters being furries. Just a random thought, but I think it could work, so read first and then judge. The storys character is named Zanthus Arawin, 4th company captain of the Dragon Lords Space Marine chapter. If you arent familiar with the universe, then I suggest you google it, before proceeding.


The world was white and silent, like oblivion where you still lived. Only a faint howl stained it, which soon grew to an piercing scream. The world was filled with it and the landscape was filled with colors of hell. A feeling stinged him, a feeling so primeval and pure that it couldnt be erased. It was pain and it brought him once more into conciousness, telling his name and what he was. He was Zanthus and he was an Astartes. The screaming became clearer, forming into shouts, gunfire and howls of pain. He blinked, seeing that he was laying on his side, the power pack of his armor dormant. With a thought, it flooded back to life and he felt his heavy feeling fainting. He moved his arms, registering the pain enveloping his right arm as nothing more than muscle ache, the possibility of a bone break minimal. Standing up, the servos of his waking armor whirring as they aided his movements. He wobbled a bit, his world shaking, but soon steadying. Giving a glancing look at his wings he smiled, as the two massive limbs were intact although a bit worn. He then looked around, seeing that he was surrounded by fallen masonry or dark granite and broken bodies. They all were as massive as he was and bore the same color of his armour. They were dead and he instantly knew that he had to move. As he took the first few agonizing steps, a static filled his mind from his commmunication system, fixed on his ear: "Zshzhshs...Were being cut off....zshshsh...requesting back up captain Zanthus...Zshshshs"

He tapped the device and spoke with a harsh sound, dust aching his throat:"Evac called. Move to extraction point as planned." Afterwards, he picked up an fallen boltgun, a fine weapon of justice, lined with gold and emballazoned with purity seal. He wiped the dust off from it and stormed forward. He was in a building, levelled down by a missile that had wiped out his squad and knocked him unconcious. He was alone and had failed his mission, but decided not to fail his oath of duty. He moved out into a wide battlezone, gunfire spitting out from an destroyed building, where rebels had stationed in.

He picked up a shape, no less than about 30 feet from him. It bore an long snouted gasmask, worn and pointy ears showing out of it. The rebel looked at him wide eyed and raised its lasgun, pulling the trigger more as an reflex than act of will. Its crimson red bolt scracthed Zanthu'es shoulder pad, but he was unfazed, soonly raising his bolter and letting out an salvo, the traitor crumpling to the ground as its chest was ruined by the mass reactive bolts. Knowing that more were to come, Zanthus reloaded his weapon and sprinted forward. Las-bolts were whizzing over him, scarring his armor and leathery wings, but not making significant damage. He took cover behind an fallen imperial statue, turning to level out his gun at rebels storming towards him and firing full auto. The rebels mesh armour proved ineffective at protecting from the deadly salvo, the men dying in groves, expect for their leader, who picked out an rusty blade and charged at him. Zanthus magna locked the bolter to his thigh and bared his gauntlets claws.
The rebel struck, but Zanthus lightning fast ducked it easily and landed a blow to its back. The rebel staggered, but suprisingly fast stood up and picked an auto pistol. Zanthus growled and spranged onto him, hitting the gun away with the palm of his hand and baring his sharp teeth. He relished the rebels moment of terror, as two meters of ceramite and fangs landed in him, the dragon digging his claws to the rebels shoulders and biting down into his throat. The rebel howled in pain, but then silenced as Zanthus ripped his maw and claws free, part of the traitors throat going with his maw. He was just spitting it to the ground, as an sudden blow to his neck made he land to the ground hard. He spun around and realized that he was staring at an devilish figure, an Astartes as he was, but bearing hateful sigils and an snarling helmet. The Marine targeted Zanthu with a bolter, which butt had smashed him to the ground. Zanthu kicked the Marines groin with his boot, the traitor flinching and buying him precious seconds.
He stood up and smashed into the traitors body with his full might, digging his claws into the fallen Marines armor. The Marine hit the side of his face with an thunderous blow, which did shatter his jaws side, but failed to be fatal. He pushed the arm off and punched into the marines abdomen, the armor carcking as weight was applied and claws dug in. The traitor howled in anger and several times punched Zanthus'es temple, but the drake kept his grip firm, before pushing the traitor to the ground. He jumped on him, slashing his claw into the marines helmet, both of the eye pieces shattering as claws piereced them, then digging into skull and precious organs. The Marine roared, but Zanthus twisted his arm and silenced its death howl.
He pulled his hand free after it and picked out his bolter from his thigh, spinning around and aiming as he heard a sound. He gulped as he realised that he was staring down at the barrel of an plasma gun. The gunner was ironically unmasked, an snarling coyote behind it. The trigger pulled and gun fired, Zanthu'es world filling with painful light, with the word of the Emperor stil in his lips..

There it was. I made it pretty fast, so the story is still raw and proner to change. It will be made a lot better, if I decide to continue it.