Entering the
fortress was child's play. The sentries were at best a joke. Slipping past them
had been no challenge to a warrior such as him. Well assuming that they were
sentries. They could have just been wandering lunatics. Of course they might
have mistaken him for one of them the ignorant fools
Either way it was an effort in self-control to avoid slaughtering them. Killing
them would mount to little. The battle would draw others of their kind though.
Even if he killed every creature in this unholy place the daemon he had been
sent to find would escape.
The stench of spilt blood hit him like a bolter as soon as he entered the building.
It hung in the hair like a living entity. Who knew it might be. The hall lacked
any kind of ornaments, no disgusting murals, no bizarre statues to tzeentch,
the only stains were of blood most of them quite fresh. But the simple stone
and wood that made this place was covered with gouges: marks of a hundred battles
fought here. All the hall markings of Khorne.
So far this place was not impressive. Though Khorne cared little for impressing
his followers. Perhaps the other halls were more interesting. As the building
formed a giant "X" with an area in the center each "god", ha that's a joke their
is only one true god of chaos, had it's own wing. The followers of chaos undivided
were gathered in the center of this place.
That was not to say this place was a simple design. Quite the opposite, each
wing was a mass of different levels and hundreds of rooms. Thankfully he had
no need to search the entire place. His prey's mere existence called to him.
It screamed to him. Malal had ensured that. There would be no escape in the
mortal realm.
Ahead he could hear the muttering of an unbeliever. The creature was not unaware
of his approach, which was shocking. How the creature could sense him was a
mystery but an unimportant one. How could it sense his presence? It was to dark
for even it's enhanced vision to see far. It would be of no consequence. Apparently
though it was standing guard of something bend the door. Perhaps it would be
of use to him.
"Welcome Brother Marine. What brings you to the Altar Of Khorne", called the
corrupted one still unaware of it's own impending death.
Why had it called "Brother"? It wore the color of the Black Legion. Perhaps
it thought him to be a similar abomination? His armor was darker than the creatures
but how could it know that? He hadn't stepped from the shadows? And it stood
bathed in the only light upon this floor. And if it could see him by some dark
trick why hadn't it raised the alarm? Was it so stupid to think he would spare
its life since it assumed that it was from the same legion?
Regardless it had insured its death would go unavenged. If it had attempted
to raise the alarm the moment it had sensed him it might have been able to.
Now it merely ensured he was close enough to kill it before it even could make
the attempt.
As he stepped from the light the change upon the creatures face was unmistakable.
From a moment of welcome, to a brief look of confusion upon it's face as it's
eyes fell upon the two halves of the skull upon his shoulder and tried to comprehend
why one was black and the other white, and then the moment of raw rage as it
finally made the connection. The creature actually drew it's weapons as if it
believed it's self to be a match for him.
He was already entering the door to the altar when it's head landed.
The altar proved it's self to be unremarkable. Just an anvil of chaos black
steel with the mark of Khorne placed upon it in gold. It did not seem worthy
to contain the power it held. The power to summon the Blood God's daemons.
A thing of great importance to Khorne and his followers. A thing of revulsion
to him. As unworthy to exist as were Khorne and his followers. I idea of summoning
the creatures merely to destroy them was amusing but nothing more than a pointless
daydream.
Even if he could figure out how to summon the hideous things, all destroying
them would do is banish them back to the warp. The mere act of the attempt would
probably warn the followers of the unworthy to the danger he possessed. Perhaps
even the champions of the others.
He left the altar's chamber without much in the way of guilt. Only a lagging
curiosity of whether of not he could have achieved the end result. The thoughts
still lingered even as the doors of the chamber were launched across the hallway.
The blast of the meltabombs he had left at least offered some solace as they
detonated in an explosion that would have delighted a noise marine.
Flames licked from the gapping hole finding the corpse of the worthless marine.
The smell of burning flesh at least masked the reek of the spilt blood. Even
as the warp it's self shuddered in sympathy with the altar’s destruction it
was no longer a threat. This way the followers of Khorne would assume that the
destruction was at the fault of another god's champions.
Who would receive Khorne's wraith for this action? Tzeentch? Of course Malal
would be pleased regardless, the mere destruction of the altar insured that.
The resulting blood feud would was a mere bonus.
Onwards he traveled down the hall seeking out the daemons he would need to enact
Malal's will.
Onward he went deeper into the belly of this beast. Challenging the hordes of
Berzerkers seeking revenge for the altar’s destruction did not amuse him. There
was no doubt that many would die if they found him. The only doubt would be how
many of the accursed things would arrive. Though individually and in small groups
they were no threat large numbers had a strength all it's own.
He could hear the rumbling of the halls as hundreds of steps shook the higher
and lower floors. Though he had not seen any steps or other means down or up there
must be some somewhere. Oddly only a handful of footsteps came from this floor.
His incredible hearing told him that there was at best six of the abominations.
Well they would have to do.
He drew his daemon blade in the same movement that placed him into the side hall.
Briefly the idea that the blood mad Berzerkers might spot the faint fierily glow
of the 4 runes.... That was new. There was a fifth now. Perhaps the alter had
been more important than he had thought.
The day Malal had gifted the blade to him it had only a single rune upon the dark
steel. On the day he had taken Vortex the Undefeated's worthless life the second
had appeared. The third followed the slaughter of a secret Slaneeshi cult before
the foolish noblemen could doom their people to a hell world. The fourth had appeared
when he had delivered Capock to the hall of Malal. Each of those task was far
harder than the destruction of the alter. Why had the rune appeared now? And what
new powers did it offer? Looks like those Khorne warriors would serve a better
purpose than mere recreation.
The first of the six ran past him closely followed by the second and third. As
the fourth passed and presenting him it's back. That's when he chose to strike.
The cut he made would earn the respect of any surgeon. Exactly as planned the
warrior fell like a puppet who's strings had been cut, which was probably about
right as the blade had severed his spine at the base of the creature's skull.
By the time the creature realized it's life as a Berzerker was over and he would
never take another skull, not even it's own, the two halves of the fifth Berzerker
were landing. The half with the arms had managed to hold on to it's chainsword
promptly turned it upon it's self. Eager to be a final sacrifice to Khorne.
The fourth had oddly begun to cry. That was more disturbing than it screaming
was. But didn't surprise him anymore. He had seen it before. He had expected the
creature to scream, to draw the other Berzerker. It was the only reason he had
spared it's life. Fortunately the dumb things still turned.
The trailing Berzerker was... interesting. It's left leg had been replaced by
a large mess of squirming tentacles each oddly a different color. They were probably
dangerous to mortals as there movement drew the eye to them. They were oddly fascinating
even to him as his stomach turned in disgust to this mutation. Yet he watched
even as his sword pierced the marine's hearts.
He turned to face the approaching Berzerkers. So far it was a disappointing fight.
It showed no sign of improving as the third Berzerker used both hands to raise
the it's axe over it's head. It was too dumb to consider that he had greater range
and speed. Though even if it's hands had been free to at least try to defend it's
self the result would have been the same. Like the chickens from his youth it
kept running without it's head for several steps.
At least the final two showed some vestige of intelligence having stopped to observe
the attacks of the others rather than crowding in and cutting down their own options
and giving him more. The closer of the final two advanced carefully being sure
to avoid tripping on the remnants of the others. It's weapons held in places to
stop most attacks.
At least in theory passed through his mind about as quickly as his blade passed
through the marine's weapons right into his body. The last standing marine was
a bigger fool than any of the others so far. He had actually taken his eyes off
his opponent to bend down and take the skull of it's paralyzed brethren. It had
the same affect as meekly offering his neck to a butcher. He was kind enough to
allow the marine to take his final skull though.
Over all the fight had been a disappointment: some of the damned things had nearly
hit him. On top of that he had not even discovered the purpose of the new rune.
Well maybe later. There was going to be more than one of these little combats.
The blood upon it sizzled even as he sheathed the weapon. Of course that was nothing
new.
Down the halls he traveled. Yet deeper into this monument to the depravity of
chaos. Though it seemed he had been traveling for hours without progress. Though
he knew it to be an illusion caused by the fact that little changed in this place.
The only evidence that he had actually traveled was the different number of slashes
in the walls. The halls that crossed this corridor were at least slightly different
offering up another reassurance. The steps though offered a great deal more. The
thought that this maze could be reforming around him did occur to him. Though
he had gift from Malal to ensure that he would know of such things it was possible
that somehow the were being disrupted.
Thankfully at long last he discovered his way to the central chamber. The outer
area where it meet the wings of the building. The area was an immense dome, a
large hall with hundreds of doors leading out to the halls. Though the room was
a immense chamber every bit as vast as the wings, the entrances to each of the
wings were fairly close together. It made things easier for the forces of chaos.
whether to amass their numbers or to attack one another.
Though his prey was inside this dome he still had to find some daemons. Other
wise the mission was for nothing. The halls of Khorne hadn't contained any daemons.
He could sense their energies. At least there were daemons present in the other
halls.
Even as he stepped to the next hall he unsure of what ever menace it contained
he had no fear. It was his first gift to Malal. And now it was time to find some
more.
If the stench in Khorne's wing was a entity this one was a god. The offensive
odor was so strong that he actually shut the vents to his armor and activated
his life support. It made him grateful for the fact that his armor was nearly
intact. In fact for the first time in a hundred or so years it made him miss the
right glove. Well he couldn't wear it now even if he had it. The problem with
growing claws. Maybe the scales covering the hand would offer a protection similar
against the plagues, after all it worked against most other things.
And the odor wasn't even the worse part of this place. Though this hall was as
dark as the other was, in this one it was a blessing. The carpet though unidentifiable
had once been thick and plush. Now it was a mat of disgusting stains and fluids.
The entire thing sloshed with each step sending what he hoped was water but was
more likely less desirable juices. Even the walls were encrusted with different
layers of the disgusting filth.
The whole place was a monument to the plagues of Nurgle. It made Khorne's simple
hall look respondent in glory. The idea of retreating and finding a daemon on
the out levels seemed increasing like a better option. The only thing that kept
him moving into this beast was the fact that Malal would be displeased if he retreated.
Besides the chances of finding one of the needed daemons here was greater than
out side.
Each disgusting step in this testament to disease made him more certain that the
vengeance he took upon whatever sick excuses of marines he found would be bloody,
painful, and hard to top.
Fortunately there seemed to be a convenient victim ahead. Judging by the chanting
utterly insane. Of course he also offered another chance for glory. He was beside
an artifact of immense power. What a day. The only question would be how to blame
the Tzeentch for this?
Then there was a skittering from the wall beside him. At first he assumed it was
a rat until the memory of where he was came to him. No mortal creature could ever
survive in this place for more than a few minu-------
There! That flash of green! What is it?! On impulse he drew his blade. Whatever
lived in this unholy place was no friend to Malal. Where in the universe did the
thing go? What was it?
He almost got it when the thing touched the back of his leg, about a foot of the
floor would never be the same. The runes across his blade hissing and sputtering
at the soup like slime. Then he heard it moving across the hallway beside him.
Where is the damn thing going!
Miraculously the blade had finally burned off the slime and the faint red light,
so pointless in many situations saved him. A warrior who had killed champions
of chaos, banished daemon princes, razed shrines to the foul gods to dust had
been challenged by a nurgling.
He was tempted to kick the creature across the room like the worthless runt it
was. Instead an idea dawned upon him. The runt may not be powerful enough to meet
Malal's requirements but it might be of value anyway.
Instantly his hand went to the pocket in his armor where the sacred crystals from
Malal's temple awaited their time. He had been gifted 8 crystals from the place
of power. Three were barely as big as his fingernails. There were five that were
as long and wide as his finger. And of course the final one which was every bit
as big as his fist. Each of the clear crystals contained the same power, just
to different extremes.
He seized the smallest one. Capturing the nurgling proved harder for the second
the little green puss ball spotted the crystal it stopped it's obscene gestures
and was proving to be a maneuverable little bastard. Nothing could connect to
the little runt. And it's shrieks might draw the notice of others before he was
ready to-- There got the dumb little- damn slime dripper slipped right out of
his fingers!
Fortunately the little bugger made a dumb mistake of getting just a little to
close to his boot. This time he did boot the idiot, right into the wall. Followed
up closely by his sword. The little puss factory destruction was assured, actually
it's banishment back to the warp. Except this time...
The second the first puff of ichor appeared he shoved the crystal into the wound.
The crystal disrupted the little impromptu football’s retreat. While not powerful
enough to contain a bigger daemon this one was not a problem. The creature's capture
was already over. It's energies already contained as what little physical form
it possessed crumbled to dust. It's slavehood to Malal eternal.
Tucking the pulsating green crystal into the pocket he continued his mission.
Well at least the crystal worked against a nurgling. No guarantee that the crystal's
power would contain anything bigger.
Either way there was an artifact ahead with what was most likely a plague priest
standing beside it. What a day. First the Altar of Khorne and now 2 prizes of
Nurgle.
As before there was a guard on the door. Actually several. They seemed competent,
at least they didn't sense him coming. The moment he launched forwards some of
them tried to activate the alarm. They failed. They were the first to die. Though
that wasn't saying much.
He did hang around for a minute though. He did not want to run into trouble inside
and meet these things on his way out. Though not plague marines these creatures
were followers of Nurgle. They were not the kind to roll over and die. Well at
least not without some serious aid. When certain all their hearts had been silenced
forever he continued into the chamber.
This place, though even less decorated, was much more impressive. The walls were
even more encrusted in a milliard of stains of green and brown stains. More so
than even the halls outside. Of course you could see it better in here than out
there. Mainly due to the fire under the Cauldron of Nurgle.
Which rather nicely set the mood by being made of ominous black steel suspended
by a simple bar over the fire. The bubbling contents even did their part by oozing
over the side in places make, it resembled the walls. Nicely bathed in the multicolored
hues being admitted from the fire making the room dance in shades of red, yellow,
green, the occasional flare of blue. One of the more interesting warp based fires
he'd seen for a while. The smoke on the other hand seemed almost normal.
Of course the chanting from the plague priest was another element to add to the
mood. Bizarre and insane it crackled as the virus infesting the speaker ate his
vocal cords. The speaker wasn't in better shape then his voice. His amour looked
as though it had been dipped into a vat of slime instead of incasing one. The
crude robes he wore seemed as though they had been salvaged from plague victims,
which they might have been. Each wheezing breath it took sounded as though it
should be it's last yet each time it took another. It's skin was covered in hundreds
of boils and growths. The few patches that weren’t appeared almost reptilian.
On the whole it seemed that even being around this creature would be decidedly
unhealthy.
"Welcome to the grace of Nurgle warrior", what in the universe did this accursed
Nurgle warrior mean?
And then with speed that would have surprised an elder this walking nightmare
dipped it's hand into the broth it was making and flung the fistful at him. Only
the speed Malal gifted him saved him from discovering what the plague was capable
of. Then he added his own ingredient to the stew: the plague priest’s hand. Oddly
there was no blood on the blade.
Strangely the monstrosity didn't scream when it noticed the severed hand. The
only reaction it showed was one of mild surprise. The same kind of thing that
you might show when noticing you'd stepped on an ant. The thing didn't even react
to the pain, though with all the diseases it had the pain of losing a hand was
probably trivial.
Unfortunately the creature's lack of reaction was limited to body parts and not
its head as his blade came for it. The nightmare seized what he had initially
taken to be a mere stirring ladle. The second it came clear of the "stew" he realized
it as a staff dedicated to Nurgle. The bizarre shape was all he could see of it
as the creature managed to get it into a place to parry the strike. The only reason
it stopped the blade was the blessing of Nurgle.
Even as he brought his blade in for another attack the creature had an outbreak
of common sense. It realized that even with the staff it was no match for him.
It merely stepped back round the cauldron to where it had at least a second to
react. It knew that flight was impossible without aid.
Once more the odd chanting begun. No longer mere devotion it was obvious that
the creature was charged with sinister purpose. It was equally obvious what the
monster was attempting. He was summoning a pack of Plague Bearers. Well allowing
the creature was what he wanted. Already the shimmering disruption of reality
announced their intended location.
They wouldn't be ready for a few moments though. How to occupy that time? Already
the blade was moving. Sparks flew as black steel met daemon steel. For a single
instant no one knew how the battle of magics would end. The might of Malal sought
to destroy the corrupt strength of Nurgle. No one in the room knew how this match
of might would end.
The partially formed Plague Bearers announced the destruction of the cauldron
with a mournful wail that ripped at his soul. For some reason he glanced at the
priest’s face and saw tears. whether from the wail, the destruction of the cauldron,
or the tip of the daemon steel which had cut to the far side of the cauldron catching
him in his stomach he neither knew or cared. Though not quite fatal it was defiantly
going to limit his combat ability.
His next movement was to block the plague sword of the nearest plague bearer,
the first to become solid enough to attack. But with solidity come vulnerability
as this one discovered as his sword shredded its disgusting belly. The creature
fell to the floor turning to dust. Already the blade carved through the next closet.
The next second he claimed another kill. Followed by yet another. With in moments
the only surviving Plague Bearer was locked into another crystal.
Only the plague priest remained. His staff was his only hope
and he knew it. Fortunately its injuries slowed it too much to be of a challenge.
The next few motions were of pathetic attempt to survive.
What a mess he left the room in. The Plague Priest’s head was several meters from
its body. Of course that hadn't stopped the creature's hearts. It had taken a
great deal of carving to finish it. The Caldron of Nurgle was a bizarre mess of
black scrap metal.
His mission in this hall complete he was already moving back down the hall. Of
course there was the fact that the followers of Nurgle were probably amassing.
They'd probably be a bit annoyed with the destruction of both the cauldron and
the priest.
Of course the odds of finding him in this place were low. The danger was that
he would run into some and that combat would draw in others. That and the fact
that these abominations were hard to kill which meant they might be able to overwhelm
him with less numbers that other chaos cults would need. That and the danger of
contamination from any of these things.
A nice trade off, kill the bastard now and have him kill him later. That and of
course the danger of being infected with Nurgle's rot and ending up a Plague Bearer.
Not exactly the best end to his career as Malal's champion.
Damn! He could hear something coming. Something big... heavy. Something that that
made more servos sounds than power armor. Several somethings. Terminators. Judging
by the smaller things sounds inter mixed they were a chaos lord's retinue.
There were no halls to duck into. Going back would have meant nothing but meeting
those who had already arrived there. Then they would arrive before he could kill
all those behind him. And in all likely hood they would over take him before he
could make the distance there. Besides even if he could have hid he won't have
fled. These were the among worst of the lot. These were the most despicable of
chaos's followers. Champions dedicated to their disgusting false god. They deserved
only violent death. And he would grant it to them.
Already he was moving towards them hoping that the sounds of their deaths wouldn't
draw more of their foul kind. If it did at least the retinue would die before
him.
The accursed things came into sight, revealing themselves to be just as he had
expected. Sludge ridden warriors. The word biohazard didn't begin to describe
them. Barely living monuments to Nurgle as much as the halls are an unliving one.
They were a retinue to the disgusting collection of disease in the chaos armor.
"So you are the one who defiled the great Nurgle's temple.", the bloated champion
began "I don't see why you insist upon worshipping such a weak god. Whatever Malal
offers you is nothing to what Nurgle can grant you."
Instead of replying to such a worthless creature he drew his blade. Unfortunately
that's the moment the nightmare began.
This time as the creature spoke its voice was strange as if another creature spoke
the words with it. "If that is your answer we will destroy you no--" The second
voice was almost childish, caring but intensely powerful. Almost like... Instantly
he recognized the danger the creature presented. The same second he was moving
to kill it before it was to late.
"Kill him" the thing ordered even as blood began to run from it's nose and mouth.
The second voice was already stronger than the first. The things raspy voice was
no more than a whisper now.
whether the plague marines even noticed didn't show as they rushed forward. Each
eager to kill him and claim glory before their god. Perhaps even be gifted with
greater power.
Plague knifes and power swords clashed with daemon steel. Even as their lord screamed
in agony. Even as the first plague marine fell the sound of tearing flesh and
straining armor filled the chamber almost drowning out the sounds of battle. Even
as he drove his blade through the sweet spot where terminator armor failed to
protect its user rivets from the plague lord's were being launched from the convulsing
body of their lord.
Desperately he tried to battle his way through these disgustingly virulent barriers.
His only goal to end the lord’s life. This was not a humanitarian mission. Already
the things armor was exploding off its body like projectiles. No Plague Marine
could stand before him for more than a few seconds. Though already it was pointless.
He couldn't stop it in time.
Already the immense bulk of the creature was rising in the hall. The blood curdling
screams seized to echo through the halls. Arms stretched far past their breaking
point now being free of the natural world's laws. Layer upon layer of bulk formed.
Even as the last plague marine fell it was to late. Possession was complete.
Already the greater daemon was rising to stand. Hideous beyond words. It was the
ultimate creature of Nurgle. One of the plague god's most favored pets. Revulsion
at the creature's nearness and a newfound sense of self-respect that this abomination
had been sent for him warred with in him. Revulsion won.
Even as the creature looked at the broken remains of the plague marine’s tears
filled its eyes. Like the a small child upon the loss of a favored pet. It was
both comical and frightening. And then it turned for him
"You are the one who did this?! You are the one who destroyed the holy Nurgle's
sacred relic?! You are the one who dared steal from Nurgle's Temple?!" It deep
voice still had the child like element to it and more amazingly a note of sorrow
in it. Each accusation as in almost complete disbelief that he could be responsible
for the actions it named.
The Great Unclean One's tirade had stopped it for the moment. When it didn't receive
the answer it wanted or the any answer it seemed to take a breath. The logical
question : "Why would such a creature need to take a breath like it's about to
go diving?" was answered before it was even completed. It was upchucking.
Gallons of the stuff were launched at him, almost like it had been sprayed from
a high-pressure hose instead of a mouth. Even with his incredible speed he was
unable to avoid it all. The barrage almost knocked him from his feet when it hit.
Each droplet that hit him stuck with enough gusto to replace glue as the adhesive
of choice.
Unfortunately the regurgitation had more tricks than just sticking. It started
to warm. Recognizing the danger of this attack he dove to the inch deep ooze that
covered the floor chest first. Deciding that being dissolved by acid like spittle
was less favorable than being crushed by a charging Greater Daemon.
Thankfully the second the slime meets the watery ooze the burning stopped. Just
in time for him to make a desperate roll to safety. Well a few seconds worth,
rising to your feet in power armor is no easy task. Thankfully he managed to avoid
the thing's punch as he rose. The walls were not so lucky. The monster's raw power
granted the wall a bizarre pattern of fractures not unlike a spider’s web.
Of course he didn't bother to waste the time to think about such things. He instead
used the second to take the opportunity to sever the thing's arm off at what would
have been the elbow of a more humanoid creature. His next attack resulted in a
wide broad slash across the thing's front, almost a second smile.
Almost as quickly as he did this cosmetic surgery, which for reason he couldn't
begin to understand made the patient look better, a most bizarre thing happened.
A nurgling popped out of the new orifice. Almost comically the critter launched
it's self out of it's large friend’s body like a jet fighter on a kamikaze mission.
Of course it was quite to spear the nuisance midair.
Of course it was a tactical error. One which the reaming arm of the Great Unclean
One made very clear. The sheer power behind that blow was more impressive than
one would expect from a rotting puss bag. It also added several feet to his frequent
flier miles.
It was on him almost before he landed. Standing before him waiting for the room
to finish dancing before it crushed him. Almost like a cruel child with a small
animal it wanted him awake before it killed him. Even as the three of them hovered
somewhere between conscience and well deserved darkness he struck out in desperation.
whether luck, Malal, or the tooth fairy guided his blade was completely beyond
his knowledge. None the less he hit. Driving the blade up to it's hilt in the
pudding like belly of the thing. The thing recoiled in shock and pain as both
the pitiful body of it's parasitic friend’s, who still hadn't fled the material
realm, and the blade were driven into whatever organs it possessed.
Even as it staggered back it was not willing to surrender. Fortunately it had
no choice in the matter. Already it's newest body was turning to dust.
Even as he retrieved his blade he heard them. Not the followers of the plague
god. The unearthly howl of another god's chosen. The creatures whose only job
was to hunt down the enemies of their patron. He did not run. It was pointless.
They would follow whatever scent they had now until they found him. They would
not rest until they had found him. Besides, he wanted them to find him. He needed
them.
On he went to exit this hall. Awaiting the Flesh Hounds of Khorne.
Onward he went, eager to escape these decaying halls. Each step was a jarring
agony as the injury inflicted by the Great Unclean One reminded him of his pathetic
mistake. Each movement an exercise in self-control to keep from cursing as he
moved to escape these halls.
Already the broken bones were healing. Knitting with a maddening itch. Thankfully
the wound would be nothing more than memory with in a few minutes. The temptation
to stop here and rest was a danger to be avoided. Being ambushed on the ground
was not conductive to survival. Especially with the flesh hounds tracking him.
The moment he left the hall of Nurgle he immediately disengaged his life support.
Free of the accursed stench he was more inclined to breathe without dying of some
insidious infection. The suction sound as the tanks refilled themselves was over
almost before it began. The brief question of which hall to invade was answered
by the first door he discovered that lead to some place other than the hall of
Khorne or Nurgle.
Though he was away from the doors to the hall of Nurgle there were still numerous
footprints of the toxic slime however none were as fresh as the trail he was leaving.
With luck the Nurgle warriors would follow him and blame the followers here for
the destruction he had wrought. Perhaps not. After all he had fought plague bearers
and the great unclean one.
So Nurgle knew what had happened here. Though the question was would he be bothered
to tell his followers. These disgusting chaos gods had almost no link to their
patron other than killing in their name and the odd gift. Not like the glory of
worshipping Malal.
Even as he stepped into the hall of the "prince of chaos" he almost reactivated
his life support. The scent of hundreds of bizarre perfumes permeated the air.
Many were quite pleasant individually. Herbs, fruit, some things that defied description.
Together they were nothing more than a bizarre mixture that was complimentary
to none of them. How could these creatures find this stimulating?
At least this hall was well lit. Of course that offered dangers of it's own. His
enemies might see him before he was able to kill them. But then again judging
by some of the burnt smells in the air they might not be able to answer the question
of what their names were. In a more disciplined army that sort of laxeness would
be a reason for execution.
The hall it's self was a rival for most imperial governors mansions. The entire
hall was carpeted which was impressive given the place's sheer size. Even more
so given the thickness of the carpet. The fact that here and there were burns
and slash marks across the floor mending themselves with slow determination.
Briefly the thought of how many imperial credits someone would pay for such a
thing. Probably not many. After all who wants a daemon on your floors? And why
would Slaneesh make such a creature? Maybe it felt things across it's body, which
would be a huge surface area. The thing might have even asked to be like this...
And more importantly how do you kill such a creature? It was to large for the
crystal. The daemon blade would try to eat this creature but it would probably
just kill the section close to the wound. And besides it would take to long to
get the entire thing a few feet at a time. He just hoped that it could not understand
what he was. Or if it could it couldn't pass on that information to others able
to act upon it.
Even as he went deeper into this disgusting beast's belly the sounds of these
creatures’ acts echoed through out this place. They must think themselves safe
here to dedicate themselves so totally to their pursuits. That or their drug alluded
brains were to scrambled to recognize the danger of these distractions.
Either way there was a large number of chaos worshippers directly ahead engaged
in some biological act just behind that door. The fools didn't even look up as
he opened the door. Or after he closed it. He couldn't see if any responded to
the clink as the explosive landed on the floor. Of course if they did they either
didn't see it as a threat or they welcomed the new experience. Either way they
became part of the wallpaper.
Onward he went eager to find the daemons he needed. Or at least some more chaos
warriors to kill.
Despite the smells infesting this place there was little evidence of the chaos
warriors. Of course it was a big hall and they were probably scattered but still
there should have been more evidence of them. Where were they? Were the forces
of Slaneesh still arriving? At some big group orgy?
That was something he'd rather not find. Then again that's probably where the
daemons would be. But the daemons were scattered throughout the hall so the odds
were they weren’t at that type of party. He couldn't tell where exactly each was,
just that they were present. Which was a serious flaw in this particular gift
from Malal. That or a useful way to make him fumble around in these kind of places
and ensure he killed some of these things.
Each step into the hall was beginning to seem pointless. Though this place was
immense as the other halls there should have been at least some indication of
the chaos warriors. The only way this building should b this empty was if there
weren’t that many Slaneesh warriors here, doubtful given the scents, or they were
avoiding him some how.
Once more his thoughts turned to the living carpet. If it were at fault he'd be
either avoided all-night or ambushed shortly. Even if either of those happened
it wouldn't prove the carpets guilt. Of course if it did what could he do about
it? He didn't have a weapon to destroy the whole thing.
A soon as that thought passed through his mind the world exploded. It was as if
someone had fired a demolisher cannon in this hall. The sound reverberated across
the walls seeking something to absorb its violence. Fortunately, or unfortunately?,
the walls proved to well built to respond to the sound. If they hadn't they whole
floor above might have joined them down here.
Of course the walls construction while momentarily life saving they also proved
to be an impressive echo hall as the sound flowed through the chamber. The intense
waves of sound were almost like water seeking an escape drain. He barely managed
to dive into a near by hall before the wave of sound impacted him.
He almost screamed not in pain that the sound had caused his ears, which were
many time more sensitive than even a marine could boast, or the rage that he had
been attacked with such weapons. No it was flat outrage that he had failed to
detect the accursed stoners before they attacked.
Though his discipline prevented such a display of emotion the sentiment was still
behind him. The noise marines were already dead. They just didn't know it yet.
Even though they no longer could see him they fired their disgusting weapons aimlessly.
Merely for sheer enjoyment. Even fired aimlessly the sound once again flowed into
this side corridor. Even without being the focus of their killing power it was
a painful experience.
He briefly wondered if they enjoyed the noise it's self or if they favored the
pain that it invoked? After all their hearing was probably a hundred times as
great as what Malal had gifted his, after all he had needed no more. And these
things were using amplifiers to ensure they received an even greater dose of sound
than their targets.
The temptation to drag them back to the hall of Malal and give them a nice quite
room somewhere didn't sound like the punishment it was. Of course such meager
warriors were not worthy of an eternity of punishment. They merited only quick
and brutal death. Well only so long as it was painful as well.
Challenging them as they entered the hallway would not be conductive to survival.
They would simply stand out side it and blast their weapons into it. Allow the
echo to assist the main blast in liquefy his body. Of course running away down
this hall would result in a similar death. The side rooms were also of no value.
In such an confined space it would be even easier for them to kill him.
Why couldn't he have meet them in the open? There their weaponry would be much
less powerful. While not the same as an easy kill it would have been much easier.
And less painful. Or at least have had the advantage of surprise? He had killed
many noise marines in the past and these would not be the last of his kills. Nor
would those foolish worshippers of these abominations god.
Even as he drew the daemon blade yet again this day a plan dawned upon him. Not
a great plan but one that was more than worthy of these stoned idiots.
Though it took the Noise Marines only seconds to enter the hall it seemed as though
it took hours. Even as they entered the fools were surprised not to see him. Only
surprise at not having a target kept them from firing yet again. Perhaps they
expected to see him face down, bleeding from his ears already dead? Well they
were in for a nasty surprise.
The aspiring champion barked an order, evident only to him by the way the foul
things began to move ahead moved to where he pointed. With grace practiced a hundred
times in battle they fired into the wooden door. Against a bolter round or a chainaxee
it would have offered a reasonable amount of protection. Against this it offered
none as it explode into a mass of splinters and toothpicks.
Something had been behind that door. Even as the remnants of whatever had the
misfortune to be in there oozed from out and into his field of vision he attacked.
These morons had apparently assumed that he was behind the door. Probably they
had heard the sound of bone cracking and snapping as the sonic pulse killed its
victim. The trailing noise marine never learned of it's mistake as he cleaved
the creature in half as he dropped form his place upon the ceiling.
He had already slain a second and third before the others realized that they were
the hunted now. He was utterly outraged as the one of these abominations actually
managed to land a blow as he ripped the life from the fourth with the daemon blade.
The hit it's self was of no consequence. It didn't even scratch the paint upon
his armor.
His blade was every bit as outraged by this desecration as the weapon's runes
flared angrily in a hunger for vengeance for the violation. It pulsed in his hands
in its eagerness to claim it's new enemy’s life. It claimed that life even before
the spirit of the blade could demand it.
With the same motion that had claimed the life of the offender he carved another
nearly in two. Unlike the Khorne Berzerker this one was dead before it touched
the ground. Of course so was it's final comrade.
As always he attempted to sheath the blade after the battle however the weapon
refused to allow it's self to be but away. Angrily it continued to pulse, though
without the fever pitch it had briefly attained during the fight.
Even as he walked on in search of the daemons the blade still refused to allow
it's self to be sheathed. The moment he had tried the weapon had vibrated with
such force he had almost dropped it. Almost certain that this was because it believed
that the enemy it sought was not being punished by Malal he checked the corpse
of the fallen Noise Marine that the Dark Angel had become. And he was awestruck
by what he discovered.
Never before had the runes acted with such violence. Though the cut it's self
would have been lethal the blade's power had ensured that not even a chaos lord
would have survived. Not content with the usual power that enabled it to melt
through metal as though it was butter the blade had displayed a new level of power.
The entire front of the chaos marine was charred merely to dust.
Never before had the blade even burned its victims flesh outside of whatever cut
he had gifted them. Never had it melted a hole larger than whatever was needed
for the weapon to enter the armor of its victim. This time it had turned the armor
into a molten sheath around it's victim and had cooked the victim to a crisp.
At last the blade allowed it's self to be sheathed as though it had desired him
to examine the fallen one. The two he had claimed after this poor fool had died
with far less satisfactory results. Though much more impressively than normal
they didn't begin to match the force of this execution. What did this newfound
power mean? Was this the new rune's power?
Once more he continued his quest.
Even as the unearthly howls can closer, close enough that most mortal creatures
would have panicked, they had barley managed to make themselves known to him.
They were something to be dealt with when they arrived. Not worthy of consideration
until then. What would Khorne think of that about his precious flesh hounds?
Of course despite their apparent nearness they still could be miles away. This
place distorts sound in unusual ways. The noise marines had proved that. His ears
had already recovered but it was still an experience he would rather not repeat.
Of course that wouldn't stop him from killing any more of those accursed creatures
he found.
Definitely closer. And somebody had learned that the hard way. That scream had
been somewhere ahead. What ever poor bastard that had meet his end at their jaws
had given him some warring that they were getting closer. Then again anyone here
wasn't likely to be innocent. Judging by the duration of that scream some Slaneeshi
worshipper just got ripped to pieces, after all those where the ones the flesh
hounds played with most. Does Khorne know that they like the pain and terror
of dying like that?
The sound ripped across the chamber. Lascannons and heavy bolters had made less
noise than that scrap. Even though it was probably only in the hearing range of
himself, noise marines, and maybe a couple dogs or bats. What ever had caused
it was behind him. The hounds where ahead.
That's when things went from bad to comic book bad. Even as he turned he could
see the foul glow from glowing red eyes. The moment he drew a breath he knew what
was behind him. Their aura of things that would drive men to madness of a frenzy
to indulge in activities beyond sanity. Be it running to them in hopes of being
shredder by the daemonettes. Or the chance to be seized and pulled into the sinister
jaws by those flailing tongues.
Instead of a handful of chaos marines or even noise marines it was the worse.
They were the Daemonettes of Slaneesh ridding upon the Steeds of Slaneesh.
Of course rather than giving him a moment or two to begin to deal with the prince
of pleasure's things the hunters of the blood god chose that moment to join the
battle. Roaring they closed rapidly. Almost as rapidly as the Daemonettes on their
nightmarish steeds.
Confronted with the option of allowing the enemies to close with him or doing
it for them he chose the more obvious choice. Allowing them to reach him at the
same time and drag him down under a mass of snarling daemon flesh wasn't an attractive
choice. The only question was whose little pets?
His legs seemed to answer that of their own violation. Already his blade was seeking
a new home, one sheathed in unnatural flesh. It briefly found it several times
as he sliced the legs from an eerily beautiful steed sending it and its rider
crashing to the ground before the monster could even attack.
Though not yet banished back to the warp they had scant moments before the hounds
were upon them. Their shrill screams of satisfaction sort lived as the hounds
rudely didn't give them time to enjoy the sensations they were inflicting.
Of course he didn't have time to enjoy the scene of chaos at its best attempt
at cooperation as he cleaved a steeds head from its body. Chaos once more surprised
him as the creature reared into the air feet kicking out seeking him. Its rider
completely helpless as it tried to remain in the saddle.
Of course without it's eyes the attack was pointless. He had already moved on
and was dealing with the next of its kind. The thing did go a way towards redeeming
it's self as it connected with a flesh hound. Unfortunately the attack barely
altered the course of the thing as it went for the throat of the headless steed.
Though the flesh hounds had destroyed the physical forms of several of their ancient
rivals they were not having their way entirely. The Daemonettes had killed several
of their abominable enemies. Apparently they weren’t willing to share his hide.
They were battling him with ferocity that that didn't even begin to come close
to matching the ferocity that they reserved for each other. He though was returning
the favor regardless of whetherther it was a tongue or claw or snapping jaws.
Even though the damage he and his patron had caused to both of their patrons they
were too preoccupied with one another to respond. It was pathetic. Though even
if they had concentrated their attacks against him he would have slaughtered them.
As it was they merely ensured an easy battle.
Of course it wasn't as pointless fight. Already the last of these foul abominations
were banished, except for one of each sealed into a crystal, mainly by each other.
With only one more daemon need he quickly moved to escape this hall. With the
ruckus raised by the flesh hounds the Slaneeshi warriors would undoubtedly begin
to arm themselves to move against Khorne. The battle would a useful distraction
as the forces of Nurgle and Tzeentch joined the war.
Nothing could stop him. Ever since he had stepped from the hall of Slaneesh he
had become a nightmare of destruction. Nothing could stop him or even slow him.
Not the smoldering remains of what had been a door intended to stop rivals from
entering this hellhole dedicated to Tzeentch. Not those foolish chaos marines
trying to protect the hall from invaders.
Of course he no longer needed a distraction or any pretense of stealth. Since
the accursed followers of Slaneesh had launched their counter attack the whole
place had gone insane. Hundreds of chaos marines where busy seeking each other’s
death. Khorne’s bloodthirsty Berzerkers hunted Slaneesh’s over indulgent progeny.
The festering forces of Nurgle hunted the warped minions of Tzeentch. Every direction
had the sounds of battle echoing through the chambers. Already Malal’s laughter
echoed across the warp. And he had barely begun.
The Hall of Tzeentch was perhaps the simplest of them all. Bare stone halls with
crackling torches illuminating circular patches of wall from oddly placed fixtures.
Dozens of bizarre statues of what might have been warped humans stood against
the walls in teetering poses. Seeming without discernible pattern or logic. Not
that he looked or expected to find any. If there were logic within those perverse
things he would not find before he had to move on. In fact they were probably
there for that reason. To capture passer byes for their master.
The statues were nothing more than a passing annoyance to him as his daemon blade
reduced them to powered and molten marble. However the chanting was infuriating.
Echoing through the chambers in a way worse than the Noise Marines sonic weaponry.
At least that was mere noise. This sound was an abomination. The worst part was
the fact that the sound was issued from the throats of cultists instead of tainted
space marines. He hungered to silence it.
Their voice’s chanting a prayer to their foul master and a request for deliverance
from this carnage. Or perhaps it was a plea for it continue. He had no way of
knowing. Mastering the ranting that Tzeentch’s followers used had no interest.
Or use to him. His weapon echoed this sentiment, twisting and vibrating in a tangible
eagerness to find them as well. Mere hours ago it had been a new and frightening
experience. Now it was almost routine.
Unfortunately he had a more important task to complete before indulging in the
slaughter of a handful of cultist. Why couldn’t they see the folly of worshipping
the false gods?!?! It led only to pain and death. At least when he got to them
they might be able to serve him. They might summon the final daemon he needed
to deal with his prey.
It was amazing how stupid the followers of chaos could be. The idiots actually
left the door unlocked. Oh that explained that. The foolish sorcerer had his back
to the door. And his face buried into a book. It didn’t even know what killed
him as a foot of "living" black steel pierced his chest with only a slight hint
of resistance. Of course when the blade, or actually the rune of Malal upon its
tip, sliced into the book the deceased sorcerer had been reading the book converted
into a funeral pyre.
Even as the puffs of smoke took on the mocking forms of the daemons from which
it had been forged, he already had a small crystal moving into the plumes. Unaware
of the danger it represented they continued their foolish mockery. One paid the
price for their foolishness as it was ripped from the bosom of the warp. He would
have liked nothing better than to capture them all but Malal had warned him of
trying to capture a number of daemons with it.
The musty tome the chaos psyker had been reading had plenty of friends though.
Shelves of arcane volumes lined both sides of the archway. And that was just the
entrance. This evil library must contain hundreds of volumes. This thing was a
repository of chaos knowledge. It was unfortunate that he couldn’t retrieve just
a handful of these things. Even if Malal forbid him… make that the TallyMen, from
exploiting this knowledge placing a book or even a few pages would ensure blame
fell on Tzeentch for whatever damage Malal’s champions accomplished.
It really was too bad that he couldn’t risk the handicap of carrying these things
away. At least it would be a serious bloody nose to the Changer of Ways. Already
the daemon blade was already ripping into the books. Already the weapon was doing
what it was crafted by Malal to do. Devouring the souls of Tzeentch’s little minions.
Even as they attempted to escape into the warp it seized upon them ripping them
back into this world. Of course that was merely the spiritual side. On the physical
side the weapon was reaping a fiery vengeance. The ancient books were little more
tan dried parchments. The flames eagerly spread across the library ensuring he
had no need to enter this newfound gateway into hell.
With in seconds the daemons bound to empower these arcane weapons were given a
brief moment of freedom before being hungrily devoured by Malal’s sacred rune
of destruction. The bane of chaos had done its work well.
Now time for some cultist.
Almost as an after thought he threw the staff he had taken from the Plague Priest
into the flames. The thing would with luck place the blame for this upon Nurgle.
Even as it landed in the flames it was easily identifiable a toy of Nurgle. The
thing had once been bone, probably a human femur. There was no way of knowing
if once it had been healthy because now it was a twisted mass of growths and mutations.
With luck it would be found largely intact, if not one of Tzeentch’s pet wizards
could identify it. Though with the chaos he had already inflicted here that was
unlikely that Nurgle would be blamed. He couldn’t say that he actually cared.
His mission was to deal with his master’s enemy. Anything else was bonus. Like
killing these cultists.
The door acted as a drum as he hit it. If he had used a meltabomb he would already
be inside but those were running short. His blade could have reduced the door
to kindling in seconds but he didn’t really want to do that. He wanted the things
in there to have a few moments of terror to consider their choices in life. Then
again they could spend it screaming. It’s all good.
Even as the door recoiled from he latest blow, already showing the strain from
his attacks, he could hear those inside screaming voices. Death was at the door
and they knew it. One such was screaming for them to escape. Another demanding
the fool tells him how; after all there weren’t any exits other than this one.
Another is screaming for them to repent before the master.
Of course not all were such complacent sheep. He discovered that when lasbolts
slithered through the door. With barely the power to penetrate the door all they
could do was to harmlessly ricochet off his armor. Of course being shot through
didn’t help the door’s stability. The next blow sent foot long spikes showering
back into these foolish, or was it brave (?), cultist. The place struck him almost
as a church. Complete with pews and an altar, though not quite as debased as some
he had seen.
The nearest screamed as the shards of wood ripped his across his face blinding
the idiot. The helpless cultist dropped to the ground even before daemon steel
ripped into his body. Barely worthy of consideration as he slaughtered those few
cultist with the dilapidated lasguns and stubby knives. They were barely worthy
of the challenge of killing them all be fore the first it the floor. The remainder
shied away from him desperate to avoid his notice. Except one.
"Be gone from here Demon. You have no right to be in this holy place. Leave or
I will destroy you!" amazingly the preacher managed to say it with a straight
face. It was all he could do to keep from laughing as the bug’s rant continued,"
You have no power in this place of the Changer of Fate. You will leave or be banished".
The thing’s novelty value hit a new height as it went on again despite he had
amputated its head mid rant. "You cannot harm one of Tzeentch’s most fav---" It
finally shut up when his boot crushed it to the pulp. Of course its fellow degenerates
had taken momentary faith that their leader could defeat him. Now they fled. Or
at least tried to. They had no where to flee. And as a result they daemon steel
sought they out where they hide. Even as they died they screamed out blessing
upon their god. And they were rewarded. Or he was. Whoever that received the blessing
/ curse it was he who wanted it.
Behind him the air shimmered and seemed to cry out. Insane chittering accompanied
vaguely humanoid forms appearing from thin air. The cultists cheered at their
deliverance. Their patron had acted to protect them. Or maybe just to destroy
him. The Pink Horrors of Tzeetch had come.
Already they were moving to challenge him eager for the combat. They came murderously
fast as he pulled his blade from the fallen chaos scum. His blade carved the leading
minion apart in a shower of pink energies. Even before the blade was back into
a striking position the thing was stabilizing. His left hand seeming of it’s own
accord left the hilt of the weapon his fist catching the Blue Horror as soon as
it formed. Being weaker then the pink ones his fist was more than enough to deal
with this. Then again the mark of Malal upon his fist was another added little
edge against it.
Either way there were still the other blue one and several pink ones to deal with.
Not to mention the cultists trying to sneak past the battle and escape into the
hall. Long blue fingers lashed out trying to impact him before he was ready. Of
course it didn’t realize it had failed until it had a foot of daemon steel in
its body. For a brief second he was grated a respite as the pack regrouped to
attack with several at once. Though banishing one was easy having two or three
pink horrors finding themselves as four or six blue horrors would probably have
enough sense to cling to him and prevent him for attacking. And he couldn’t allow
that.
Even as he brought his blade to the ready once more two of the things attacked.
Leaping across the chamber while their foul brethren followed them. Of course
he was ready. Even as he saw them tensing for the leap he had acted. The entire
world seemed to slow to slow motion. Already he had tossed the final crystal into
the air. Even as his blade begun to move it had begun it’s arch. The unholy pets
of Tzeentch offered no resistance to the holy weapon of Malal. He cleft through
them both with a single motion. Ahead the first had begun to reform it’s self.
He kicked a newborn blue creature even as its twin’s momentum carried it past
him. Of course its partner in this ill-fated attack had other problems. The crystal
had dropped into position according to the plan. The shifting and warping energies
of Tzeentch’s little friend was pulled into the crystal. Even before it could
touch the ground his fist seized it. And one of this victory was his. Now just
to deal with the rest of these things.
Rather than allow the twisted daemons to launch their attack unmolested he took
the battle to them. Even before the thing could react he had cut down two and
was through their accursed forms. Even before they could react he was past them.
Already they had been gifted their new forms. However the things were still facing
the wrong way. They didn’t figure it out till he banished them with his blade.
With the majority destroyed the remainder were easy prey. Of course the cultist
were easier.
At last the first sage of his mission was complete. Almost in fear that they had
somehow disappeared he with drew the crystals containing the captured daemons.
Each was fascinating in it’s own way. Each of the clear crystals now had claimed
the color of its prey. The crystal that now served as the prison of Nurgle’s pet
had become a sickly green, which looked as though it was the essence of plagues.
Which in a way it was. The blood red offered no doubt that the flesh hound was
still safely locked away. Judging by the way the power within the color flowed
there also little doubt it wasn’t happy. The new home to the daemonette was perhaps
the most interesting, eerily flowing with bizarre flashes of color with in the
main purple the crystal had adopted. Of course the title of most interesting crystal
was challenged by the newest addition.
The crystal was pink with a pair of floating blue orbs within its confines.
Now there was nothing to do in this unholy lace except find his prey. The dark
thing he had been sent here to deal with. He knew where it was even without thinking
about it. The trouble was getting to it. This place was still a maze and no longer
did it work in his favor. Before it was a huge haystack for a small needle to
maneuver in, now it was a mousetrap in size and shape that boggled the mind. And
worse the cheese kept moving. At least it could not escape him his scrutiny.
Nothing would stop him. Not this place. Not the ranks of chaos scum it would collect
to its self. Nothing. Already he was moving towards the beacon that was the daemon
prince’s energies. Even with out thinking about it he followed the fluxing waves
of power. It wasn’t even worthy of thought that it was above this level. He was
already climbing a newly found staircase. Of course that mindset was to be regretted.
As soon as he crested the stairs a distant door creaked its way open. Of course
he would have preferred it stayed shut. Once of chaos most disgusting children
emerged. A creature who’s unnatural existence defied logic and death. One of Tzeentch’s
favored. A Thousand Son chaos marine. Even as it raised its bolter it became clear
it wasn’t alone. Others of its kind were gathering behind it. Eager to slay him.
Or at least as eager as walking tin cans ever are.
To far to rush the creature with out being riddled with bolter shells and unwilling
to retreat back below he took the remaining alternative. He stepped from the exposed
hall way to one of the near infinite side corridors. The Thousand Son marine’s
bolter fire made for a nice light source to avoid tripping upon the remnants of
a Khorne warband ripped apart by bolter fire. Testament to the lethal effects
of the weapons. And he had no desire to join them here.
Already though they had stopped their firing. Their footsteps approaching quickly
as they tried to reacquire their lost target Of course this corridor wasn’t suitable
for the coming battle. Meeting the sinister thousand sons in this hall was stupid
beyond words. The hall was far too narrow to challenge them without giving them
an excellent target range. Even if the hall had offered cover from the cult’s
weapons he would have moved on. The Khorne warriors offered too much of a tripping
hazard. The floor was slick with there blood.
Already the thousand sons were firing with precision gifted to them by thousands
of years of practice. A Quick glance combined with a moment of hesitation earned
him almost a clip worth of impacts. It proved to be sufficient motivation to leave
them in the side hall while they negotiated their rival’s corpses. Even as he
begun to retreat from their field of fire they finally came close enough for a
small gift. Even as he stepped he flung a parting gift, a six-inch dagger bearing
the mark of Malal. He was already gone when the blade found its target. Such a
small wound would never have allowed the soul to escape from the ancient armor
under normal circumstances. However these were anything but normal as the blade
displayed the power Malal gifted such weapons. The flash of battling magics was
over before they consciously played out. Already the scraps of metal that had
encased the warrior fell to the floor. Little more than a collection of scrap.
Even as he tried to avoid the firepower of the accursed one his armor was already
warping it’s self into another blade.
Thankfully a door loomed ahead offering the hope of salvation. Of course the fact
that the door could have admitted a land raider raised several questions. Of course
they could wait till the thousands sons were sitting before their god. The door
obediently swung inwards on well oiled changes. To reveal a massive ornate chamber
so big it was almost a cavern. The center of the chamber was broken by a row of
immense supports in effect making three rooms. Obviously this room was a staging
area because of the door on the other side of the field-sized room there was a
door equal to the dimensions of this chamber. Probably big enough to drive a land
raider through with room to spare.
Of course he was a little too awestruck to worry about his surroundings. Sitting
in the center of the chamber was the embodiment of a nightmare. Whatever mind
had spawned the idea for it was insane. Let alone the one who allowed it to be
built it. The dreadnought sitting there was more like a daemon or hive tyrant
than what one would expect a marine to rest in. For starters the thing was at
least a third bigger than any other dreadnought he had ever seen. From somewhere
the thing had acquired another set of arms, almost as though another dread had
been melded with this one. It had two arms ending in lethal powerfists. On one
arm were warped versions of heavy bolters sitting side by side. Ready to spray
the field with so much ammo that missing was nearly impossible. The other arm
wasn’t going to win any g rating either. A plasma cannon sat there, its dragon
hooded opening seeming like the gates of hell. Then almost as an after though
were the fingerprints of Tzeentch. Hundreds of runes dedicated to IT.
The changer of way.
As soon as it saw him it begin to bellow in an insane need to close the distance
between then. It was eager to kill him. Eager to spill his blood. And if it could
not have him it would rend him apart with its weapons. Thankfully not even the
worshippers of chaos were insane enough to allow this thing to wander lose. This
chamber was chosen for its columns. They bore the chains of this dreadnought enslavement.
Literal chains that kept its weapons pointed away from itself and anyone else
in this chamber. Though the way it was bound was odd. Its body was bound an angled
upwards as well. Why?
But just when things seemed to be going better, after all he’d found a chamber
to meet the thousand sons. The dreadnought was helpless and his enemies were as
good as dead. Except that’s when everything started going wrong. The Thousand
Sons arrived ahead of schedule. The fools didn’t even bother aiming at him. They
just sprayed the open door way with bolter fire. The moment he heard their heavy
footsteps he was moving. Away from the back lighting where they could easy riddle
him with bolter rounds. If he had a second to consider his options or a moment
of foresight he wouldn’t have moved, trusting his armor to deflect the bolter
rounds. The rounds ripped across the void. Each on it’s own trajectory.
Most impacted harmlessly upon the dreadnought’s body. Others blessedly missed
even that massive target. One though was a disaster. It hit and bit deeply into
the metal it found. Not armored dreadnought body. Or even some sort of bit upon
a wall. It hit chain. Already stressed from holding the dreadnought the small
fracture the bolt caused was terrifyingly effective. The chain gave. Not much
but more than enough for the dreadnought to grasp the chains of its prison and
rip itself free.
The first thing that he had said from entering this accursed nest of chaos was
lost among the insane bellowing, ripping of metal, and bolter fire. Just as well.
Winning the title of most vulgar swearer from the Last Chancers wasn’t high on
his priority list. Already the hum of a plasma cannon readying it self to fire
and the clanking of bolter rounds being chambered echoed through the room. The
green flash as the plasma energies ripped across made things look almost demonic
even before the rapid bursts of light from the heavy bolter began.
It was almost ironic. The thing had been gifted it’s freedom from it’s metallic
prison and now gifted them freedom from theirs. The bolter fire ripped one to
pieces. Another meet death as a burst of star fire made him little more than a
melted pool of metal. Its rage passing it now realized there was better prey to
be had than its fellow Tzeentch followers. Of course by that point he was already
among the pillars looking for a way to deal with this thing.
Side by side his enemies advanced. United in their mutual desire to kill him.
Already the plasma cannon charged red to fire. The blast of inferno strength fire
ripped across the chamber. Even as it hit the pillar it became clear that it wasn’t
a safe haven. The fire flowed around the chamber eager to find him. He managed
to avoid it by racing to the next. Thankfully the thing’s bolters along with it’s
brethren couldn’t see him. Of course yet again things went from bad to worse.
Instead of the insane braying it begin to "chant", well if screaming like that
can be considered chanting.
Within seconds a bight orb appeared before the abominations sarcophagus flickering
and growing as the metal monstrosity chanted. Each word brought it to whatever
goal it was attempting. With only a sudden hiss it lashed out across the chamber.
Twisting and turning like a bolt of lightening. It didn’t even seem to impact
the pillar before him. Instead it seemed to slice through it the way a light cuts
through shadow. What kind of idiot puts a psycher into a dreadnought?!?!
Oddly his blade seemed eager to rush and kill then. In fact the weapon was showing
a new trick again. The unearthly red glow his weapon already showed was expanding.
Playing across it like a halo of light. This new found halo reminded him of nothing
so much as a sparkler from his childhood. Except the sparkler didn’t send a charge
of pure energy up his arm. Invigorating him for combat. Except there was something
new as well.
And then he was acting without thought. He was leaping towards the enemy. Far
from where he could kill them with his blade. Or at least until today. Without
thought he raised the weapon level to the dreadnought as the thing charged it
weapons angling for the killing shots. It became a brief second of who would fire
first or second. He won even as the Thousands Sons made a close second. A blast
of sheering warp energy ripped across the dreadnought not so much as shredding
metal as pulling it apart and scattering it to the warp. Briefly the abomination
staggered before it weapons over loaded, causing it to explode in an intense fireball.
Shrapnel from this decimated the walking tin can. Ensuring that he was the only
living thing in the chamber.
Well this was an interesting diversion but the daemon still waits.
After making certain that the imprisoned psyker had met his god he was off. Already
his armor was repairing the damage the chaos things had done to it. The burnt
and partially melted sections damaged by that accursed dreadnought reforming itself
into the shape it had held for several millennium. Even as he moved he could feel
a piece of the armor shifting its self into a throwing knife completing the set
once more. The eleven of them resting against his body, all within easy reach.
Each bearing the mark of Malal. Each utterly dedicated to taking chaos life.
The chips in the black paint from their bolter fire were already returning to
the black of Malal eagerly burying the blue from a lifetime ago. A time of loyal
service to something he no longer believed in. Unlike the others here he did not
hate the emperor. Or anything else other than the chaos gods and their followers.
When he had begun this quest of vengeance he had thought one day he would return
to those beliefs. Now that was impossible. Though the chapter he was avenging
had survived he was no longer able to return with out certain death. The stigma
of chaos was upon him. Of course both were small prices to pay. The death of the
countless chaos warriors was payment enough for the losses he had suffered. Now
it was merely a matter of having no where to go other than places likes this and
continue to earn the favor of his patron. Something that had little interest for
him. He would have sought chaos scum out even if he had not served Malal. Of course
serving Malal had its benefits. Like the weapons he now had.
Only one disappointment remained. He had not yet killed the abomination that had
killed his true brethren while he was helpless to stop him and his dammed followers.
That was when Malal had called to him, broken bleeding about to die Malal had
offered him vengeance. Not merely upon those present but upon the gods of chaos
themselves. And he took it.
Enough of this trip down memory lane! There was chaos scum here. Perhaps he would
even find that thing someday. Now he had a demon prince to inflict Malal’s judgment
upon.
And with that he was moving down the wing. Eager to finally deal with this menace
once and for all.
The moment he entered the immense undivided section it became clear there was
a problem with dragging the base into total warfare. While it did make a convenient
battle to avoid detection in if also offered new problems. Mainly the fact that
hundreds of armed chaos warriors were looking for each other. And finding each
other. Every where there was chaos warriors in conflict or the marks that the
battle had came and passed. Though they were sure to have slaughtered hundreds
of there own it was clear that this level of conflict would make it hard to escape
once again.
Where were their leaders? By now they should be acting to stop this! Chaos flew
as close to a banner of unity as the followers of chaos would ever know. This
sort of mindless slaughter was what the leaders of these masses were suppose to
stop. Where were they? This had moved past diversion and into danger to all concerned.
So far none of the champions he had seen were worthy of leading more than a handful
of squads. Where were the warlords?
And that was the last conscious though he had for quite a while as he moved into
this wandering battle. Later when he thought back to it he wouldn’t have any clue
to how many chaos marines died by his hand. All that he remembered of the battle
were flashes of the combats….
…Leaping from a side hall after a Khorne dreadnought had stepped past using his
sword to destroy both of it’s knees and them leaping to the things back to drive
his blade into the unholy abomination to ensure the destruction of the pilot….
…Stomping dozens of nurglings underfoot when he lost his grip upon his from their
slimes…
…Joining mass combats between the different chaos cults slaughtering them all…
Always though he was moving towards his prey. Nothing that challenged him survived.
At last he was with in striking distance of his prey. The thing was in the chamber
beyond. Even as he stepped through the doorway he could see it. And it couldn’t
see him. The chamber was almost like a lobby. Two doors on either side of one
wall opened to a large waiting are type place. In the center of the opposite wall
was an ornate staircase. Only the center of the room was illuminated from a pair
of windows high up the wall.
The blue sunlight spelling through the window revealed his prey. An abomination
against creation and perhaps the most disgusting creature chaos had spawned since
Horus. A demon prince of any chaos god is bad enough. Let alone this thing, it
bore the blessings of all of them. It towering height was to be expected from
a daemon prince. That and the wings were the only "normal" things about it.
Covering the thing’s body was bright shifting armor. Each second the flowing colors
flexed and moved. Each insanely bright color showed for a mere second before being
covered by another. The constant lapping at one another, almost like a tide, confused
the eye and tried to draw your attention into it. Either mesmerizing its victims
or evoking headaches. Just to look upon this robe like garment was enough to know
it was far more protective than it seemed. Where it came from was obvious too.
Slaneesh. Oddly it seemed almost inoffensive compared to the prince of chaos’s
usual toys.
In its left hand it carried an axe so immense that it would have toppled a marine
in power amour from its weight. Giant crescent shaped and coated in blood it was
clear the thing was an awesome weapon. One that would carve through flesh and
bone, or for that matter armor, without effort. The hand holding it was red unlike
the brown of the rest of its body. Whether blood or flesh he had no clue. If the
axe its self wasn’t clue enough of where it came from, the blade its self bore
Khorne’s sacred runes. Almost tastefully the only runes inscribed on it were marks
of Khorne’s and no trace of the usual curses against his rivals.
The other hand was also clutched around a weapon of favor. Though not a weapon
as such it was no less lethal. Though this hand was not discolored it did bear
boils and warts. In fact seeing the brown flesh under the pestles was nearly impossible.
The source of the affliction was without doubt the sign of Nurgle’s endorsement.
A club like object shaped into a sorcerous weapon. Though the material of it construction
was a mystery of chaos the end of the thing had been sharpened into a blade. Covering
the weapon was mold. Probably another sign of chaos’s newfound unity.
Tzeentch had not been idle when this thing had been made. In fact his gift was
the most pronounced. Clutched to the daemon’s stomach by a pair of grubby little
arms was a book. Not any book but a grimorium. The arms appeared helpless because
they were scrawny stick-like things, unlike the massively muscled weapon arms.
The only obvious flaw with this gift was the fact that the monster would have
to look down to see the book had been dealt with. Upon its chin was an extra set
of eyes. Placed so that the creature could read without looking away from its
victims. A major advantage during combat. Of course it also prevented something
from hiding right under its nose too.
Even its voice showed its combined nature. As it spoke to the handful of chaos
warriors present its voice bore subtones like the added power that followers dedicated
to one god often displayed. Though a little trait it showed that this thing was
not the work of the usual chaos alliance. It was the embodiment of unity among
the chaos gods. It could not be tolerated. Would not be. Either by Malal or him.
Rather than rush forward to challenge the thing he slipped into the shadows of
the chamber to see what the abomination was doing.
"Mighty Lord of chaos the Slaneesh marines are raiding the undivided followers
of chaos!"
"The Thousand Sons are desecrating Father Nurgle’s artifacts!"
"The World Eaters are attacking the hall of Slaneesh"
"Plague Marines have despoiled the wells and are attacking the food stores!"
"Iron Warriors are seizing the armory!"
Each of these desperate pleas came in almost the same moment from a different
aspiring champion dedicated to rival powers. Neither he nor it suffered any difficulty
in deciphering the gibberish. Each seemed to be announcing what was moving against
their brethren. The daemon excepted each bit of news before responding.
"Allow the armory to fall. The Warriors undoubted act to preserve their weapons.
Even if they desire thievery they can not hold the weapons long," It’s corrupt
logic showed easily through. If the Iron Warriors abandoned those devices they
would be stripped for parts and ammunition.
Even so it continued its orders as the first of the champions began to sprint
to deliver its orders, "Order the Khorne warriors to recall from their offensive.
Tell them that the Malal champion has returned to their halls. His skull should
be motivation enough for them to return at once. If they stop to worry about the
Daemonettes and Fiends inform them that I have ordered Slaneesh not to allow them
to be followed." Again the things stupidity showed. The Khorne warriors would
summon more flesh hounds, if they hadn’t already, which would rapidly prove that
he hadn’t returned. Then what would they do?
"Have the Slaneesh worshipers returned to their hall with their new toys? Then
retrieve the Black Legion and move them to intercept the Emperor’s Children should
they return. Confronted with an army they will retire to break their new friends,"
Emperor’s Children run form a good fight? Especially if the noise marines were
present? How did this thing make it to daemon hood let alone some sort of Avatar
of Chaos?
Quickly it dispatched orders regarding the other disasters. Each one more ludicrous
than the one before. Still it might be a symbol instead of a leader but at the
very least it would be a lethal enemy. At the moment it seemed little more than
a stressed out accountant. Already the last of the messengers ran to carry the
thing's orders. Still the question of where were the true leaders of this hoard
lingered. Why were aspiring champions trying to restore order instead of the true
lords? This thing didn’t have a chance at restoring order. From its posture it
seemed to want an enemy at hand to battle. Unfortunately he would grant it that
respite before an eternity of --- "Do you have an idea the trouble you’ve caused
me?"
Instantly his hand completed the slight journey to the hilt of his blade. Unwilling
to draw it for the otherworldly light of the runes would reveal him for sure.
The creature might be mistaken about his presence, challenging shadows. "Do you
think those pathetic shadows conceal you from me? Even if I was that blind I could
smell the stink of Malal upon you. And that does include your precious little
trophies," It made this declaration as it’s head firmly locked in place staring
at him.
Stealth blown he abandoned the ghost of a chance the thing was bluffing by unsheathing
his weapon. Instantly the faint red light illuminated him to his prey as he strode
from the shadows without hesitation. It was favorably to battle the thing in a
time of his choosing. That option gone he would not run from it. Of course to
try was probably suicide. Escaping the daemon would not be easy. From Malal would
be impossible. Neither of these thoughts occurred to him though. Hatred, disgust,
and an eagerness for battle were reason enough to challenge the thing.
"I understand you Malal warriors prefer to take the mightiest chaos champions
you can find. In that case I have a gift for you. Or perhaps to them," even as
it spoke it brought its larger hands forward. There wasn’t time to do anything
before the hands met in front of the thing’s body. Despite the weapons still clutched
in its fingers the resulting clap was impressive. Already his sword was between
him and it in case this was some sort of attack. What did happen came as quite
a surprise.
An echoing laughter sounded for the briefest moment before the windows shattered.
The glittering fragments fell inward to impact on the floor. Followed by things
that didn’t fall. Quickly moving into the chamber was the source of the laughter.
Wrapped in a mass of flailing tendrils of ripped cloth, that had once probably
been a robe, clutching a scythe it laughed on. As though some one had told it
the universe’s funniest joke. Except the laughter issued from the thing wasn’t
of humor. It was a mocking challenge that sent shudders up the spine. It defied
gravity by aid of the disk of Tzeentch it rode upon. From the brief glance he
saw through the robes it wasn’t remotely human. Whether the ugly thing on the
front of its head was its face or a mask was a question that only a knife could
answer. Either way the scythe and the glowing balls of solidified warp fire weren’t
going to make thing easy. The only thing certain about the thing was that it’s
sanity had deserted it.
Its friend didn’t have any to spare either. Perched at the top of the windowsill
stood another of Chaos’s most exalted champion. This one bore the symbol of Chaos
undivided upon its chest and the matching mark on its brow. It joined laughing
boy in the chamber not by jumping down but by walking down the wall by the thick
unarmored green tentacles that its legs had become. Its armor was pale almost
as though the color had been leached from it. Whatever color it had been was impossible
to tell. Of course it picked up a lovely shade of blue when it activated its lightning
claws.
And they were not the only things to be entering the chamber. Both sets of doors
had been thrown open and more were entering. Both sets of doors issued forth three
more for a total of eight of the things. And yet more came. Another two were descending
the stairs. A total of eleven counting the daemon. Why eleven of all numbers?
Was that an intentional mockery? Or was it a sign? And for whom did it bode well
for?
All radiated an unnatural calm. Each moved with without haste or hint of eagerness.
They all seemingly possessed a great purpose.
"HIS SKULL WILL BE A GREAT PRIZE FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!"
Instantly he decided that whatever else happened that Khorne champion was going
to die. Shouldn’t be too hard. The axe the thing carried was stupidly big. A weapon
that big was easy to lose control of. Then again it was built like a weight lifter.
It might have the strength to control it. And it would be a devastating weapon
if it connected with flesh or even armor.
The giddy laughter announced that warrior beside it was stoned out of whatever
little mind it possessed. Tall and lithe it moved with a grace that bespoke a
speed that would be a nasty weapon. Even more oddly it was female and wearing
power armor. Was she a sister of battle? An interesting question but like many
of the others here it would have to be ignored. Maybe not a dangerous opponent
though. As the bloated Nurgle warrior drew her weapon she looked over and stared
at the light gleaming off the slime. Perhaps offering her a shiny coin would get
rid of her? Well till he was ready to kill her.
The Nurgle warriors might have been twins. Each waddled with the same step, their
bloated stomachs interfering with walking. Both carried their plague swords at
the same angle. In fact the only differences were the slime stains. Well that
and the fact that one was on one of the chamber and its look alike on the other.
Neither seemed exceptional. Still a cut from those swords wouldn’t be something
you’d mention on a life insurance application. Assuming you survived long enough
to even think about life let alone life insurance.
"I will take the pleasure center from his brain and add it to my own", Declared
the other Slaneeshi worshipper. He sounded decidedly with it. Then again an ideas
a gross as that had to have come from a warp mind and being one of Slaneesh's
children drugs were the likely culprit. Of course judging by the scars on the
side of its head it’d already tried it. If it worked that might explain the lack
of the drugs…
The two on the steps completed their journey to the floor side by side. Of course
it wasn’t a sight he expected to ever see again. A large Khorne warrior with a
pair of drawn matching axees, both sporting curses against Tzeentch walking beside
an emaciated Tzeentchian wizard. Neither seemed remarkable for their kind except
for the fact that both had drawn or readied their weapons and weren’t using them
on each other. Despite the fact that they were close enough to touch. The wizard’s
gold robes were even caught underfoot by the Khorne warrior who even politely
lifted his foot to allow the wizard to free himself. Of course the wizard probably
wasn’t as helpless as it looked. That staff, glowing with warp energies, was probably
as dangerous close up as it was from a distance.
The final warrior was probably more dangerous than he appeared. Unlikely to get
the kill, well more unlikely than the others, carried only an immense chain. The
purpose was clear though. It was a whip and a binding weapon. He was supposed
to disable him for the glory of the other. Made sense it wasn’t trying to earn
the glory of a patron.
With the last of the their number close enough to begin all the chaos warriors
went into motion. Knowing full well that rushing him enmass would be offering
him the chance to live they instead surrounded him. With in seconds they had formed
a circle around him. But they did not stop there. In perfect step they continue
to move keeping the same distance between each other and him. In well-practiced
unison they moved with steps that carried each the same distance. Rushing into
the circle would be foolish. No it wouldn’t. It’d be insane. It was their move,
which they took soon enough.
The daemon called, from the place where he was watching instead of joining, simply
called "One." The result was almost immediate. Without losing a step five of the
chaos warriors moved inwards. In perfect step they created a new circle, moving
in the opposite direction. Their plan was clear. A fight circle used to be certain
the enemy would not escape. The moving circles were merely to distract the victim.
A perfect way to earn the favor of your god in hand to hand against an enemy without
ranged weapons. Of course he had some. He just wasn’t ready to use them yet.
Rather than allowing them to decide his opponent he attacked the one he least
wanted this close to his back. Sparks and bits of mold slime ripped through the
air as the plague marine parried the blow. Already the nearest Khorne warrior,
his massive axee cutting the air was moving to aid his comrade. Briefly abandoning
the Nurgle warrior he moved his bade to intercept the blow. The impact shook the
blade so hard that for the first tine since drawing it the vibrations it was admitting
ceased. More likely it was his hand aching from the blow.
The Khorne Warrior seemed to have a similar problem. But by that time he wasn’t
able to exploit the opportunity, at least not yet. He had a plague sword to deal
with first. His blade was slipping from his fingers. At least only his left hand
was affected. That left some options. Rapidly he flipped his left hand and forced
the blade to at least fall tip first.
The right hand was busy throwing knives. Rather than a single knife or even two
he threw four. Good thing too. One slipped through his tingling finger to balance
across the stone floor with a loud clang. Of course it was nothing compared to
the noise the plague marine made when it hit the floor with two knifes sticking
for its body.
The clatter of approaching feet from behind and the cursing of the Khorne champion
ensured this victory was short lived. The Khorne champion was desperately trying
to get enough control of its fingers to retrieve its weapon. He didn’t even bother.
His right hand was moving to where its head meet its neck and kept moving even
after it got there. Already his knee was moving too. They nearly meet. And with
a satisfying resounding crack the champion was sent to meet his god.
Already the forces of chaos were moving closer. The female Slaneesh worshipper
was nearest. Two more where moving into the inner circle to make up for the fallen
champions. Now was time to press his advantage. Instantly his left hand was moving
for the daemon blade that was at convenient wrist level having had its tip bite
into the floor enough to support it. His right was chucking knives again. A single
attack this time. A dazed and confused Slaneesh worshipper didn’t merit more.
"Pretty", With surprising speed, even more than he had at first though, the thing
caught the knife. By the hilt, one handed no less. Now the thing was apparently
enthralled by it. Except that didn’t last as she returned the knife, at a high
rate of speed. Aside from the problem he didn’t want it back. Neither did the
Chaos Wizard when the thing hit his shoulder after missing him. The blade impacted
with such force that the hilt wasn’t even visible. Yet the wizard lived.
The amazement at this fact nearly induced a trance as the wizard began to rise
to his feet. The amazement at his survival faded quickly as the blade began to
shine from within flesh. Almost like the light from a flashlight held to fingers
was coming through the wizard. Thankfully as his fingers closed once more on his
weapons hilt the blades new found rage pulsed through him shattering the fascination
the wizard offered. Just in time. The Wall Crawler’s lightning claws almost ready
to carve him in half.
Briefly the blue energies of lightning claws clashed with the building red halo
of daemon steel as he blocked the lightning claws. Eagerly both pushed against
the other both seeking an advantage to end this. The undivided was content to
allow this match of strength continue until something intervened. Make that someone.
Like the rapidly approaching Slaneeshi Female. Except she stopped mid steep to
stare at the illuminated wizard who had begun to scream as the mark of Malal upon
the blade began to win.
Like wise the runes upon his blade were beginning to win. Abruptly the blade snapped
the claws and plowed into the flesh of the mutant marine. Even as his head rolled
across the floor what had happened was clear. Just as the blast of the blade had
banished parts of the nightmare dreadnought the red halo was acting once more.
Gradually the lightning claws were worn away until they couldn’t stand before
the weapon. Flesh and armor were even less of a challenge. Briefly he felt a moment
of joy which did not arise from him as the blade ripped free of the flesh, its
halo building.
Laughter echoed through the halls again as the Laughing Boy abandoned its low
chuckle and low hover in the same motion. Impressively illuminated as the Tzeentch
wizard meet his end with a flash as the fire raging internally made it externally
and reduced him to bone. Even as he blocked the creature's scythe strike he regretted
not blocking the disk instead. Its teeth ripping at his armor as the thing scratched
and attacked him. Didn’t achieve more than exposing some ancient blue paint but
it was annoying and strong enough to begin to off balance him. Rather than continue
this fight he side stepped allowing the things momentum to carry it past. Eagerly
it was spinning to reengage him its hand already grabbing one of those warp fire
orbs it turned.
Of course it flung it at the same time the Mad Doc and the other Nurgle worshipper
fired their ancient bolt pistols. For once getting shot was a good thing. The
sledgehammer like blows on his unprepared back knocked him forward out from under
the blast of warp fire. On the plus side he finally decided what the flying freak
reminded him of: a goblin.
Once more the daemon prince spoke this time to simply say, "Two", of course this
revealed their strategy. Though with most of the first group dead it didn’t really
matter. Though Laughing Boy returned to a low hover and thankfully a low chuckle.
Though that was balanced by the immense chains that the surviving undivided champion
lashed out at him. Already they were wrapping around his legs and arms. Each one
binding into him in an attempt to capture him. He did succeed briefly. However
the daemon blade became a spanner into yet another plan. Snapping chain links
as though they were of grass rather than enchanted steel. The resulting scream
took him by complete surprise as the champion fell to the floor. Almost as though
he had cut the… yeah. Chain and champion were one and the same. The chains even
bled red blood onto the floor. And not just a dribble either. A few seconds later
the floor had a great deal of that champion’s blood on the floor. Though the new
large sword shaped chest wound might have contributed to that puddle.
Of course the daemon worshippers where moving to get him. Namely the surviving
Khorne and Nurgle warriors. One was coming from each side. Both eager for combat.
Of course both are on completely opposite sides of him. Again he was confronted
with the decision of which he wanted behind him least. Again the Nurgle worshipper
won. Or is that lost as he spun to deal with it. This one’s plague sword wasn’t
even a match to clash with this his sword. Then again the newfound hungry red
energy did make it easier to deal with. This time the weapon didn’t even slow
the blade.
And he was rewarded with a vicious shoulder slash that cut almost to the bone.
The reason it wasn’t fatal was because he moved to avoid the deathblow. Well that
and the usual lousy quality of Axes of Khorne. The Khorne Warrior moved forward
eager to add his skull to his tally. The plague marine was moving too. Despite
losing most of his sword the thing still had enough to be dangerous. The thing
didn’t even seem to care that it lived only because of the Khorne lackey’s intervention.
Already the mad doc was moving to join the fun.
Its reductor moving with unnatural life the former apothecary moved to challenge
him. It didn’t survive the attempt. Even though his weapon of choice stopped the
blade the liquid like flowing halo was much more agile. The blade to was showing
the same sensation of growth. Not physically like the ever-expanding halo of energy
but instead with a vigorous sensation of rage. Though only a shadow of what he
felt it was as eager for their deaths as he was.
Ignoring the burning fire across his shoulder he moved to challenge the following
chaos scum. Even as Laughing Boy moved to block an escape he hadn’t even considered
he turned to accept the challenge of these chaos fools. The Khorne warrior moved
past the waddling Nurgle thing. So intent on the approaching bloodstained Berzerker
the ball of warp fire went unnoticed until the last moment before it impacted
him. Much too late to do anything about it though. The moment it touched him the
crystal like orb shattered into a blast of green energies. Before they could attempt
to burn they were gone
More powerful than a powerfist it sent him sprawling across the floor. The burning
sensation across his shoulder disappeared into a massive screaming bruise. The
laughter that echoed through the hall announced who had just found a new joke.
The red thing of Khorne raced forward to take advantage of his predicament.
"Not even Malal can stand before for Khorne let alone all of Chaos," came from
above his head as the Khorne thing declared as it brought its axe down for another
attempt at a killing blow. What happened though was its own fault. It inspired
him.
Despite the rough ride he had managed to retain his sword. Rather than lashing
out at the source of the voice he aimed low. The Blade severed the ankles of his
enemy. The magic claimed everything from the knees down. Already the still living
chaos warrior fell down to the floor. Unfortunately for the chaos warrior he landed
on the weapon. The halo seemed to deeply enjoy his body leaving only scraps.
He rose quickly ignoring the pain as the Nurgle snail arrived. Plague sword hilt
clutched firmly in its fingers. With suck a pathetic weapon it didn’t last. Especially
with the blade attracting a bigger and bigger halo. Now it seemed like it wanted
to be a beacon for the entire castle. It was a miracle the weapon’s newfound power
extended only from halfway up the blade and didn’t seem affected by gravity. Otherwise
he would have lost his wrists by now.
The surviving two had to have been insane. With their comrades all dead by an
increasing power which they didn’t even have a clue how to defeat they attack.
A third ball of warp fire hurled across the chamber. With the element of surprise
lost, it wasn’t a frightening weapon. He brought the blade up to shatter the weapon
and trust the blade’s magic to neutralize the magic the orb meet the halo. And
was gone. Puff.
Already the orb’s owner was moving forward. Not being dumb enough to enter sword
range it came at a height sufficient to avoid the blade. The former sister wasn’t
quite so intelligent. Her talon like fingers tying for a blinding blow as she
struck his helmet with surprising force. With the damage the thing had taken from
the warp fire it was more than it could bear. Even as the steel shattered from
it’s moorings even damaging the delicate lens. Nearly blinding his left eye with
a bizarre pattern of fractures.
Thankfully the reaction from the attack brought the blade near enough for it to
end her chaos stricken life. The goblin offered a different problem. The knives
weren’t flight worthy for that far of a distance. The sword wasn’t worthy for
half that. Regrettable there was only one solution.
Even as he leveled the blade like a cannon at the approaching Tzeentch scum. Once
more the halo lashed out. This time not as some sort of flowing main but instead
as a tight concentrated beam. Like the Tzeentch dreadnought it scattered him to
the warp. Though one he came… Or at least his feet did, still riding the gift
of his god. Almost as an after thought he went for the smaller crystal in his
pocket. A quick slash with the daemon sword, its halo once more a feeble glow,
and a brief motion with his hand and the feet finished their trip to the floor
alone.
Taking the probable seconds he ripped the damaged helmet from his head. Knowing
that he would need no liabilities to best the daemon prince. Even as he completed
this desperate motion he almost went to the floor in agony. The searing pain from
the slash across shoulder and the massive blast across the rest of his body were
suddenly a lot less ignoble. Away from the heat of battle they were telling him
exactly how bad they were. Throw in the maddening itch of the healing and you
had a screaming desire to find a Slaashie worshipper’s stash.
"Quite remarkable. I didn’t think you had it in you," declared the thing in it
bizarrely accented tones as it stepped forward. "How did you manage to successfully
deal with so many of chaos finest champions?"
Each step brought it closer to him. He wasn’t willing to advance to it. Standing
was enough of a challenge. He wouldn’t have to anyway. Each of its steps was resulting
in a clap of a great weight and a rapid clinching of talons across stone. The
sounds weren’t encouraging.
"You have potential. You could have been a mighty champion of chaos. Perhaps you
could have mastered the gods of chaos as I have and become their master as well."
Master the chaos gods? What is wrong with this guy, stupid and ignorant?
Or just stupid and insane? "Yet you have not even mastered the Outcast of Chaos."
Only because Malal didn’t allow such stupid champions to live.
"Though you could be useful to me. After all you slaughtered all my generals.
"Consider what chaos is. A warp disturbance with nothing beyond a few pathetic
warp enties. Each more pathetic than the last. A bloodthirsty lunatic. A pathetic
demented schemer. A being dedicated to living vicariously through his followers.
And one who favors decaying rotting warriors. And they are the most powerful things
chaos has to offer. Those gods bow before me and offer these weapons to lead their
worthless followers. Only because I refused to be bound by their whims." And that
explains his mission. "Imagine what will happen when I turn upon them."
"Reject Malal and embrace true Chaos. Become a champion Undivided. The power I
offer you is beyond the pittance Malal will ever offer you. At my side you will
be a king. You will be my enforcer and none shall be your equal. None shall be
your master save me. Any you desire will sate your bloodlust. The number of corpses
in your wake will be beyond whatever fantasy strikes you limited vision. In time
you might even become mighty enough to deal the death blow to the gods of chaos
themselves. I can see it tempts you. Within Malal’s ranks you are nothing but
a pawn. An attack dog." A nice fantasy but nothing more. It does show its insanity…
It thinks it’s a god.
"What do you say?" When he didn’t answer it became agitated. Not agitated, enraged.
"What is wrong with you? Did Malal rip your tongue from your head?"
"Malal has chosen your fate well." And with that he was running towards it. Crippling
pain cast off like a coat on a warm day. The daemon responded in with a wild charge,
wings flapping like sails. Weapons raised for battle. All evidence of any humanity
of intelligence vanished from its visage.
They met in the center of the chamber, sparks flying as their weapons clashed
in a lethal battle for dominance. Though physical combat wasn’t his first choice
with the blade’s power exhausted it was his only option. And not a good one as
he discover the thing out powered him. And the thing was only using one hand.
He was toying with him!
A fist reached through his defense to hit him with the force of a freight train.
Even as he rolled to avoid the immense foot that came down seeking to crush his
ribs it became clear he needed a new plan. Fast. And a new weapon, his blade was
on the other side of that foot.
Quickly he tried to rise to his feet to challenge it. Hands moving for the daggers.
They made it and proved them selves pointless. Their tips bounced off the thing’s
hide like hail off a Land Raider. The laugh they earned wasn’t reassuring. The
thing’s counter attack wasn’t helpful either. It was only luck that he was on
this side of it the abomination. If he had been on the other the Axe of Khorne
would have carved him in two. As it was the staff impacted upon his chest knocking
him across the chamber like a rag doll. Thankfully the thing didn’t break his
flesh. That was a guaranteed death sentence. As it was it contented its self with
cracking his armor.
Even as the world returned from a dark place with the thing much closer. Only
pain and rage kept him from vomiting. Even as the thing approached he had no fear.
Enough pain to make up for it though. Mockingly it kicked his blade as though
it wasn’t worthy of its acknowledgment. Or perhaps it was a challenge. Or a final
insult that he wasn’t able to defend himself.
Nope. That bolt of purple light it just launched with that book held that honor.
Barely aimed, not even enough to char the floor where it was impacted.
With a great leap it launched it self into the air towards him. Weapons barred
for the final moments of battle. No other weapons left. One try before it killed
him.
With a sputtering cough that added blood to the mess he rose as far as he wanted.
Good thing his body agreed that his knees were as far as he was going. The thing
landed in front of him laughing at the sputtering cough and wheezing that seemed
to be all his victim had left. Mockingly it stooped down to raise his face towards
it.
"Bet you want to reconsider, huh? It can’t be. That defiance is so familiar. How
do I know you ", Why are chaos followers so merry? That insane laughter grates
on the ears. "Oh yes you were on Aurtex Four weren’t you. I remember you broken
bleeding swearing vengeance against me. On the cusp of life and death and you
threatened ME." Once more it fell into to a fit of laughter. "How things repeat
themselves. Once you were a mere marine fighting a lord of chaos. Now you are
a Malal dog without a lick of sense challenging the master of chaos. Interesting
how things repeat themselves. I don’t think I’m going to let you live this time.
Thank you for this amusement."
It was already bringing its weapons up for the deathblow. That was the moment
he was waiting for. Casting the pain off once more he stuck, not with a blade
or his nearby sword. Instead with his fist and the weapon on it. Another different
rune of Malal. Charged with his will it bit deep into the daemon’s thigh.
He could almost sense the link open in the daemon’s body offering Malal a gateway
into the thing’s body. A gateway Malal used. Not to empower but to attack. Already
the thing was screaming as it tried to seal the link. Screaming it staggered back
completely forgetting him. He didn’t return the favor. Already he had risen to
his feet sword in hand. The Mark wouldn’t last long upon such unwilling flesh
and he was eager to strike while the thing was vulnerable.
And strike he did. With his usual unnatural calm he struck. It didn’t even seem
to notice as its Axe of Khorne fell along with the hand to the floor. However
the mark was losing it power. The easy solution was to gift it another. So he
did. Right upon its chest where its heart would be if it were mortal. The effect
was so gratifying he added a third to its forehead as it sunk to its knees. The
book its small arms carried joined the axe with Nurgle’s staff joining them shortly.
It was already over as the blade sank deeply into the things flesh. Flesh and
what passed for bone inside its body parted company. Already the things outline
wavered as it began to flee the mortal plane. It didn’t make it. Already the largest
crystal was firmly in the wound. Screaming in terror rather than pain it was pulled
into the prison. Desperately it exploited every trick of magic it knew to stay
free. The resulting light show was spectacular as bolts of every color of the
rainbow struck at the crystal. Each merely jumped into the crystal. Each was in
vain. Nothing stopped the creature’s descent.
He hit the floor almost as soon as the crystal did. Like a puppet with its strings
cut he fell. With the driving purpose that enabled him to ignore his wounds gone
the pain was almost unbearable. Even as the crystal bounced upon the floor, making
a beautiful resonating sound he impacted the floor with an ungainly flop. Instantly
darkness formed around the edges of his vision that threatened to overwhelm him.
Not a good idea to let it win. More messengers would undoubtedly be arriving soon.
Dying to a lowly runner wasn’t the end he had in mind for all the centuries of
loyal service he had put to either the Emperor or Malal. Then again the two might
cancel each other out.
Either way he needed a distraction to avoid the danger. Thankfully the daemon
had lost a few toys before his incarceration. Defiling them would be a welcome
pleasure. Already he was reaching for the near by axe of Khorne. Though unable
to stand to get it he was able to pull it to him.
The axe lay where it had fallen. The hand that he had taken off the daemon was
gone. Weather it had evaporated, retreated to the warp, been seized by the crystal,
or scampered off into this place to regrow was a mystery. Not a pleasant one either.
Even as he touched the hell steel he could feel its revulsion to him. Sentiments
he echoed about it.
Even as he pulled the head of the axe closer to where he could see it the marks
of Khorne’s favor began to glow with a dark blood red light. A sign of its eagerness
to kill him. An impotent gesture as he pulled it to where he wanted it. Already
he had drawn another dagger. The axe was a simple weapon by comparison to other
such weapons. A single rune linked it to the warp and through that to Khorne’s
favor and power. Almost like a battery the runes powered the blade that did its
lethal work. The moment he destroyed the empowering rune the axe became a giant
paperweight. Judging by the resounding scream that seemed to emanate from the
blade Khorne was less than pleased.
With the maddening sounds of bone knitting and armor reforming accompanying him
he seized the not so close staff. Though not the simplistic weapon of Khorne it
too was vunderable. Instead of attacking it he merely set it upon his blade. Within
seconds it was involved in a raging fire as the runes of Malal attacked a hated
enemy. Already the staff blackened and shrunk as the flames sterilized the germs
that it was constructed from.
Of course while that was going on he had seized the remnants of the armor robe
that the thing had been wearing. Though it had failed to protect the daemon, because
he had refused to stare into it and be lost, it was still a valuable device. Ripping
the silk like substance wasn’t much of a solution. Instead of making one chaos
scum more powerful it would aid a dozen. And the flames weren’t having much of
an effect on it either. Thankfully there’s always a solution. He scrawled a blessing
of Malal in blood. His blood. Instantly it was a dark husk of crumbling fabric
as Slaneesh abandoned it, deciding it wasn’t worth preserving.
The moments that it had taken to destroy those toys had been enough for him to
recover enough to rise to his feet. Though still the internal repairs went on
they weren’t a crippling inconvenience, or maybe the cause of retrieving and destroying
Tzeentch’s gift to the thing was enough to ignore the pain. Either way he picked
up the daemon blade once again and readied it to deal with this. Rather than even
touch the accursed book he simply drove the blade into it. There were no problems
as the blade passed through the book’s cover. Or even its front pages. However
abruptly near the end of it the bright and eager runes went black without warning.
Fearful of some hidden trap he with drew the blade. Fearful of losing his favored
weapon. The moment the blade withdrew from the book’s pages the runes glow returned
undiminished. The moment it reentered the book the blade again seized up. There
was nothing to suggest that the blade was meeting resistance from an external
source. Oddly there was no burn mark upon the book or scattering to the warp.
It was almost as though Malal did not want the thing destroyed.
Curiosity alone drove him to open the book. Page upon page were dedicated to foul
and corrupt rituals of Tzeentch. The blade had sliced through these without resistance.
All were scored by the rage of the blade. But the ones in back were different.
The blade had not even pierced them. Each looked as though they had been seized
from a different book and placed there. Some were covered with biological fluids
of the sort you would find left over from a Slaneesh party. Others dripped with
blood. Some oozed slime one would expect to find on plague victims. The remaining
pages glistened and sparkled with warped power.
And that wasn’t the most unusual part of the book. Each page had a single word
or name scrawled across the top of it. Each name was either an imperial planet
or the name of a Space Marine Chapter. Beneath it were hundreds of smaller names.
Many complete with titles and some sort of marking, probably demoting rank or
something.
Overall the evidence of which god each page belonged to was unmistakable. The
question was why was this thing in existence. What purpose could such a thing
serve? …Unless they were the names of cultists... A resource network hidden inside
the boundaries of the imperium. Hundreds of cultists ready to support a Black
Crusade against holy terra itself. Judging by the numbers of cultist the inquisitors
had failed miserably. Though who knew this might actually be better than it might
be---- What?! Names were still forming and fading away! This wasn’t just a list!
It was rocall, a roster, and ranking list. And now it was a map to one of the
biggest setbacks chaos was going to ever have.
The agonizing healing finally complete he was moving. First retrieving his sword
and grabbing his next mission guide. Then he had the unique privilege of reaching
down and grabbing the crystal imprisoning the daemon prince. Unlike the other
daemons this one had enough power to try to escape. Of course what it had wasn’t
near enough. The crystal reflected this battle by the tiny spark that was the
core of the daemon’s mind. From it came cords of power that tried to free itself.
It was like blowing into a hurricane, pointless and a waste of energy. It was
still trying when he slipped it into his pocket. Well it had nothing to lose and
everything to gain.
Even as he transversed the room admiring the carnage he had wrought, which looked
like a hyperactive child had gotten hold of a collection of bizarre dolls, a couple
cans of red and green paint and a sharp hatchet, he could sense the portal forming.
A hole in material space from which the warp beckoned. A blue halo of light forming
around a twisting dark rent in the universe. Looking onto it appeared to be ready
to devour anything into an eternal void. Who in their right mind would willing
enter such a thing? Well other than him.
Entering the portal was either a sign of trust to Malal, who if he let you exit
the portal instead of floating in the warp forever could ensure you exited in
a dozen pieces, if he was displeased with you. Assuming you didn’t get ripped
apart by entering the portal wrong and touching the blue halo. Thankfully he didn’t
screw up or anger Malal. After what seemed to be a few seconds of darkness… not
so much darkness as an absolute absence of light he exited the portal in front
of the great doors to Malal’s temple.
Only his gift of speed and luck prevented an ungainly flop upon the bed of force
on which the temple set. Suspended in space and beyond time the temple was majestic.
Towering into space there was nothing to indicate the size of the place. There
were no stars, no planet, and not even the turbulent storm of the warp. As though
it had been built inside of a cloud that blocked light yet had no other function.
It simply was. Looking upon it you felt like an ant before a tank. And feeling
the icy stare from what felt like the temple its self. The looming gray stone
seemed to cast disapproval on all you would enter.
Eager to escape its icy gaze he moved forward, ignoring the hissing and sparking
of the immaterial ground met the chaos blood dripping from his armor and dirt
from the hell world for his boots. Almost as though cast into electrically charged
plasma they seized to exist. The sparks continued as he began the climb up the
steps to the entrance. Though the steps sought the chaos tainted material with
less eagerness the results were no less interesting.
Safely inside the alcove with the door he, where the stare failed to penetrate,
he paused to enjoy the artwork that sprawled up the walls seemingly forever. Each
was a masterpiece worthy of a museum. Few had ever had the opportunity to see
them longer than a few scant seconds for more than a few seconds as they were
dragged past had. Only the elite of Malal had more than a single chance to see
them. Few had paused to enjoy them.
Today he desired only to see his favorite. Though carved onto the door it was
unmarred by the door’s cracks. The door and carving where centered on the vile
eight-pointed star of chaos. Representations of each of the four main enemies
of Malal where carved in the center of the star. All around them where figures
that could only be Disgusting Four’s daemons and their mortal followers. Many
where just crude images to represent the masses but some where incredibly detailed
carvings, each of these spoke volumes. Of course all were obviously terrified.
As they should be. The crocodilian jaws of Malal had seized the entire star. Already
the top and bottom points were snapped off. The two surrounding those on both
top and bottom were bending or developing cracks, about to give. And his favorite
part: one of top bending spines had managed to slice the flesh of the True Chaos
God. His blood dripped down upon the chaos followers melting, or was it dissolving(?),
them. Those unfortunate to be near where the mighty fangs rested had problems
beyond the threat posed by the acidic blood. Warriors of Malal descended the fangs
to slay those who did not flee Malal’s might. Dozens of figures descending each
wearing a different aspect of Malal. Each slaying chaos scum. And those were the
lucky ones. Behind the armored might of Malal came the tallymen. Some seemed simply
to be recording the fallen in scrolls. Other were dragging caged minions back
towards Malal’ mouth, doomed to lament their defeat for all time.
The carving was a prophecy as well for every few minutes changes took place. Figures
on all sides fell, broken and bleeding. Cages flung to the maul of Malal were
swallowed, never to be seen again. Figures grew and shrunk as they sprouted mutation.
New ones appeared. As chaos grew and shrunk so did the carving. Prophecy? A representation
of the balance of power? If so chaos was going to have a bad time. Never before
had there been so many Malal champions at the throat of chaos. How long till they
ripped it out? What a time to be alive.
Re-energized with fresh purpose he moved to enter the holy temple. Knowing his
intent the immense carving of Malal’s jaws abandoned the star of chaos and swung
open. In the same instant a crack split the star as the door opened and swung
inwards. Only the odd light from witchfire glowed in the darkness within. As always
he was aware of movement in the carved jaws as he stepped into the temple. Without
doubt it was debating allowing him to enter. Though only a metaphor he was sure
if those jaws fell while he entered he would not survive. The others had not.
Yet another way Malal demanded you loyalty. Each time you reentered you re-swore
your alliance merely by entering. Failure to do so was death.
He wasn’t alone in the temple. Not even in this room. Two fellow warriors looked
upon in as he entered. A stylized knight bearing the mark of Malal as a badge
of honor looked upon him with mere curiosity. The other a beast of a man… or perhaps
a beast that had become a man looked with professional interest. Eager for battle.
He wasn’t fool enough to try it here. After a puff of disgust the creature returned
to the same occupation the knight had returned too. Searching for hints to the
future within the witchfire.
He moved on toward his destination. He felt no need to challenge either. While
many of Malal’s champions felt hatred towards even their own kind he did not.
They were useful tools and occasionally allies. Any that turned their back on
Malal for another chaos power would feel his wraith and any that drew their blade
against him would die. Till then he allowed them to draw breath when he met them.
Some where almost what he once would have called friend.
The faint sound of stone reforming drew his attention back to the doors. They
were reopening. Another champion was entering. Like the others he paused to view
the newcomer. He was obviously a space marine. He neither knew nor cared what
chapter. There were too many to know them all even if he had. The marine’s armor
had seen better days. Or was this the current state of the Imperium’s knowledge?
Its armor resounded with hundreds of squeaks and groans. Its movements were accompanied
by the volume of noise he had expected of a predator when he was still loyal.
His own armor had developed a click that mortified him when it had first sounded.
Though easily missed it seemed to destroy the whisper quiet movements he had enjoyed
since he had been given the armor. And that had been from battle damage. This
marine couldn’t claim whisper quiet even in his unmarred armor. At least it didn’t
seem to bug him.
It screamed "DIE CHAOS SCUM!" even before he was inside the door. Ripping a power
sword free of its scabbard he charged. Not the bored knight or the beastman. It
wanted him. It covered the short distance between them in seconds. Blade out stretched
it struck. The mortal tear the blade inflicted on the air where he had been standing
was nothing compared to the gouge it carved in the floor as it tumbled free of
its owner’s broken wrist. Of course the owner joined it a moment later, screaming
as he twisted its broken wrist to make sure it would be ready to listen when he
released it.
"Malal has forbidden us to draw each others blood here fool. Unless you desire
a fate worse than death obey that edict. Seek me if you desire too but be certain
you wish to die first fool"
With those cryptic words he was moving. Leaving the sobbing child/thing on the
floor where it had landed. If these were the champions Malal was accepting maybe
chaos wasn’t in as much danger as he thought. At least the beast thing was impressed.
The knight seemed to scorn the way he took care of that. Not that they were really
worthy of notice, it’s just nice to have some respect for your skills. Especially
from someone not about to die.
The door ahead was the one he wanted.