The Fallen Seraph
Chapter 1
I am what I am. Nothing more, nothing less. You say I am a monster, yet my allies say I am a hero. You call me a heretic, yet my brethren call me a prophet. You claim me to be the end, yet my master claims me to be only the beginning. Although I find myself unaware at times of what my master wishes of me, I find comfort in knowing that in his grand design I am more than just a pawn. I can feel his Dark Gifts pulsing through me, as if he wishes to remake me with each enemy I slaughter. As their blood coats my armor and wets my blade, my mind slowly changes to that which most would not understand. I know my soul is changing, for it is my master's will that all things change. His ruinous powers course through my veins, empowering my body and mind to unleash destruction and death upon my enemies with strength and cunning. Never have I met an opponent worthy of my power. It is pathetic how those fools of the Empire think themselves as righteous, for they know not the truth of my master's Dark Gifts. When they beg for mercy I give them nothing more than a painful death, for only cowards expect a swift end. I am a Chosen Champion of Tzeentch, and none shall bend my will from further serving the call of my Raven God!
I could hear the screams of the Hellcannons firing upon the town below. From the overlooking cliff on which my brethren of the Raven Host perched, I bore witness to the panic of the town's denizens and the terror in the soldiers' eyes. As our marauders hailed from our camp and poured into their streets, I could not help but join in the fray. My claymore thirsted for the first kill of the morn, as was its habit. I charged on the front lines alongside my brothers, thinking little of what sort of end they would meet should they find themselves on the receiving end of an opposing blade. As I dove into the conflict, I used the energies of the warp to sunder a large collection of my enemies with one swing, tearing apart their defensive front with ease. My blackened heart took some personal pleasure from plunging my claymore, Uriel, through the back of an Empire soldier who attempted to escape by crawling away. As a particularly courageous soldier charged at me with his halberd ready to swing, I merely channeled my Dark Gifts into Uriel before repelling the fool through a window of the nearest second-story building. I could hear his bones crush under the pressure of my swing, and that too brought me delight.
Unfortunately, the battle was drawing to a close as the last pockets of resistance fled southward. Perhaps they sought some shred of hope in Nordland, south of Norsca where our siege began. It matters not, for they only prolong the inevitable. We pursued the cowards, although I sought to flay their flesh more than any of my brothers. As we approached the southern outskirts of the town, I could hear the screams of dying men. But I soon found out the cries of agony were not those of our foes, but of those marauders who ensued the chase ahead of me. Looking further down the road I could see only one woman, adorned in breast plate armor worn over a long robe. She carried a large warhammer in both hands, and with some power of blinding light she simultaneously pulverized my allies. I took a moment to take in the joy of cowing a possibly worthy foe, knowing full well she would eventually succumb to my ruinous might. After reveling in the thought of her death, I made haste in engaging her in combat.
She parried my overhead strike with her warhammer, our weapons locked together in a standstill. I laughed at her in mockery, but I soon saw the error of the decision in holding my position. Her warhammer radiated a brilliant golden light and with the power she channeled I was repelled backwards. I used every ounce of strength in me to resist, but I was forced about ten feet back with little chance to counter. She in turn charged me with all her might. Her will was strong, possibly rivaling that of my own, and I was left vulnerable from her last attack. Before I could even lift Uriel to parry she assailed me with a series of crushing blows. Although I did not fall, I could feel my body grow weaker with each passing swing. If I did not act soon, this warrior priest would surely have me slain. Before the final blow was struck, I held Uriel and plunged it into the ground, and with my Dark Gifts I surrounded myself with a blast wave of pure, chaotic force. Although she was knocked off her feet she rose swiftly from where she fell. Clearly, she was not ready to be defeated so easily.
"Why would you defy your inevitable end with such fervor?" I questioned.
"There is no end that I defy!" she exclaimed. "When my days are at their end, I know Sigmar will welcome me with open arms... Until then, I will fight heretics like you who seek to destroy the very things I have sworn to protect!"
"I am curious, Sigmarite... What is it that you protect?"
"Such curiosity is not becoming of your kind, Norseman. It is not even natural for you to ponder anything other than how to slaughter innocents and destroy lives! Why are you, one who knows not of family or friends, so interested in my faith?"
"I suppose it is my lacking of companionship that drives me to ask such questions... Of course, it is not like myself to ponder of such trivialities. Affection only hinders the mind, and as a Chosen Champion of the Changer of Ways it would only prove to keep me from furthering his grand design..."
The Sigmarite laughed, of which struck me as unusual. Never before have I seen an enemy, possibly facing their doom, laughing at my words. Then again never before have I held a conversation with an adversary long enough for them to show any emotion other than fear. Her laughter only served to anger me.
"Cease your laughter, Sigmarite!" I shouted. "I am to slay you where you stand, yet you mock me? Answer me as to why you do so, lest I bring upon you a painful end!"
"It is simple," she said as she regained her composure. "You speak of affection and love as a form of weakness, when in truth they are what allow me to stand in defiance against you!"
Something inside my cold, black soul seemed to twist and churn, as if some form of revelation appeared before me. Could it be that this is what these fools of the Empire fight for? Nothing of what she said made any sense in my mind, but then why does my heart feel some truth behind it? This new emotion angered me, yet I felt no wrath toward the Sigmarite. It was as if I was enraged at myself, which I still did not understand. I also felt a strange pulsing in my chest, as if I had done some great wrong. Could this be what it feels to have remorse, to have a conscience? I had never felt such a oddity in my entire existence, so why do I know of it now? There was something about this young woman that made my insides cry out in agony, but it was almost enjoyable. Her aura was nothing like my own, filled with hope and affection while I held only despair and hate for those who I called my prey. She smiled at me, and it was that beautiful smile that truly set her apart from others who I would call a fool. What was worse is that I hesitated in ensuing the fight. It was as if I did not wish to strike her, my thoughts now clouded with questions that I could not answer.
"I see a great revelation has shown itself before you, Norseman," she said with that same smile. "I see a light in you that you yourself thought to be extinguished. Although you may not realize it yet, you may very well be touched by the light of Sigmar, despite how much your dark god has changed you. It is because of this that I give you two choices; return to the life you know, one of meaningless slaughter and evil, or follow me to a new world that could very well change you in ways your dark god could not..."
With that said she simply turned her back to me and began to walk away. Looking around I could see the corpses of my brothers. Looking back I could see the ruins of the town, its structures engulfed in flame and ruin. My mind told me to return to the camp with my tale of how I allowed a lone warrior priest to get the better of me, but surely I would lose favor with not only my brethren, but also of Tzeentch. For my whole existence I thought of what I knew to be the truth. Now that I have been burdened with this curse of remorse and with her last words still resonating in my head, I could never return to the life I once called my own. Perhaps it was never my own, and I was just another pawn that the Changer of Ways sought to remake and eventually discard when my time had come. It would be a nice change, I thought, to have someone to care for me without the intention of using me as an instrument of pure destruction. After my moment for thoughts had come to an end, I followed the Sigmarite close behind, not yet knowing of what fate, or this so-called Sigmar, had in store for my future...