The creature that Apollyon had become was unlike anything that had ever tread upon mortal soil. Even the machinations of chaos could not have come up with what now stood in flesh and form before the Black Tomb. It looked like a great chitinous insect of the locust species, standing as tall as a dreadnought upon six legs that ended in clawed feet. Three pairs of long wings reached out from his back in a transparent cloak. Whipping from behind him was a wicked scorpion tail mounted by a stinger. His armor was studded with hard spines and wicked blades. He was every inch a beast except for the head. It was Apollyon's own head, humanlike and coloured to the colour of his natural skin. It looked like the giant's head had been sewn to the decapitated form of a walking nightmare. Apollyon flexed his claws and slashed a deep gash across the Black Tomb's hide.
"You shall die!" Apollyon screamed, his voice like a bell, "die! You are weak, you are a fool!" He brought his other claw around to break into the dreadnought's armored hide. His forelimb was caught before it could fall and was crushed to pulp in the machine's hand. Apollyon whipped back, his fluttering wings taking him away from the dreadnought, which thundered forward like a bolt of lightning. Apollyon sidestepped the charging dreadnought and carved deep into its armored hull with his surviving hand. The Black Tomb swung a heavy brawler's strike at him, smashing into the primarch, but failing to so much as crack his chitin. Apollyon gave a mocking cackle and lifted off into the air…
…
Dracuel lifted off into the air, dodging Angron's axe. He swung the blade down at the daemon, cutting into his ivory horns. Sparks lifted from the blade as it ate away into the bony crown the daemon wore. Dracuel barely managed to dodge a swatting blow from Angron's free hand. The winged marine flew to the corner and readied his chainsword.
"You shall not harm my Emperor," Dracuel promised, his voice deep and carrying an accent that Angron recognized too well.
"Blood for the blood god," Angron snapped back, "Khorne's power is my power. His will guides me." Angron charged Dracuel, "you cannot beat Khorne you fool!" His axe bit into stone: Dracuel had bounded aside. Enraged, Angron brought his blade around to kill this upstart. The blade was parried. By a normal marine? Impossible! Angron and Dracuel exchanged crushing blows. Chainsword bit into axe, whirling teeth against hardened edge. Neither gained the upper hand over the other. Each combatant found the other's defense unyielding. Sparks leapt up and they continued their dance of blades, neither fighter drwing back, neither fighter letting a mistake bring him harm…
…
Usoran blocked Mortarion's evil scythe. The Lion Sword knocked the metal of Mortarion's blade to the floor. He took this chance and chopped into the weapon's shaft to try and leave it useless to the primarch. But not even his primarch's holy relic could undo the simple shaft of the fel scythe.
"You cannot stop your inevitable decay," Mortation jeered, swinging the scythe back and knocking Usoran flat on his back. "My blade needs but kiss you and your life is ended." Usoran rolled to the side to dodge the scythe and parried it in a hurry when Mortarion brought it masterfully around to strike at him as if striking wheat. Usoran's astartes body stung from the raw force of the daemon's impact. He fell back, blocking two more heavy blows.
'How can I beat him?' Usoran wondered. He was far larger and seemed to have limitless strength. Usoran could feel the tendrils of exhaustion working their way into him. He could not afford a moment of weakness! Mortarion swung again and Usoran ducked. He leapt back, almost falling over Afennor's corpse, now dry and seething with decay. What if Mortarion should fire another bolt?
He was a child. Usoran was a child. He had been a child before, locked in the soft, nimble and wiry body of his former self in his dreams before his primarch. Now he was a child again, this time humbled one hundred times by a primarch of another sort. He too was an angel, but he was an angel of decay and evil.
Mortarion swung again…
…
Apollyon swung again, his blow falling painfully against the Black Tomb's mechanical arm. The dreadnought was about to snatch Apollyon's remaining claw to sunder it from him, but the primarch had already flown away yet again. He slammed down onto a pile of bodies, taking a moment to finish off a pair of wounded astartes of the Imperial Fists before snarling at the Black Tomb, daring him to rush him.
The Black Tomb complied, storming across Camlan with a silent fury. The thunderclap punch he swnt at Apollyon could have broken his beastly form in two if it hadn't missed. Apollyon stepped into the Black Tomb and grasped him from the side, holding him still.
"I will take you apart," the primarch said. And then a jet of fire leapt from his lips, blanketing the dreadnought in a shield of fire. The dreadnought writhed under his grip, but in that moment, Apollyon made a mistake…
…
"I am Sanguinius!" Dracuel finally shouted. Angron and the Blood Angel separated, notches in their weapons, hatred in their eyes.
"Impossible," Angron laughed, "You…" what it was that silenced the primarch of carnage, not even Angron knew. But as the Blood Angel twisted his sword about to face his opponent, Angron hesitated.
"Sanguinius is dead," Angron growled.
"As will you, soon," Sanguini…Dracuel replied. He activated his wings and again propelled himself into the daemon. Angron struck with the force of a falling star and, for a moment, fire exploded between them. Chainsword met axe, holy vigour met bezerk madness, daemon met angel, primarch met primarch. Angron flew back from the force, stumbling and crashing to the floor. Dracuel landed, his wings sparking and smoking from the explosion. Both rose in a moment to confront one another. Angron hefted his axe. Dracuel rose his bare hands: his chainsword lay in ruins.
"The power of Khorne is yours?" asked Dracuel fearlessly.
"Why? Are you not afraid?" Angron jeered. He rushed Dracuel, axe raised.
…
Usoran had only one chance. He had to find another survivor, the Black Tomb! He retreated from Mortarion, heading frantically across the flat vastness of Camlan towards where the Black Tomb stood, his eyes not leaving Mortarion. He ducked and dodged heavy strikes or parried them with his sword. Once, Mortarion tried to maul him. A flash from the Lion Sword forced the monster to withdraw: a jet of bright yellow blood shooting from the laceration he left.
"You shall suffer eternally for that!" Mortarion roared, raising his hand, which began to blow a sickly green. Usoran had no choice: act now or suffer Afennor's fate. He saw one chance…
…
"AHH!" Apollyon leaned his head back in pain, flames shooting into the air. His hands left the Black Tomb and his face turned to look down at the offender. A single blade had found him, stabbing into his side, deep into one of his hearts. It was a gladius. Apollyon felt mechanical serpents coil around his insect wings, crushing and tearing away at them.
"Did you think you could strike me down so easily, Apollyon?" asked Vashuss, spitting out blood with every word. Apollyon reached down to the upstart's neck, choking him mercilessly. He intended to twist the man's head from his very shoulders like a child's toy! Unfortunately, it was the opening his opponent needed. Apollyon looked to the Black Tomb as a shadow fell across him.
The dreadnought's fist hit him with such force that his torso was torn clean from his giant body. Across Camlan it bounced, carried by the godly machine's powered fist. It landed in a pile of dead space marines. Apollyon's head faced the sky.
"My…my flesh…" the eleventh primarch whispered. And then, his last words spoken, he fell silent.
…
Mortarion was right, Usoran was going to die. For once he had accepted that and thoughts of his defense left him, Usoran saw the opening. He propelled himself forward, blade not raised to defend his flanks, but forward to stab. Mortarion cast away his energy and swung for Usoran.
"For the Usor! For Tabbercs!" Usoran yelled without knowing why, "for the Emperor!" He was close enough now. With all his might, he threw the Lion Sword the way the academy had shown him to do with royal longswords. Mortarion's two-handed blade did not protect him. Instead, it broke into Usoran's body and threw him to the ground in a spray of red. Usoran heard a cry of pain from Mortarion and raised his eyes to behold his work.
An angel made of light was smiting him with a flaming sword… the Lion Sword…
No, it wasn't. It was only Usoran's wishful thinking, no matter how real it had seemed. Mortarion instead stood where he was, the Lion Sword driven through his throat. With a shriek, the primarch threw his head back, green light emerging from his eyes and mouth. Usoran plugged his ears to the sound.
"Grandfather! I am sorry!" roared Mortarion's unnaturally loud voice. "Grandfather? Grandfather? Where are you grandfather?" With those words, the light ended. Mortarion fell one way and the Lion Sword fell another. The relic clattered to the ground and the fallen giant turned to black mist.
"Praise…the…Emperor," Usoran gasped as he stood up and held his side where the scythe had broken through. He staggered towards the sword. He had one thing left to do.
…
Dracuel smiled as Angron paused.
"The power of Khorne?" snarled Angron, "the power of Khorne?" he could feel it draining, like a mortal felt the onset of exhaustion as he worked. But this exhaustion came on swifter than was allowed and did not abate when Angron willed it. "My blessings! My power! What is happening?" Angron demanded as he breathed a tired breath. Dracuel calmly drew his pistol and shot Angron once, to no effect.
"The war is over," Dracuel replied. He did not defend himself as Angron raised his axe and stood calmly by as Angron's axe came down, cleaving the Blood Angel in two. Angron allowed himself a grin and headed towards the Eternity Gate. That damnable exhaustion built as he went on. He felt his strength leave him, his fire go out.
For once, he could not feel the Blood God. For across the void, there was nothing. The warp had consumed all, left nothing behind on the few thousand worlds of the Imperium but ashes and memories. Here and there, one could find a sterile colony but those were few and out of the way. Even here on Terra, there was nothing but corpses. The Imperial Guard had been overrun and the Custodes were destroyed by the tower's erection. They now lay lifeless in their stations, souls torn from their bodies. There was truly nothing left.
The war of thirteen thousand years, it had ended. No beginning to mortal rage, no murderous zeal, no wars to feed His hunger, no blood for the blood god.
Angron collapsed, unable to bear the weight of his own armor. And for a moment, as he lay, he shed his daemonic form. He was a man once again, muscled and insane. And then, there was only dust.
