Chapter Ten.Garan brought his crozius down in a wide swing, smashing it into the side of a Khorne Bezerker. The crozius lit a second after the impact. The cheek and jaw caved in, gobs of blood and iron teeth flew, flesh cooked. The smell-memory of a Oxide Raptor being cooked coming to the forefront of his mind. The desire to remove his helm and taste the tainted flesh grew. He resisted its dark call.
The Bezerker fell to the side. His lower part of his face was completely gone. Putting his foot on its ruined war-plate, Garan examined the surrounding chamber. He saw the remains of the last of the Death Company - save Zorael - hung from a hook with traitors around his ruined form. His face was bare, though none of his skin was left. No indication of who he was. Not even the patterns of death on his armour had survived. It was fire-damaged, hiding his identity.
His legs were mangled stumbs, his hands red-ruins. Eyes run through with his broken eye-lenses.
'So you grace us with your presence at last,' came a voice from behind the dead warrior. 'Welcome to my hall of death, Death Chaplain.' The warrior's left arm was bare, scar and burn tissue covering it. 'I have been waiting for a god fight. Not these. I thought his kind to Terra. At the Palace. They fought badly then, they fight just the same now.'
Garan presented his crozius to the traitor and called out, 'Name yourself traitor, so that I might know whose name I add to my tally.'
'You need not ask, cur. My fight is not with you, but with your lord.' As the traitor spoke, a comm-rune appeared on Garan's display. Koro Aster.
A bolt hit him just under his neck's soft seals. He was rocked back, into the embrace of two more Berserkers. Blades scratches at his armour. They plunged through, pierced and cooked flesh. Tendons and ligaments were torn. He fell when they abandoned him.
Struggling, he blink-clinked the comm-rune.
'Captain,' he said. 'I have failed you.'
