The Veil is Broken
By Lord Derpathon
We are still. We have remained such for hours if not days, watching, waiting for the moment. I clench the Hellblade in my hand; it yearns for the blood of mortals that cower in their realm, but it must wait. We all must. For the veil between the realms is undone, and we are free to rend reality as we did before in that long night. All around us are boiling lakes of blood, towers of great brass, and the ruins of broken worlds and dead gods. The spoils of our war unending, Kharneth's testaments to all that shall be surrounding us. For the moment is soon upon us, we shall strike again for his glory. For the slaughter, that must be.
My cape of flayed skin bears many of my lord's foes, the thing that my kith must respect as my rank of Bloodmaster. Cut faces from Aeldari, the Ork, and even the children of the Anathema are visible, his angels of death. I give the skulls of the foe to my lord, for they are his alone, and I may wear the lesser trophies upon my visage. Aside from that, I differ no more than my other kin, who watch and wait eagerly to spill blood in Kharneth's name.
Beasts of the realm of chaos gather around us, and we are beasts of war and death. The great juggernaut cavalry awaits the coming doom to the mortals. The metal engines forged in brass and boiling blood calibrated their weapons, and my brothers, my Bloodletters, lay still and silent. We muster our rage, the calm before a terrible storm, before we embark into the world of the mortals. We all have our part to play in this battle, and they devoted to gather more skulls for the skull throne.
The crimson skies above us shimmer; the land itself gnaws and is sundered by large brass blades. They form a massive arch before us, the metal twisting as skulls embedded within seep blood for their eye sockets. A waterfall of gore and viscera forms before the gate, then space itself is torn apart, a shimmering portal to our prey.
We speak no praises as we witness the miracle, for none are needed to display our thanks to Kharneth. Instead, I raise my Hellblade and bellow a mighty cry, and all follow in turn. The Bloodletters beat their breasts, brandish their swords, and scream for the death of our enemies. We all charge headfirst into the rift, the conduits of the realm of chaos filling us with their energies.
We break into the realms of the mortals and are greeted with our new foes. The hated Anathema's children battle against blue skinned creatures. The false god's sons are among them, as are their cannon fodder. But what interest me truly are the new creatures. They carry deadly technologies and seem to avoid the melee. Curious. Why do they not use their bodies to fight, to survive? Yet it does not matter. They shall die all the same.
"Blood for the blood god! Skulls for the skull throne!" I scream out as my kin charge through the rift. I brandish my sword and rush amongst them as the Furies fly on overhead. Immediately both sides of this conflict fire upon us. Excellent. It would be a dull battle otherwise. They banished many within a few volleys, but there are scores of Furies within the depths of our realm. I deflect energy bolt and bolter fire with my blade as we charge forth. I yearn to tear the foe apart, yet I must keep my mind focused, lest we lose and the bloodshed end quickly.
Our force attacks from three angles: their petty battle in two dimensions failed to consider attacks from above and beyond. For now, I keep the Bloodcrusher knights and their mounts in reserve. They shall have their blood to spill. Daemonic machines attack from the sides, the furies from above, and we in the middle. They fire upon us, and soon the other flanks, but by then their advantage at range will be lost and we shall be amongst them. If they have any tricks up their sleeves, we will be ready. Besides, besting such schemes is to my liking.
We finally reach their lines, and it seems they've truly put aside their differences. I immediately seize upon a mortal guardsman and split his body in two, blood gushing into the trench as he screams. I feel the rage; the frenzy takes hold, but I give it to my kin. Not yet. The exhilaration of the kill remains. Not a thing of pleasure like the weakling Slaanesh, but instinctual. Kill or be killed, that is our creed.
We carve into their lines and the Furies join us. A cyclops helmeted creature fires its rifle at me and I grin eagerly. Lunging towards it, I bring my blade down into its shoulder, and tear the arm from the socket. They scream out before I tear off their helmet. The being is humanoid, yet instead of a nose has a y-shaped slit. No matter. I tear the head from their shoulders and clamp it on a hook upon my cape. Another skull from a new foe. I leap into their comrades and tear them apart, drenching all in gore.
As we push through their ranks, a single being catches my eye, a knight of the Anathema carving one of my weaker fellows with a mighty blade.
"For the Emperor!" he screams futilely. His comrades rally around him with blades in hand. A worthy opponent! My blood boils at the sight of this defiant warrior standing amidst the glorious carnage. I give a blood-curdling cry, I must honor him upon the battlefield, point my blade at him and give a salute. Even for a child of the Anathema, he has earned a death with glory!
I cut through his lesser followers, the guardsmen alongside my kin, their pathetic armor being cut asunder by sword and claw alike. It fuels our rage as we approach the champion, as we gain ground among his fellows. He sees me and fires his pistol. Instinctively I block it with my sword, instead of facing me he fights from afar like the other creatures! Pathetic! Dishonorable! He must fight me man to man until his body is torn apart!
Eventually, after killing many of the lesser mortals, I reach the knights of the false god. I brandish my blade as they charge at my kin. They will keep the others busy; their leader is mine by right of combat. I salute him again before charging; I need no words as we clash. His strikes are precise and strong. But mine are brutal, fueled by churning rage. I can see his face clearly after I knock his helmet off. He scowls at me, calls me "daemon." He fuels my rage, and in the end his own destruction.
I stab one of his hearts, blood spilling out of his cuirass, yet he fights on. This is not as worthy a battle as I thought it would be. Despite his impressive armor, this one has little experience. I sever a tendon on the leg next, parry his retaliatory strike with ease, and use his own force to knock him down to the ground. I plant my blade into his neck, the burning hate within the sword cauterizing his wound. The knight tries to scream, but his vocal cords have been fused and a hiss of air escapes him.
"Your blood for Khorne!" I move the blade sideways and tear off his head with my free hand, holding it aloft before his bodyguard. My kin cheer the only way they know how, with more violence, more brutality inflicted upon the foes. His guard tries to fight valiantly, but they are torn apart as blood and limb scatter across the field of battle. The Anathema's pawns are shattered, with the death of their champion they attempt to flee. Contemptible. I order their immediate deaths so they don't sully themselves with such dishonor.
Yet suddenly the battle turns. Flying suits of armor appear at my flank. While fighting at range, they carve through the Bloodletters and are covered by overlapping fire from flying machines and hovering engines. Remarkable, I thought these creatures were cowardly, yet they fight on. The humans rally to them as they hear voices in their own tongue, begging them to unite to fight a common foe. While their method of fighting is displeasing, I cannot deny their skill and coordination.
"Regroup to charge the mortals! Bring forth the Bloodcrushers!" I give the order and the counter attack begins. Unholy warriors of Kharneth riding atop the infernal beasts charge into their ranks as teeth and swords pierce flesh and metal alike. I cannot bear it any longer; I must give into the rage. Holding my Hellblade with both hands, I charge into the fray. Carving my way through lesser creatures; I need to fight the strongest beings they have! I encounter one of the armored suits and am burned by its fire spewer. Good. I leapt above and it dodges my attack with ease. Excellent. I charge head on into its fire, missiles and bolts flying all around me before I feign an attack. It dodges right into my next strike, using chains from my cloak to wrap around the arm, and I climb atop it. I cut the head off the thing but this is no skull, it is but a camera.
"Where is your skull, mortal! Show me your skull!" I carve into the body and hear a scream of pain. My blade blazes with infernal fire, the pilot of the armored suit attempts to eject, but he is too badly burned to survive. I grant them a quick death, and with a single grasp of my hand, I crush the life out of them. Throwing their body to the ground, I search for more worth opponents. I need skulls from the elite, and I find two such figures amongst the enemy.
A standard bearer of the humans emerges, a mighty Astartes clad in the newer armor like his predecessor. But unlike that weak, pathetic fool he fights with only a blade in hand, tackling a juggernaut and ramming his spear tipped standard into the eye socket of the rider. He wears the colors of the angel, the beast who has denied Ka'Bhanda victory in ages past, and gazing at his fair features as he throws aside a useless and battered helm, I am given new purpose. We must show him the eightfold path; else we will claim his skull.
But there is another warrior among their number. A blue-skinned creature who wields a blade in combat. Wielding a sword-spear, he fights in the thick of the melee. He shines like a bright star amidst the practical creatures he commands, a warrior unafraid to fight and a leader who will wade into battle despite the odds. This being, while not of the angel, may provide a useful prize yet.
I rally my brethren and charge forward to the two, their honor guards firing salvo and overlaying volleys into our ranks. They cut my kin down, many banished back to the brass fortress. But it is of no concern. Kharneth cares not where the blood flows; only that it does. Whirling blades tear into their ranks yet again, but this time flanked by engines of fire and metal. We have broken through their formation as the infernal cheers of my brethren echo across the battlefield. Yet I fear they may have some dishonorable trick up their sleeve, some last gambit to achieve victory.
I reach the angel of blood, this lone marine, and I salute him.
"You fight well kin of the angel, so I shall offer you this choice. Join the eightfold path, submit to Khorne's will. You hunger for blood and death, yet you do not embrace it? The Blood God has heard your screams, and shall grant you war carnage everlasting. What say you?" I plant my blade into the ground, awaiting his response.
"Never daemonic scum! You sully our lord Sanguinius' name with your very existence. In the name of my spiritual liege and the Emperor of Mankind I shall strike you down." He plants his banner in the soil and raises his sword.
"Then you, like the angel before, shall die!" I charge at him, Hellblade raised aloft, and I bring it down towards his head. He parries the blow and draws a smaller power blade and cuts into my side. I howl enraged, a clever blow, yet a blow none the less. He presses his advantage, striking with two swords; a notch is even cut into my blade as I desperately try to hold my own.
"You… are stronger than I hoped for." I drop my cape of skins, letting the chains and heads fall to the ground. I hold my sword up high and let loose an infernal howl, fire entwines the blade as I transformed it into a mighty greatsword.
"It is a miracle that I've found a foe that could not only wound me but sunder my blade as well! This shall prove to be an excellent fight indeed!" I charge at him with renewed vigor and skill, taking him aback at the ferocity of my counter attack. Striking into the ground, my sword carves through the earth before I slash towards his chest, he parries the strike but is knocked back by the sheer force of the blow. I then bring the blade down again, he blocks, but I cut into his armor and blood spurts from his wound. Staggering backwards, I press on, showing no pity or remorse.
Two of his brothers attempt to come to his aid, the marine tells them to fall back, but it is too late. I stab one right through the chest and lift him up off the ground, then hurl him off my blade onto the ground before ripping off his head single handed. His battle brother tries to shoot me, and for such an offense I split him in two with a single strike. At this point the standard bearer, my challenger, regains his composure but something differs about him. He clutches his head; I have not struck him there.
"Monster! My brothers shall be avenged! By the Blood of Sanguinius!" his second foray is brutal and without remorse. I break his knife with a well-timed strike, but he cuts into my right horn. Molten ichor seeps from the wound, but I kick him in the chest and knock him to the ground. Yet before I could strike him down, I feel a blade cut across my back.
"By the greater good, nobody should fight such a monster alone! Die barbarian!" the other creature, this supposed "ethereal," speaks. I snarl at him and turn my attention to this upstart. He can dodge my attacks as his bodyguards fire into my ranks. I see what his plan is; attempt to draw my attention while I am surrounded. A clever plot, but futile. I am not so frenzied that I forget myself and the battle. Yet as I call for reinforcement, he grazes my leg with his weapon.
"Fascinating. You blue creature are a worthy opponent. A shame your scheme is hopeless." I point my blade towards him. "Already my engines have encircled your flanks on a larger scale on the battlefield. You have lost."
"So long as we have the will to fight, we may yet win the battle. You underestimate us, barbarian!" The creature flourishes his weapon in defiance.
"Then I shall show you." Boiling blood and screaming skulls rain down upon his soldiers. Puncturing metal and flesh rains down, we reduce them to giblets and screaming ruins of what were once warriors. All in the blink of an eye. His scheme foiled, the ethereal falls to his knees at the sight of what has happened, tears streaming down his eyes. He cares for his soldiers, mourns them. He knows all is lost.
"I surrender. But please spare my army. The battle is yours, it seems." He says. He knows he cannot best me in a duel. But he is naïve to think that I will show mercy.
"Pitiful creature. You were raised as a fool, ignorant of the warp. And a fool you shall die." I rest my blade upon my shoulder before I strike at him, but something gives me pause. The young Astartes stands again, yet he is not overcome with bloodlust. A deadly calm washes over his face, he smiles and laughs. I snarl at such disrespect until I see what he holds in his hands. A single grenade. He throws it into our ranks, but I easily sidestep his attack. It does not explode, instead showers us in a blaze of light, forcing my kin and me to claw and scrape blindly.
A few seconds pass, and he is upon me with blade in hand. He cuts into the neck of one of my kith before tackling me off a cliff edge. I scream out as I try to slash him, yet his inhumane strength holds me in place. We both hit the ground, I scream out as debris punctures my left arm. He was not unscathed either; he has a slight limp.
"Accursed trickster! I will smear your blood all across this world for your insolence!" I attempt to attack him, but he merely dodges my strikes, keeping me at blade length. This is not a battle; this is something more akin to the trickster Tzeentch or some abominable Slaaneshii dance. Until I gain a glimpse of the skies clearing. While my forces are wreaking havoc on their main line, it seems they have breached the battle above and have started their retreat.
"So you finally see? No wonder Sanguinius easily bested your kin before. By now my brothers will have regrouped off world. We will set ablaze this planet in all likelihood so your victory here is fleeting." He boasts.
"So what of it? Let this world burn to ash. It will only fuel the blood god, as does every war. Even if I am caught in the blaze it shall mean nothing, only add more skulls to his throne. For Khorne cares not where the blood flows, only that it does." I draw a line in the ground before myself.
I do not allow him any more words, merely charge at him with my blade raised aloft. He sidesteps and spits in my face. The acid splashes my horns and left side. He quickly tries to strike my blade out of my hand. He cannot as I cut into his side, but my strike is shallow and he tackles me into the dirt. I grimace before biting his face with my own teeth, hearing him scream before he strikes me with his fist. I let go after marring his angelic features, the skin upon his face forever marred.
Yet before he can move I stab him through the chest, he wheezes as I pull my blade out before I kick him to the ground. Yet before I can cut off his head, the alien creatures attack, flying battle suits and the Ethereal rain down covering fire for this one Astartes. I am taken aback; they seize him before fleeing into the air. Yet I do not feel anger. Instead, I feel a sense of joy.
I yet have another chance to face him in battle, to test the best that the Anathema deigns to throw at me. Despite such tricks he shall be a worthy opponent indeed, and he shall serve Khorne willingly or otherwise. As the Furies in the skies above chase their prey, I watch on and smile. For the Veil is broken, and only war shall reign upon this reality.