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Batu rushed to his leader as fast as he could through the torn battlefield.
The venerable warrior was running with considerable wounds himself, although dispersed throughout his body. His remaining arm had been broken, his jaw felt loose and the entire right side of his chest felt bruised and the bony plate underneath had quite likely been cracked as well.
He had no idea what foul sorcery had imbued the Traitors Astartes he had battled against with such inhuman strength even by their standards, but he knew that had it not been for the little girl's help, he likely would've met a grisly end at the hands of the corrupted warrior. Batu would be lying if he said he hadn't at first considered the girl merely dead weight, but after seeing her shooting skills, especially with something like a pistol, he had to admit having her around had not been a bad thing at all. Though, of course, he would never admit to her having saved his life.
Pushing these thoughts aside however, Batu called to his leader in their own native tongue. The Sergeant turned his head, but the look upon his face made Batu's blood run ice cold.
He had been fighting for longer than he himself could remember. As an Astartes, the constant warfare all blended together, and the years passed without much consideration. If he himself had to guess, he would say he was pushing his 200s. The only reason he had not been selected for the Veteran Squads was because he himself had chosen to remain a regular troop.
Most of those years he had spent fighting alongside his leader, his brother and his comrade. Ganbaatar had been there for as long as he could remember, guiding Batu as a mere Assault Marine while he himself had been a Scout. And yet in all the years of service alongside him: purging Greenskin infestations, destroying Dark Eldar raids, culling Chaos assault and exterminating massive fleets of Tyranids, never had he seen his Sergeant look like that.
For the first time since he had known him, Batu looked at fear upon his noble features. As such, he was stopped in his tracks. He had seen the man tackling Carnifexes with Melta Bombs strapped to himself, he had seen him beheading Mega Nobz, and now he was afraid? At what, a ruined, delirious enemy?
Yet as he moved once more to assist and question his leader, something felt...off. A feeling, coming from his gut. Then it grow fully to his head, as if an iron bar had been sat on his brain. Then the rumbling came.
Momentarily confused, he paid it no heed at first, attempting to bring his senses to order. Then he saw the look on Ganbaatar's face had only increased in horror, his eyes now bulging, looking around frantically, while the Chaos Marine that had escaped the Sergeant merely continued his strange ritual.
Then the very ground split open.
A torrent of what he could only describe as hot air boiled by the very fires of Hell burst forth from the cracks, easily searing the skin of any regular human corpses nearby and nastily disorienting Batu himself, radiating even through the thick protection of his armor. Once he rebounded from that, he saw before him something that would've driven of even greater men cold.
A horde of Khornate daemons stood before him now, tearing apart countless civilians attempting their best to escape or fight back, all failing horribly. The many fighting back seemed to be driven to a frenzied rage as bad as that of the Bloodletters before them. And above them all, stood the source of the heat, the pressure and the sheer aura wracking the minds of those present.
A massive Bloodthirster, tens of meters tall, with ebony black skin, wings dripping with boiling blood and decorated by hundreds of his own personal trophies, conquests of skulls long past. To his side, a mighty brass axe was brandished by scarred yet incredibly powerful arm, no doubt having spilled the blood of countless worlds. To his other, a massive brass whip, likely at least thrice the length of the beast itself, was dragged on the ground. And in the very moment the creature emerged from whatever structure lay beneath their feet, his Sergeant looked upon it's grotesque form in absolute horror, horror that was reflected upon the visage of his old friend as well, when he realized just what exactly the heretics had wrought upon this world.
He saw his mentor, finally break through his shock, and drawing his Plasma Pistol once more, take aim for one of the creature's eyes. The weapon fired with a cackle, vaporizing the air around it as miniature suns fired in rapid succession at the gigantic daemon. The weapon eventually overheated, and the Sergeant had to cast it aside to avoid the emergency heat dump that could very well melt his arm off.
When he looked once more to the monster before him however, he only found blazing pits of damnation staring back. The discharge, enough to have fried any Astartes in their armor, had barely annoyed the beast. With a mighty roar that seemed to shake the very skies, the Bloodthirster raised it's axe, and swung at the Sergeant.
He attempted to dodge. The first attempt was somewhat successful, if the loss of one of his arms was considered successful. But the daemon would of course not relent with such poultry amounts of blood spilled. He swung once more, and this time hit right on the marker.
Batu was forced to see his oldest friend, his mentor, his brother and leader, torn in half by a blade larger than his entire body. He had no time to roar in anger, even as he felt it's presence well up within him, as a white mass as big as himself rushed past him, tearing a path through the Greater Daemon's entourage, roaring and snarling in hatred.
Only then did Batu recognize that it had been Altan whom had directly challenged the great beast. He moved to shout at the younger warrior, screaming at the top of his lungs that such a fool's gambit could not bring back their dead, only make more of them, but he was not listened to. The young Astartes impressively made his way through the sea of Bloodletters, but not without wounds, as numerous slashes adorned his armor as he moved his Melta Gun from his belt, and directed it at the creature.
As expected, the attempt bothered the daemon as much as an ant biting a power armored boot. But it nonetheless noticed it, as he cast aside the collection of one foe's skull for another's. He swung his other arm, the long line of spiked brass coiling and then lashing out with such speed that Batu could not even perceive it. The next thing he could see, the whip had been retracted to the daemon's side as if it hadn't even moved in the first place, while a far off dust cloud was visible.
It was at this moment that Batu's mind came to a standstill. He was a proud warrior, one who had seen the very gates of Hell itself upon him numerous times, and yet fought on with dogged determination, even drowning in the blood of his own Battle-Brother. But this...this was beyond him. Two of the best warriors he knew had been claimed by the beast before him with no more difficulty than a child snapping a twig.
He was no coward, and he would rather take death before dishonor. But he would not die in vain. His brothers would be avenged, but not by a reckless, suicidal charge. The creature before would burn, and it's ash would return to the wretched realm it came from, but not now. Now, he was a lone man before a force of nature. And he had to move, as he saw the great beast began looking around for more blood to spill, it's appetite not even beginning to be sated.
As he turned around to retreat, he witnessed another white-draped warrior running parallel to him, before switching directions. Immediately as he recognized the shape of Gan, he called out only for the roar of hundreds of Bloodletters and their dark master to eclipse any sound he could make, as the daemon began destroying the terrain in it's own fit of hatred and frustration at not detecting anymore things to kill.
In a moment of desperation, he tried the one thing that had completely failed them at that point. He practically slammed his finger into his vox-comm, with hope he knew not what to make of, nor where it came from. A few seconds of cackling statics greeted him at first, and the old warrior was nearly ready to give up. But then, the feed went live, and the voice of Gan cut through the air like a crisp bullet.
"Gan here. Ukhaalag, it is good to see you yet live."
Gone was no longer the warrior he usually saw, a determined but ultimately introverted and quiet individual. Now, a clear, decisive voice that thundered through the comms replaced him. The death of their leader must have hit him the hardest.
"I could say the same for you, but where are you going? Do you not see the beast behind us?"
"I have already seen enough of my brothers die this day. I will allow no more to be claimed by these foul beasts or any bearing their marks."
Before Batu even had a chance to retort, Gan shut off his comms, accelerating towards the place Altan had to have crash-landed. But before he did, the old warrior saw a gesture from him, pointing towards a building. He did not understand it at first, but soon realization dawned on him, and he remembered they had had one more member to their little pose, albeit an unusual one.
Rushing towards the building, Batu dispatched any Bloodletters in his way, a few shots from his Bolt Pistol mercifully being enough to cause critical damage to the beasts if hit right. The Bloodthirster itself had moved on from the crater it had caused, looking for victims it would not find further into the deserted city.
He reached the building, jumped into the air, landing on it's roof, where he found his charge.
The girl seemed to have been knocked unconscious. How or why, Batu did not care to know as he grabbed a hold of her. In any other circumstance, civilians would've been reduced to an afterthought, something to only consider lightly given the sheer threat now posed to the planet. But considering said girl not only seemed to the last person upon this damned world that had not yet fallen to the corruption of Chaos, but also the only reason any of them still remained alive at the moment, Batu seconded Gan's decision to prioritize her well-being to the same point as a Battle-Brother.
Just as he was ready to jump off and rendezvous with Gan however, he felt a tremor underneath his feet. Then another. And another.
The miniature earthquake decidedly and dreadfully reminded him of the same thing that had happened with the Bloodthirster, and as he turned around to confirm the beast's location, his worst fears were confirmed. Massive purple tentacles rose out of the ground, tipped with horrid-looking biological apparatuses on their ends. And from a crack growing larger and larger on the very earth, a massive spiked head emerged.
"Hmmm, now where do you think you'll run off to with my prize?"
Gan had seen his leader die.
He had not been with his squad for a substantially long amount of time, but Ganbaatar had always been a beacon of unity among the many divergent personalities present among them.
Now he was gone. Claimed by this world, as so many more of his brothers were. Gan did not feel rage anymore, despite the suffocating aura of the Daemon of Khorne present there stuffing his mind with thoughts of violence. It was as if his own body had turned on a switch, recognizing that anger and despair would do no good in such a situation. Cold hatred and determination now ran through his veins, a cooling fluid turning his precision and focus razor sharp.
The daemons, heretics, and traitors, they could all wait. The ignorant, arrogant fools who had doomed this world, and the hellish creatures delivering it's final death kiss, they would all pay with their lives. But now, all that was important was getting the remainder of his living brothers out of there. He had lost too many, far too many this one day. He would not lose more.
He rushed to the place where he had landed, praying for possibly the first time since his ascension to an elite Astartes warrior for his brother's life. He found the crater, and inside of it, covered by the sand and dust, the form of Altan lay prone on the ground. He held his breath, until he saw a light twitch. Then another. Cautiously optimistic now, he approached the fallen Marine and placed his hand on his shoulder, intending to drag him through the battlefield if he had to.
Nothing could've prepared him for what came next.
When Gan came to from the thunderous blow, he was on the ground. So hard had the hit been, it was as if his own soul had left his body. The blow had made it through even the cushioning layers of armor and shock absorbers his helmet was lined with, down to his own jaw. The burning pain was only now beginning to set in. He knew of only one warrior who could produce such brute force in a single strike.
Altan slowly rose at the same time Gan himself did, still reeling to an extent from the blow, but overjoyed at the fact that his brother yet lived and was just as hardy as ever. Gan called out to him in their native tongue, a slight smile appearing on his lips for the first time this day. Yet...Altan did not respond. He had not risen facing him, instead remaining with his back turned.
Not fretting, and thinking it was more than reasonable for even one as tough as Altan to still be dazed after a strike from a Greater Daemon, he called out once more. But on this, the second attempt, his brother continued to stand almost completely still, except for maybe a slight shiver that would pass over him.
Worried now, Gan approached Altan, fully intent on dragging him back if he couldn't help it. But as he did, his brother finally began to turn to face him.
At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His frame was tense yes, but his armor miraculous seemed mostly intact, with the exception of what Gan could only assume to be the place of impact from the massive whip. It had been blackened and charred, likely due to the sheer boiling heat the Bloodthirster had given off. But as he got closer to him, he started noticing...things almost moving underneath the charred surface.
Red. Not the red of blood splashing throwing it, that would've dried up long ago by now. It was a sinister red. Like a fungal pustules, it pulsated underneath the blackened armor. And that's when Gan's senses properly went into overdrive.
He took a step back, drawing his "retrieved" Bolter. He would not shoot at his brother, not in a million years, but in this situation instinct simply took over. He saw and recognized an immediate threat, an immediate threat that grew more threatening with every agonizing second. Altan began spasming in front of him, frantically clawing at his own helm as if drowning inside of it. Gan grew more and more distressed, unable to do anything to help his brother without risking whatever was happening.
Eventually, the frantic Marine succeeded in what he was trying to do, prying his helmet off of his head in one swift motion. And when he did, Gan looked upon a sight more horrifying than any daemon he had seen.
It was Altan's face, yes, but at the same time it was not. Gone was the determined, stern and yet somewhat overconfident gaze he had come to know. In it's place instead were bloodshot eyes, staring like a rabid beast without any kind of focus or reason behind them. His lips were torn and scabbed, as if he had been biting his lips in a frenzy. Fearful now, Gan called out to him one last time.
"Akh?"
Altan's eyes snapped into razor focus, directed straight at his brother. The beastly tinge seemed to disappear from them for a moment, and for that very moment Gan nearly lowered his Bolter. But then something entirely different happened. With a rush so fast Gan was barely able to process, he was back on the floor, getting pounded by an unseen force, as his helmet's lenses had simply been crushed under the rain of impacts.
His eyes had been spared from the shards of glass thankfully, but he was beginning to suffer more and more the attacker's power. So he reacted as best as he could while blind, shielding his head from the strikes with his arms and kicking with his legs. The first strike was a fluke, so was the second and third, while Altan continued to batter, but with the fourth he managed to stagger the crazed Marine long enough for him to rise to his feet.
He quickly swapped off his own helm, only to be greeted with the sight of Altan scratching at his own face in frustration and anguish, as he slumped to the ground eventually, groans of pain never ceasing. Gan's fears were now confirmed. Altan had been affected by something, something bad. Something he could not possibly imagine.
At the very least he seemed to be struggling against it. And Gan could not bring himself to fight him yet. There was still a battle to be had inside of his mind. He could still help. He had to help.
"Brother! Whatever foul influence beseeches you, fight it! Do not let it overtake you!"
That was all he could muster to do for the next few minutes. It was far too risky to approach Altan in that state, turned rabid by the affliction grasping his mind. And in truth, aside from simply yelling to him as hard as he could, Gan had no idea how to approach him. Never did it occur to him that he was missing his one, final chance at ending this without anymore difficulty.
Altan did eventually stop, slowly attempting to relax his breathing on the ground. And from there, he rose to his knees and then to full height. Gan took a cautious breath. He had seemed to calm down, but at the same time he could not see his face. Yet, he had to try. Trying was the only thing left for him at this point, as much as every instinct in his head was screaming at him.
"Brother?"
Altan slightly tilted his head at that, still not facing him. But it was acknowledgement. Silent, but still there. A good sign at the least. It did not blunt the edge, but at the very least it gave some credence to Gan's hopes. Then, Altan spoke, with voice tired and raspy, but clear:
"It is quite surprising."
That was...one way of reacting to his predicament. Still, not entirely unusual for Altan. He was known for trying to shrug off even most serious situations without much of a care. So he played along.
"What is, Altan?"
"That it took me this long to realize."
"Realize what, brother?"
"How the restrictions of the battlefield, few as they are, leave still so much anger deep inside. Anger that cackles and burns stealthily, waiting for the right catalyst to ignite a fire. But I've chosen to ignore that now."
Gan was beginning to worry again. Altan was never one to delve deep into things such as this. He was no mere fool, but he always focused what was in front of him. Not to mention, Gan had no idea what he was even attempting to say.
"I'm afraid I do not follow brother."
Altan then finally turned, and Gan was horrified to find his expression not only unchanged from previously, but made even worse, sullen lines running through his face so pronounced he looked like a carved stone statue, and eyes practically pitch black.
"I am done holding myself back. My strength, and all I can do with it is the only thing that matters. The Chapter, you, everything is merely a dead weight," he then flashed a terrifyingly insane smile, somehow appearing amused and enraged at the same time. "I know not what has been done to me, but what I do know is that I have not felt this well in a long time. The blood...the sweet blood. It calls to me."
Gan saw now how Altan was simply descending further into his own insanity. He pleaded with his brother one more in their native tongue, becoming more frantic in his own deluded attempts to help what any other would see as a lost cause. But Altan did not even consider him. He simply continued, frozen grin growing wider by the second.
"The god...he demands it. I must spill it. I MUST SPILL IT."
Gan was at his wit's end. He couldn't comprehend how one of his brothers could fall so easily, so suddenly. Almost without reason. But he did know the reason.
That damned wound. The Chaotic energy, the nature of the Warp-tainted whip, the aura of he Bloodthirster itself. Whichever it was it did not matter. It had done something to his brother. Something terrible, something Gan had never seen for himself, yet knew there no return from.
"Brother...why?"
"Because, I AM DEMANDED IT!"
Any further questions Gan could pose, worthless as they would be, never left his mouth, as Altan charged at him, and brothers became locked in single, relentless combat.
"What have you done?"
The question rang out through the destroyed battlegrounds, firm yet piercing not through it's volume, as that was normal, but through it's sheer hatred and ferocity. Kronos hardly became enraged in a fight. It was pointless for such a thing to happen, as it only diluted the mind of a warrior like him to something lesser. Even in the cases where all the reason in the world has existed for him to be angry, he had repressed those feeling and approached battle with the same dogged yet chilled determination as always.
But now, the sensation in the back of his mind screamed at him, the foul presence of the Warp so great upon this world you could practically choke on it. Even kilometers away, it was as if Kronos himself was facing the army that had once led him to what he assumed would be his eternal damnation.
The Terminator before him gave no answer, at first, but his face did twist into a smile that more resembled a hateful sneer. With his teeth punched out, his face bleeding, and nearly every bit of his armor cracked, along with a missing arm, he was looking less and less like a terrifying corrupted Astartes and more like a rabid animal attempting to resist euthanasia. Yet he seemed to care little for that.
"Simple, Imperial dog: the will of Chaos. Always."
And at that, and all the myriad of different events he had had to endure on that day alone, Kronos truly felt enraged. He gripped his Guardian Spear tightly, as if wanting to snap it in two and beat the ugly creature before him to death barehanded. But he yet moved forward, intent on ending this farce.
The massive brute met his challenge, with Thunder Hammer still in tow and looking no less intimidating even as injured as he was. The two giants began walking towards each-other, then as momentum built more and more they eventually were sprinting at full speed, cracking the pavement under their feet with every step.
In a time frame so tiny a regular man wouldn't have even noticed, the two armored masses crashed into one-another, the sheer force of the impact sending any sort of debris lying anywhere close to them scattering. Neither party desired to give an inch, and soon they were both entangled in a war for dominance, sinew of steel and actual steel pushing and pulling relentlessly to gain an upper hand.
But as it was, the Chaos Marine had simply been injured more than the Custodian, due to his opponent's skill and his own recklessness. He had lost a whole appendage with which to battle him. And the Custodian, despite not having the backing of a Ruinous Power, still possessed the brute strength and raw talent to finally break the stalemate and shove his spear directly into the Terminator's chest cavity.
He couldn't tell exactly, but he was almost certain he had slashed open both of his hearts, as the Terminator went almost completely limp immediately, and the gush of red coming from his chest did not stop even with the impressive clotting capabilities any Astartes would possess. The only sign of life was his hand, now having dropped the hammer, feebly holding on to his spear.
Kronos placed an armored boot on his abdomen, intending to pry his spear off. But before he could, the brute raised his head one last time to look at his face with the same spiteful and hating visage that he had had since the second he had taken his helmet off.
"You will accomplish nothing now. Your fate is already sealed. And so is this world's."
Kronos wanted to end the bastard right then and there, but instead he pulled him close, mere centimeters away from his own face plate, cold red optics staring back, unwavering and unyielding.
"Fate has no meaning for me, brute. Fate is something that binds and kills the worshipers of false gods like yourself. My very existence here defies it, and I will continue defying it, while you and whatever you've brought upon this world rots in Hell."
At that, Kronos pulled off his Guardian Spear, leaving the body to drop to the ground. He would die of blood loss soon enough. Kronos now had bigger concerns, as he turned to the darkening skies over the city, a feeling of foreboding never escaping his mind as he rushed to where he had last seen his compatriots.
Author's notes: Welp, been a while hasn't it? Sorry about that. Life kinda got in the way, like, a lot. What doesn't seem to help is that I can only write this at a late hour, and school has started up again, so...yeah.
Sorry if any of you thought Kalathros was going to play a bigger role, but he really was just a tool. Even a Chaos Terminator would be damn hard pressed to give much of a challenge to a Custodian, so he was kind of just a means to an end, but hey, I hope you enjoyed him regardless.
And yeah, shit really hits the fan in this and the next chapter. So look forward to that whenever I get around to it. Because with my current schedule I don't think I can promise actual dates without turning out a liar afterwards.
So yeah, that's pretty much all for me right now. As always, reviews follows and faves are always appreciated, and I'll see you guys whenever. This is Spooky Scary Skeledepression signing off (p.s. Happy Spooktober).