DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OF THE WARHAMMER 40K UNIVERSE!
He skewered the warrior in front of him. Five powered claws exiting from the back of purple and gold colored power armour. He saw the traitor's eyes widen from the shock of the blow, beneath the eyes lens of his mark III helm. He felt the last movements of resistance as thick red ichor dripped down his arms. The Morlock tossed the body to the side. Boltrounds pinged off his armor, slightly chipping ceramite, leaving gashes and scars upon the black and gunmetal plate. It mattered not, the Cataphractii pattern armour worn by he, and his brothers was highly resilient, and paired with the heavy modifications made by he and his fellow Morlocks, near invulnerable. He swung his heavily armored body around, to face his attackers.
Levelling his combi-bolter, he let loose his fury, the barrage utterly shredding the two Emperor's children foolish enough to fire upon him. The multiple bolt rounds cracking ceramite and tearing through plate to ravage the weak flesh beneath. He continued his killing stride, bringing death upon any traitor astartes he caught in his path. His bionic eye constantly scanned the battlefield, locking on to any living target within his range. This was their vengeance. Their retaliation for that which had recently transpired. The Phoenix Guard had shamed them within the chambers of their legion's own flagship, Fist of Iron.
The Honor Guard had slain ten of their number in cold blood before the warriors even realized the deceit which had taken placed. Each felled in unison by the swing of a powered halberd. Even their first captain, Gabriel Santor, had nearly perished during the swift skirmish. A dishonor as such upon the Morlock name would not stand. This was a stain which needed to be removed. When news came of the treachery of the warmaster and the traitors upon Isstvan V, the Iron Hnads were the first to the call. The Morlocks alongside their Primarch had led the charge. They were at the forefront of the battle, eager to wreak bloody havoc upon the traitor lines. The warriors of Clan Avernii would have blood.
Skral executed a backhanded slash with his claws. The blow powered by both augmetics and the servos of his armor. The recipient, a helmless Son's of Horus Astartes, felt the full power of his blow. His head sliced cleanly through into fleshy giblets. The loyalist had been betrayed mid battle by their supposed second wave. The traitors had fired upon their exposed flanks, trapping the loyalist between a traitorous front. Now the warrior found themselves faced with legion of highly trained genetically enhanced warriors. The body fell to the ground with a thud. Skral soon found himself faced with one of the Emperor's Children own honor guard. The warrior wasted no formalities, charging the Iron Hands warrior. The warrior raised his halberd, swinging it downwards, aiming to catch his helm in the overhead strike.
Skral parried, stopping the blade with his claws. His bionics whined, his servos groaned, being pushed to their utmost limit to handle the strain of the blow and the power behind it. He would not be felled so easily. In that same instance in which he parried, he raised his bolter to the traitor's chest, and squeezed the trigger. At such close range the Phoenix Guard stood no chance. Bolt round tore through plate, piercing the twin hearts beneath, leaving a fist sized exit round. He then battered the warrior aside, eager to move to the next kill. Even as the Morlocks fought now, their gene father faced an even greater battle against his traitorous brother, Fulgrim. Ferrus Manus wasted no time in tracking his brother down, aiming to make him face judgment for his recent course of actions. Skral caught sight of the battle. He had never seen anything of the likes before.
A battle between two gods. He had always seen the primarchs in battle against the enemies of Mankind. Never did he think he would see them in battle against each other. It was a sight to behold, each wielding weapons specifically crafted for the other. The sheer intensity of the battle sending chills down his very spine. He watched in anticipation as his primarch battled on. His anticipation soon drifted to dread at which occurred in front of him next. Tragedy had befallen their primarch. The Gorgon had been forced to his knees, seemingly at the mercy of The Phoenician. Everything froze around him. His twin hearts began to beat faster than ever before. He saw his primarch attempt one last effort to slay his brother, reaching for a fallen sword. He saw the Emperor's Children's primarch look down upon his father, a blade of Xenos design locked in his hands.
He saw the same weapon slay his own father, the blade cutting through both flesh and bone as if it was nothing. The body of Ferrus Manus fell to the ground with a loud thud, which resounded in the very souls of all the Iron Hands around. He could not believe it. Was this a trick? An assault upon the mind of the Loyalist in hopes of breaking their ranks. There was no way his primarch could have been slain so easily. No way his own body could have failed him. No way he could have brought to his demise by the weakness of his own flesh…No…His eyes had not failed him. His bionic eye had depicted the scene clearly. This was no lie. No ploy. No well-crafted illusion. This was reality.
Skral stared in disbelief, too shocked to even move a muscle as the battle raged on around him. He watched them, horde of Emperor's children legionnaires swarming his primarch's body, blades raised hacking at the fallen corpse. His vox crackled, with questions of the Gorgon's fate bouncing around the communications. It wasn't until he heard a single sentence, uttered by one of his fellow Morlocks that he finally snapped out of his trance. "THE GORGON HAS BEEN SLAIN!" the voice yelled. It was as he heard these words that he felt something within him break. The last tidbits of his humanity drained away, much like the still flowing blood of his father leaving nothing but the coldness of the machine within, but this too was soon replaced by a new sensation. A deep raged burned within him. The burning embers of hate found themselves kindled within him. He felt a rage like nothing before. A primal instinct to slay all that stood in his way. To kill those who dare desecrated their father.
"THE GORGOOOOOON!" he roared, completely overtaken by his rage. He charged the legion horde that clustered around his father. He fired his bolter until it's magazine ran dry and it was by then that he had crashed into the purple and gold wave hacking and slashing. Beating down upon any who stood in his way, even as his own body was pierced and riddled by blade and round. They would not have his father. He would not allow it!
Skrall of Clan Avernii, elite veteran of the Iron Hands' First Company would sadly be slain. His mangled body found only inches from where his primarch had been slain..
END