DISCLAIMER I DO NOT OWN WARHAMMER!
"AAARGHH."
The Salamander's death cry resounded through his eardrums, resonating like a sweet tune. The orchestra of battle was playing it's sweet..sweet melody for him. Death and agony reaching their ultimate crescendo.
Oh how he loved it all. The death. The slaughter. The rending of flesh and bones. Most of his legion enjoyed to torture their prey within the confines of their dungeons.
But he was different. Oh yes he was very different indeed. What better way to break a warrior than to do so in the domain in which he was the most enamored with. The field of battle.
In combat you could break both body and spirit. Muscle and Mind. Armor and bone. Make them realize how fruitless all their training was. Make them realize how useless all their past combat experience was when faced with a greater foe.
Made them realize true fear and hopelessness.
He licked his lips, just salivating at the thoughts of pure agony he was going to wreak upon the loyalists of this world. The Night Lords were masters of despair and fear was one of their greatest tools. What greater joy than to bring that despair onto their loyalist cousins.
His legion never truly cared about the great crusade or liberating planet's for the Imperium. It was all about the hunt. The thrill of the kill. Being able to inflict the highest amount of atrocities and sow seeds of fear wherever they went.
He withdrew his blade from the dead Salamander's chest cavity and flicked the blood to the ground. He was done here now. It was time to find more prey. Time to break more of his foolhardy cousins. He stepped forward, leaving behind in his wake a small heap of broken green armored corpses...All slain by his hand.
As he walked, he felt a hand grip his left greave, and looked down to see a bisected Iron Hands legionary clinging on to dear life.
"Oh no no no. You're already ruined. Won't be any fun at all." Sighed the Night Lord as pumped a round from his Bolt Pistol into the dying warriors head.
Blood and Brain matter splattered onto his form as he continued his stride forward. Warriors bearing different heraldry charged him every now and then yes. However, he felt nothing from any of them. Just the rank and file astartes. None worth their merit.
The first charged him, brandishing a chainsword. He was too lost in fury and rage to realize he was charging right into his death. A few well placed rounds from his pistol dropped the shrieking Raven midway through. His next opponent was a Salamander brandishing an ornate power sword. He posed more of a challenge.
They traded blows with their blades. His power sword versus that of his opponent's. The skirmish was short lived however, as he was able to find an opening in their warrior's form and plunge his blade deep into his belly at the first opportunity. He gutted the warrior like he did oh so many others, leaving him behind to try and hold his innards within him as they spilled outward.
"On to the next- Ohhh what do we have here?" He asked, halting his stride completely.
He had finally found prey worthy of breaking. Someone that would be fun to play with. The warrior took the form of a helmetless Raven Guard. Pale skin and long jet black hair. Armor adorned with various honors and battle scars. Despite his young appearance he seemed to be rather decorated. A newly christened sergeant perhaps.
He was leading a small band of survivors. All of them his ebon armored kin. They rallied behind him. They were probably inspired by him. He was their leader.
This was gonna make breaking him all the more fun. Killing him was going to be enjoyable.
The warrior was currently engaged with two of his legion brothers. He was swift, dodging and parrying blows the instant they came into his range. The Raven's skill was quite deadly, as he dispatched the two without virtually breaking a sweat. Now all he had to do was get his attention.
The warrior was flanked by a single astartes, the others having gone to engage in mini skirmishes
He raised his bolt pistol, letting loose a single precise round. The shot pierced through his allies throat, causing him to drop as he began to choke on his own blood. The lead Raven Guard turned towards him, a scowl on his face. That certainly got his attention.
"I'm to slay for that traitorous whore son." stated the Raven.
"Kahahahaha!" He cackled, his laughter booming through his vox grill.
His grip tightened on his power sword.
"I'm gonna play with you kiddo..until you drown in a puddle of your own blood!" He roared.
The two charged each other, locking blades. Despite his young age, the little Raven was rather adept in combat. He was able to keep up with his flurry of blows and match his strength..but keeping up wasn't going to be enough.
As the battle progressed, the young warrior's skills were waning. He was making more mistakes. Getting sloppy. Perhaps if he had more time to hone his skills, he would have been able to best him in this battle of attrition.
Sadly time was not on his sides. The young Raven found himself taking more damage as the battle progressed. Cuts aimed at his joints and face. Blood pooling beneath him from each wound. He saw it in the boy's face. The desperation. The fear of defeat. Of failing his brothers.
He was almost ripe now. With a quick swing, he took from him his right leg, bringing him to the ground. Another stripped him of his sword arm.
The blood from the stumps added to the already growing pool of blood around him. Now on his back, the Night Lord took his blade and stabbed it deep into the warrior's shoulder to pin him down.
"This..I want you to watch." He whispered as he walked away.
Picking up the Raven Guard's fallen blade he approached his comrades. He could hear the pinned Raven leader pleading and protesting for his brothers but alas that would do nothing for them. With his stolen blade, he slew the Raven's kin with his own blade.
When the deed was done and their bodies lay in a broken heap before him, he discarded the weapon and returned to his quarry. He could see it now. His fruit was ready to be picked.
The warrior was broken now. He had failed his brothers. He had failed as a leader and to top it off his own blade had been that which killed his own charges.
"Now to make good on my promise~" He cooed, gripping his blade and ripping it from the warriors shoulder, taking the arm off with it. The young Raven howled in pain only to be silenced as an armored hand gripped his face and forced it down into a pool of his own blood.
He struggled for a while. Astartes lungs were quite a powerful thing but eventually his struggles got weaker and eventually his body stopped flailing altogether.
The Night Lord released his head, allowing it to lay in the bloody puddle. He thoroughly enjoyed that. He had to live up to his namesake of course.
Within the VIIIth legion he was known as Raian, The King of Slaughter.
Here with the chapter of the week. I will be taking a short hiatus while i work on the my Raven Guard story and will be returning sometime in February. FAREWELL GOOD WARRIORS OF THE IMPERIUM!