It had been two standard Terran days since the foul witches had trapped him only Emperor knows where. Trapped within a foul cylinder of sorceries, bound by un-holy powers he had stood, un-willing to give even the slightest glint of information to the foe. His captors had been someone what sparse in their interrogation sessions, asking questions for but a few minutes before realizing that heir captive would be completely unresponsive to their verbal questioning. It actual did not matter which method they would have used, for he would not speak, he would not defy his oaths. The reasonable line of thought was that the witches were too fearful of him to even gaze upon his holy armor. He would endure, just as those brothers who had before him, and he would never give in to the enemies of the Emperor

Brother Drakken would stay forever composed and invincible to the prodding questions of his captors. He would withstand any pain they would bring to bear, and would repel all of those who seeked to destroy him, a manifestation of the Emperor's Will. 'Let them come' he thought, 'They will find no weaknesses or answers from me'. He repeated the thought for hours on end, within the magical chamber, within the large stone room, protected by selective guards, within the powerful and open walls of the Institute of War.

It was an exciting day for Summoner Procestus, for today he would get to gaze upon the demon and, if the stars above allowed, attempt to speak with it. Compared to his colleagues who had been rather disturbed and terrified of the intruder to their sanctuary of peace, Procestus was a barely contained vortex of excitement, wishing dearly to see the creature. Though he had recalled the events of the lasted summoned creature being brought into this plane using nexus power, the cost paled to the knowledge one could gain. What laid beyond the void, what type of creature was this? He had to know, going so far to pester his Summoner Superior Halvard for the last two days incessantly until the man could not bear it anymore.

"Fine!" Halvard had roared at him from behind the Mahogany desk within his office, "If you want to go see it so bad then go! See what I care when that horrid thing rips your head from your body do not even attempt to resurrect yourself just to complain!" He finished, slamming his palm onto the thick wood desk, the sound rebounding off the stone walls of the chamber. Procestus sped from the room, his robes flying behind him as he rushed out the open door, closing it but without enough force to slam it. Behind the door , the older summoner had dropped his head, hand rubbing against his forehead in irritation as he let out an unheard sentence. "Fucking kids and their suicidal wishes."

By that time however Procestus was already down the hallway and moving through the daily rabble and several groups of summoners in his quest to reach the holding room of the creature. He passed by a few of Champions as well, seeing fit to greet them with reverence deserving of their status as great warriors. They gave nothing but nods of greeting in return, which was expected for a summoner as low as himself. He did not mind, and understood why they did it with social standings and politics heavily involved with almost every movement of the champions. He wished it didn't have to be that way, always leaning towards the more simpler aspects of the Institute and its fighters.

All to soon was he greeted by a pair of great wooden doors, their massive structure imbued with magical wards of holding and nullifying runes. This was to be his first test to reaching the creature, with the bag of the Superior within his robes he pushed against the doors with all his might.

For a few seconds the massive doors did not appear to move, the small summoner's hands completely unmoving as he pushed forwards to what seemed to be an immovable object. A few summoners stopped and stared with questioning looks, wondering as to why their fellow had begun to open the great doors, or at least attempt to. The looks grew however, when with a great groan, the massive wooden frames slowly pushed inwards and apart, slowly moved by magical force to the side, revealing a gapping hall similar to the maw of some monster. As the summoner passed through the doorway and into the poorly lit abyss the gigantic doors slowly swung shut behind him, until with a mighty thud they closed, completely cutting off communication to the outside.

The hallway was lit with old magical torches, each which cast a simmering blue blaze from their mounted paces on the walls. The hall stretched forward for several meters, giving away nothing of the place he had entered until the very end of the hall, which lie a set of smaller doors than the one he had entered in, no different save for its size and the figure standing in front of it.

It appeared to be a normal human being, a bit short in stature compared to some of the members of league, but was none the less imposing. Clad completely in golden armor, with red liner and a deep red sash hanging down the hips, equipped with a matching golden and ruby embedded sword with a diamond tipped head, the only odd, or some would say enchanting addition to the warrior, was the large pair of wings that reached from the back of the golden suit. With it, the knight hovered a few feet off the floor, effectively looming over the approaching form of Procestus as he approached.

"Do you have a seal of office to permit your access to the holding chambers?" The knight asked when he had come to a stop below, her feminine voice willful and guarded.

"Yes Judicator, I come with the seal of Summoner Superior Halvard." Procestus replied, reaching into his robe to bring out the circular medallion, its emblem shinning in the blue glow. The Judicator pitched downward, gazing at the office before leaning back into her previous position.

"All is in order, but be wary, I have not seen you before in these halls summoner, and so it is my duty to instruct you on how we shall proceed." She said, still looking down upon the robed form of the summoner. "Behind these doors all magic will be cancelled, save for the powers of the Arch Summoners and the High Summoner himself. You will need to close your mind, for any magical reaction within these rooms that is not sanctified will be sought out and destroyed by the wards and seals of this place, the most lenient of possibilities is a very severe headache, the harshest being death."

Procestus had heard whispers passed down from the upper ranks that such was the power of these halls, for it held at bay some of the most horrible and destructive creatures on RuneTerra. These halls had to be the safest in all the land to even think of containing the might of the creatures such as the Eternal Nightmare or The Terror of the Void. Its guardians, such as the Judicator in front of him were chosen from the most just and righteous of all the lands, having been selectively picked to do their duties. Some were not able to such as the Rogue Mage, who relied to much on his magic to be able to stop anything from escaping the magic blunting halls. The Judicator was in fact effected by the same wards, but she was still an admiral fighter without her magic having spent centuries perfecting her swordsmanship. Another guardian was The Night Haunter, who was unaffected by the wards and was always at peak condition to deal with any break outs that could potentially occur.

Procestus was aroused from his train of thought when the Judicator moved and opened the doors behind her, causing the summoner to follow through. Steeling his mind he followed behind with a slow walking pace, carefully inspecting the hall they walked through. It had several doors of verying sizes, all with similar wards to the great doors leading into the hall. Some were differently aligned than others, and many of the text spread to the walls surrounding the chambers. If he was to pass to close to one he would hear different things, some were horrifying sounds were others promoted nothing but an eerie lack of sound. Procestus though himself a small bit out of his league beside the Judicator and how she did not even seem to react to the presence of the monsters just behind the doors.

Though he could not truly say how much time had passed in their walk amongst the chambers, Procestus could truly feel as if a year had been passed as they reached the far door on the opposite side of the chamber, as if there was something telling him to go back, trying to stop him. Procestus continued on anyway, beside the Judicator even thought the toll on his physique form was increasingly evident, something the Judicator took note of as the summoner leaned forward, the strength and air slowly seeming to come back as he caught his breath. Procestus looked up in both confusion and questioning, wondering what the hall had done to him and lucky enough to Judicator decided to respond to him.

"The halls are a test for many summoner, luckily you were able to withstand their trial, that of strength, mind, and will to continue against the odds and threats of others, though It is a simple trial there are many parts to it, sometimes changing in their fortifications. Each time you walk these halls the feeling will renew, and in some cases, if it dare to find you unworthy or with malicious intent, will increase the weight against you. Pray that should never be the case summoner, for if you ever travel down that dark path, I would be the first in line to stop you." She said aloud, still looking down upon his resting body, her words taking on an almost ice-like tone at the end of her statement. His head tipped up at this, and stared at her armored helmet, too out of breath to bring forth a facial expression. After a few minutes he spoke again.

"L-Let us continue on." He said, a small stutter entering his voice as he placed an uncovered palm on the door in front of him only to hiss and recoil when the forefinger landed upon the tip of a ward, which seared hot against his flesh. Caressing his finger as it glowed red hot he looked back at the Judicator, who simply leaned downward, chanted a few magical incantations that Procestus could not even hear when he was right next to her, and reached forward, grasping the two solid steel handles that rest at the center. Her gauntlets glowed a bright white as they grasped the steel, causing both of them to avert their eyes as she pushed the door inward. The ancient door slid open without noise, slowly revealing a completely bland chamber beyond, save for one thing in the center of the room; the magical cage.

Almost a towering ten feet in height, the solid blue rune prison held no openings or clearness to reveal the creature within. Though the height of the prison was taller than the creature it contained however, the sides were strictly close together, forcing the limbs into a near ram-rod strait position to allow no movement. Safety precautions were in order due to the bloody arrival of the monstrosity, and as such over the past few days it had not been fed nor watered, but it did not vocalize any discomfort at the harsh confinements. It actually had not even spoken save for the thunderous battle cry it had uttered forth as it had emerged from the lower chambers. It had been found that those who had been in the chambers at the time had been brutally killed, their bodies mutilated by either the massive sword the demon had wielded or by large holes in their chest or lack of limbs, caused by something, perhaps magic of a more brutal and forceful nature. It was unnerving to say the least about the creature's silence.


The door opened slowly, gliding across the surface of stone in an almost perfect way that would be practically impossible to notice for any mortal being, but he was no mortal, his biologically advanced hearing picking up the microscopic grinding of steel covered wood upon stone. He had been left to solitude from the foul heretics and their seemingly endless questions but a few hours ago, yet even his endless silence did not persuade them that he would give no ground to the intellect and memories within his mind. Now they returned, the one who came with the sound of low whooshes of air familiar to his ears, having long ago decided that the sound was air being pressed downward by an air-born creature, the mere thought setting his blood to boil at the thought of a daemon just beyond the cage, safe from his judgment. There was a new sound however, that of soft pattering footsteps, slowly coming closer to his cage. Though many had been through to see him no doubt from the same pitch of footsteps, the weight was different signifying yet another different newcomer to his cage, to try and reveal the heavily locked secrets of his mind. The footfalls stopped, if he guess right, a mere five meters from his cage, the air-born stood above, wings still flapping but at a smaller pace to keep in place.

"Is it within?" The newcomer asked, a high pitched voice, one more akin to a civilian, his voice not solid but young, if guessing right was just above twenty years old.

"Yes, it still resides within, be on with your business." The air-born replied, the female's voice washing over him, as if trying to assure him via he senses that she was trustworthy, even if she had not even directly spoken to him. Though he did not exert discomfort his mind repelled the feeling as if it was a vile sorcery, for all he knew, it may have been. Her voice demanded order, as if every sentence that was wrought from her mouth, with its soothing tones, was under laid with iron will, something that Drakken could begrudgingly admire, even if he had already determined his opinion of the no doubt daemon beyond his blue encased vision.

"Well then," the younger voice started, raising his voice before speaking once again, this time directing the conversation to Drakken. "I beseech you creature of the void, where do you hail from, and why do you attack our people in such a manner? You do not appear like the others from your plane, not of purple and red with claws and chitin but rather with a shell as dark as night and weapons of man, made for destruction. I ask, what exactly are you alien?"

A poor choice of words from the one beyond this blue cage, for even though the term was old, Drakken still understood the implications of being a xenos, a non-human. His mind and heart rankled with displeasure and anger, a boil to the flame within his hearts. Whoever this fool was to call him such, he who was made to fight the enemies of humanity and defend it for any that try to extinguish its light, who he had slain in over three hundred years of service to The God-Emperor, would be ripped to shreds upon his release from these magical bonds. Woe befall those who dare insult the glorious form of he, the will of The God-Emperor, defender of Humanity, he, Adeptus Astartes.

"I really wish to know, why have you come here?" the speaker continued, his curiosity pilling into his voice unchecked and oblivious to the insult he pushed upon Drakken. "Are you some type of robot, maybe even a giant? I would really love to know what you're made out of, I wonder if you would take kin to any of those here such as the Eternal Nightmare, maybe you are such a being as the Sentinel? No, I can see you being more at home in the presence of The Master of Metal, one of the darkest and most evil lords in all of RuneTerra's history." He could hear pacing beyond his cell as the heretic talked, but it did not matter for he was dumbstruck at the implications of the words spoken by the fool.

He, Brother Captain Drakken of the Black Templars third company had been accused, in less than a minute of being not only a heretic, but one who would ally with xenos, an abominable intelligence, an un-holy being not suited within his role as a Adeptus Astartes, and a traitor for all that he stood for. Within a millisecond Drakken's thoughts and emotions had snapped from dumbstruck to that of complete anger, his mind going near blank save for litanies of hate. A low grinding sound echoed forth, past his mouth, going through his helmet without the help of the inlaid vox caster. The grinding spread outwards from his prison, and echoed off of the unseen walls of the chamber, causing both of his "visitors" to unwillingly take a step backwards, the Judicator bringing her sword to bear almost silently.

"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU TO IMPLY THAT I AM THE VERY THING OF WHICH I WAS MADE TO DESTROY! I SHALL END YOU HERETIC, FOR NO BINDINGS NOR SORCERY SHALL STOP ME! IN THE NAME OF THE GOD EMPEROR I SHALL DESTROY YOU MIND, BODY, AND SOUL, AND I WILL TAKE THIS WORLD BACK IN THE HIS HOLY NAME!" Drakken roared, his vox caster activating in time to bring the speech to a near ear shattering force, causing the very walls of the chamber to shake and tremble. He pushed forwards against his bindings, his gauntleted hands smashing against the magical walls of his cage, both hold pushing outwards with the strength of a demi-god, the cage starting to twist in color from where he exerted his force. With a bestial roar, he gave a final push, causing the magical hold to shatter.

Procestus looked upon the cage in worry at the creature's announcement, hesitant to say whether or not it would hold. Though he had no clue as to what the changing color of the cage meant, he did understand what the creature had said even though he had cupped his hands over his ears in attempt to muffle the volume. What was a God Emperor? Was it referring to the Ascended of Shurima? Procestus had less time to figure out the meaning of the statements as he was roughly pushed back by an armored hand. Before him now float the imposing form of the Judicator, her sword held aloft in a double handed stance. "Get Back!" she called, voice risen but barely hearable over the twisted sounds coming from the prison. It mattered not however, for the prison shattered with an ear breaking shriek, sending out a blast that sent Procestus slamming into the wall just a little right of the door, the Judicator nowhere to be seen.

"I SHALL SMITE YOU HERETIC!" The now free creature roared, small shards of the prison smoking across its person, coating the midnight black in a dark blue, the silver shoulder ablaze in a radiance of shinning silver and the opposite one with its white and black match turned blue. It held its massive weapons in hand, already the sword was alight with eldritch energy, in its opposite had a very odd looking device, similar to the new Piltoverian firearms save for its bulk, his mind cast aside the details however within the next few seconds his excitement to see the creature turned to absolute dread.

With a speed unmatched by anything living it rushed forward, its bulk seeming almost impossible to move past that of a marching pace. It thundered forward from the shattered prison, and directly at Procestus, sword raised and a roar coming from seemingly all around. Terror clouding his mind, Procestus turned to the most primal instincts of self preservation, forgetting all else but to raise a barrier between him and the terrifying creature. As the creature was nearly upon him, swinging downward, a bronze like light enveloped the air around him in a globe shape, its shape just completing as the monster struck.

It was to little avail however, for as the sparking sword of the beast crashed down it shattered his ill timed barrier to pieces, the lash back alongside the runes in the chamber slinging Procestus farther back into the wall before slipping him into the throws of unconsciousness. As he faded into the black he only got a glimpse of what happened next; a blur of gold and white smashed into the creature, pushing it aside from its next strike upon him, the roaring continued as the pain became unbearable, and with that he slipped away.


The rage had cleared for a second as he struck his opponent, the magical barrier thrown up in protection reminding him of that of a Rosiarius, but without the tint of holy light such a shield would produce. He could feel the fear radiating from the pathetic mage before him, but the sorcerer did not cry out in desperation, nor speak in terrified pray to the horrible deities of the warp. No matter, Drakken though, his mind already calculating another swing just as his first landed. The barrier shattering and throwing the sorcerer back against the wall. Stepping forward with his massive stride, he once more swung the power sword down, the heretic's death imminent. Tempered steel covered by the righteous power field sung as it descended downward in an over hand strike once more, the machine spirit humming alongside as it felt the grip of battle once more.

The strike never landed.

A half second as the swing tore down towards the heretic, Drakken heard the swoosh of wings taking flight once more, his head turning to confront his new foe as the swing waned. A milisecond before the sword impacted upon the robes of the sorcerer he caught only a glimmer of red, gold, and white before being pushed away from the sorcerer, his blade being pushed aside by another one of similar size if not bulk, the gold blade sending his sword arm backward with just enough force to miss the strike. As his sword swung lower and into the concrete , Drakken let his attacker use their momentum to fully swing his sword down, letting their charge glance over his pauldren, the gold blade creating only a small scratch across the paint in a narrow spiked line. His eyes followed the form as it shot, no flew past, his other arm bringing to bear his bolt pistol in righteous fury. His eyes already adjusting the distance of his shot as the golden clad figure sped past him trying to halt their speed desperately, he took in the small nanosecond to identify the figure. White feathered wings spread from the back of heavily engraved golden armor. It all looked very familiar, as if a person had made a mortal size of the Primarch Sanguinius. An angel.

Drakken held his fire, bolt pistol still aimed at the figure as it paused its flight to gaze back at him. A small bout of calm befell the two, the adrenaline of confilict heavy within the two, yet there was a calm now, a calm before the storm. The angel, hand still on its sword, reached upwards with its free hand, grasping at the golden helmet, before pulling it off and casting it to the floor in between them. An almost perfect face took the place of impassible golden gaze, revealing the mane of blond upon the angel's head. The angel reached up and brushed the strands aside, revealing to Drakken's confusion and surprise a feminine face. It was no man that stopped him, but rather a woman, perhaps a saint upon this world? It mattered not, for he would fight her just the same as any other warrior, but first he had to acknowledge the challenge laid out by the woman.

Lowering his bolt pistol and mag-locking it just below his waste and using the other hand to holster his sword, he then proceeded to reach up with the now free hands, pushing against the collar seals of his helmet, resulting in a click and then slight hiss of slightly pressurized air being released. Pulling up further Drakken bowed his head slightly with eyes closed, dropping the helmet into one hand before redrawing his sword and mag-locking the helmet just beside its holster. Raising his head back up he opened his eyes, the dark brown starring at his hovering enemy, whose face had turned from impassible to that of slight shock.

He locked at the angel once more, before charging forward, power sword held in a double handed stance. The angel was quick to react, speeding forward upon white wings to deflect the falling blade. Drakken knew that the angel was at least on par with him in terms of speed and dexterity with the advantage of the wings, however, when her blade struck it barely pushed aside his own sword, revealing how out matched she was in terms of strength. He was surprised to find that her sword was not damaged, but ablaze with pure flames. Despite his surprise he swung again as she passed by, hoping to tear away her advantage of speed by dismembering her wings but to no avail for she was already outside of his reach. She blitz back around in a roll, seeking to come about on his unguarded flank only to find that the eldritch blade was there a split second in return. Another push off sent her aside and swooping back again. This time, her blade struck, across the lower left side of his ribs. The effect, unfortunately for her, had the same effect as before, leaving nothing but a small silver streak among the black paint. Her attack had left her off balance, but out of a proper angle for the giant's sword to come around and hit her, but that was not the attack he would send her way.

"MAY THE EMPEROR GUIDE MY FIST!" Drakken roared, his gauntlet slamming into the precariously positioned body of the angel. A small crunch was heard as the gauntlet partially caved in a segment of her armor along her flank. She carried on however, choosing to guide herself higher before resting a palm against the area he struck. Golden light slipped from between the stretched out hand, appearing to do nothing to the armor, even as the small spell stopped. Unfurling her wings before holding them close to her body, the angel dived at Drakken, resuming the fight. Their blades crashed against each other for minutes, the sounds echoing through the chamber as each warrior had meet their match. The noise encircled them, masking all other things but the focus the two had placed upon each other, including the footsteps of several padded and armored feet.


Author's Note: Wow. I'm surprised by how long this took even with the writers block, and I'm really sorry for the lateness, but hey I did get a longer chapter. To be honest I was thinking about extending this one but at the same time I was running out of ideas to string it together, hopefully this little cliff hanger does well. Also, I do play league, and the lack of writing has basically because I reached plat within the last week for the first time, but now that I have ill be working on this a bit harder. I have also been looking at another style of Warhammer crossovers and have found the RWBY ones to be quite entertaining and exciting to say the least, especially in the case of "In The Grimm Darkness" by Darkerpaths. Anyway, I've held you guys up long enough.