A ganger fell, rent from gullet to groin by Kaiser's shimmering power sword as his guts spilled out onto the floor like a fleshy carpet. Gerrock was far from idle, slamming his brute shield into the midsection of another ganger before bringing his massive ripper gun down of his fallen victim. Klovis brought his screaming eviscerator into a horrific strike, ripping a ganger in half as he attempted to hide behind a steel pillar.
A bloodbath, plain and simple.
The gang were either severely down-on-their-luck or newly created, Thulsa's thoughts went along the second option judging from the general status of the opposition. Blasting a ganger point-blank in the face, sending chunks of brain across the room, Thulsa's fought back-to-back with another of his companions, Morr.
Towering a full head over Thulsa, Morr was one of the dreaded dark eldar Incubi, his monsterous klaive sweeping in unstoppable arcs, passing effortlessly through thick leather and human torso's with utter impunity. Not a full-fledged Incubus, having yet to slay a craftworld warrior in single combat, he had joined Thulsa's motley crew around five years before.
A group of drugged-up zealot's barged into the room, chainswords and flails spinning madly as they joined the swirling melee. Thulsa turned, both of his autopistols roaring on full auto, the dum-dum rounds punching through heavy leather and the flesh and bone beneath with ease. The nearest one, his left arm blown of by Thulsa's deadly aim, leaped toward him only to be bisected by Morr's deadly strike. Casting both of his autopistol's aside, Thulsa drew his mono-edged longsword from its sheath.
With a mental thought, a fresh batch of concerntrated electrosteroids coursed through his system. His muscles swelling with might, Thulsa grabbed the nearest zealot by the throat and extended his blade-tines. With a vicious motion he ripped the zealots throat out, drenching his flakweave trenchcoat in the crimson deluge as he dropped the dying man to the floor.
Thulsa lashed out with his blade, splitting a zealot's skull in twain before racking his taloned hand across anothers gut, disemboweling him with ease. Pain lanced from his face, a zealots bladed flail having caressed his cheek. Thulsa caught the weapon's handle and pulled, yanking the zealot closer whilst the unstoppable warrior brought his blade down his victims shoulder, severing it along with the zealots arm in a shower of gore. Releasing the flail, Thulsa raked his micro-serrated blade-tines across the fanatics chest, the blades passing through bone and internal organs like wheat before a scythe.
Hurling the corpse aside, Thulsa continued on his killing spree with wild abandon, Morr trailing close behind. Kaiser's power sabre passed through the zealots whirring chainsword, taking half of his skull along with it. Snapping off a few shots of his splinter pistol off at a shotgun-wielding ganger, he slammed his punch-claw up into the skull of a second zealot before coiling his serpentine tail around the legs of another attempting to outflank Klovis, hurling the unfortunate zealot at the wall with an audible 'Crack' before he fell to the floor in a motionless heap.
Gerrock blasted a pair of gangers into red mist before headbutting a zealot into bloody ruin and backhanding another. Klovis immolated a fleeing ganger with his hand flamer and shredded two charging zealots with a single swing of his monsterous blood-choked eviscerator. Thulsa tore a bloody swath through whatever dared to stand in his path, as relentless as death himself.
The final few ganger made their escape, sprinting down an adjacent hallway as Thulsa hurled himself towards them. Of the forty gangers and zealots, only three were left, one of the remaining 'heavies' and a pair of juves all huddled together in terror on a freight elevator at the end of the corridor. Thulsa charged on even as the heavy brought his shotcannon to bear.
The enormous shotgun screamed as it sent a cloud of death at the oncoming warrior. Much of the shot pattered off of Thulsa's carapace armour or was caught by his flakweave trenchcoat, but countless more had found their way between the segmented trauma-plates, punching through the void-hardened bodysuit beneath with murderous ease. The chem-glands implanted around his withered heart shot into overtime, pumping out enough dark eldar combat drugs to make one of the vaunted Death Guard drop dead in seconds.
As countless forms of chemicals ravaged his body, Thulsa's eyes rolled back whilst he threw himself fowards. There was some thirty feet between Thulsa and the gangers, and he cleared it in three strides.
Then, only screaming could be heard, along with the sound of metal-on-bone.
Klovis gritted his teeth as he ran. He hated both himself and Thulsa in equal measure whenever this happened.
"No" He thought to himself, Thulsa was not at blame for his actions.
For twenty-two years he had tried to keep Thulsa from falling to his demons, but a man raised in the night-cities of the Dark Eldar does not survive unscathed.
Klovis shook of his line of thought, slamming his hand down on the elevators control panel.
As it slowly rose, he glanced around, staring at the trio of mutilated bodies sharing the ride.
His heart tightened as he turned away, Thulsa had been the perverted toy of the Haemonculi covens from day one, aside from the countless moments he was thrown into the gladiatorial pits of Commoragh to face off against horrors unnameable.
Thulsa had turned into another of his rages, the sheer amount of drugs that raced through his system gave him life, and would be his doom.
If Thulsa's pet Wrack was correct, then every single time he used even a single one of the dozen chem-glands surrounding his heart, another day of life was taken.
For each one of his frenzied killing sprees, an entire year.
If it continued, then even his own withered old body would outlive that of his adopted son.
As the elevator stopped at the topmost floor, Klovis's grip on his eviscerator tightened, its grip groaning in protest at his grasp.
Inaudible to the others, the old Redemptionist made an oath to himself.
"Even if it will cost my life, I will show that boy peace, in mind, body and soul"
And with that said, he charged, his revving chainblade held in a two-handed grip as he hurled himself at the nearest foe he could see.