S
Aboard the World Maelstrom
Darkseid was like a blur as he lunged at me, hateful eyes burning like red-hot coals. A massive fist caught me in the chin, and I flew back, punching through a dozen layers of bulkhead like they weren't even there. I hit the ground rolling, only stopping when I collided with some big power-plant within the heart of the ship, far from where the fight had started.
Something that big shouldn't be able to move that fast.
He was already bearing down on me again as I rose to my feet, but I was ready this time. As he lashed out at me again, I ducked beneath his swing and caught him in the gut with my foot, producing a visible shockwave with the sheer force behind the blow. There was a loud wumph as the wind was knocked out of Darkseid's lungs, and he stumbled back, his face contorted with rage.
"You continue to resist," he snarled. "It was foolish of you to come here."
"It was dumb of you to start this whole thing," I spat back in reply.
He grinned at that. "You will learn your mistake soon enough, woman of steel."
Darkseid went to attack again, but I was faster. I shot forward like a bullet, catching him in the chest and shoving him back through the holes I'd made in the ship. Once I'd built up enough speed, I suddenly stopped, letting him carry forward on his own momentum, then blasted him with my heat vision. He smashed through a thick wall, then rolled forward, steam rising from where I had singed his armor.
Suddenly, he rose to his feet with inhuman speed, red flames around his eyes. Before I could react, a pair of beams shot out, bending at unnatural angles like a twisted version of Legend's power. They struck home, hitting me in the chest, and I felt an agony like never before. It was though my very soul was set on fire, and I opened my mouth in a silent scream as I fell to my knees. Smoke rose from my chest, and I could faintly smell charred skin beneath my uniform.
He was in front of me again, grinning as he grabbed me by the hair so I could be at eye level with him.
"Impressive," he rumbled, the flames retreating back into his eyes. "Even your contemporary could barely withstand a full-power blast of my Omega Beams."
"T-that all you got?" I managed to rasp.
The grin disappeared. He shifted his grip, wrapping his hand around my throat, and brought me close.
"I am many things, Zara Jor-El, more than you could ever hope to imagine. I now take the role of executioner."
Time slowed for me as I let myself think and move faster, too fast for the human mind to comprehend. Darkseid's eyes began to slowly brighten again, something just wrong about how the light interacted with everything around it. Those beams were powerful, even more than anything Scion dished out on me. They were efficient, focusing every ounce of power into hurting me instead of wasting it on the air and nearby objects.
I had to beat him to the punch.
Heat welled up behind my eyes, and I let it loose, channeling it into concentrated beams. My heat vision caught him in the left eye, boiling away the unnatural flesh within his socket, and time returned to normal as he let go of me and stumbled back, howling in rage.
Now was my chance. I went on the offensive, catching him in the chin with a double-fisted uppercut, sending him flying upwards. He smashed through countless decks, then the hull of the ship itself as he flew out into space. Air began to rush out, and I flew up, exiting the ship before more bulkheads could slam shut.
Darkseid flailed about in the empty void, the Ringworld almost threatening to swallow him with its sheer vastness. It was a simple matter to grab him, and a much harder matter to keep him from breaking free. There was a broad swath of bare foundation relatively nearby, and I pushed him down towards it, rapidly gaining in speed. We hit the atmosphere, plasma forming around us as we continued to go faster, then finally smashed into the uninhabited foundation of the Ringworld at a considerable fraction of the speed of light.
The resulting explosion managed to dig a small crater in the foundation, which in turn ignited the atmosphere for miles around. It took a good portion of my strength to not be blown away by the blast, and I could see as the atoms making up the air were reduced to their elementary particles. Thankfully, I knew that there was no one around to get hurt, save for Darkseid; The Ringworld was so vast that we wipe out the land area of an entire planet, and yet avoid a single casualty.
I needed it that way, if I was to go full out.
Darkseid rose to his feet, shaking off steaming flakes of foundation material as he turned to glare at me. Black blood trickled down from his ruined eye, and I could see deep burns on his skin, where the armor didn't protect him.
"That," he snarled, taking a moment to spit out a glob of blood, "hurt."
It was a sentiment I could share. It'd been years since I felt pain like that, fighting the Endbringers and Scion. But this was a different fight altogether; that much I could tell. Scion was powerful, but he relied on versatility and raw energy to fight; he still had the same limits as any flesh and blood creature, though on scales much bigger than anything else. Darkseid, on the other hand, had no shards, or a massive body to draw energy from. Just unnatural toughness, speed, and those damned beams of his.
I could fully understand by what Marco and Jake said when they called him the literal god of evil.
Wiping a trickle of pink blood from my lip, I straightened and glared at Darkseid. He did the same, his remaining eye glowing with that unholy light.
"Giving up yet?" I asked.
A throaty laugh. "You should know how this goes, daughter of Krypton. We've had this last dance so many times, on so many of those pitiful blue planets. I've seen you as a man, a woman; you've come to me bearing every race, every creed and every flag, and yet there's always the same about you, that inexplicable definition that makes you what I hate the most in all of creation."
"I take that as a no, then."
Darkseid cracked his knuckles. "Look around you, Kryptonian. Do you really think I'd let those bumbling fools decide the fate of this battle? My parademons have gone unnoticed while your friends distract themselves with the foolish Primarch and the others, feeding me as they subjugate billions on this ring. I can feel myself growing stronger with every passing moment, while you grow weaker."
As soon as he said that, I suddenly realized what he meant by that. I was so caught up in the fight, I didn't notice the shadow square falling over us, swallowing us in darkness.
"This is the last of the last dances, Zara Jor-El," Darkseid said, "and it will end with you as a greasy smear on my fist."
I shot forward, but he was prepared that time. A backhand caught me in the face, and I went flying back for miles, skidding over the bare Ringworld foundation. He leapt after me, landing a short distance away.
"I am the true end of all things," he growled. "I seek the death of the soul, and it will culminate here, with the destruction of hope itself."
I caught him across the chest with my heat vision, carving a narrow grove in his armor and skin. While he reeled back from that, I caught him in the throat with a relativistic punch, followed by a kick to the gut. Light bloomed out from the epicenters of the impacts, like the births of tiny suns, but he seemed to barely acknowledge them as he remained grounded by whatever unholy force gave him strength.
"What do you think you're going to do after this?!" I hissed, feeling myself tremble with rage. "I know what the other me was talking about. Do you really think you're going to somehow find your creator or something? Change your story so you win? That's not how it works; they only see us, just like how I can see them. We can't go there."
"I know that," he replied.
That was enough to give me a momentary pause, one he took advantage of. He brought down both fists on my shoulders, planting me into the foundation of the Ringworld, then pulled me out by my hair. I tried to hit him with my heat vision again, only for him to clamp his hand over my eyes.
"The others believe that there's some core reality that they can conquer or subjugate, but I plan far worse. They see us, yes, and we in turn shape their minds. We give them fears, or hopes; dreams or nightmares. I will make that power mine, Zara Jor-El. I will take their hopes and dreams, and crush them. I will take their love and their aspirations, and replace it with hate and despair.
His grip tightened, squeezing my skull hard enough to hurt.
"That will be my true victory, daughter of Krypton. Once I make all other worlds mine, their hearts will belong to me."
Suddenly, he shouted in pain as I brought my teeth down on his hand. Vile, bitter blood filled my mouth, and I had to repress the urge to gag as I pulled free of his grip. He moved to grab me again, but I skirted around him, moving faster and faster. I sped up to my fullest extent, watching as his movements grew sluggish, like he was fighting underwater. I hit him in the back with both feet, sending him sprawling with enough force to shatter some of his ribs.
"You'll have to get through me first," I said.
"You still try to fight," he growled, a hand on his chest as he turned to face me again.
"I'm Superwoman. I can do anything."
Darkseid's face contorted with fury. "So be it."
We lunged at the same time.
B
The Ringworld
Bjorn scythed his gatling bolter across the incoming horde of Traitor Marines and daemons, blood and body parts flying with each shell's detonation. Dragon fought alongside him, her main battle suit peppering the Chaos forces with a flurry of missiles, lasers, and heavy artillery shells, while her drones harassed them from the sky in droves. Further behind them, protected from the worst of the fighting, the remnants of the Race's forces continued to fire with their landcruisers, efficiently chipping away at the veritable swarm pouring in through the valley walls.
"HOW'S EVERYONE DOING?" Bjorn roared over the chaotic din of combat.
"The Animorphs and free Hork-Bajir are holding the left flank with moderate casualties," Dragon replied, perfectly multi-tasking as she continued to tear through the Marines. "Eren's group and Batman are holding up fine where they are; they have good terrain to work from. I saw Godzilla and Gamera over the next group of mountains; they seem to be doing very well."
The Land Raiders finally made themselves known, casually crushing anyone too slow to move out of the way as they advanced. Overall, they bore an uncanny resemblance to tanks used in the First World War, albeit on a much bigger scale. The Race troops in the back began to focus their landcruiser fire on them, but the shells appeared to be doing little damage.
"I've got this," Dragon said.
Her battle suit lumbered forward, automated defenses still ripping into the nearby Traitor Marines. A pair of clunky-looking missiles deployed from the pods on the suit's shoulders, followed by another, and Bjorn realized they seemed to just be bars of metal. The missiles flew straight towards the Land Raiders, then suddenly became cloudy-looking right before impact. They tore right through the massive tanks, billows of dust pouring from where they made contact, and shot through the other side, only stopping after going through dozens of Marines.
"THAT... WAS STRANGELY AROUSING. HOW IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME DID YOU DO THAT?"
"Nanothorns," Dragon replied. "Works on a principal similar to your Power Claws, but even more efficiently."
"YOUR BOYFRIEND IS A LUCKY MAN," Bjorn exclaimed.
"He invented them, actually."
"YOUR BOYFRIEND IS A LUCKY MAN."
Suddenly, a strange sound drew the Dreadnaught's attention to a nearby hill. A massive figure stood upon it, dueling with a much smaller one; the pair moved quickly through the trees, soon going out of sight. He turned back to the fighting, his Promethium flamethrower broiling nearby Marines, then activated his vox.
"THE TRAITOR PRIMARCH IS THERE. THIS HAS TO END WITH HIM; THE SPIRITS OF THE MARINES WILL BREAK ONCE THEY SEE HIM DEAD."
"There's the problem of you actually getting there," Dragon retorted.
Bjorn chuckled. "THERE'S STILL FIGHT IN THIS OLD DREADNAUGHT'S HEART. COVER ME AND FALL BACK; YOU CAN LAY OUT BOOBY TRAPS IF YOU MUST."
"Alright, fine," Dragon conceded.
Her suit reared back and moved to the side, drawing the attention of the incoming Marines away from Bjorn. With the momentary distraction in play, he trudged forward, moving with a speed that belied his titanic bulk. A large daemon moved in to stop him, only to have its head taken off by his Power Claws. It fell back, crushing a Marine underneath, and Bjorn simply stepped over it, bones crunching beneath his feet.
The oldest warrior in the Imperium began to speed up, his upgraded body pushing itself to its limits. He moved like a battering ram, tossing aside any Traitor Marine that got in the way, if they weren't simply trampled underfoot. Occasionally one would try to stop him, only to get a bolt shell to the face.
"THE EMPEROR IS MY SHIELD," he found himself saying. A Marine ran at him with a chainsword, screaming, only to get bisected by his Power Claws.
"THE EMPEROR GUIDES MY SWORD."
A daemon fell, a hole blasted through its chest by a bolt shell.
"I SERVE RUSS, FOR HE SERVES THE ALLFATHER AND THE IMPERIAL TRUTH THAT IS THE LIGHT FOR ALL MANKIND."
His flamethrower blasted to life, incinerating a group of Marines that were trying to block his way.
"AS LONG AS I DO NOT SWAY FROM THE PATH OF TRUTH, I SHALL NOT FAIL TO SERVE MANKIND."
With one last push, he was through. His hydraulics hissed like a titanic serpent, and he leapt onto the valley wall, clearing a height that no mere mortal could.
The easy part was over. Now he had to fight a Traitor Primarch.
Ω
The Ringworld
Barachiel charged, a massive blade held high over his head as he howled unintelligibly, blood and pus oozing from countless gashes and cuts on his pallid flesh. With a mighty heave he brought it down, only for Yama to leap to the side and take to higher ground on a nearby boulder. The sword instead sank deep in the soft earth, becoming firmly stuck. While the Primarch pulled his scimitar out of the soft earth, the deathgod took the opportunity to thrust his spear forward and catch Barachiel in the eye, narrowly stopping short of the brain.
"Blood!" the Primarch gnashed, clamping a hand over his ruined eye as the spearhead pulled clean out. "Blood for the blood god!"
"It will be your blood they take, abomination," Yama replied calmly.
The shaft of the spear shortened, using processes that escaped even the Primarch's knowledge, and the deathgod backed up, holding it firmly. The spearhead opened up, almost like a delicate flower of steel and bronze, and revealed what appeared to be a glittering lens. Before Barachiel could react in time, the tip of the spear flared with incredible brightness, and a violet beam caught him in the shoulder, burning away his armor like it was scarcely there. A howl of pain escaped the Primarch as the beam punched all the way through to the other side, and he stumbled back.
"That was based on an old design of mind," Yama said, the spear folding back to its original state. "The firewand of Agni, which scoured the faces of my world's three moons. It still needs work if you weren't completely vaporized."
"A toy like that cannot kill me!" Barachiel snarled, clearing thirty feet in a single bound as he lunged at Yama's minuscule figure. "I am of the Eight-Fold Way!"
The deathgod seemed so small to him now, so weak, yet it was proving to be a nuisance. Already he could feel more and power flow through him, his skin becoming rougher and his muscles strengthening underneath. A long tongue snaked its way out between needly teeth as he tasted the air, and he moved to crush the red-armored figure before him.
Yama backpedaled away, the spear lengthening in his hand, and he swung it in a wide arc, aiming for the Primarch's knee. Barachiel was prepared this time, however, and managed to catch the blade in his hand, paying no heed to the gore pouring down from his ruined palm as he channeled the power of the Warp and crushed the spear into countless pieces.
"Fool," the Primarch growled, a phlegmy chuckle escaping him.
To his surprise, Yama actually smirked. "Not quite. And there's only one Eight-Fold Way, by the by."
Just as Barachiel moved to destroy the aggravating insect once and for all, he felt pain erupt across his back. Countless pieces of hot shrapnel cut deep, tearing his skin to tatters, and he could feel parts of his armor getting blasted away. A furious bellow escaping his throat, he turned just in time to receive a salvo of bolt shells to his face. He stumbled back, hands clamped over his face while the wounds healed
"TRAITOROUS COCKSUCKER!"
Barachiel removed his hands, pus weeping from his red eyes, and glared at his new attacker. A Venerable Dreadnaught stood before him, wielding a massive pair of Power Claws. Based on the decorations embossed into its armor, it was of Russ's chapter.
"A follower of the Corpse-Emperor," the Primarch snarled.
"A PROTECTOR OF MAN," came the booming reply. "I SERVE EVERY MAN, WOMAN, AND CHILD WHO STRIVES FOR A BETTER FUTURE, FREE OF DISEASE AND STRIFE. I SERVE THAT WHICH YOU HAVE BETRAYED, PRIMARCH."
"I thought you would have forgotten all about me," Barachiel sneered. "Your rotten Imperium has a habit of losing information."
"I AM OF THE FIRST, THE GREAT CRUSADE," the Dreadnaught replied. "BJORN, OF THE VLKA FENRYKA."
It swiveled its massive gatling bolter in the Primarch's direction.
"NOW REPENT, MOTHERFUCKER."
Barachiel's reply was a roar of fury. He charged forward, paying no heed as the bolt shells tore away at his chest, blasting away what remained of his armor. He no longer needed it; he could feel as the gods blessed him with more and more power, his flesh becoming that of the Warp. Raising a hand that was more daemon than man, he swatted at the Dreadnaught, sending it flying into a nearby boulder. It was quick to get on its feet, however, and Barachiel cried out as molten Promethium bathed his face.
"YOU HAVE BETRAYED ALL THAT YOU STOOD FOR!" Bjorn bellowed. "YOU WERE TO LEAD MANKIND TO A BETTER FUTURE, AND INSTEAD YOU DOOMED THEM TO MILLENNIA OF SUFFERING!"
The Dreadnaught dashed forward, too fast for something that looked so cumbersome, and sank its Power Claws into the Primarch's knee, nearly severing it at the joint. Barachiel fell, his leg unable to support his massive frame, and he felt something heavy crush his hand. Turning, he saw that Bjorn stood on it, gatling bolter aimed at his face.
"YOUR BLOOD WILL NOT BALANCE THE SCALES, BUT IT'S A FUCKING START."
Enough was enough. Barachiel flung the Dreadnaught off and rose to his feet, growing bigger and bigger as he let the power of the Empyrean give him strength. An obsidian horn began to protrude from his forehead, and he could feel a pair of leathery wings sprout from his mangled back. Glaring down at Bjorn, the Dreadnaught seemed like a child's toy, so small.
"Die for your Emperor, fool," the Primarch gurgled.
He swung his sword, and caught Bjorn in the side. The Dreadnaught hurtled through the air, smashing a tree into splinters, and finally came to a rest nearly twenty meters away. Its gatling bolter was torn from its chassis, twisted and broken, and coolant leaked from its shattered sarcophagus. Yet life still flowed through it, even as the support systems keeping it alive began to falter and fail. It rose to its feet, barely able to move, and raised its remaining arm high.
"IS THaT ALL YoU FUCKING GOT?! THE REBeLLIOUS SON OF THE eMPEROR CAN'T HANDLE A RUSTy OLD DrEaDNAUGHT?! COME oN, YA PUSSY!"
Barachiel stomped forward, growing ever more massive, knocking aside trees as he advanced on Bjorn's broken form. He loomed over the fallen Wolf, his jaw contorted into a toothy grin as he raised his foot high.
Before he could crush the Dreadnaught into scrap, however, he suddenly became aware of a shadow falling over him, like the Sword of Damocles itself. A clawed hand took hold of his shoulder, cutting deep into his Warp-flesh, and hoisted him into the air like a petulant kitten. Hot breath washed over his neck, and he could hear a loud growl escaping the beast holding him.
"You," Barachiel snarled.
As if to confirm his suspicion, a fearsome roar escaped the beast holding, drawing blood from his ears, and he found himself being chucked cleanly over the hill. He hit the ground hard, digging a massive furrow, and managed to roll onto his back to see his attacker.
Godzilla rose to the top of the hill, a mighty king standing above all as he glared down at the Primarch, the blood of his enemies stained deep into his charcoal grey scales like warpaint earned on the battlefield. The ground rumbled, and Gamera came to his side, similarly painted with the blood of monster and daemon alike, a brother forged in war. King and Guardian raised their heads high and roared together, a battle cry that cowed all into silence.
Barachiel rose to his feet, now matching them in height. He hefted his scimitar in his hands, feeding it with the eldritch power of the Warp, and grinned.
"Finally."
Y
It didn't take Yama long to find him; one needed only to follow the path of destruction through the forest. Climbing over the last fallen tree in the way, he found the old Dreadnaught propped up against a nearby boulder, contemplating the broken arm at his feet. Bjorn turned to face him, coolant leaking from his damaged sarcophagus.
"You're hurt," Yama muttered, kneeling down to inspect the damage. Through the shattered ceramite, he could make out the ruined body of the Marine underneath.
"NO SHiT. BY THE EMPeROR, I HaVen't FeLT THIS BaD SiNCE RuSS LEFT ME BEHiND."
"We need to get you the healer. Panacea is well-guarded, we can safely get to her and-"
"NO." Sparks crackled around the Dreadnaught as he spoke. "IT iS TOO LaTE FOR THAT. Do YOu THiNK YOU CaN CARRY SOMETHiNG aS HuGE AS ME?"
A sigh. "No. But I can't just leave you here to die, not when there's still a chance to save you."
"SaVE ME? I HaVE BEEN DeAD FOR TeN THOUSAND YeARS. BuT I WiLL WAIT YET, O DEATH. FOR THE WoLFTIME."
"If I can't save you here, now, then I can delay this, long enough to do at least something elsewhere."
"HeH. YoU'RE DOING A BiG FAVOR FOR A GUY WHO WaNTED To SMaSH YOUR ASS NoT TOO LoNG AGo."
Yama shrugged. "I know a good man when I see one."
He produced a small device, no bigger than an orange, and held it up to the Dreadnaught to see.
"THE FuCK IS ThaT?"
"It will stop the flow of time for you. I managed to consult on it with the Batman, as well as the kzin. Perhaps, once the battle is over, we can repair you."
Bjorn let out a long, tired sigh that carried the weight of his years. Then he shifted slightly, as to look at the sun.
"Even in death, I still serve..."
Yama attached the device to Bjorn's shin, and the Dreadnaught fell silent.
"Farewell, my friend," Yama said softly.
Ω
The World Maelstrom
Two gods dueled.
It was a study in contrasts, on a number of levels. One was the embodiment of elegance; thin, with delicate features, and as naked as the day of her creation. She moved gracefully, like a ballet dancer, the light of her soul glittering as she moved with strike after calculated strike. Her heart seemed to glow with a warm red light, occasionally flaring in brilliance as fire darted from her eyes.
The other was a fighter, practical in appearance and movement. Glowing white armor covered his alabaster features, and he struck like a boxer, eschewing form over function as he pummeled away at his opponent with well-aimed punches. Yet he was losing ground before the goddess before him, his wounds taking time to seal up after each blow.
She was winning.
The White Woman's eyes shined like twin stars, and Shinji found himself smashing into the far wall of the hangar, ceramite and adamantium crumbling around his colossal form. He staggered forward, clipping her chin with a gauntleted fist, only for her to flip him over her shoulder with a resounding crash.
"Your courage is admirable," the White Woman crooned, clamping a hand over Shinji's throat, "but it is futile. Win or lose, it will not matter at all. Your victory, or your death, will be nothing more than entertainment for them."
"Then why?" he croaked.
The White Woman paused, her grip still firm on his throat. "Why what?"
"Why are you trying to save everyone? If we're just fictional, nonexistent characters on a page, then why are you trying to save them? Why take them into you?"
The goddess's eyes narrowed into red slits. "I'm done talking."
There was a flicker of light, and Shinji was across the hangar, free from her grip. He raised his arms, ready to fight, but did nothing else.
"You say that every time you and I meet, I've rejected Instrumentality. Have you considered why?"
"I don't care," the White Woman hissed. "Stop trying to talk me out of this, boy."
"Taylor-"
"NO!" She moved forward, too fast for the human eye to see, and took Shinji by the throat again, smashing his back into the hangar wall. "You of all people do not get to call me that! You learned it from the pretender!"
"If all the me's have something in common, then it must be the case for you," Shinji wheezed, prying the goddess's hand off of his throat. "I can see it, now. You two both don't want to see people get hurt, just like me."
"That's why I'm doing this," the White Woman snarled in reply. "I'm going to free everyone from their suffering, their manipulations at the hands of the puppeteers."
"Even if it doesn't matter?"
Silence.
"I've been down your route, back when things were at their worst," Shinji pressed on, still wary, ready to move at a moment's notice. "I thought the same thing, even if it was only for a moment. Why wouldn't I free people from their pain and suffering? But that's the thing: you're not alive if there's nothing to compare your happiness to."
He took a deep breath, then continued. "You seem to know me. You know the horrible things I went through. And I can imagine it wasn't sunshine and rainbows for you, either. But Instrumentality is just escapism; you're giving up on ever making something of yourself by doing it."
The White Woman's jaw set, and her glare hardened. "Enough of this."
She reached out, to rip his core out and take it into herself, but her hand began to shake, as if resisting her every move. She willed herself to neutralize his AT-field and disincorporate him, but it was as though the light of her very soul had betrayed her.
"Taylor, please," Shinji said, his voice soft.
The White Woman closed her eyes, and when they opened, sky-blue irises focused on Shinji.
"I can hear them," she whimpered. "Adam. Lilith. Pulling my mind apart, pushing it where they want it to go. I just... I just wanted to never see anyone hurt... I can't keep this up any longer."
She stood up straight, and dug her hand into her chest. Her core pulled free like a seed from a ripe fruit, and she held it up to Shinji, her hand shaking all the way.
"Take it... while I'm still me... m-make things right."
There was a moment's pause, and Shinji took the core from her hands. The White Woman's body trembled, then melted away into LCL, leaving nothing behind. The real her was in the core, and Shinji pressed it against his own. It folded in upon itself, becoming impossibly small, and disappeared inside his chest.
It was over. Shinji could feel the power of countless cores, countless hims, coursing through his body, and his resolve hardened. He had to help the others, before it was too late. With a flare of light, the barge peeled away in all directions, glowing white-hot as its hull melted away, and he floated up into the void, the crippled ship drifting away from him.
It was time to find Darkseid, and end the fight, once and for all.
==/*\==
The Ringworld
Barachiel charged, tearing up the ground beneath his cloven feet as he rushed into battle. Flames darted from his gaping maw, and a gurgling roar escaped his throat as he swung his scimitar in a wide arc, catching Godzilla across the chest. The nuclear leviathan stumbled back, steam rising from his already-healing wound, then stepped forward and swiped the Primarch across the chin, digging massive gashes into the abomination's face. Barachiel staggered from the blow, but held his ground, and prepared to swing again.
That was when a fireball smashed into his chest, blasting away armor and flesh to reveal glistening ribs and quivering organs. Howling in agony, the Primarch turned in time to see Gamera approach, moving with a speed that belied his ungainly appearance. A bony blade protruded from the terrapin's wrist, and he jabbed forward with it, piercing deep into Barachiel's shoulder.
"Blood," the Primarch gurgled. "Blood for the blood god."
He moved forward, letting the blade stab deeper into him, and grabbed Gamera by the throat. His clawed fingers cut deep into the terrapins's scaly flesh, drawing emerald blood, and he tightened his grip, trying to squeeze the life out of his foe. Gamera replied by prying the hand off with his own, a deep orange glow emanating from his throat. Before Barachiel could move back, the Guardian fired, blasting away the Primarch's lower jaw.
Barachiel let out a pathetic gurgle, then stumbled away, trying to recover from the attack. Pain clouded his mind, but he used it, letting the power of the Warp channel itself through him. The wound began to regenerate, and he found himself growing even larger, more wings sprouting out of his back. Raising his sword again, he moved to lunge at the terrapin-
-and was instead smashed to the side by Godzilla. The King of the Monsters roared, the air seeming to quiver before his fury, and planted a massive foot on the Primarch's chest, cracking ribs in the process. His spines glowed with the fearsome blue light of Cherenkov radiation, and nuclear plasma blasted from his maw, completely obliterating Barachiel's shoulder. Blood and pus sprayed into the air, and the Primarch could smell cooked meat in the air.
Barachiel snarled, and heaved Godzilla's foot off of his chest. The King of the Monsters stumbled back, and the Primarch took the opportunity to get to his feet and swing his scimitar again. The blade bit deep into Godzilla's shoulder, and he channeled the power of the Warp through it, trying to cook the beast alive.
It was a short offensive. Godzilla took the blade of the sword into his clawed hands, ignoring the pain as his palms were shredded, and twisted, shattering the weapon into countless pieces. Roaring again, he charged, catching Barachiel in a vicious tackle. He tore away at the Primarch, filling the air with the sounds of cracking bone as he pummeled and clawed the abomination's chest into a pulp.
"No!" Barachiel howled. "Die! Die!"
Even as his body was torn to shreds, the Primarch reached out with his clawed hands, catching Godzilla in the eye. The beast let up on his assault, and Barachiel took the opportunity to pull away, his body already repairing the damage. He was growing even bigger, his muscles and bone expanding, and he used his newfound strength to swat Godzilla aside. The nuclear leviathan went skidding back, tearing a path through the forest as he rolled to a stop, and swiftly rose to his feet, growling.
Barachiel stomped forward, a new sword manifesting in his hands, only to see Godzilla's spines glow again. Nuclear fire blasted into his chest, stopping only when it passed through the other side, and he stumbled back, feeling blood fill his lungs.
No. He was not going to lose again to this reptile.
He charged forward again, slower this time, only to see Gamera step in his path. They collided, rolling and grappling with each other, and smashed into the side of a small mountain. Gamera was on his feet first, gutting the Primarch from groin to chest with a wrist blade. Hot steaming intestines spilled out, only for more muscle and bone to grow over the wound, armor plates growing into place. Barachiel rose to his feet, and Gamera fired another fireball, catching him in the face.
Two could play at that game.
"Die," the Primarch snarled, leveling his sword at the terrapin's chest.
Warpfire shot out, enveloping Gamera in a cone of white-hot flame. Barachiel pressed on with the attack, channeling as much power as he could, gleefully imagining how the reptile's flesh must be stripping from the bone, only to realize that no sound was coming from the terrapin at all. No cries of pain or rage, nothing.
The flames began to swirl around Gamera's obscured form, as if being drawn away, and he stepped forward. The Warpfire coalesced about his hand, sheathing it like a glove.
Barachiel stepped back, the last of the Warpfire escaping his sword. That's not fair.
With an elephantine wail, the Guardian of the Universe lunged forward and plunged his hand into the Primarch's chest.
There was a brief moment of searing agony, then Barachiel felt as the flames exploded outwards, obliterating everything in their path, whether it be flesh or bone or armor. He could feel his guts broil inside, his lungs fill with flame, and...
Nothing.
The Primarch's upper body hit the ground, his legs still standing. Greasy black smoke rose from his charred entrails, and he let out a pathetic growl as he tried to right himself, willing for the wounds to heal. He would win. He would kill the beast before him, and he would destroy Godzilla and offer his skull to Khorne, and he would sweep aside all in his path...
A shadow fell over Barachiel, and he looked up to see Godzilla glaring down at him, fiery orange eyes burning like hot coals. The Primarch felt as the beast's clawed hands grabbed his jaws, prying them wide open, and it was too late when he realized what was happening, as he saw the King of the Monster's spines glow once more.
Nuclear plasma blasted down Barachiel's maw, scorching and blasting away what remained of his insides. He could feel as his bones melted before the heat, and the sensation of his flesh carbonizing was all too real.
The last thing he saw, before death greeted him and he was pulled into the Warp, was a pair of fiery orange eyes glaring into his own.
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CRISIS, Chapter Nine: Götterdämmerung, Part Two