I own nothing except my OCs.
'It's finally here.' Swayra thought as he straightened his bow tie, looking over his new outfit.
His new attire consisted of a full-length purple coat with white fur trims that were lined with golden needles under a black dress shirt possessing golden buttons and a bolo tie resembling a snake eye, purple pants with knee length boots with white fur trims. But for now, he had to don his old top hat, still having the Ace of Spades card that Moxxi gave him all those years ago.
Chuckling, Swayra put on his old hat, feeling it fit on his head like a glove and getting a chuckle out of him. It brought him back to old times, but those times were over ever since he got a love for giving joy instead of inflicting suffering. And after that, he decided that he might as well have some fun with his old troupe and with one of the Gods' archenemies.
Checking his pocket watch, Swayra saw that it was already 10:00.
"Alright, let's do this." The ringmaster got away from the mirror, passing by all the benches, racks lined with costumes and masks, and other members of his circus that looked at him strangely for his costume somewhat resembling Santa but ignored it. He then came to the amphitheater, seeing all his performers and minions practicing for the main event to come.
His Troupe was composed of the finest specimens in the multiverse, Clowns from Herman Fuller's Circus, members from the Cult of Rakdos, members from Circe de Soliel, and even members of the Ringling Brothers.
The first one that cause his eyes was Elizabeth.
She was a head shorter than Swayra, but she was bewitchingly beautiful. She lacked a jester hat like or headpiece like the Rakdos, letting her crimson hair with pink streaks down and brush against her back and chest. The woman possessed burning red eyes with pale skin and black lips. She was dressed in a formfitting bodysuit of black leather with red flame prints that accentuated her curves, lacking sleeves as her forearms were covered by red armlets and fingerless black gloves that showed her black fingernails.
Her legs had black studded leather boots with stilettos and bands of spikes around the thighs, a studded lopsided belt, and a spiked choker around her neck. Sheathed on her waist was a simitar blade and on the other side of her waist was a bladed whip caked in dried blood. Ruby gulped, knowing that she likely had experience with.
Another one that caught Swayra's eye was another Rakdos, Leer; a tall and thin with a well-built frame, having slicked back blond hair with sunken in cheeks, his face was horrific as it was covered in burn scars with his cheeks having ill healed Glasgow smile scars that were still red like muscle tissue, the rest of his body had a veritable menagerie of scars and brands with the most noticeable being the one on his chest; an arch with five slashes driven through it, and his eyes were green with black sclera.
He had a collar with four upward facing finger-like spikes, black spiked clothed wrapped around his arms with a bloodied spiked cuff on the right wrist, a lowered cowl with a black furred collar that draped over his shoulders, his lower torso only covered in dark red rags with a black cloth belt, his legs wrapped in black cloths with his only footwear being a pair of sandals. In his hands were a blooded bladed whip and an ornate sword that was likely stolen.
A former member of Circe de Soliel caught his eye next. Jorgan was tall and lean as a pencil, dressed in a stylish armored leotard colored in purples, pinks, and oranges with golden greaves and armlets, a spike choker and wristbands, and flexible rubber boots. Slicked back bleached hair with the sides shaved, pink irises, and elaborate makeup that complimented his pale skin.
And as for the last one that caught his eye, it was a Clown from Herman Fuller's. Twist had a smooth white face with a red Glasgow grin, amber eyes, and brown hair that reached her waist, grinning impossibly white teeth that were shown as she took a shot of a black liquid while he and the others couldn't help but note that she had a very pronounced, almost cartoonish hourglass figure. She was adorned in a jester's outfit with black, purple, and pink diamond patterns, frilled and spiked collar and cuff, black leather gloves, knee length black stiletto boots, and a pink ascot. He remembered when Icky reluctantly gave her and a few other Clowns over in exchange for her Circus being granted safe passage through the Warp.
"Come, come everyone! The opening is just two hours away!" Swayra yelled out, clapping loudly to get their attention, "This has to be perfect, or we'll never pull it off!"
"SIR!" His circus all saluted to him, before training even harder.
"Now, as for the final part." Swayra pulled out his phone, one that was highly ornate, and speed dialed a number.
The Watchtower
Cyrene sighed, laying down on her bed and staring up at the ceiling in her room in the Watchtower. Ever since this whole thing started, she and her sisters really hadn't had any time to just settle down, but as they say in the Imperium; Only in Death Does Duty End. Still, that didn't mean that she wished that she had a chance to just enjoy Christmas or Sanguinala.
Sighing again, she rose her hand up to her face, seeing the faded burns on her palm. That event was only a few months ago yet for her it was over ten years. And, sometimes, in her most private moments, she would flashback to that moment in the basement of the Science Fair, wondering how things would have played out if she had caught Jack's sword instead of just letting it hit Samantha.
Suddenly, there was a knocking at her door.
Cyrene got up from her bed, looking at the door in confusion, her auburn hair a bit disheveled due to laying down. Raising an eyebrow, she walked to the door, which retracted back to the wall where she stuck her head out to the hallway. No one was around, the silver halls vacant with the polymer glass windows showing space as winter storms gathered around North America.
She gained a bitter expression, thinking that it was either Nero or Flash trying to prank her... before she saw something at her feet. It was a golden wrapped rectangular package, a white bow with golden pinstripes, and a note that read "FOR YOU, FROM A FRIEND. MERRY CHRISTMAS." Raising an eyebrow, she took the gift into her arms, noting that despite being as long as her body, it was rather light.
Taking the gift back in her room with a raised eyebrow, Cyrene examined it, not caring about the door closing behind her. Her curiosity slowly got the better of her as she slowly undid the bow with a pull, undoing the binding and letting her open it. What she saw nearly made her drop it in shock.
It was a Black Sword.
Though clearly made for someone of baseline human proportions, it was clearly the same black metal with the words IMPERATOR REX with two of the crests of the Adeptus Sororitas. Her mouth agape in shock, Cyrene took the sword into her hands, letting the rest of the package fall to the ground while she rose it up. It seemed so weightless and unbreakable, a smile slowly growing on her face.
Suddenly, there was a ping in her mind when Cyrene senses in the Warp went off, feeling something happening in the Swiss Alps. It was akin to a beacon or a growing rift waiting to bloom into a storm, or... something else. It was then that she noticed something, the flashes in the Warp weren't random, they were morse code.
C-O-M-E-T-O-U-S-C-Y-R-E-N-E
Cyrene blinked when she mentally translated it. It was calling to her? For what? She shook her head; she didn't have time to waste on thinking about its meaning. If it wasn't destroyed now, it could spread.
Just as she prepared to leave, Cyrene realized that she was still holding her Black Sword. Raising it to her face, she gained a determined expression, "Time to give you a little test drive..."
The Swiss Alps
A brief shimmer of light came shined on a snow-covered ground, revealing Cyrene, now wielding her Black Sword and clad in her Power Armor, standing on a precipice near the mountains. Her auburn hair fluttering in the wind, she looked around the mountains for wherever that rift may be, before she looked down to a part that was conspicuously shaped into a valley... only for her to blink in surprise at the massive Christmas tree sitting in the middle of said valley.
It was almost the size of a skyscraper with ornaments of very elegant and elaborate designs with lights having beautiful shades of red and green, the green quills having a golden hue, and the star on top almost resembling diamonds. Around it was hundreds of people partying and celebrating the holidays, no sign of decadence or depravity in sight. Even when she used her senses in the Warp to try and dispel any illusions, she was surprised to find none in sight.
A bit entranced, she regained her composure and slowly descended down to the gathering, flying softly as to not attract any attention. Once her feet landed on the ground, barely making a crunch of the snow, Cyrene was nearly thrown off her feet by the sheer... none Slaaneshi this gathering was. People were dancing and laughing with gentle easy, eating and drinking modestly and with restraint, no knives hidden in sleeves, no spikes on clothing, nothing extreme. Just a simple party filled with eager guests just wanting to enjoy the seasons.
Cyrene steeled herself, she needed to find out why that message was sent.
Slowly weaving through the partying people around her, noting the singing of Christmas carols and music, Cyrene turned to someone on a stage. He was dressed as Santa mixed with a ringmaster, even had a top hat and a cane, singing with a bunch of circus performers and clowns. But what caught her off guard was what they were singing and playing.
It was Merry Christmas by Ed Sheeran and Elton John. And none of the instruments that were like the ones from the Maraviglia, just normal instruments that weren't corrupted in the slightest. But then, the ringmaster blinked when he saw her in the crowd but instead of gaining a hateful look, he instead smiled as he finished his song.
Just after he wrapped up his song and basked in all the cheers, the ringmaster jumped off the stage and landed just in front of her. Cyrene grabbed the hilt of her Black Sword, but he instead offered her a hand and a friendly smile. Feeling immensely out of her element, she released her hand on her sword and took it with a bewildered expression, not expecting all of this.
"Welcome! Welcome! I'm so glad you got my message!" The ringmaster exuberantly stated, throwing the Acolyte into an even bigger loop, "You're just in time for the big event!"
"W-What big event?" Cyrene blurted out, her mind still scrambled from what just happened and why these people would call her here.
"This big event or if my name isn't Swayra!" The ringmaster excitedly said, pulling her to the center of the area while they practically danced before he rose his cane into the air, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
Swayra's shout caused all the partygoers to slowly stop as their attention was drawn to the center of the area. It was then that she noticed several of clowns and performers coming out of their hiding spots, weaving through the crowds before he spun Cyrene out of his arms who stumbled from the sheer shock of all of this, "It's time for the main event of the night! For your entertainment, we will be fighting one of the Emperor's Acolytes!"
The crowd cheered jubilantly, retreating to the edges of the area to give space for them to fight. Around the edges of the crowd, Swayra's troupe emerge but strangely they seemed... excited to see her, rather than the hateful gazes that she was so used to. A smile began to tug at her lips, feeling herself relax more than ever since it seemed like forever since she was able to fully be her old self for once.
"You sure you're up for a fight? We got you outnumbered." One of the performers cockily stated, unfurling a whip from her belt.
"Ah, but you misunderstand one thing!" Cyrene dramatically said, unable to stop the smile from forming on her face as she drew out the Black Sword for them all to see, "Quantity is nothing compared to quality!"
The Troupe immediately surrounded her, grinning with excitement while they withdrew their weapons for the fight.
Elizabeth and Leer blitzed her from both sides, whips lashing at her midriff, but Cyrene angled the Black Sword to catch one and hook it, using the momentum to move out of the way of the other bladed whip. She yanked the hooked whip, throwing her to Cyrene but suddenly Elizabeth bent her body and delivered two kicks to her chin before she twirled under a punch just as Leer jumped up and had his blade positioned for a thrust.
The blade missed both of them as the two bent out of the way, with the golden blade hitting the snow-covered ground only for Leer to knee Cyrene in the gut and jump off her, leaving the auburn Acolyte dazed. However, she shook it off and swung her sword to intercept the person sized ring blade that would have cleaved her in half before she pushed the massive weapon back at its wielder, who caught the blunt part of the weapon with ease before he took a stance against her. Jordan spun his ring blade at Cyrene in a blur, which she parried at blinding speeds, the metal from both blades refusing to bend, break, or even chip.
Before she had a chance to launch a strike, Jordan leaped away as Twist lunged in with twin blades in a twirl that Cyrene could barely avoid or parry before she somersaulted back. Twist laughed manically as she blew into a Christmas ornament before throwing it like a grenade. Cyrene leapt away as the ornament exploded on the ground in a plume of emerald fire that seemed to form screaming faces, to which the Acolyte fired her eyebeams at the clown who twisted her body in a way that let her head bend backwards in a way that would have killed a normal person before she disappeared in the smoke made by her pseudo bombs.
Cyrne blinked and scanned the area for any signs of an attack... and soon there was one. Swayra came somersaulting in unsheathing a Blissgiver from his cane and rearing it back in a thrust. She raised her Black Sword, slapping the thin but surprisingly durable rapier out of the way of its intended path, only cutting a few strands of her hair. As they continued to clash with a smile, for once, Cyrene seemed to be having fun as the Black Sword intercepted every blow, stopped every strike that would have hit a vital area, and parrying each strike.
Their fight was almost like a dance, Black Sword clashing with Blissgiver while Cyrene and Swayra twirled and strafed in blurs of pink and purple. She thrust her blade at his chest, but he parried and swayed himself out of the way, twirling in wide swing to where he would have drawn a line on her chest had she not ducked under the strike a second later.
"She's good." One of the Rakdos said as they watched Cyrene and Swayra dueling like two elegant figures in a beautifully animated picture. Just as Swayra unleashed another trust, Cyrene intercepted it and forced his Blissgiver down before hooking it and with a forceful flick of her wrist, ripped the blade out of the ringmaster's hand. And just before he had a chance to draw out another weapon, Cyrene pointe her sword in front of his face, which only got an amused look from Swayra.
"You fool! You cannot overcome my superior swordsmanship! Ooooh-hohohohoho!" Cyrene laughed a noblewoman's laugh, complete with the gesture.
Deep in her mindscape, Cyrene's long suppressed childish aspect was dancing a merry jig, completely elated at having achieved one of her greatest dreams and copying that noblewoman's laugh for herself... while her more regal aspect had her head in her head, mortified at seeing herself acting so uncouth and inelegant.
"How does one best a great swordswoman? Simple!" Swayra ended a hand out that was then, in a flash of pink, occupied by a saber that seemed to be composed of stain glass, "Get a better sword!"
Cyrene smirked, "Flashy, but can it stand to a Black Sword?"
"Let us see!"
However, just as the duel was about to begin, a massive black pillar erupted in the distance causing them to pause and turn to see where it came from. Just as it faded, a noise that Cyrene was unfortunately familiar with echoed through the air like that of a knife flensing flesh. It was the scream of 5,000 monsters coming for blood and death, blacked with armor and weapons dripping with darkness that shamed the night.
"Oh great." Swayra moaned, dropping his pose and putting a hand to his forehead, "I knew this would happen but am disappointed regardless."
Cyrene however froze. The Warp roiled and flinched at the presences of these, almost like these were... darkened by the influence of the God of Anarchy. Has Chaos grown so strong that even meetings like this can catch the eyes of the Gods easily? Trembling as she heard them coming up to the lip of the area they were in, she quietly asked the ringmaster, "Are you sure, they won't be a problem?"
"Don't worry my dear. My Troupe!" Swayra brushed her concerns off before he yelled out to his circus. "Commence the Dance of Death!"
The 250 members of his Circus suddenly beamed brightly as they raised their weapons and jumped high into the air like a black velvet curtain of death that fell down on the forces of Malice. Cyrene's eyes widened as she saw this before she felt Swayra put a hand to her shoulder.
"You were right. Slaanesh cares more for quality than quantity."
Elizabeth and Leer along with their fellow Rakdos danced a cavorting jig of slaughter that reduced any of the black cultists into finely chopped pieces of meat, cutting through the lines of Malice like the spinning blades of a copter. It wasn't just blades they were using to rip apart the blackened ones, as some lit spiked bombs filled with Warp tainted gun powder before throwing them into the crowds of black, to which bloomed sunrise-colored explosions that blasted bloody holes in the heaving masses of the dark.
Twist and the Clowns from Fuller were laughing their heads off with glee as they conjured forth all kinds of items while falling into the horde. Spiked juggling clubs, acid filled pies, razor sharp mistletoes, ornament grenades or present bombs, all were used to horrific effect on the heaving black maniacs around them. Blood and pumped body parts flew through the air like rose petals and cherry blossoms, green flames mixing with the red in a mockery of Christmas colors.
The acrobats seemed almost like leaping demons, jumping off of each other in unorthodox and elegance that bellied all that saw it. As the other aimed for the heads of the largest and strongest, Jorden swung his ring blade at a large group in a spinning motion, digging into thirty of the Malice cultists and ripping them in half with guts cut into giblets. Letting the halves of the cultists fall, Jordan pompously brushes his hair back with his hand and huffing, "Hmph, no elegance at all. Such disgrace!"
The Troupe had taken casualties definitely but not to the extent of the Malicites, who's superior numbers were made worthless by superior skill, superior weapons, and superior tactics. Eventually, the casualties reached a point where the saner ones beckoned out to their comrades in a flurry of shouts and gestures, retreating down to the lower parts of the mountains.
However, something inside Cyrene told her that something was wrong.
And it was.
A circle of cultists was at the very bottom of the mountain, a burning symbol of Malice in the snow. There was a scream, many screams from the Malice cultists that made the Circus pause and wisely run back to the tip of the mountains, with the bodies of the remaining cultists slowly began to disintegrate into black flecks that flowed towards the burning symbol. Just as the flecks coiled and whirled into an orb of night, the summoners burning up in pitch black flames that swirled like a tempest.
Suddenly, a hand erupted from the orb before grabbing a piece of the mountain and pulling itself out of the Warp. Black flames ripping out as its massive bulk came into realspace like a shadow given flesh and blood, the darkness around it seeming to moan and congeal into oil. Dark fangs were revealed from a gaping maw on a snarling head that bore the resemblance of a goat and rabid dog, horns hewn in the abyss that dripped pitch blackness.
It was the embodiments of fear and terror long expressed in the ancient Terran legends of Daemons that hungered for the souls of Mankind. The creature stood nearly as tall as a skyscraper, their skin is the luster black and grey that would shame the night. Their dark-flecked hides are covered in the colour of oily black fur and their eyes are milky white without visible iris or pupil.
Their feet are cloven and the darkness pools at their passing, impossibly muscled and covered in iron-tipped barbs. From their backs sprout a pair of gigantic, membranous, bat-like wings, enabling them to soar over the battlefield before diving into the fiercest and bloodiest areas of battle, striking at will. Most hideous of all are their faces, which are bestial, almost canine, the visage of Khorne's most favoured beings in the universe, snarling maws are filled with fangs the size of mortal swords.
In olden times, it would have been a Bloodthirster. But now, it was a Malacon of Malice.
Malice's daemons were of a different variety than the other Gods. Befitting his name as the Renegade God, Malice amassed his forces by stealing the essences of other daemons and dipping them in the black pits of his domain, bending, breaking, reshaping the stolen daemons into the dark mirrors of their former patron gods. Now loyal only to Malice, and granted abilities to compensate for their weaknesses, they embody the God of Anarchy's will to break and destroy.
It lumbered towards her; brandishing dark flaming claws bound to its hands before roaring out in a bellowing call for blood.
Cyrene stared in awe and horror, having yet to actually face a Greater Daemon despite all of her training from the Emperor. The others, both performers and partygoers, who were cheering on the former, were all afraid, retreating to the tip of the mountain that the Malacon now towered over. The only one who was not afraid was Swayra, who stared the beast down without a hint of terror.
"Come at me, bastard of Malice! I am not afraid!"
With that proclamation, Swayra raised his hand into the air, fuchsia and purple lighting coiling around his arm and warped around his palm before it burst into a shimmering rift. Cyrene raised the Black Blade before she blinked when she saw he pulled out; a guitar of all things but one with the head resembling a daemon skull with white-blue shimmering flames coming out of the sockets and attached to a diamond neck and diamond filament strings, hewn with silver, crystal, and golden fangs, and a single sapphire eye on the base.
This was Frostmourn, one of the six Silver Guitars of Slaanesh. Blessed with power beyond imagining.
"Get in the air, Cyrene!" Swayra commanded her, to which the Acolyte stared before she awkwardly acquiesced.
(Trans-Siberian Orchestra - Carol of the Bells)
And then he began to play, Cyrene flew away from the mountains, somehow seeing the soundwaves coming from the guitar. Her eye in the Warp seeing the waves of pink and purple rippling through the immateria, shaping it, molding it, pulling it towards the center. It was beating against the black tides of the Malacon, who seemed more like a pit than a shadow.
Suddenly, the snow and billowing clouds around the tree began to coil together as branching arcs of Warp lightning that begun spreading into a shape like a sternum or ribcage. More clouds and billowing snow began to pull in as more shapes were added, lightning seemingly holding them into one whole like a fuchsia spider web. Just as an entire storm was pulled in, it began forming arms, wings, and finally a head with upward facing horns, engulfing the entire mountain in the blizzard form.
(0:33)
The form pulled its wings in before it bellowed a blast of pure Warp power, slamming into the shadow beast and sending it flying out into the air, flaring its vast leathery wings out in a snap of ethereal muscle and bone. White eyes burning with hatred, the Malacon roared out its desire to burn as blackness wove with blackness, forming into a great axe and whip like that of the Bloodthirster it once was.
As the music began to swell Swayra's avatar responded by ending an arm with lightning shaping into a mile long blade resembling Cyrene's Black Sword and leveled it at the Malacon who roared at it in challenge. The beast leaped at it in a sonic boom, both weapons out and lashing out the whip to the avatar's head but it brought up the lightning blade, cutting through it before blocked a downward chop from its axe with its arm but then, it headbutted the Malacon in the head. It stumbled back before Cyrene took this opportunity to spear into its chest with a fully powered kick.
The Greater Daemon was sent flying towards the other mountains and valleys, digging its cloven hooves into the snow and then launching itself towards the mountains back. The Avatar raised its free hand and snapped its fingers, sending bolts of lightning into the ground before several Christmas tree shaped spikes sprung out and attempted to impale the beast, only for the Malacon to either bound over or smash through them like a blade through straw. Seeing its opponent coming towards its, Swayra upped the tempo, causing the Avatar to strength and level its blade at the beast.
(1:04)
In put a millisecond, he two giants of Warp power exchanged flurries of strikes as the sword and the axe collided with the force of cyclonic torpedoes, black and fuchsia blasting around like aurora borealis. The Malacon used a fist to punch its horned head back before Cyrene shot out of the blizzard and slash its wrist with her Black Sword, cleaving into bone and crippling it.
"You're down one weapon!" She yelled before she twirled out of the way of a swing from its axe, "And here's the other!"
The Malacon's eyes widened before it turned to the Avatar which aimed at its lightning blade in a thrust. It roared and swung its axe, before the thrust was revealed to be a feint that it then used to slash through the Greater Daemon's arm, leaving large gouges in its limb but not enough to stop it from leaving a massive slash in the chest of the Avatar, but it was a useless endeavor since it only glided through the blizzard that it was composed of. Just as it was about to attack again, the Avatar unleashed a blinding series of thrusts and slashes to its chest and sternum, leaving massive molten orange gouges in its body before it threw an uppercut with such force that it billowed out all the snow around it.
The Malacon was sent stumbling back before it roared out in rage and pain, collecting all the energy around it into a fiery purple orb in its maw. Dark lightning crackled around it like it was a new tempest of immaterial rending flames. Before its opponents were ready, the Greater Daemon unleashed a blast of raw Warp obliteration, billowing out and melting the snow around it like a comet of death.
Before it could reach the Avatar, who braced for impact, Cyrene appeared in front of it, pulling in all the power she could before she erupted in a roar, her eyes shooting out an equally massive beam of pink energy. The two beams collided with each other, nearly splintering the mountains as they struggled against each other, one trying to dominate the other. Before it could continue, Swayra let out a yell and strummed, making the Avatar rear its blade back and launch it at the Malacon, letting it fly and hitting it in the forehead.
The blast from the blade nearly took its head off before Cyrene's beam engulfed it. The explosion shook the area around them, but to her surprise, it didn't die right away.
(1:31)
The smoke cleared to reveal its ruined face and mangled body, black steam hissing out at every wound. Normally, when the material form was sufficiently damaged the daemon would be banished back to the Warp, but instead, she sensed that it was instead trying to pull as much power from the Warp as it could. Suddenly, it seemed to... change.
Plasteel-like chitin formed out of its wounds and coated its chest, back and oversized arms. This armour of anguish crawled up its neck to encase its head, jawbones cracking out as the armour filled in the gap of its now broken jaws. Its skull, formerly strong and vaguely goat-like, became oblong and pain riddled as the seams of its cranium were undone and its brain smothered in chitinous coating that left it roaring its agony to the universe. Where claws once remained on reasonably sized limbs, now grew to be as large as a Juggernaut's legs and thrice as strong.
No digits remained in their original place, melted away by the heat of its own blood as the casing that crawled under and through its skin form a cylinder of superheated blood. At the entrance to this cylinder formed large, blundering fingers. At the center of this zygodactyl appendage was the exhaust port of this cylinder formed in its oversized forearm.
White hot sword shot out of its arms, white flames bellowed from its mouth, and its white membranous wings expanded out like a new tempest.
(1:57)
Undaunted, the Avatar raised a hand. Lightning coiled around the snow as they were shaped into screaming faces with maws of sword-like teeth while flying to the transformed Malacon who slashed them out of the air, leaving not even steam behind. And then with the balling of its fist, massive walls of stone shot from the ground, hitting the Greater Daemon in all sides, trapping it in a prison of bedrock. It wasn't lasting as all the heat and oily shadow matter began to melt it into slag, but it was never meant to hold it, only delay it.
The Avatar turned to Cyrene and motioned up, which she seemed to get as she nodded back and flew high above its head, Black Sword ready to strike. Just then the Malacon broke out of its prison, leaving splintered of molten stone, and dashed towards them in blind fury.
(2:20)
The two clashed, three swords of immaterial blazing with white and pink and purple, one pushing to dominate the other in a desperate bid for victory before the clash broke in a blast, nearly splintering the mountains. Suddenly, the Avatar speared its blade into the Malacon's guts, causing it to roar in agony before it was stunned with surprise when the former abruptly hugged the latter, wrapping its arm and wings around its bulky frame.
"NOW, CYRENE!"
Swayra's voice echoed through the Avatar, causing the Malacon to look up before its eyes nearly bulging out of its sockets. Up there was Cyrene, practically glowing with pink energy that being siphoned into her Black Sword. Just then, a massive pink blade erupted from the sword, eclipsing a skyscraper and practically burning with red Warp flames that were as brilliant as Christmas lights.
(2:36)
Positioning it into a downward thrust, Cyrene screamed at the top of her lungs as she dived towards the Malacon like a spear of divine light. The Greater Daemon of Malice, realizing its fate, tried desperately to get out of the trap to no avail. Just then, it saw a layer of hoarfrost covering its body, spreading like a fungus that smothered all the heat in it, dread filling its head as it could only scream before it was silenced.
Cyrene screamed until her voice cracked, spinning into a blazing saw of death that it could not avoid. She reached it in but a millisecond, cleaving right through the Plasteel and Warp muscle, ripping into its ribs, spine, organs and finally it's groin. She landed on her, leaving a crater the size of a city block, her armor and her Black Sword smoking with her head down... before the two halves of the beast falling away before they were banished back to the Warp.
The Avatar let out a bellowing yell of victory, raising its blade into the air as the cheers of the partygoers and circus members cheered on for Christmas.
(End)
3 hours later
Cyrene was laughing as she danced with Swayra around the Christmas tree, her power armor now replaced by a Christmas themed dress. She spun around like a ballerina, Swayra laughing as he took her in her arms again in a grace that was unlike any other. Unknown to them, they were all being watched by the Circus performers who were at the banquet tables, drinking hot coco or eating Christmas cookies.
"Man, they're having fun." Elizabeth said with a laid-back smile as she took a bite from a cookie shaped and decorated as a Christmas Tree, "As they should."
"I miss torture. But hey, it's not the end of the world." Leer shrugged but took a sip of hot chocolate.
"Reminds me of how I used to be. I was just some loser before I saw a Circe de Soliel event for my birthday." Jordan explained, "Ever since then, I did everything in my power to be as good as them. I practiced every day, gone on a diet, lost 300 pounds, and I trained, trained, and trained all day. I was so good that they said I was trying too hard and was pushing myself too far. That was when I meet Swayra."
"Huh-huh," Twist nodded her head with a laugh, "When I was a little girl, I was perfectly ordinary. My mom was a cunt, and I had a miserable childhood, so when Herman Fuller's Circus came to town, I took all the money from her purse and had the best day of my life! That was the day I met Icky and Lolly and became a Clown for them. Ever since I joined Swayra, each day has been better than the last... through I still miss Icky and Lolly."
Just as the dance ended for the two, a digital watch on Swayra's hand began to beep. Gaining a rueful smile, he pressed it and turned to the aurburn haired woman, who looked confused at this.
"Thank you." He genuinely said as he hauled a sack of toys that was sitting by a table over his shoulder, "You made this night a lot of fun."
"Wait..." Cyrene blinked, "That's not a sack of daemon toys?"
"No!" Swayra said with a smile as he replaced his top hat with a Santa hat, "Ever since I was forced to become Santa for Christmas one time, I've had the greatest days of my life!" Still, he took a little bit of delight in her shocked expression, smiling all the while, "I'm not gonna hurt anybody anymore. From now on, all I'm gonna do is spread the joy."
Cyrene was silent, before a smile was brought on her face and a tear fell down her cheek.
Smiling, Swayra snapped his fingers before out came from a portal a purple sleigh with goldened trims and snowflakes and being pulled by Daemonettes taking the form of pink furred reindeer with the leading one having a glowing purple nose. He climbed on after putting the sack in, before he turned to his Troupe members and smiled.
"I'll meet you all tomorrow morning! Don't be late!" Swayra pointed to them with a gleeful grin before he rose his arm to everyone around him, "Thank you all for coming! Hope you had a good time! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!"
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" came the resounding cheers from everyone around him. Smiling ear to ear in genuine happiness, Swayra let out a 'heeyah!' as he cracked the reins and getting the sleigh to take off with a blast of snow and pink, soaring in the sky on paths of lightning. Cyrene looked up at the sky with a thoughtful smile, remembering when she and her sisters had to stop Princess after she messed with Santa.
Suddenly, there was a buzzing sound and a vibration in one of her pockets. Pulling out her phone, the auburn Acolyte saw a text message from Serena: "Hey, where are you? We're having a Christmas Party back at the School! We want to see you here! Come on, sis!"
Smiling, Cyrene turned to Swayra's Troupe with a smile, "Well, I gotta get going. Thank you all for a good time and Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas!" They all toasted to her, not a malicious thought around.
Cyrene gave a brief laugh before she collected her armor and Black Sword, disappearing in a comet of pink light that stretched across the sky.
Unknown to all of them, someone was watching. His entire body was covered in bandages with eye-like markings, the rest covered in black and yellow chitinous rags and tattered robes, his face covered by a white porcelain mask that was featureless save for twin eye holes and black crack-like markings. Chains were wrapped around his chest and wrists, rolls of parchment lined with the Hanged King's scripture draped over his shoulders like a sash, a belt of lizard skin around his waist, his bandaged feet covered by soft leather scandals.
He saw it all, even though he knew what was coming...
"CLARK, DON'T!"
The Man of Tomorrow stopped, fist still raised against the perpetrator, turning to see an old man staring before him. He had short white hair with a beard and mustache, glasses hiding wise grey eyes, wearing a tieless dress shirt under a navy-blue dress coat, brown dress pants and polished dress shoes.
The UN representatives all looked at the old man in shock and confusion, wondering where he came from before their shock grew when he approached the Man of Steel with little fear in his eyes and heart. Superman let go of the one who caused this horrific event, walking to the old man with an enraged expression, his eyes red but the priest did not yield.
"You blame yourself for what happened. For the invasion last year, for the battle that nearly ended the league." The priest began, trying to reason with the Man of Steel, "For this event. Yes, you're angry. But in that anger, you're forgetting once more what humans feel. What they fear."
Clark looked like he was ready to tear the old man before he slowly started to realize what he was doing, looking at the scared world leaders and then staring at the Emperor, who had remained stone-faced during this whole time.
"They won't forgive you for this, Clark. Forgive yourself." The priest begged the Man of Steel.
Superman turned to the Emperor, who still remained stoic albeit breathing rather heavily as the blood running down his face dried, before he then turned back to the old man, "Who are... Why are you here?"
"To bear witness." The priest vaguely spoke, "Listen to me, Clark. Of all the things you can do, all your powers, the greatest has always been your instinctive knowledge of right and wrong. It was a gift of your own humanity. You never had to question your actions; in any situation, in any crisis, you knew what to do. But the moment you made the Super more than the Man, the day the Emperor became your new Lex Luthor, that completely cost you your instinct. That took away your judgement."
Clark's rage slowly began to petter out as he looked down in shame. The Emperor still remained stoic even as the world leaders emerged from their hiding spots to see what was going on.
"Take your judgement back." The priest replied to the unspoken question, "If you want redemption, Clark, it lies in the very next decision you make. Make it as a man... and make it right."
Somewhat moved by the old man's words, the Emperor put a hand to Clark's shoulder, speaking gently like he was comforting a guilt-ridden soldier, "Clark... We didn't have a choice."
Superman didn't even glare at him, only hanging his head. The Emperor turned his gaze to the old man, who had an expression of sadness on his face, which cause a bitter one to replace the former's current expression.
But that was not now. That was yet to come, so he could just enjoy the Christmas day now.
Staring at the pink comet, the Oracle smiled under the mask.
"Have a Merry Christmas, Cyrene."
And with that, he descended down the mountain to join the party.
To those of you that saw that this is out of character or ridiculous, it's a Christmas special for Warhammer 40K, of course it's gonna be ridiculous and over the top!
Bear in mind, I had only five days to make this, so I had to crunch it down. I might come back and update it to give it extra flare. But consider this my Christmas present to you all!
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!