Last Feet​

Neither clip size nor rate of fire matched up to a proper bolter, however Kremnar had little other options at the moment. Kaltoshien opts not to experience this, calling upon Raptora disciplines to spy out the living waste he sees Iron Warrior as, and then seizes control of weapons firing arcs to turn them into in-direct firing artillery. Infernus pistol fires first, flying over bunker roof and arcing down like an Earth Shaker round onto Krem's location. Rising temperature and growing light drives loyalist to book it forward; and right into the next rain fall of molten fury.

Watch the skies burn as I did, WRETCH! Sectioned off chains of melta beam fly forth and turn into a rainfall of sub-nuclear heated droplets. Bombardment is robbed of focused killing power, and in turn bathes Kremnar with multiple peripheral blasts. Armor smokes and skin feels dry and tight against the rest of his body. It is too late to consider the tables turned, they had already destroyed table long ago and either man might die at any moment.

Kremnar: 4
Conditions:

Kaltoshien: 6
Conditions:

Will You Join Us?​

Ghastly figures begin appearing at opposite end of the hands. Herchel finds attention firmly locked on one of Magnus' sons looking back at him through a damaged helmet adorned with towering horns that gave them so unique a look.

Bring the Emperor's justice, please, come and slay these fiends. This existence is an agony of all its own, the Empyrean predators are ageless and every day is a life time of agonies.

A World Eater jostles forward, armored hands wrenching Herchel closer with an angry desperation that betrays the seeming loss of sanity prevalent in his eyes.

GET IN HERE AND PUNCH SKELETON MAN THERE IN HIS WITCH DICK! THESE FREAKS CANNOT BE CONQUERED ALONE, BREAK ME FROM MY CHAINS AND WE WILL SHOW ALL OF THESE WHORESONS AND WARP XENOS A FIGHT THAT WOULD MAKE ANGRON BLUSH!

Were these genuine pleas? A trick of the mind? It mattered little what they were, only that Xerxes was getting what he wanted, towering Terminator stands at end of a long rut with small mounds of dirt and rubble having buried each boot. Mind races with possibilities, and then HUD blinks: generator was back at full capacity. Single small detail reels Herchel back into the moment, Combi-Volkite turned upon Xerxes the Taken even while the real spirit of fallen witch begins to speak; the only pair of hands in there trying to push him away.

DO. NOT. DO. IT, HERCHEL!

Realizing the Lich, or whatever he is now, will be prepared for future flame assaults Herchel relies on singular ray of heat to do the job. With so little mass left to burn all that a direct hit has left to claim are smoldering bones. Right arm and attached armor vanishes in storm of ash and embers, further weakening the daemon's grip on reality.


Herchel: 14
Conditions: Portal Distance: 47% (Lower is closer, Higher is further)

Xerxes the Taken: 4
Conditions:

Kremnar Eranite watched as the roof of his cover got melted down by the infernus pistol, then came the makeshift artillery bombardment. If nothing else, his opponent was creative. The shots rained down on his position, splash damage hitting the sternguard veteran through whatever protection his artificer armor had graciously held on to him. He could feel his body began to shut down, and the damage to his own flesh too much for even the astartes physiology to overcome. The Thousand Son screamed into his mind as he attacked, further rubbing salt into the wound.

Fire, just fire all around. Kremnar had not thought he would die in the midst of some misguided, pretentious schmuck from Prospero. He was an Iron Warrior, he was supposed to die in a blasted trench somewhere, against an equally stubborn opponent. One of those pretenders who still wore their colors perhaps, or a squat, or an ork.

Yup, definitely an ork.

Now Kremnar got to see that damn smugness off of the whoreson's face, cheating in a gunfight with sorcery, and all that fire... He paused. Fire... Looking down, the sternguard veteran saw a particular bolt pistol clip he had grabbed before the fight on the titan's shoulder, nearly a week or two ago. He had never had the chance to use it during the fight, nor did a time appeared afterward that worked. Now, on the verge of death, Kremnar figured he might as well not leave it for the enemy. Slapping the Dragonfire Clip into the weapon, he turned the pistol towards the Thousand Son, dragonfire round in one chamber, kraken in the other.

"Burning sky? Spare me. I'll see you in hell, Prosperan."


OOC: All out attack with Dragonfire bolt pistol clip.

Herchel was amazed as he suddenly began getting his power back, What surprised him more would be the ghosts appearing beside him and asking for his aid, both have them pushing him to go further into the portal that the daemon wanted to retreat into and pull him into, as he did he would be greated by his old friend Xerxes as well seemingly trying to keep him back through the portal.

As time seem to slow Herchel began to think for what was only few moments his body was still fighting manually, What would his brothers do, Seth and Nathienal would likely charge in no hesitation wise to retrieve and help out there cousins, and likely brothers, Kremnar would likely stay at range to shoot the daemons but... as he went to think on about Dyzek, Akar, Marcus,Villhelm,Jobe, Brumndar, and Beiolos, Carlous, head apothecary and Head witch blood whatshisface... he would be leaving them all behind and it would be a dick move to his squad, leaving them without a head for Possibly more honor and glory and beating the hell out of Giant skeleton dick.

Then there was Dyzek he could still remember the words when he found out he was alive.
"If you abandon formation again, scrub your armour down to it's gunmetal grey, and go find some others to support your foolishness. We are not men of the XIIth or VIth Legion, who go chasing after our emotions in battle, we are the disciplined warriors of Iron. I don't care what words the foe send at you, you will keep to your objectives, and keep some modicum of control, am I clear?"

If Herchel did this he would not only likely piss of Dyzek to the point of him finding another warp portal and dragging him back to reality and then rip out his geneseed and have villhelm turn him into a servitor if he found out he left his squad of terminators to there own device against there legion, Not only that the disappointment Akar and captain Akar might feel and Warsmith Or- wait he was dead. Then there was the Fallen dead, Like Har Xerxes who was still infront of him holding him back, and Odiaus who brought him all the way here to defend his home world, If Herchel left now he would spitting on Odiaus grave for everything he did to save there hides. oh and Akron, Herchel still had his blade he got from Marcus.

Making his Decision Herchel knew what to do, Activating his armors leg segments and began to push back against the portal, "Cerberus squad if I dont Nail this bastard nail him for me!" Herchel said back to his squad mates hoping they would atleast hear him, His Launcher of Vulgarity locking onto the form of the lych took aim and fired one Middle finger Krak missile, and One Eat a dick frag missle straight towards the skeleton and ready to blow as it meets its form. "LETS BUST THIS GHOSTS ASS AND GET YOUR ETHEREAL BOY'S OUT OF THERE!" Herchel yelled his missles now flying to see if they make there mark. Adding to the Explosion Herchel smiled and quickly Mag locked his thunder hammer to grab the last of his grenades Towards the Lych hopefully blasting it to oblivion.

OOC One Full action hold/move back from the portal, One Full action launching Krak and Frag missle at the Skeleton man. One half action Throwing Frag and Krak grenades, and Moving backwards towards Cerberus squad and away from portal, One Full action Combi volkite towards the lych as Explosives reach the lych.

The Dreadnought swung its prey back and forth again and again, slamming his foe into a nearby wall before throwing them into the ground - Marcus did not care for any flashy endeavours with this, now merely clenching his fists and thudding forward towards his prey.

Thoughts of wonder crossed his mind as the power fields crackled over his fists, each step shaking the earth beneath him as he got closer and closer towards his prey; even raising the flamer-equipped one and slathering both hands in the Promethium - he knew well enough that it would not damage any systems, but it certainly would give a world of hurt on top of the already devastating punches.

Who was he, before this? He thought to himself - already concluding he may have been little more than a monster. Perhaps a grim one who saw his acts as merciful. Perhaps a psychopath who enjoyed the murder, or something else entirely. All that was here now was the shrieking beast in front of him; so instead he layered more of the holy flames upon his limbs.

Soon he was like a beacon, both forearms covered in fire that was ready to lash out at his foe and viridian eyes that glared down at the warp talon; perhaps he shall be shown mercy by the Emperor, perhaps pity by Sanguinius. But Marcus knew that he was not the Emperor, nor the primarch of the Blood Angels; he would show no mercy, only vengeance.

"Go back to your masters in the abyss, wretch." He snarled out through his vox, suddenly lunging forward with one fist ahead and one raised up high; a quick jab meant to shove his opponent, with another mighty downward smash in an attempt to crush his foe there and then.

The more they fought, the more the Knight got used to his form; the stinging pains from his nerve endings reminded him of his mortality and the phantom limb motions that stretched out to his chassis, allowing him the sensations required enough to know his limits. Adamantium and ceramite tore from the talons, but he cared little so far; he did well and he knew he could do better, swinging his fists and bringing his knees up as extra weapons, knowing his entire body now was a battering ram that one could not ignore.​

two attacks + bonus attack, all with power fists; two defenses on self.

Nathiel tossed aside what remained of the Storm Shield, for its purpose had been compromised. Looking around at all the death and chaos, Nathiel would feel the call to finish this traitor that he may rejoin the larger battle at hand. He could feel every death of loyalist all around them, and their screams called out to him for justice. "The final hour quickly approaches, traitor. The true Emperor's banner shall not fall. Nor shall any traitor be left standing. The Iron Veil has been raised once more, and I shall not fall my true father." Charging forward like a one man wrecking ball, the Champion was on a mission to end the traitor Cro's life. Pushing into the son of Horus' guard with unrelenting pursuit, Nathiel would use his Hammer to try to inflict blow after blow to wear down the injuries traitor. However, though he pushed a clearly aggressive strategy, Nathiel kept a watchful eye out for an counter attacks the sergeant may have had waiting for him.

OOC: All out attack x2 with Thunder Hammer. Exemplar action: defense with Thunder Hammer.

Burn The Witch​

Six orbs of blinding white heat crest bunker's roof then split apart and chain their energies into the ground. Short lived blasts dog Krem's every step, each one firing a half second later than the one before, searing fire tilting after advancing Sternguard and turning both air and land into treacherous terrain. A smaller beam burns through bunker, shooting out suddenly into Iron Warrior's path. Kremnar ducks aside and into the shelter of a Dreadnought's shadow. Walker turns to face him, bearing the dark red and banded silver of the new Word Bearers, without a second thought it raises its fist; Kremnar keeps running, dashing between its legs and diving through what is less of a bunker, and now more of a rockrete awning. Explosive light chases him inside, pursuing Word Bearer turning away to address Brother Talus and his cyclone launcher elsewhere inside the halls.

Kaltoshien meets his opponent one final time. Wounds stitched together by Biomancy and pain suppressed by an all consuming desire to lay low one of Perturabo's butchers, Thousand Son looses one last twin blasts of melta fire, flattening and widening each spray so that they fill most of the bunker; most, but not all. Kremnar acts with a speed he did not think his beaten body had left, pouncing on top of ruined Vindicator lodged between ground and ceiling. Footing melts out from beneath him, rapidly stealing precious space from his only safe haven. Twin barreled bolt pistol takes aim at the tightest point of melta cone and pulls the trigger.

Iron Warrior exits thoroughly ruined defensive emplacement. Walls absent or grievously weakened the rockrete begins to topple off what little reinforcing rebar remains. Kaltoshien's body sits there in the rubble on both knees, torso blown open and fire flooding through every limb and gushing forth from open orifices. Smoke wafts from broken armor until it is crushed beneath weight of ceiling and shallow second floor above all tumbling down upon the wayward traitor. Kremnar does not look back, spares it little thought, there were still thousands more of Kaltoshien's ilk here on Terra.

Lessons Learned, Ambitions Unfulfilled​

Xerxes sprints forward and weaves around circles around Herchel. Terminator struggles to rotate on his bound feet and wounded legs fast enough to address Lych getting around behind him; Xerxes is kind enough to wait.

"Go on now, don't take it from me astartes. Listen to the others, and get in there." Force spade spears into Terminator's stomach, another chilling blast of energy assailing his very soul. Unable to hold himself back Herchel hollers out in pain, limbs locking up tight as imprisoned legionnaires drag him towards the portal faster and faster. Sorcerer walks him deeper into oblivion, piked upon extended weapon. Somewhere in the psychically charged agony fogging up veteran's brain, he manages a single command to his MIU attached to shoulder launcher; Missile rack tilts low as it can and then fires.

"Chief Librarian!" One of Squad Cerberus disengages from a Night Lord's assault unit, hammering him into the dirt beforehand of course, and hauls himself over to Chief Librarian Whatshisface's side. Blackshield slams force staff into the ground, earth heaving upwards and casting legionary and daemon alike into the air as if planet itself had become repulsed by their revolting presence. Kahrnak joins other squad brother in protecting the witch with his assault cannon and power axe. A Flamer swallows up more shots than any creature that size has right to before going down in a cyclone of fire that leaves no evidence of daemon's existence to begin with.

Palace grounds continue to heave and quake, churning up floor and footing alike for the enemy. Molten light begins to pour out between the cracks. Herchel watches as tattered robes and fragments of Xerxes' skeleton topple into the web of breaking earth and are consumed by the light. Behind him portal and grasping spirits flicker then begin to shrink. World Eater screams furiously at him, it all comes out garbled as warrior's soul is drug back into its prison.

"Sergeant Herchel, get clear! These fiends were never meant to see the light of our world, but if they desire it so, we shall oblige them!" Librarian roars and drives his staff deeper through palace floor. Fire begins spewing from broken terrain, traveling towards portal and daemons in waves. Sergeant starts moving faster, Thousand Son relinquishing his grip and going back quietly into the night. Herchel feels one last prod into wounded back, a hand upon shoulder pushing him away further. When he cranes neck and head to look back, the man sees no one left. Striding with redoubled efforts over rapidly destabilizing terrain. Reaching both squad and their Head Witch, Herchel looks back at portal again just in time for it all to erupt. Librarian ripping force weapon from the ground and engulfing the contested grounds before them in an eruption of brimstone and hellfire that leaves only a smoldering crater the size of a small village in its wake.

This means nothing Herchel. You failed them again, all your kin belong to me, and I will return.

Slayer​

Ground splinters beneath Marcus' tread. Floor tiles, bodily fragments, and crumbling machinery rises around him like swarms of gnats swarming from rustling fields. Warp Talon twists its torso around almost a full hundred and eighty degrees, warped musculature and skeletal structure caring little for the strain and simple impossibility of this that would be present in a more naturalized form. Lower body follows after it and uses spring like motion to send it flying at the Contemptor one last time. Marcus cannot help but laugh.

Burning fists crash into the abomination and carry it down into a raised knee. A satisfying crack is followed up by a wet crunch as spine snaps then collapses when impacts meet. Bestial legs fall limp, talons sink into torso and spear underneath helmet, as if trying to go for the jugular. Maw distends grotesquely wide like a snake preparing to swallow a meal larger than itself; Marcus draws back a fist before jamming burning digits into yawning jaws. Fist stretches out gullet, arm now being scraped by fangs in a mouth stretched too wide to clamp down properly. An unneeded yet appropriate grunt accompanies the motion, imagined effort being put into gutting the beast cause for the sound.

At last Marcus finds what he is searching for, digits damp with blood and saliva wrapping around the primary heart. Chest flesh stretched wide enough that it is nearly transparent tears before combined efforts of both fists as the Knight tears out beating heart and rips off the most superficial parts of the beast's chest. Arm straightens and whips towards the ground, discarding blood pump and the curtain of other organs and skin that had been draped over metallic limb. Beast no longer thrashes, arms sagging down and nails dislodging from their holds, tailed only by a brief high pitched shriek born from their final drag down chest plate.

"Comin' up big guy! Need a new firing platform." Carolus hops onto Marcus' arm, still lowered from discarding the giant Warp Talon's gore and visceral fluids, and begins climbing up to a shoulder. Contemptor rises, and Carolus finds a more or less steady perch on a shoulder. Together the pair turn and face down the next wave of traitors, already entrenched in captured fortifications and firing upon them. "Brutal kill Marcus, think I like your new job better than the old, no offense."

"None taken; I happen to be getting used to this as well." He spoke out in response to Carolus, stomping upon his foe's skull as he stepped forward with the flamer-equipped fist raised; a long, loud wheeze came from it as it spewed out its hellish payload, smearing the promethium upon any traitors that dared to come within range.

He looked left to right rather calmly now, not giving much thought to rushing into battle yet and instead remaining back to act as a form of defense, using the flamer and combi-bolters to fire upon his foes; only once they came into grenade-throwing distance would he charge to use his power fists, where he'd then once again wait.

All he had to do now was wait for orders.

Wonder if I can switch an arm for a proper firing weapon... He thought to himself; fists were nice he knew, but he'd always wanted something.... Shooty.​

Herchel looked back as he Regrouped with his squad and team, Getting his footing back and hefting both weapons up, as he looked to the spot where the portal once was Chief librain whats his face was with him and his squad. "Good, Next time, We will all be ready for you and be ready to rip you apart once more, and then rip all the souls you've taken from us and every loyal soul out of you." Herchel said, He hoped that beating him here would free those souls but it seems possible that was not the case.

"Xerxes thank you for aiding me this day, and next time I hope I can make sure you are free with all your allied loyal budds make it out as well." Herchel said out loud as hefted up his The hammer of Redemption, and the Dragons breath, Dragons breath really proving its worth at fighting it seems those from the other side.

"HERCHEL STOP YOUR DAMNED MONOLGUING OR WE ARE GOING TO HAVE ALL THE GLORY MELTING DOWN THESE IRON TRAITORS!" Herchel heard a yell from one of his squad mates sending him back to reality. "Got it brother lets shove em back, Thanks Chief Libraian I owe you a drink and some ammo after this." Herchel said to him as he began letting lose the fire and the flames and his hammer would once more begin swing down onto the traitorus kin with his squad mates at his side.

Split Soul​

Seth growled in pain as his body was mangled, perhaps one last time for today, as his future self continues dishing out the damage and not suffering in turn. He was definitely a better fighter, Seth realizing he was terribly outmatched (which was perhaps kinda ironic) and his options narrowed quite a lot. Not that it mattered though, not in the slightest.""

"You might be a damned bastard like me, but that is where our similarities end. Let me explain it to you in the way you would understand," with the strength he had left in his body, Soul Smith launches a series of blows with his axe, wide and direct swings not masking much and going in the classic brutal way to chop a path through the traitor's armored hide and if he dies, wounds the dark mirror enough so when someone who heard his vox call comes to investigate he would be able to take out the...whatever the hell this guy was. "I don't give a fuck about your reasons or wishes or whatever you spit out. To me, you're just another piece of traitor's shit that I'm going to cut apart and remove from this planet. If I go down the path you're foreseeing, so be it, perhaps there will be a reason for it one day. But I know one thing for certain - you won't be there to see it."

Seth smiles ever so slightly, shoulders raising and Gorehowl held across his front with blood soaked head spinning its teeth excitedly in preparation of the strike to come.

"Remind me that I could ever be beaten to begin with. Show me a warrior who will not stray then!" Both Excoriators trade blows, neither Seth trying to block and instead crossing above or below each other with every stroke. Jets of blood erupt from traitor, spraying to either side. What is left of Seth's rapidly draining blood supply simply pools at their feet while paling flesh flicks past the two. Heraldry, black paint, and even facial features have all vanished beneath the crimson shower. Like golems made with sanguine fluids and vitae rather than wax or clay, both Seth's stand on the verge of their final loss. There can only be one executioner.

No more words would be given, only sound would be screams of the adamantium teeth whirling and flesh ripping apart. Seth knew there was no coming back and like pretty much every time during his service, the only idea on his mind was felling down the opponent arrayed against him. This opponent proved to be more than a match indeed which was to be expected, as this opponent was himself. Whether he was fighting a daemon, a ghost of his future self, a real deal or something else, the Soul Smith didn't let that ruin his aim as the Gorehowl Younger kept on butchering the ruined armor of his dark mirror. Maybe his enemy was right, maybe this would be what the fate had in store for him and it would be best to die here and save others of having to suffer when one day their Soul Smith falls and turns against his own brothers. That was the way a responsible warrior would think, going all out to protect those in charge. But that was not reasoning behind Seth's mad onslaught. To admit defeat was to blasphemy against the Emperor and more importantly, his own creed. True iron never bends or buckles, it doesn't even rust as long as it's well-maintained and nutured with the blood of traitors. This meant that there was no doubt in Seth's remaining heart as he pushed on to the very limits of his enhanced being. He knew who he was, what he did to get to here and the person which he became. He was at peace with all of that as Gorehowl perhaps screamed for one last time...

Gorehowl the Younger chops deep into traitor's chest, sinking further and further into parting ribcage and organs underneath. Seth looks back at his younger self, a life time of carnage and terror reflected in his eyes. It is the Soul Smith's history, and in those twin eyes he sees life flash and realizes that the black hood is not his to don anymore, at least, not in this body. Gorehowl becomes stuck, elder version choked up in the fallen warrior's left hand, while mirror then uses empty right to hold Seth steady. Seth thrashes against himself, older warrior looking at him darkly now. With no words left to share, and only a crushing sense of disappointment in themselves, Gorehowl the Elder bites into Seth's neck and chews through until the loyalist's head falls back and joins Orion's on the ground.

"SOUL SMITH!"
​

A dozen voices cry out in anguished fury. Aegeus and Castor foremost among them sprint up towards the aftermath. Former raises his power fist, guiding others and preparing a strike in one movement. Castor's power axe and storm shield take point, anger great but not so powerful as to make him reckless before this traitor crafted in their own friend, mentor, and leader's image. Same cannot be said for the initiates and veterans behind them, brandishing chainswords, power weapons, and every gun at hand to tear Seth's slayer apart. Electrified bolts shoot past, spat up by the bolt pistol of a furious Akar. Seth merely looks up at them all, arms stabilizing as he wrenches Gorehowl from chest and corpse's grip, flipping it to present two mighty power Excoriators at vengeful mob.