Thursday 11 September 2014

The nightmare

The writhing black shadow of Kurze stood hunched on the outcrop, gazing out over the assembled Dark Angels. They were fools, all of them. He had sent out a false distress signal and they had believed it, and here they were, like lambs to a slaughter. His face twitched with uncontrolled spasms of murderous rage. He could feel his warband behind him, eager to attack. It was almost time, all he awaited was the arrival of the enemies commander, a worthy foe. He had tracked them since the devastating attack by the orks where they had been all but wiped out. This was all that was left of them, and they believed they were heading into an extraction point. Finally, he saw his prey. A lone speeder zoomed into view, bristling with guns and surrounded by a force field that pulsated different hues of misty darkness. It was time. With a simple motion he stood upright, and he unleashed hell upon his foes. The first over the outcrop were his bikers, storming forwards in a surge aiming straight for the assembled ravenwing, wanting to test themselves upon the imperiums finest. At there front, a chaos sorcerer sending out bolts of eldritch fire into their midst. Behind them came the raptors, launching themselves forward with screaming jump-packs, leaving black contrails behind them blotting out the sun. The ravenwing turned in response, and unleashed a storm of bolter fire, but it wasn't enough. The raving madmen were pockmarked by explosions but it didn't slow a single one. They fell upon the ravenwing like a storm upon thatch. Lightning claws and chainswords fell upon the astartes and they fell like wheat from a scythe. No amount of "holy protection" could save them. It was nothing short of a complete slaughter, the likes of which would make the stomach of any mortal man empty. Strings of entails hung from lightning claws, and the ripped open ribcages of the ravenwing were displayed on the front of the bikes in mockery of angels.
Sammael could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the utter destruction the night lords brought. He watched the first of only two surviving squads of ravenwing get butchered with no warning, and now watched as their remains were paraded around the battlefield as trophies. He felt his mouth fill with bile and his head fill with rage at their defilement. It all happened so fast, the moment they had appeared he had ran back to sableclaw, by the time he was mounted and it was in the sky, the destruction had started. He watched as a hooded and robed figure surrounded by darkness stood motionless like a ghost upon an outcrop of rock overlooking the battlefield. He could have sworn it was watching him, his every move. He blinked and the figure was gone, leaving Sammael to be unsure whether or not he had even seen the ghostly spectre. He turned his attention back to the battlefield. The surviving ravenwing had feigned a retreat lead by the black knights, leading the first group of raptors into a trap which beyond all expectation worked, and within seconds a hail of bolter and plasma fire engulfed the raging warriors and they fell where they stood. Briefly, the ravenwing reformed alongside the knights and lead a charge against the second group of raptors, but before they could the air filled with lightning as a group of terminators arrived, spraying destruction in every direction. The battle was in full swing now, and the dark angels were grossly outmatched. The slower and less mobile forces of the night lords had arrived with a vindicator and dreadnought entering the foray. With a quick touch of the consoles in front of him, Sammael ordered the only other land speeder with him to attack the now closing in vindicator, and he himself split off to attack the dreadnought. Within seconds, both craft were at the rear of their targets, and a few missiles and storm of assault canon shells later both were quickly out of commission, the dreadnought sending screams of rage into the sky. He turned back to the battefield to see a horrific sight. The spectre was back, this time standing in the midst of a pile of dead bodies, with a single astartes raised above his head, talons holding the limp corpse in place, the corpse of what he realized was the ravenwing company champion, looking like a child in his hands. Only sammael, his co-pilot and the other speeder were left, the rest of his force was nothing more than gore on the spectres claws. The rest of his force mercilessly gutting the dead remains of the ravenwing and stealing armour and weapons. The spectre beckoned him, a challenge. Sammael turned to his co-pilot and instructed him and the other speeder to escape to another extraction spot, and handed him the ravenblade. He then dismounted, and walked towards his fate. The closer he got, the closer Sammael realized this was no astartes, he was huge. A daemon prince surely he thought. The spectre had the ghostly outline of an astartes, in perfect proportion, but gave off a fear of such dread that even he, an astartes, felt fear for the first time. He found he was trembling, the idea that he could be afraid confounded him, he was an astartes, the most perfect warrior in the universe yet here he was, genuinely afraid. He had cast greater daemons than this back into the warm so why was this one so special? And then, with an almighty screech that his questions were answered. It was over in an instant, a bright piercing light from the heavens and all of a sudden the night lords bikers were gone, erased from existence with the power of the ancient gods. A great craft descended from the heavens, too large to hover by all laws of physics but there it was. Another flash and a portal errupted from nowhere, and a solitary figure walked out, thin and lithe. Sparks of lightning crackling from his outstretched blade. A few seconds later two groups of hulking warriors appeared from the gates, followed by a gigantic lithe titan, and any remaining night lords were sent to another dimension by the ancient powers contained within there weapons. Alone stood the spectre, now robbed of his cloak of shadow. The realization of what he was looking at did nothing to relive the fear of his foe, only heighten it. Before him, stood a primarch. Not just any primarch, but Kurze. He was over twice the height of him, with jet black hear and a single red streak at the fore. A single nervous twitch on the  side of his mouth and suddenly he was in front of him. Sammael quickly feinted to the left, but not quick enough, a great gouge tore through his armour and ripped off his left pauldron. He sprinted towards the dead body of the champion and took up his calliban blade, just in time to deflect another blow, the strength sending him sprawling. He lept to his feet, but too slow. His claw was heading straight for his head, a deathblow. All of a sudden a blade blocked it before him, the tall figure standing beside him. Kurze snarled at the interruption. "Eldrad" he snarled before striking again, his lightning fast blow was countered once again by the eldar, and Sammael realized he now had a chance. He swung at Kurze with all his strength at the same moment as Eldrad, but to no avail. The primarch parried both blows with ease, spinning as if he weighed nothing and breaking apart from the duel. The primarch easily outclassed both fighters but the duel would allow more troops to arrive in support. With a grin, Kurze activated his jump pack and screamed off into the night, disappearing in seconds. The sound of cruel laughter following in his wake.

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