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    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    Unfortunately, it seemed that nothing could stop that indomitable charge of the War Hounds. As a barrage of bullets struck them, it did little to stall their assault. A few well-aimed shots and a few lucky ones managed to pierce through helmets and turn the brain into a fine paste, causing the charging Astartes to tumble to the floor, dead. Yet even that didn't slow down the other charging warriors, who merely leapt and trampled over the corpse of their fallen brother, their eyes remaining solely on their foe.

    When the two forces clashed, it didn't take long for things to become violent. War Hounds and Sons of Horus immediately locked blades, yet it was clear which side had the advantage - the beaten, exhausted, and wounded heretics immediately struggled as the fresh loyalist forces, better armed and better trained, beat them back. Even with the blessings of the Chaos Gods on their side, the fight seemed entirely in the favour of the War Hounds.

    Perhaps the sole exception to this war Xarik. The Captain had most experience than his entire unit combined. one didn't survive for ten-thousand years after the heresy by resting on their laurels, after all. He had improved, becoming better and better, gaining powerful new artefacts and learning to harness the secrets of the warp for himself. He was the Swarmslayer, the man who had brought low feared warriors of the Imperium, Chaos, and Xenos Empire alike. Every World Eater who approached him met a surprisingly swift end - they would overextend and allow themselves to be struck at a vital point, or be staggered by a powerful blow. Amongst the chaos of battle, the progeny of Horus felt an odd sense of nostalgia wash over him.

    Yet once he laid eyes upon Kharn, all emotions he might've faded away. The Captain of the War Hounds stayed deathly still, Gorechild in hand, as he stared Xarik dead in the eyes.

    He was daring his foe to make the first move.

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The figure placed a hand to chin of the mask, rubbing it gently as it thought over Hans' question. "Perhaps... the spire is upon high alert, and the foul automatons use the cursed cover of the warp to stall any and all communications. Yet if one could find their ways to the warp engine of this hellish shard, a brief disruption might allow one time to send a message to the outside."

    The figure took a few steps, their hand still gently stroking the chin of their mask. "However, the warp engine is a high priority. They need it to fuel their extractions, which in turns fuels the darker plots only known to the Lord Redeemer himself. It would be highly guarded, no doubt, though our combined forces may be enough to breach it. There would certainly be casualties, dire ones - those automatons designed for combat are brutally efficient, and our forces scarce - but it might allow your message to reach the outside."

    [–] Stoke the Flames of Hell (Private) SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The Kastelan, seeing the oncoming axe, made an attempt to catch the weapon. This would prove to be an action that would be both life-saving and crippling in equal measure. The head of the blade sliced through the armoured gauntlet of the machine as if it were nothing, burying itself deep into it's hand as sparks burst forth and a variety of liquids sloshed out from sliced tubes. Though it had been wounded, such an action was surely better than allowing the foul weapon to hit it head-on.

    With a mechanical roar of it's own, the Kastelan charged towards Lorak, undeterred by the attack. After all, even the greatest of wounds could not make such a machine flinch or hesitate. The battle engine stomped forwards, it's advance followed by a crescendo of mechanical voices. It readied it's remaining intact arm and aimied a punch directly at the Chaos Lord.


    Alarak's possessed soon caught wind of the plans of their foe - they were using invisible warriors to strike those in power without fear of retaliation. Whether they were doing so with technology or other arcane means mattered not, for now, their advantage was nullified. Every step they took could now be seen on the bloodied floor, and a few of their strange foes had even been covered by the blood. As the possessed ripped and tore at where their foes stood, sparks burst forth as mechanical humanoids crumpled to the ground, their innards shredded and pooling on the floor below them as they desperately attempt to retreat

    [–] Me_irl SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in me_irl

    Is it just me, or is Mr Clean is kind of weirdly thicc?

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The figure waited a moment, before stepping down from their position within the opening. After all, he had not been immediately attacked, so this Astartes was in some way, trustworthy. The wall shifted once more, giant slabs pushing out from the wall and stopping under the feet of the masked being. Eventually, the figure reached the ground, and took a few steps closer to the Chaplain.

    "I am sure your mind swims with questions, though I am afraid I can only answer them to the best of my ability. These things, these automatons of the warp, they are slaves to the will of the Lord Redeemer. They wish to perform foul acts upon all who are lured into this spire, every act of cruelty fuel to the fires of unspeakable schemes! I am a servant, not to the Lord Redeemer, nor to his sadistic Mouth, but to the collective - the strays who have evaded the tortures of the automata, who are eternally trapped within this damnable spire.".

    The masked figure stopped, a spluttering cough cutting off their ranting speech. The fit carried on for a few moments, before the figure seeming to regain control over their breathing. It was clear that whatever happened to them, their health had been greatly compromised. Nonetheless, the figure continued. "The Lord Redeemer lures beings of all kinds to this spire, promising them a better life, promising them glory, promising them whatever they desire. Yet all that he brings to the worlds he visits are lies, death, and total annihilation."

    The figure paused yet again, as if pondering the last of Hans questions. "Perhaps one such as yourself could stand a chance against the lying, backstabbing Lord Redeemer in a fair fight. Yet to reach his chambers is a monumental task, a task that requires one to battle not only against his legions of automatons, but also the very spire itself. To attempt to defeat the Lord Redeemer without a great force at your side would amount to little more than suicide."

    [–] Stoke the Flames of Hell (Private) SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The dark power that emanated from Lorak's claw seemed to be tempting to the Magos, and Lorak could even feel the struggling of Murrd slow as he seemed to give in to the offers of the grim tendrils. However, the Usurper would not have a chance to finish whatever act he preparing, as he suddenly felt himself flung with an incredible force. A towering Kastelan robot with two gigantic fists had come to aid in the battle, accompanied by an assortment of servitors. They seemed to serve no purpose in combat, however - instead, the lobotomised servants were rigged head-to-toe with vox speakers, blaring various praises to the glorious Omnissiah in high gothic, low gothic, binary, and every language in-between. The Kastelan slowly began to trudge forward, fingers twitching in anticipation of the coming fight.

    Though the Whips of Lorak had realised that their foes were hiding from them, their techniques to finding their enemy lacked much in the way of poise. Their mad flailing and directionless flinging of debris certainly caused damage, though most of it was to the environment around them, and little if any was dealt to their foes.

    One of the barrels flung happened to hit something, though - a stray nurgling had wandered into the halls, and found itself within the path of the barrel. With a scream, the nurgling was crushed under the weight of the barrel. However, that was not the interesting thing. What was more interesting was moments after the nurgling had been crushed, a set of indents appeared in the sludge that remained. At least, until another crate was randomly flung at the same spot, which caused the indents to mysteriously disappeared.

    Perhaps the seemingly insignificant event could provide them the information they required.

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    "LACKEY OR NOT, OUR HOPES OF ESCAPING THIS DAY WITH OUR LIVES DEPEND ON OUR SUCCESS!" The Vulture retorted, his gravelly voice scratching against Hamadi's ears. "...OR IS IT SIMPLY THAT YOU WOULD RATHER DIE AMONG THE NAMELESS CROWD THAN BE CALLED THE MAN WHO KILLED A PRIMARCH?"

    Now that was a bold claim, one sure to grab the interest of any enemy of the Imperium. The Thousand Son had no idea whether or not the bold claims could be backed up, but only a select few among all of known history could claim they had slain a Primarch. Truthfully, it was an offer that none could refuse.

    The battlefield grew bloodier and bloodier with each passing second. The first waves of artillery from both Imperial and Heretical forces struck the opposing armies. Blasts from tanks tore through infantry like a chainsword through flesh, explosions tearing Astartes and Mortals alike into bloody mists and shreds of bones and gore. Missiles and plasma pounded against vehicles, causing searing wounds to open against the metal hulls. A few of the poorly-maintained traitor vehicles exploded, frying their unfortunate inhabitants and filling those nearby with metal shrapnel. A lucky shot from a dreadnought reduced an opposing Land Raider to a burning heap of slag within mere seconds.

    Within the chaos of battle, the Sons of Horus barely had a chance to realise what was coming from them. A force of World Eaters, led by none other than Kharn himself, was ripping and tearing their way through the frontline, most likely attempting to disrupt the enemy command structure. As they roared praises to the Emperor, Xarik only had a few seconds to prepare for the violent combat to come.

    [–] The Treasure of Keres: Revengeance SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The Scions of Nurgle slowly trudged throughout the swiftly decaying ship, the air around them becoming stale. The Astartes inhaled deeply, musty air pulled through the rusted and broken purifiers of their helmets. It was homely, the sickening miasma slowly building around them reminiscent of the deathly atmosphere of their dearest home, the Plague Planet. A few of the less blessed members of the cult began to choke upon the air, clutching at their necks as their throats burned, only to receive a swift smack from one of their superiors for being so ungrateful to the beloved Grandfather.

    Eventually, they reached an area that barely even looked like a ship anymore. Such a thing was not uncommon for ships aligned to the Grandfather - the Stormlord had similar such mutations, metal being replaced with flesh and bone, lumens transforming into glowing eyes, and similar such warp-induced oddities. It was not uncommon to step through a doorway and end up in a scene that more closely resembled a death world than something that travelled through space. Yet to see a chapel, along with a thriving congregation of followers, within a crashed ship hidden under a millennia-long warp storm? That was enough to cause most within the group pause.

    Yet not Rhell and his pack of beasts. The houndmaster strode into the blighted forests without a second thought, his hounds relishing as they flung themselves into the muck and filth. Without so much as a second thought, Rhell entered the chapel.

    "What the hell!" Thantis roared, charging after his associate.

    CHITTER, CLICK CLICK!? "By Nurgle, can't we just have any semblance of cohesion!?" Larven sighed, chasing after the terminator.

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The assault of the Space Wolves had been mostly fended off, the remaining Astartes either dead, dying, or retreating from their assault. The wolf that Hamadi had struck flew off, his various pelts still aflame, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire meant to take him down. Xarik had to give it to them - what the Rout lacked in tactical acumen, they made up for in sheer courage.

    Nonetheless, the Assault Marines had provided ample distraction. The rest of the Space Wolves and Ultramarines had arrived at the frontlines, only sustaining mild overwatch fire from the charge. The frontlines of the Traitors and the Imperium clashed a second time, and under the pressure of the best fighters from three different legions, the heretic battleline slowly began to recede, pushed back by the vicious beating they were receiving. From this distance, the Sons of Horus now had a choice selection of targets - The loyalist Astartes at the front line, the now-rampaging Kharn who was tearing into their battlelines, and a selection of different Captains, Sergeants and Generals ordering around the infantry. If they felt particularly ballsy, they could even take aim at the Primarchs themselves.

    The buzz of vox resonated throughout Hamadi's helm, as a new channel opened. He hadn't recalled being added to it, but he had been connected nonetheless. Diverting a single eye to the list of names present in the call, the Thousand Son recognised them to all be sorcerers, apostles, and men of similar arcane knowledge.

    "WARP-TOUCHED!" The all too familiar voice of The Vulture echoed throughout his helm, causing a sharp pain in his ears, "RETREAT TO THE BACK OF THE LINES! THE RITUALS NEAR COMPLETION".

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The shifting chaos of the walls ceased after a solid half-minute, the rippling metal being torn open by some unknown force and revealing a gap within the wall. The new orifice sat open for a moment, before finally a figure exited from the wound. At a glance, they appeared to be human. At the very least, more human than anything else they had encountered in the facility. However, it appeared they had not escaped their time within the strange spire unchanged. Their skin had turned to an ash grey, beginning to slowly flake away and allow neon-red blood to trickle out of certain points. Much of their body was covered by flowing robes, loosely attached to their body, with the exception of their arms. Over their head was a strange mask, designed to look like a human skull, but malformed and broken.

    "Well, well!" The figure laughed, jumping down from the break in the wall and landing against the floor. They looked across at the Red Hunters, weary eyes scanning each one of them, before settling upon Hans. "Another set of wayward souls lost in the lie of the Redeemer? Tell me, Astartes, do you seek salvation from the things inside the ship? Or do you wish to die at the hands of the liar?".

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The first clash of combatants was particularly brutal, to say the least of the World Eater's tactics. The Death Guard took the brunt of the assault, bloated flesh and corroded metal being butchered by chainaxes, chainswords, and everything inbetween. Yet the children of Mortarion took it well, unwavering under the attacks of their foes, unwilling to give an inch to the vicious first wave.

    Once Kharn entered the thick of combat he could barely take a step without being accosted by an Astartes, each one covered head to toe in honours and awards bestowed upon them. They each yelled some challenge to the Captain, varying from "Prepare, lapdog, for I am the best combatant that the Emperor's Children has has to offer!" to "In the name of the Chaos Gods, I shall strike you down!" to "BLEED AND DIE!". Each fell in nearly a second, caught off guard as Kharn deftly avoided their blows and reacted with a brutally efficient strike to the neck. After the first ten or so of these would-be duellists was slain, the World Eaters let out a defiant roar.

    It must have been some sort of sign, as at that signal, the Space Wolves and Ultramarines also began their advance, the Primarchs marching alongside their men a few ranks back from the front. As they neared closer, it became easier to see them. It was sorrowful, to say the least. Guilliman limped along, a variety of augments and machines attached to his body to sustain him after he lost his arm. Russ fared little better, half of his face bloody and burnt beyond recognition. Nonetheless, they marched on, a look of grim determination upon their faces.

    The Sons of Horus had little chance to look upon the Primarchs, however, as they were soon assailed by a squadron of Assault Marines of the Space Wolves. Crashing down towards them, the jump-pack clad warriors prepared their weapons, dashing forth with their weapons at the ready. Xarik and Nardon had a moment of peace, their foes landing a few feet away from them and charging forth. Hamadi had no such luxury, his foe landing directly on top of him. "Cyclops-born!" They spat under their helmet, aiming a punch at the sorcerer, "Return to the ashes of Prospero, whoreson bastard!".

    [–] Stoke the Flames of Hell (Private) SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    Both Murrd and Lorak hit the ground hard. Fortunately, Lorak's body was well-secured, dozens of augments boosting his durability to the point where such a minor impact barely dazed him anymore. Murrd was not so lucky, a groan of agony escaping his body as it smashed against the floor. His many legs scrunched together, before delivering a series of rhythmic blows to the body of his foe, each mechanical leg pushing forwards and backwards with an impressive amount of force, before retreating backwards and repeating the process like a piston.

    The flames gushed forward, soon encompassing all of the compact hallway. Even the cold, chemical-cleansed walls were fully covered in warp fire. Within the smoke produced by the fire, Alakax and Nemerah-Nash'kel could see flickers in the smoke, silhouettes of figures entirely hidden with the dark mists.

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The automaton twitched and spasmed wildly, a low mechanical groan escaping the joints of the creature as it turned it's head upwards towards Hans. It looked truly defeated, as if it had already acknowledged its defeat, and subsequently, its inferiority. The automaton lowered its head slowly, allowing it's lanky arms to hang loose at it's side as it did so. "A R-R-R-ROGUE TRADER? WE-W-W".

    In an instant, the automaton fell silent. The chaplain could feel a sudden warmth as the warp energy the creature emitted suddenly died, like the flame of a candle being extinguished. With no energy left to hold itself together, the creature's body fell apart, the bones of it's metallic skeleton tumbling off of the Astartes body and onto the floor below. Now that the strange warp-beast had been conveniently disassembled, Hans would be able to free inspect the various elements that made the automatons tick.

    Although perhaps now would not be the best time to do so. In the distance, the Red Hunters could hear the walls around them shifting, twisting and bending as the structures were torn apart and formed anew. Whatever was happening was not entirely clear to Hans and his men, but it was clear that whatever it was, it was going to happen soon. Fortunately, they had a few precious seconds of time to prepare for whatever was going to happen next, and it was imperative that they made those seconds count.

    [–] Stoke the Flames of Hell (Private) SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    Lorak's attack seemed initially effective, catching Murrd by surprise with the initial impact. However, the Magos soon regained his senses, no doubt with some assistance with many of the mechanical enhancements added to his brain, spine, and nerves. The blood lord's talon was blocked at the last second by one glaive, causing a burst of sparks as the two metal blades clashed against one another. The Magos was swift to capitalise upon his counter, swinging his second glaive down towards Lorak's chest.

    The rest of the battle continued on, the forces of Chaos storming deeper into the fortress of the Mechanicus. The bodies of Skitarius, Servitors, Cultists and Daemons filled the halls, some areas become so dense with bodies that the invading forces had to occasionally stop their advance to clear the way of corpses. Despite the massive loss of life, the battle was far from over - for every turret the Whips of Lorak destroyed, another seemed to sprout up behind them, firing a flurry of bullets at their backs. For every war engine they ripped to shreds, another was waiting just around the corner, ready to earn vengeance in the name of the Omnissiah.

    None of this was particularly bothersome for Nemerah-Nash'kel or Alakax Morter, not the possessed that accompanied them. After all, the foul mixture of blood and oil that their foes bled was still blood spilt in the name of Khorne, and every skull they took would be fit for the Skull Throne, even if they were plated with many layers of metal.

    Their jolly spree of destruction was cut short, however, as they were bombarded by bolts of Plasma from behind them. The attack was so lightning fast that they barely had a chance to react, and when they turned behind them to face those who had ambushed them, they were met with nothing but an empty hallway.

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    It took a few moments more before the forces of Chaos were ready to engage. Gigantic dreadnoughts strode out from hangars built into the mountainside, accompanied by an entourage of brass-boned and iron-skinned tech-priests. The tanks followed soon after, Land Raiders and Rhinos kicking up the dirt around their treads as they powered forward. Jump-pack clad warriors flew in the skies above, eyeing the foes ahead with equal weariness and bloodlust. On the floor, walls of Terminators began to form, standing in front of the Astartes carrying the hefty Plasma Cannons and Heavy Bolters. At the very, very front of the army were the chosen of Khorne, bloodsoaked warriors of the Night Lords, Sons of Horus, Word Bearers, and Iron Warriors gnashing their teeth together under their helmets. At the far, far back were the sorcerers and ritualists, astartes of the Thousand Sons, Word Bearers, Death Guard, and Alpha Legion, etching sigils and signs into the dirt, screaming prayers to the pantheon of Chaos, and sacrificing mortal slaves in their name.

    All and all, it was a wreck, but considering the gargantuan odds that they now faced, how little time there was to prepare, and the immense difficulty of commanding each of the eight legions, it was the best that could be done.

    There was a tense silence as the two armies faced each other from across the barren battlefield. The chilling winds ran against the Heretics, their backs pinned to the mountain with no escape in sight. They were a serpent, trapped between jagged stones. Above them was a vicious hawk, talons like razor blades, ready to dive down and tear it's prey in two. Yet despite the overwhelming forces that lay ahead of them, it seemed that there was an apprehension on the side of the Imperials. After all, serpents were cruel, ruthless, and dishonourable. As snakes hid lethal venom within their fangs, who could tell what the cornered and desperate armies of their foe held as their last resort?

    The unnerving silence was finally broken by a rallying battle cry from the War Hounds. The white-clad Astartes surged forwards, led by First Captain Kharn as they charged across the battlefield. The revving of chain weapons and the crackling thunder of power weapons was almost deafening, evening from a distance. Coldly watching the charging advance of the War Hounds, Nivmox gave a shout of his own.

    "ALL UNITS, FIRE UPON THESE DELUDED DOGS!".

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    With a shrug, Kraul followed after Xarik, clutching the knife that had been buried within his skull moments earlier. Likewise, Lyshak was not far behind, rubbing at the bloody gash where his eye was as he followed after the Sons of Horus.

    When they finally made their way out of the bunker, they witness a frantic, though well organised effort to muster the legions present into something resembling fighting shape. Nivmox stood atop a silver Land Raider, likely his personal tank, barking orders at Astartes of various legions. Occasionally, he would cease his barking to kneel down to one of the human officers, giving them more nuanced and detailed orders, before standing to command the Space Marines once more. The Vulture stood not far behind Nivmox, cohorting with a group of psykers from across the different legions, no doubt plotting some kind of warp-related scheme.

    Yet the sight that caught the eye of the Sons of Horus was not the muster below, but instead the muster far across. On the distant horizon, the sharp-sighted could make out the armies of the Imperium gathering their resources and preparing their forces, much like the forces of Chaos. The only real difference was the presence of two imposing silhouettes, one pacing forward and back across the battle lines scanning every aspect, the other sitting near the front, eyeing the enemy wearily. No doubt, that was Roboute Guilliman and Leman Russ. Even from a distance, and even in this bastardised version of history, they still exuded the aura of authority they always had, though when facing them down from the opposing side, the authority that they held was much more menacing than when they were fighting by your side.

    "XARIK!" The hoarse yet stern voice of Nivmox called out to the Captain, the terminator pointing a finger at the Son of Horus. "You wish to lead? Then lead.". His finger then drifted from Xarik over to a squadron of Sons of Horus. There were thirty of them total, brandishing weapons ranging from bolt pistols to plasma cannons. There might have been a brief millisecond where the Captain could have question his orders, but that fleeting moment soon passed as Nivmox turned away, addressing one of the Death Guard Terminators.

    [–] Stoke the Flames of Hell (Private) SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    Lorak and several of his daemonic brothers finished their ascent, gleefully tearing open the cockpit. Yet the pilot, with all sorts of augmentations and cybernetic alterations spread across her body, seemed more gleeful than anything else. A low robotic chuckle emanated from behind the faceplate of the warrior, an old, grey-haired woman. After all, what better way to die in the name of the God-Emperor than by sacrificing yourself to ensure the defeat of a tyrannical heretic warlord?

    The disabled Castellan had retreated just far enough into the Mechanicus fortress for the trap to be sprung. The first wave of Astartes, daemons, and cultists to rush into the gates of the stronghold were immediately bombarded by weapons of various natures - the Phosphor blasters of Kastelan robots, the Eradication beamer of Onager Dunecrawlers, and the torrent of Plasma from hulking turrets, alongside the usual array of arquebus fire provided by the near-endless legions of Skitarii. Only the hardiest of warriors survived the initial ambush of the Mechanicus, and even those that did had a few new scars upon their bodies. This was not the force of a single stronghold, but the armies of several strongholds joined together with but one purpose - to stop the coming tide.

    Not only did it seem that the infantry forces of the Whips and their allies was matched, but now, the Mechanicus had some idea of who was leading the armies of their foes. As Lorak the Usurper stood upon the beaten and broken shell of the Castellan, staring down upon the pilot, the second phase of the ambush began. From the ceilings above fell a mechanical warriors, thickly plated in many layers of metals, with numerous arachnid-like legs supporting it's unwieldy form. As it landed upon the shell, it pinned down several Astartes underneath it's weight, causing the entire Knight to shift slightly as it did so. Clutching two hefty-looking glaives in both hand, the figure pointed one at Lorak. "TRAITOROUS, HERETICAL SCUM! YOU HAVE SULLIED KRARK PRIME WITH YOUR PRESENCE, AND IN DOING SO, INSULTED THE MIGHTIEST AND HOLIEST OMNISSIAH. I, MAGOS DOMINUS MURRD, SHALL ENACT GRIM VENGEANCE UPON YOU."

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    "Fortune! A heretic bunker!" The daemonic bird squawked, writhing under the pressure of the staff, "The door is there! You will require a ship to leave the planet!".

    "Why, thank you, oh wise and powerful Thousand Son! Truly, your psychic powers know no bound!" Kraul mocked, earning a chuckle from the Emperor's Child that was quickly stifled. The response of the daemonic bird was not what any of those present had particularly wanted. It made sense, however - the strike team recalled the warp-stifling device carried by the strange automaton from before, and how it nullified any use of their psychic powers and abilities. Perhaps the same technology was at play here, massaging the warp to influence how the warp worked. Perhaps it was simply that the daemon took some sort of perverse pleasure in watching the events unfold.

    "Horus was Horus." Lyshak mused, rubbing the gash wound where one of his eyes once was. "I am not a Son of Horus, Xarik, you are. I merely showed my face when the Warmaster requested it, and kept amongst my peers when not."

    The bunker began to shake, and in the distance, dozens upon dozens of marching footsteps could be heard. Some were light, most likely belonging to mortal men and women, while others were heavy, belonging to Astartes of all different legions. Others were heavier still, most likely belonging to those in Terminator armour. Some of them barely sounded like footsteps at all, instead sounding like the clack of talons against the metal floors. The Alpha Legionnaire stood, taking a few cautious steps towards the door of the storage room. "It seems the forces are mobilising. Unless anyone present can muster a thunderhawk and a battleship in less than an hour, then our best bet is to join the rest of the army and prepare for what is to come."

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    "The Ultramarines were staggered upon Ultramar after Konrad Curze crippled their Primarch upon Macragge. I was not there personally, but reports say that the Night Haunter robbed him of arm and tore out one of his hearts, many of his veins, and an estimated thirty-five percent of his bone structure before he was subdued by Sanguinius, Vulkan, and the Lion. Roboute was comatose for the better part of a decade while apothecaries from three legions tended to him, while a large swathe of his legion remained within Ultramar, wary of assassins from the Traitors. Of course, Lord Horus foresaw this, and no such assassins ever came."

    "Vicious bastard, our dearest father was." Kraul cooed, currently attempting to reach around the dig the knife out of his skull. "If you had thought him cruel before, you should have seen the rewards Khorne showered him in after he killed Guilliman's dearest mother. He was a grim beast, barely comprehensible, his eyes clouded by visions of past, present, and future, the only thing keeping him sane the thought of enacting justice upon his tyrant of a father. It was admirable, in a sense."

    The Alpha Legionnaire raised his head to speak, but was interrupted by Lyshak, who seemed to have calmed himself. "Fulgrim was mustered by Horus himself. There was nobody else he would bow to, after all, except the chosen of the Four Chaos Gods. Not that the Warmaster had anything better to do - after Magnus brutalised Leman Russ and his legion upon the Vengeful Spirit, there was little left for Horus to do but sit and wait as his armies neared closer and closer to Terra."

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    "One-thousand Astartes - three-hundred Death Guard, two-hundred Iron Warriors, one-hundred and fifty Emperor's Children, one-hundred Sons of Horus, seventy-five Word Bearers, seventy-five Night Lords, fifty Thousand Sons, and fifty Alpha Legionnaires. Of the above, one-hundred are equipped with Terminator armour, one-hundred with functional jetbikes, and two-hundred proficient with heavy weapons. In addition, we are equipped with seven Dreadnoughts, five Contemptors from the Iron Warriors, Emperor's Children, Night Lords, Word Bearers, and Thousand Sons. We are also armed with two Leviathans, one from the Death Guard, and another a renegade of the Imperial Fists. Beyond that are ten Rhinos, five Land Raiders, around twenty-thousand mortal soldiers, and as many daemons of the warp we can call forth on short notice."

    Now in a rhythm familiar to all strategists, Nivmox turned around and exited the room, barking commands at the Astartes around him as he headed towards the rest of the bunker. Eventually, the room began to feel much more empty- the only Astartes left in the room Xarik, Hamadi, Nardon, the Alpha Legionnaire, Kraul, and Lyshak.

    "Know no fear, eh?" Kraul chuckled, pointed a thumb at the nearly-entirely psychotic Lyshak. The son of Fulgrim was currently smashing his face against the iron walls of the bunker, creating a second bloody mark upon his forehead. "I suppose we have our answer now, Xarik Rellian - you were the prey all along. We all were! Flies and maggots, writhing in a spider's web. A shame, I suppose. Then again, what better way to go than to die a just and beautiful death at the hands of a demi-god?".

    The Alpha Legionnaire turned to Xarik, voice modulator still hiding any sign of worry or fear within his voice. "If we are within a simulation, we must break it, and we must break it now. Surely, Son of Horus, there must be some piece of information from your future times that can help free us from the false reality?".

    [–] Null Engine SirRaptorAttacks 1 points ago in Warhammer_RP

    The mood within the storage chamber was, to say the least, tense. Nivmox loomed over Xarik, and the Iron Warrior's presence became much more intimidating when the Son of Horus noticed the lofty chainfist affixed to his left arm. Hamadi's patronising announcement was met by what could only be called "immense ire" by the crowd of gathering astartes, a few of whom began to raise their guns towards the sorcerer. All the while, the Vulture cackled madly, at least, until the chromatic spell being weft between his claw-like fingers suddenly burst.

    As the noise of the spell failing echoed throughout the room, Nivmox turned away from Xarik and towards the red-armoured Thousand Son, who looked as if he had just soiled himself. "What was that?".

    "FOUL OMEN!" The sorcerer shrieked, frantically barging through the crowded Astartes in a panic, "SOMETHING WICKED COMES THIS WAY!".

    That wicked thing seemed to be Kraul, Lyshak and Ashrin, who shoved past the Vulture as they made their way towards Nivmox. Notably, the Emperor's Children's seemed to have a weeping gash where one of his eyes should have been, while Kraul currently had a dagger buried in the back of his skull, letting loose a torrent of blood through his mess of hair. Ashrin, the most composed and least wounded of the three, stepped ahead of the others, kneeling in front of Nivmox. Perhaps this would be the first and last time in centuries past and centuries to come that Xarik would ever be pleased to see a Word Bearer. "Rebel-Captain, we come with grave tidings! The Imperials have mustered a sizeable force, and they are making planetfall as we speak!".

    "Better yet, scouts say that First Captain Kharn is to be among them!" Kraul announced with glee, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

    "Better? Better yet? First Captain Kharn? I am sorry, Brother Kraul, I must ask, but are you actually, genuinely braindead? When you were born, did you tumble off a twenty-story building and land on your head?" Lyshak hissed, serpentine eyes wide in disbelief. "DO YOU HAVE MEGARACHNID SHIT IN YOUR SKULL WHERE YOUR BRAIN SHOULD BE, BROTHER KRAUL, YOU MISERABLE CUNT?! Forget KHARN, the scouts spotted ROBOUTE SHITTING GUILLIMAN AND LEMAN GODS-DAMNED RUSS! WE'RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE!".

    Well.

    Well.

    Shit.