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The Divine Hunter - Battle Reports


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#1
Brother Tyler

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ROUND 1

Fight 1 - Euripides vs Tomax Hell - Victory to Euripides
Fight 2 - Arthuruis vs Skull Taker - Victory to Skull Taker
Fight 3 - Tondu Dat Chi vs Warghoul Fester - Victory to Warghoul Fester
Fight 4 - Alrekr of the Keen Axe vs Vyrus le Peste - Victory to Vyrus Le Peste
Fight 5 - Octavian vs Forrax - Victory to Octavian
Fight 6 - Rune Priest Vithar vs Von Bek - Victory to VonBek
Fight 7 - Du'Tek vs Vilicate - Victory to Du'Tek
Fight 8 - Gibraltar vs Strakar - Victory to Strakar
Fight 9 - Gideon vs Dyvim Tvar - Victory to Gideon
Fight 10 - Yurtz vs Melodius of Mavel - Victory to Yurtz
Fight 11 - Ayrineka Z. Kareka vs Apraxae - Victory to Apraxae
Fight 12 - Darium vs Archeion - Victory to Darium
Fight 13 - Håkan vs Crour Caedes - Victory to Håkan
Fight 14 - Avalon vs Arkaine the Twisted - Victory to Avalon
Fight 15 - Vaishin vs Atticus Duval - Victory to Atticus Duval
Fight 16 - Maturac vs Omega - Victory to Omega

Rhadamanthys and Ulkay Gondir get byes (both have to fight in the next round).

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#2
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Euripides vs. Tomax Hell

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As the warning claxons sounded and the battle brothers from the Legio led forces to the other attack points, Euripides knelt in silent prayer. As he recited the Catechism of Hate his anger was fuelled by recollections of the events of the past six months…

…the defense of Cadian Gate…

…the loss of Captain Laertes during the Scions of Dorn attack on the Chaos vessel Blacksoul

…the Space Marines’ frustration at withdrawing from the Blacksoul without the body of their Captain mixed with the exultant joy of avanging Laertes on his killer…

...as the Scions of Dorn returned to their strike cruiser it had seemed that Laertes voices echoed in their minds, ’It is done – the wise warrior does not die needlessly.’..

In the intervening six months Euripides had found his thoughts constantly guided by the advice Laertes had given him in life. Throwing himself into battle with a zeal and dedication bordering on fanaticism, Euripides had sought solace in the death of those who had turned their backs on the Emperor. At times it almost seemed as if his old Captain was actually speaking to him from beyond the grave.

Offered the Captaincy of the Seventh Company of the Scions of Dorn, Euripides had instead been recruited by the enigmatic Legio. Now Euripides found himself aboard the Divine Hunter, steeling himself once more for unexpected battle with the minions of the Traitor Legions.

As the Dreadclaws of the Traitors smashed into the Divine Hunter Euripides was shaken out of his reverie by the voice of his Captain. ‘He is here, boy.’ Laertes whispered inside his mind. ‘It is time.’

As the dust and debris from the collision settled, the doors of the Dreadclaws opened, allowing the Chaos Space Marines to charge forth into their hated enemies. Tomax stepped forth into the large chamber, instinctively taking stock of the situation in order to assess the strengths and weaknesses of the opponent. They were standing before him. There were three, the child Euripides, one of the barbarian White Scars and a Marine wearing red and blue quartered armor of the Brazen Claws Chapter.

Amid the press of surging warriors Euripides’ gaze locked onto the hated figure of his adversary, Tomax Hell. Wearing the bat-winged helm characteristic of the Night Lords Legion, the Traitor’s gaze seemed to lock onto Euripides simultaneously.

As Tomax stared at Euripedes, his vision blurred, and a vision filled his mind. His own helmet was lying on the deck and there was a blur of a power sword racing toward his neck. Then the vision flashed again and Tomax saw his Legion, chanting in honor of the new commander. It was not he. Xamot Hell, his twin brother, had taken over the 17th Legion of Fear.

A flash of light and Tomax returned to the present. Anger and bloodlust filled his mind. He would not fear, he would take Euripedes' skull and stop the hated visions. He was Fear.

Tomax Hell’s body convulsed with a perverse laughter and he lifted a skull from his belt and brandished it before Euripides.

”It is time, foolish Child of Dorn. You weep for your Captain, you sing praises to the Corpse. They are nothing, hollow cries falling on the deaf ears of the dead. Come face your fear, and I will take your skull. Know that as you fall, you are only the first. You are but a step in my plan.

Come, face Death, face Fear, face Tomax Hell!”


As Euripides realized the taunting of the Traitor, the pain of the last six months fell away…

… He had not given up his captaincy of the seventh company and left his chapter to join the Legio…

… His captain had not died on the bridge of the Blacksoul…

… The sorcerer had taken a bolt-round through the eye during his thrice-damned warp-ritual, and they were free…

He could hear Laertes shouting at the traitor; ‘The only thing any true man need fear is failing the Him on Earth, and you are not he!’

Command sergeant Euripides would not let Tomax Hell take his captain a second time. He pushed him out of danger and charged at the beast. Tomax Hell, Night Lord, replaced the skull of the dead Captain Laertes and surged forward towards the Scion of Dorn.

The gap between the mortal enemies closed in moments, Euripides leading with his storm shield and readying his sword. Tomax Hell’s own sword whistled vicious arcs around his head as he reached forward with the energized power fist. As the two came into range, they exchanged a flurry of blows. Tomax landed a blow on the sword arm of Euripides, opening the armour and drawing first blood. Euripides’ own attack was beaten down by the power fist, although the riposte was blocked by the storm shield. Euripides grunted in pain as the Traitor cackled contemptuously.

”You will fall to me the way your weakling Captain fell. I will imprison your petty soul just as I imprisoned Laertes’, and you will suffer an eternity of bondage.”

Euripides lunged forth, but too weakly and his attacks were once again easily blocked or avoided by the Night Lord. More wary, though, Euripides succeeded in defending himself against the attacks of Tomax Hell.

”I can feel your fear – you stink of it,” taunted Tomax Hell. “I will delight in your cries of suffering and feed on your fear as you remain my prisoner with your precious Captain.”

Feeling the hatred burning within him overcome his pain and fear, Euripides once again lunged forth. Tomax Hell easily ducked beneath the blade, quickly reacting to the telegraphed blow. His own strike was avoided by a twist of Euripides’ body, followed by a surprising thrust of the blade to the Night Lord’s abdomen. As the power blade penetrated the armour, Tomax Hell felt agonizing currents of pain course through his body. Shockingly, the blade had also crashed through the skull hanging at his belt. The spirit of Captain Laertes, late Captain of the Scions of Dorn Seventh Company, was freed from the infernal prison.

Euripides felt an exultant joy as he heard the voice of his mentor, ’Thank you, brother.’

Caught of guard, Tomax Hell’s attack faltered. As Euripides kicked Tomax Hell back and withdrew his blade, the Traitor stumbled to his knee. Swinging his blade low in order to beat Euripides back, Tomax Hell caught the flash of movement as the Scion of Dorn leaped over the swinging sword. Twisting his body in an effort to strike the servant of the Corpse God, Tomax Hell felt his power fist parried aside by the storm shield. The last thing Tomax Hell saw was the crackling energy of the power sword descending towards his neck.

Feeling the power sword strike true and seeing the head of his opponent fall to the deck, Euripides let out a yell of triumph.

He kicked the head of Tomax Hell across the compartment towards the Dreadclaw and looked up for his next adversary.

Victory to Euripides.

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#3
Brother Tyler

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Skull Taker vs. Arthurius

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Round 1 Fight 2
Skull Taker vs. Arthurius

Arthuruis raged as he saw the figures of the traitors vomit forth from the Dreadclaw. A true son of Dorn, he was offended by the continued existence of those who had turned their backs on the Emperor and who had prosecuted an age-long war against the Imperium of man. Seeing the valiant fighting of the Inquisitor, a man who benefited not from the augmentation given every Space Marine but who fought with heart and faith instead, Arthurius vowed that his own efforts could be no less. As he saw the Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor’s massive chainsword nearly sever the Iron Warrior in two, the Imperial Fist singled out the figure of a red-armoured warrior.

Charging forth crying, “for the Emperor and Rogal Dorn!” Arthurius fired his storm bolter at the traitor. He felt some sense of satisfaction as both of his bolts struck home, staggering the enemy. Neither seemed to affect the axe-wielding figure, though, and the two readied their weapons for close combat.

Laughing at the impotent attack of the yellow-armoured Space Marine, the Headhunter of Khorne hissed, ”Your skull belongs to Khorne and I am here to take it!”

“Let’s see how good you are,” challenged the Imperial Fist as his opponent launched an attack.

Arthurius ducked under a swing of the cruel chainaxe the Skull Taker bore, driving his power sword through the abdominal armour of his opponent. The Khornate warrior grunted in pain, but brought his other axe down into the shoulder of his opponent, tearing through the right arm and forcing Arthurius to drop his storm bolter.

Both opponents withdrew their weapons and attacked, their weapons clashing amidst a shower of sparks and howls. As the two struggled against each other, the red-armoured warrior slowly forced Arthurius’ sword down.

The Skull Taker suddenly swung the other axe at the thigh of the Imperial Fist, forcing Arthurius to block the attack. The attack was a feint, however, and the power axe described a vicious arc towards Arthurius’ head. Sensing the attack, Arthurius attempted to step back out of range, but was too slow. The cruel axe took Arthurius’ head off and his body fell to the deck with a clamor.

The Skull Taker deftly retrieved the head of his opponent and said, ”Good...Bad...it doesn't matter, I'm the man with your skull."

Victory to Skull Taker.

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#4
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Tondu Dat Chi vs Warghoul Fester

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The Warghoul immediately searched for an adversary worthy of him as he exited the Dreadclaw.

There. One of the Chaplains for the corpse exhorted his battle-brothers to fight with no remorse or pity. This was a fool whose death would be worthy in the eyes of the Plague Lord.


Tondu Dat Chi, Chaplain of the Black Templars Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, led his comrades forth into righteous combat with the traitors who had boarded their vessel. Taking stock of the vile warriors pouring forth from the small craft, the Chaplain was startled to see that most of the multifarious traitor legions was present – this was no cohesive force, but a warband. For what sinister purpose would such a warband have formed?

The Chaplain had no time for such considerations, however. As his brothers charged forth, Tondu Dat Chi noticed a white-armoured traitor yelling at him.

”You preach a dream mouthpiece, for your Emperor rots and dies. Taste my fluid, for I serve the Lord of Flies!”

Where Tondu Dat Chi’s armour was adorned with the death’s head as a symbol of devotion to the Emperor, his opponent’s armour was decorated with similar symbols as a mark of his devotion to the Lord of Decay. The Chaplain was filled with righteous fury as he silently accepted the traitor’s challenge.

The two charged each other from across the compartment, but neither the bolter shells of Warghoul Fester nor the plasma stream of Tondu Dat Chi harmed the other. As they met at close range, they exchanged a flurry of blows – the Warghoul’s plague sword attacking and parrying the Chaplain, who attacked and parried with his crozius arcanum.

Simultaneously, each struck home – the crozius arcanum of Tondu Dat Chi crushing through the armour of Warghoul Fester’s right arm as the plague sword of the Warghoul penetrated the abdominal armour of the Chaplain.

The vile properties of the plague sword, a gift from Lord Nurgle, were the end of Tondu Dat Chi, veteran Chaplain of the Black Templars. The putrid blade immediately spread contagions through the enhanced body of the Space Marine, contagions which even his superior immune system could not combat.

Tondu Dat Chi’s skin broke out in festering sores and pustules as his body fell to the deck. Warghoul Fester looked down upon the body of his foe with contempt.

"Your pride and arrogance is your noose and your rope - despair lapdog."

Victory to Warghoul Fester.

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#5
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Vyrus Le Peste vs Alrekr of the Keen Axe

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Vyrus inhaled the musky foulness of his own stench, thanking the Plague Lord for his gifts and dedicating the souls of the slain to his dark master. The gibbering Nurglings crawling over and about his armoured form shrieked with delight as the Dreadclaw crashed into the Imperial vessel. Vyrus withdrew the plaguesword from the nest of Nurglings at his belt and hefted it as he joined the wave of his cohorts assaulting the servants of the false emperor.

Alrekr swore vehemently as the traitor vessel pierced the bulkhead of the Divine Hunter and the minions of the dark powers poured forth. With an oath to Russ he moved forward into the throng, readying his weapons for the Emperor’s work. His gaze settled on a particularly loathsome traitor. Clad in foul armour that had once been green, but was now covered in pock marks and showed sings of negligence, the traitor locked its single eye on Alrekr and smiled. Alrekr found the existence of such a fell creature to be an affront to the Emperor. He was disturbed to see the parasitic creatures clustered around the mutant’s feet, and noticed some crawling about the Chaos Space Marine’s body, leaving a trail of ichor wherever they moved.

Alrekr yelled, “For Russ and the Emperor!” as he fired the meltagun at the creature, seeking to burn its foulness from existence. The weapon belched forth the super-heated energy, bathing the traitor’s body in purifying flame.

“Emperor’s Teeth!” swore Alrekr when the energies of the meltagun succeeded only in killing several of the hideous creatures crawling upon the traitor’s body.

Vyrus La Peste, servant of Nurgle, laughed a low rumbling laugh as he charged the Space Wolf. His throaty voice called out, “You preach a dream mouthpiece, for your Emperor rots and dies. Taste my fluid, for I serve the Lord of Flies!” Then he fired his bolter at the grey-clad weakling, finding some satisfaction in hitting his opponent in the left leg.

Shrugging the injury off as a flesh wound, Alrekr answered “Seek the wolf in thyself…” followed by a long howl.

Vyrus fired again as the distance closed. Once again his attack failed to cause any significant damage to the son of Russ.

Alrekr fired off two shots at the traitor, heedless of the damage the mutant’s last shot had caused. Both shots hit true, but succeeded only in opening festering blisters on Vyrus’ body. As the green-clad warrior moved near, Alrekr closed the last few steps in a counter-charge. Alrekr brought his axe down on the shoulder of his enemy, but the thick ceramite armour prevented the blow from causing any damage.

Vyrus’ own attack was a low thrust of his sword towards the Space Wolf’s abdomen, which Alrekr deftly parried with his bolter.

Spinning rapidly to the left, Alrekr brought his axe around toward the neck of Vyrus. Nurgle’s servant anticipated the attack, however, and brought his sword up to block the attack. With a speed and grace that were incongruous with his mutated form, Vyrus’ riposte succeeded in penetrating the thick chest armour of Alrekr, sending the blade into the secondary heart of Alrekr.

Alrekr pushed his attacker back with a grunt, though, and felt his enhanced body struggle to fight the toxins released by the attack. He swung his bolter up into the face of Vyrus and felt some satisfaction at seeing a shower of blood and teeth. His opponent seemed not to care about the attack, though, as he brought his own bolter up to fend off the attack.

The Space Wolf feinted with his combi-weapon, forcing an opening in the traitor’s guard. He capitalized on the gap, swinging his frost axe under the guard of Vyrus. The blade struck the abdomen of his opponent, laying his armour open and ripping into flesh.

Now it was Vyrus’ turn to step inside the guard of his opponent, his bolter whipping an arc that crashed into Alrekr’s helm, knocking the helmet across the compartment and momentarily stunning the Space Wolf. Taking advantage of the situation, he once again drove his plague sword into the chest of Alrekr, forcing it through to the hilt.

As his Nurglings hungrily swarmed around the feet of the Space Wolf, Vyrus withdrew the foul sword’s blade and watched his opponent’s body fall to the deck.


Alrekr struggled to breath, feeling blood collect in his lungs and fire spread through his body. His mouth opened in a wordless gasp, followed by bleeding on the floor.

Vyrus approached the body of his fallen enemy and lifted up his head by his hair and placed his face directly in front of his enemy’s, so close that his foul breath and pustulent sores washed over the defeated foe....He placed his mouth close to his enemy’s ear and whispered "your flesh is weak.....but will make a fine feast for my pets". Then he placed one of his many Nurglings on the corpse to feed...

There were more slaves of the false Emperor to kill this day.


Victory to Vyrus le Peste.

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#6
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Octavian vs Forrax

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Forrax was the second one out of the Dreadclaw. Stridinging forth in his tactical dreadnought armour, the Iron Warrior charged towards the first opponent he saw. He grinned grotesquely as he saw that the figure facing him was no Space Marine, but some weakling human that thought to face him in single combat. The pathetic fool thought to fight Forrax with a blade that looked too large for him. Forrax then noticed the stylized =I= pendant hanging from the human’s neck. This fool was a member of the Emperor’s Inquisition. Forrax would pull this Inquisitor’s still-beating heart from his chest and crush it as the Legions of Chaos would eventually crush the false Imperium of Mankind.

Octavian looked at his opponent. A hissing laugh issued forth from the traitor’s vox-emiter. Octavian realized that the Chaos Space Marine believed he had an easy fight. He also knew he would not give him an easy fall. The bottle of Wildsnake bounced off the wall of the corridor as the Inquisitor took out his eviscerator. The odds were against him, but he gritted his teeth and uttered to himself, “My faith shall be my shield; my Emperor will be my strength!”

Without any fear of death, and with no expectation of seeing another sunrise, Octavian lifted his eviscerator and roared, “For the Emperor!”

The two figures moved towards each other from opposite sides of the compartment. Forrax swept his twin lightning claws menacingly while the Inquisitor fired his bolt pistol. The bolts failed to penetrate the thick terminator armour, though, so Octavian brought his eviscerator to bear. As the traitor came within arm’s reach, the Inquisitor fired the digital weapon concealed within the ring of his gauntlet, but the beam missed the moving target.

Forrax lunged forward with his lightning claws, seeking to rend the puny human apart quickly so that he could move on to more challenging prey. The first claw was stopped by the enormous chainsword the Inquisitor held in both hands, but the second ripped into the figure of Octavian. As the claws struck home, though, a blinding flash of light heralded the protective energy field emanating from the icon the Inquisitor bore. Forrax bellowed in rage as successive blows were repelled by the Icon of the Just.

The Inqusitor seized the opportunity to swing his enormous battle blade, finding some satisfaction in seeing the whirring blades rip through the shoulder armour of the terminator suit. A spray of blood and tissue issued forth as he withdrew the blade for another attack. The second attack hit at the wrong angle, though, and bounced off the armour harmlessly. The third attack, though, ripped through the armour of the traitor, energy field helping the cruel teeth of the eviscerator to tear through armour and bone.

The Iron Warrior lashed out one last time, though the mortal wound robbed him of the needed energy. Forrax’s soul was ripped from his body by the laughing Chaos gods as his body fell.

Octavian stood over the body of the fallen traitor. It seemed the Emperor took mercy on him this time. He fell to his knees and looked around. Amidst all of the fighting he realized how lucky he was to battle in the company of such heroes, and perhaps, through his own victory, he might gain a place amongst the stories of such brave men. He sighed, got up, and began gathering his thoughts and looking for his next adversary.

Victory to Octavian.

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#7
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Vithar vs Von Bek

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The Divine Hunter burned an eery blue and green outside as a multitude of gases escaped her breaches the torpedoes had made.

"How fitting" thought VonBek as the Dread Claw he was in slammed into the Imperial ship. Las cutters removed the titanium hull, and with it breached in poured the chaotic minions engaging in combat with Marines and their servants. Bodies fell instantly as bolter, lasgun and auto shell tore across the bay.

As Rune Priest Vithar rushed down the Hunters hall and entered the compartment many marines around him had already fallen; screams of the dying and those engaged in battle created a dizzying cacophony. Color and sound seemed to blur, the horror unfolding in front of his eyes. "By the beard of Russ!!" his voice staunch.
His eyes scanned the area, and then, on the other side of the battle, met with an old enemy.

VonBek strode slowly out of the pod, his eyes instantly met with Vithars. A Space Wolf!
Anger and vengeance flushed his body, emotions he had not felt in centuries. “This day is not your own priest; bastard lapdog of the slayer of my home world. Expect to adorn my armor as a warding toward your kind!!” he screamed. The age old servant of Tzeentch began to speak in a dark tongue “Tzeeneth Hysh Ghyran Azyr Phaos Aksho Akhamshy’y!!!”


Immediately Vithar retorted "My axe shall tear into your armor like the teeth of Fenris on the sheep's neck. Not even your unholy Shepard can save you from the righteous fury of the wolf" then began to chant in ancient Fenrisian. Winds swept through the ship and closed in on the bay, dark clouds formed around him and snow began to fall. Time stood still, frost on his breath; the grizzled old Priest blinked and within that second’s span a viridian bolt flew past and struck an iron girder behind him turning it into colorful slag.

VonBek ground his teeth. “Tzeentch will guide me Son of Russ!! You cannot hide forever within Fenrisian storms!”

Vithar gasped, his concentration lost for a second, he had underestimated the Chaos marine. He curled his fingers around his Frost blade, Fimbulvetr “Too far…” he thought “…too far a distance. Leman guide me, I must have strength to purge this horror!” The Rune Priest lunged out of dark clouds, hurdled bodies strewn across the blood drenched floor and palmed a Thrall wizards face, pushing him to the ground. VonBek smiled as he met eyes once again with Vithar and again began his incantations “Tzeeneth Hysh Ghyran Azyr Phaos Aksho Akhamshy’y!!!”. Vithar raised his hand and the old tongue of his homeworld once again leapt from his lips.
Another swath of clouds covered his body, another bolt from the Chaos marine passed by just as ineffective as the first.
Vithar shook his head. The distance he had just crossed had not gained him any ground at all. “Face me Foul Lord of Tzeentch! I shall put you out of your misery!”
VonBek cackled with glee, his left hand stretched out behind him as he backed away. He reached the chambers wall and as his hand grazed it, the wall shot forth with colors; climbing, stretching, crawling across it in arcane rainbow of brilliance.

Vithar roared “For the Sons of Russ and Fenris” he dashed out of the cold haze that had surrounded him.
VonBek chuckled, his voice bellowing over the noise of the fighting “With pleasure servant of the Corpse god”
For the last time the renegade spoke the pure and archaic language of the Dark tongue, and for the last time he released a firey bolt of azure.
The bolt struck Vithars chest hard, spinning the Priest around and dropping him to his knees. “Gahhk…Gahhhhhk…*choke*” he looked down, his Wolf tooth necklace lay shattered on the ground “How odd!” he thought, his eyes climbed from the floor to his chest “Gaaahhhhk…*wheeze*” his breath became shallow and weak. Where once his ornate breast plate had lay now had been replaced by a large hole dripping with a shimmering green and blue slime. “Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhk *cough* “
Vithar’s body slumped over.
VonBek, pleased at his success slowly strode over to claim his prize and to search out his next victim.
Tzeentchen magic would rule this day.


Victory to VonBek

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#8
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Du'Tek vs. Vilicate

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The scene aboard the Divine Hunter was a tumultuous battle. Where moments before veteran warriors recruited from various Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes had been undergoing indoctrination into the mysterious Legio, the minions of the Fell Powers had attacked them from their Dreadclaw boarding vessels. No strangers to battle, these warriors – each had recently participated in the Imperium’s defense of the Cadian Gate in the wake of the 13th Black Crusade. Even though the region remained embattled, these warriors had been selected from among their brethren. When the Chaos Space Marines attacked, the newly-recruited battle-brothers of the Legio Bolter & Chainsword fought back with vigor.

Du’Tek, sturdy battle-brother of the Salamanders coolly assessed the situation. All around him the battle raged – his valiant comrades defending the ship from the twisted mockeries assaulting them, fell warriors who had once been numbered amongst Mankind’s most noble defenders. Deep within, in a place he barely acknowledged, Du’Tek felt rage. His fist curled around the haft of the mighty hammer he carried, an overt sign of his total dedication to the Promethean Cult and a potent weapon.

From somewhere off to his left he heard a shrill cry that was painful and mildly disorienting. He shook the effects of the eldritch scream off, though, and moved into the fray.

There. He saw one of the traitors who was unengaged. The enemy warrior’s armour was all of silver, trimmed in yellow and gold. In his right hand he bore a sword that bore the faint haze indicative of a power sword. His left hand was a wicked clawed fist that flexed malevolently. The creature’s horned helm stopped as it settled upon the form of Du’Tek, taking in the warrior that challenged him.

Du’Tek brought his solid form up to its full height, preparing the protective cape over his arm as he held the massive hammer before him.

"Look upon this hammer I hold before me. With it, of creatures most foul, I bring down Vulkan's Fury. Die Heretic."

With an cold laugh, Vilicate flourished his ancient power sword, and wickedly cracked it into his power fist. The energy fields flared wildly.

A cold, echoing voice emanated from the hulking Iron Warrior.

”Greetings son of Vulkan. Let us see if you are as slow as all of your brethren that were gutted on Istvaan.

None can stand the might of the Iron Warriors! Iron Within! Iron Without!”


The two raced toward each other, closing the distance in the space of a heartbeat. As the two met, the Iron Warrior launched a flurry of blows, aiming to finish his slower opponent off before he could attack. The protective cape of Du’Tek, however, taken from the nearly impervious body of one of Nocturne’s legendary firedrakes, protected the Salamanders Space Marine from most of the blows. The stink of ozone filled the air as the crimson sword landed against the cape again and again, repelled each time. One blow, however, penetrated the defensive cape and cut through the embellished green armour of Du’Tek. His leverage gone, though, Vilicate’s attack barely opened the flesh of the Salamander. Even as the blade was pulled away the enhanced body of Du’Tek went to work protecting him from further bleeding and he seemed not to notice that his own blood had been spilled.

Even as the Iron Warrior renewed his attacks, this time lashing out with the clawed fist, the massive hammer of Du’Tek crashed forward. The fist and hammer collided in a blinding flash of light, momentarily blinding everyone in the vicinity. Despite his rugged size, though, Du’Tek launched a follow up attack that landed full on the chest of Vilicate, sending the Iron Warrior sprawling with a deafening roar.

As the veteran of the Long War struggled to regain his footing, Du’Tek’s thunder hammer crashed into his doubled over body.

The broken body of Vilicate fell to the floor with a sickening thud. The veteran of the Istvaan drop site massacre was no more.

Du’Tek looked down upon his foe with a hatred born of ages, forged in the days of the Horus Heresy when his forebears in the Salamanders Chapter had been ambushed by the cowardly Iron Warriors and other traitors. His rage subsided for a moment as he realized the honour he had done to his Chapter in ridding the galaxy of this villain. Holding his hammer forward as if in benediction, he spoke to the shattered corpse of the Iron Warrior:

"It has been with Vulcan's flame and fury that thou hath been cleansed"

Victory to Du’Tek.

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#9
Brother Tyler

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Gibraltar vs Strakar

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Gibraltar stood up from his wordless prayer as the Dreadclaw vomited forth its cargo – a motley assortment of warriors dedicated to the Dark Gods. As the warriors of both sides engaged each other in battle, Gibraltar moved with a calmness born of decades of fighting. He would pick his opponent and lay him low before the Emperor’s wrath.

An ordinary man would have run from the sight-- a twisted mockery of his own armor facing him through the smoke, lightning claws glowing menacingly. From the insane colors decorating his armor and the sensuous face that stared at him, there was no doubt this traitor was a disciple of Slaanesh.

Briefly Gibraltar wondered how many others had died at the hands of his foe. He swung his sword in a slow arc and vowed that no one would ever again be claimed by this traitor to the Emperor. Gibraltar pointed at the pink-clad warrior in silent challenge.

The fighting was getting intense now. Strakar removed his helmet so that he could survey his surroundings properly. He noticed that there was a warrior who seemed to not have been embroiled by combat yet, wielding a glowing power sword and pointing at Strakar with his Power Glove. This was a challenge.

“Insolent fool, your soul belongs to me!”

As the warrior neared, Strakar kicked his helmet towards him, he deftly avoided the incoming projectile, with a Warp-fuelled scream of “You are mine!” Strakar charged.


The deadly scream of the heretic assaulted Gibraltar’s senses, momentarily stunning him. Spots danced before his eyes as his opponent became a pink blur. Gibraltar deftly raised his sword to a guard position, protecting his center from the traitor’s attack.

Seeing that his scream had been effective in disorienting his opponent, Strakar launched a flurry of attacks with the razor sharp lightning claws. The slave of the False Emperor never knew what hit him as blow after blow bypassed the pathetic defensive measure of the sword and ripped his armour open. Even though the legendary thickness of the tactical dreadnought armour served to prevent several of the blows from doing much damage, Strakar’s claws ripped into the loyalist’s body and eviscerated him.

Fiery pain coursed through Gibraltar’s body as he felt the deadly claws tear into him, cutting through armour, flesh, and bone alike. His felt his blood spray out in bright arterial sheets, staining the pink armour of his opponent a sinister crimson. His arms fell heavily to his sides and the power sword with which he had slain the enemies of the Imperium for decades hit the deck. Though the blade was heavy, Gibraltar’s senses reeled from a combination of the after-effects of his opponent’s hellish scream and the overload of pain – all he heard was a hollow metallic ring and the haunting laughter of his opponent.

As Gibraltar fell, Strakar strode over to where his helmet lay on the ground, gently stooping to pick it up. He then approached Gibraltar’s broken body as he lay dying “Fool! To think you could oppose me and win was stupidity". Dropping his helmet, he stooped to Gibraltar’s body and with a sharp sweep of his Lightning Claw neatly plucked Gibraltar’s head from his shoulders. He hung the head from the belt of his Terminator armour, placed his helmet on his head and glanced around for his next victim.

Victory to Strakar.

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#10
Brother Tyler

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Gideon vs Dyvim Tvar

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Dyvim Tvar took in every sensation with unrestrained pleasure. The vibration of the dreadclaw as it propelled itself toward the vessel of the servants of the False Emperor, the shaking as the slaves of the corpse tried in vain to defend themselves, the groaning as the dreadclaw crashed into the larger vessel and penetrated to its depths – all of these and more were sensations to savor. For thousands of years Dyvim Tvar had partaken of the vast variety of sensations available to those who devoted themselves to the Lord of Pleasure. From the delights of physical pleasure to the excitement of pain and battle, Dyvim Tvar forever sought out new sensations. Now he was with a band of servants of the Fell Powers, seeking to strike another blow in the Long War. His eyes lit up and his enormous frame quivered as he anticipated the carnage that was about to begin.

The dreadclaw came to a sudden stop, shaking Dyvim Tvar in his bones. As the ramp opened he rushed forward in order to sate himself in the dance of war. As he exited the Dreadclaw he saw his next victim, a weakling loyalist whose black armour and decorations proclaimed his descent from that fool, Rogal Dorn. Dyvim Tvar let out a yell of exultation and proclaimed, “Your agonies shall feed my desire, your blood shall whet my appetite, prepare to die son of Dorn!”


Gideon felt the rage well up within him as he took in the abomination that menaced him. Although the being had once been a Space Marine fighting in the Great Crusade, it had turned to the allures of Chaos. The power armour of the Emperor’s Children had been changed over time, warped by the influence of Chaos and the depravities that drove this being. Weird shapes crawled across the surface of the armour, and it was adorned with pastel-colored decorations of decadence and darkness that offended the Black Templar.

“It’s hard to believe that you were once a guardian of mankind. The twisted monstrosity which you have become is a foul abomination to the Emperor. You have become blind to the trespasses which you make against the Imperium. It is my duty to purge you from this horrid existence. For Sigismund, Dorn, and the Emperor!”

The traitor chuckled insanely and brandished its wicked claws in reply. As the black-armoured loyalist charged, Dyvim Tvar leapt forward and let out a piercing shriek that drew upon the power of the Warp. As the Black Templar came at him, Dyvim Tvar released the combat drugs into his system, pushing his body beyond the capabilities of even a Space Marine. He felt the drugs enter his system and shuddered.

A wail from hell assaulted Gideon, attacking his mind as it shattered his senses. Momentarily disoriented, he pressed on through the haze that his mind had become, bringing his crackling fist back in order to strike the fell creature before him down.

Dyvim Tvar now felt a new sensation.

Burning pain.

As the drugs coursed through his veins and forced their changes on his system he felt his senses reel. The swirling melee around him seemed to slow, or perhaps his mind was speeding up. He delighted in the shift in his perception even as a part of him registered the imminent threat of the approaching Space Marine. But he couldn’t control his body now – the combat drugs had affected him in a new way.

As his vision blurred with a red haze he felt the burning in his brain and the thundering of his hearts. Somewhere he heard a buzzing like the sound of a swarm of flies. His body spasmed as drugs shut his system down.

An unintelligible sigh escaped his lips as his body went into seizure – he had lost complete control.


Gideon didn’t know quite what to make of the creature before him. The warrior had stopped in mid-charge and his body seemed to lose control. Without any reason he could discern, the garishly armoured warrior sank down to a knee and began to tremor wildly.

“Your resistance to the truth and reluctant faith in the Emperor is your ultimate down bringing traitor. Had you followed the will of the one true Champion of Mankind you may still live to fight another day. One by one I will excise the cancer that is chaos from this Galaxy. Emperor thank you for the blessings you have bestowed upon me. I fight for Dorn, Sigismund and the God Emperor of Mankind...”

With a triumphant yell Gideon brought the massive power fist down.

The figure before him blurred and the stink of ozone broke through his senses. Dyvim Tvar could feel his impending doom, but could do nothing about it.

As the power fist crushed his skull and ended his perverse life, Dyvim Tvar’s soul was ripped from his body. The Pleasure Lord consumed the soul of his slave and smiled.


Victory to Gideon.

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#11
Brother Tyler

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Yurtz vs Melodius of Mavel

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Time had seemed to stop, all around him combat had been joined, but Yurtz held the urge to rush headlong into combat. He well knew thrill of bursting headlong into combat, but his instincts told him that those who had rushed to meet the vile spawn of chaos were foolish. This was no normal boarding raid, something had happened when the guns had fired. So he waited, plasma pistol drawn.

He had stepped free of the wreckage that had been his deathclaw into the melee of their assault upon the Divine Hunter. The lesser defenders had been slain in a dance of macarbe delights, even their corpses contributed to the scene he had painted. But after the initial rush of combat Meoldius had decided to indulge another treat. His next victim would never see his face nor hear his approach, he would silently kill the next opponent, a treat for Slaanesh, the suprise of deat forever torturing their soul! Fully a delicious idea, and his eyes had settled upon the next victim. A White Scar, truley Slaanesh enjoyed this game. Ah, the pleasures of his last visit to Terra, and the games they played with the White Scars!

The moments drew time immortal, neither scent nor vision was missed, his reflexes had sharpened around the knifes edge, and he knew that his life was endangered, though no enemy appeared before him. The ship became a multitude of perceptions, his conciousness expanded to encompass all that was around him. And in that instant he knew the Emperor was warning him, and with acute clarity he turned to face the warrior of chaos, scarcely a few yards from him. A warrior of Slaanesh, and upon him. His arm took for ever to traverse the arch that would bring his pistol to bare upon the foul servant. The pistol belched twice, point blank, unaimed shots snap fired before the warrior of Chaos was upon him.

Meoldius lunged at the White armored foe, his sorcerous powers drawing the energy to launch bolts of doom into the pathetic puppet of the corpse god. But as he prepared to dispach the unsuspecting foe, the White Scar warrior spun and fired his pistol.

Meoldius never saw the second ball of plasma that sent his soul to Slaanesh, the two rapid fire shots took him in the torso, and his ancient power armor melted before the heat of the Emperor. His soul screamed in anguish at the cruel twist of fate until it found solice in the realm of Slaanesh.

Yurtz stood over the burning corpse of the traitor, the emperor had delivered him, but would his blessing allow him to see the rest of the traitors sent back to their foul gods.

Victory to Yurtz.

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#12
Brother Tyler

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Ayrineka Z. Kareka vs Apraxae

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The great hall Apraxae's dread claw had landed in was silent. The occupants all dead. Many of the crew had been in their prayer to the Emperor as the Divine Hunter exited the warp. Their bodies now a fanning trail of blood behind the quick moving Apraxae.

The coyotid's feet were a blur as they cleared the obstructions, the quick moving form was rushing twords a hull breach, Chapel 23 had been punctured and it was Neka's task to assure it was clear. As she entered the chapel the blood flowing across the floor showed that the area was far from clear. Far on the other side of the chamber, a fast moving figure was just visable. Neka fired the plasma pistol at the figure, not to hit it, but in challenge.

The distinctive hiss was quite evident even at the distance Apraxae was from the firer. He spun to look at the insolent imperial who would challenge him. A laugh gurgled from his pus filled lungs, well then if it was a marine who would die today, then so be it. Pity, however, it was this pathetic example. Some sort of mutant scout? His legs now propelled him towards the figure.

Neka stood watching the figure approach, keeping the plasma pistol tracking the quickly approaching marine, standing watching him approach. His form quickly resolved into the shape of a chaos marine, Those bloody stinking Death Guard by the looks of him. At his speed it was obvious that he intended to charge her. So one shot would be all she had as the range closed. The plasma chamber hummed that it was ready as the selector was switched to rapid fire. The power of the shot would send this abomination against hygeine's soul to somewhere fun.

Apraxae saw the twin balls of plama burst from the gun, the skill of the firer matched his own- barely, he knew the gift of nurgle was no protection from the heat the guns would subject him to. He closed his eyes, and said a prayer to Nurgle, as he threw himself at the carapace-armoured weakling.

The twin balls of plasma streaked between the two combatants, on impacting cleanly upon his chest, but against all odds the second passed within inches. "Fair enough." thought Neka as the marines inertia carried him forward, his chest a mass of burning flesh and sickening pus. She could feel waves of sickness play over her, but she threw the thoughts from her mind and the powers of the empror protected her once more.

The searing burning in his chest only indicated that he was still alive thanks to the blessing of Nurgle. His wound was severe but not fatal, and he knew he could not stand a second hit from the plasma pistol, but the range was to far for him to cover in the time he knew the plasma pistol could recharge in. Again a silent prayer was said to nurgle as two more of the firey balls lept from the imperial's pistol, two more suns streaked towards him. But his luck held as the first passed his head, searing pustules from his armor, but the second took him in the leg, burning through his armor.

Neka watched as the first ball pf plasma missed the traitor, "Damn it! Bloody f---ing hell!" flashed through her mind as she saw the second catch the traitors leg in mid stride, and a effluecense of steam rose from the impact of the plasma upon the sicky excretions which had covered the leg.


But out of the cloud of gases ran the Plague Marine, the armor of his left leg melted into a hideous shape, the plasma had spent its energy to quickly, the chamber had not been properly calibrated, and now upon the leg were three burns, in the shape of Nurgle's sign. Neka readied for the charge as a second wave of nausea hit her the sheer stench causing her eyes to water, but again she shrugged it off.

His leg was awash in pain, but he felt the renewed blessings of Nurlge upon him, his luck had held and now he was upon what he thought to be an Imperial. His furious charge had given him the upper hand, and the weight of his charge extra strength. He lashed out three times with his plague sword, only twice did he penetrate the scout's defenses, and only once did his attacks wound her, and his pistol lashed out only to rebounded harmlessly off the scout's carapace armour- she was literally covered in the stuff- whoever had made this suit was truly a skilled artificer. Argh Nurgle, do not abandon you faithful servent now!

Neka's defense had been strong, and now the that plague marine would hopefully just go away... She slashed down with her lightning claw, the twin blades lashing at the Death Guard captain to cleave the foul git where he stood, and about bloody time too. Damn it, she'd give her right arm to have some backup here...

Apraxae watched as the scout prepared the death blow, his guard down in his attempt to slay her would cost him his life. But as the weapon reached the farthest point back, and started its deadly trajectory, the virulent poisons that lived upon his blade did their work. She dropped to her knees, vomiting, and expiring as her cells broke down. The claw missed his shoulder pad by the merest of margins. Apraxae had been blessed, truley Nurgle favoured him.

Apraxae's leg and chest were quickly healing, Nurgle was not done with his servent. He reached down, into the armor of his opponent, and found his prize. "Rest now, Brother, for you are with the Father now." Then he affixed his victim's shrunken head to his belt and started deeper into the Divine Hunter.


Victory to Apraxae

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#13
Brother Tyler

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Darium vs Archeion

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Archeion leapt from the Dreadclaw with the single purpose of spilling blood for Khorne. He would show these fools the error of their continued loyalty to the weakling Emperor. Balancing his weight and shifting his axe to his right hand, the Champion of Khorne found his opponent, a Space Marine in red terminator armour.

"Surrender or fight, mortal!" he yelled, the telltale signs of the blood frenzy so common in the followers of Khorne beginning to hold him, staining his vision in red and pumping adrenaline into his blood. "Either way, your skull is mine!" and with the challenge issued, he leapt towards his foe.

His opponent showed strength and courage worthy of a warrior, running at Khorne’s champion. Arcs of power flicked around the vicious claws he wore, filling the air with the stench of ozone. Fighting the frenzy that threatened to overtake him, Archeion fired off a bolt at his opponent, feeling some satisfaction in seeing the explosive bolt find a weak point in the hip joint of his adversary.


Darium felt the bolt explode in his left hip, ripping flesh and sinew. He moved on through the pain, feeling his augmented body stop the flow of blood from the wound and begin the healing process. As the pain enveloped him, he felt the pull of the Black Rage, the gene memories of the death of his Primarch all those millennia ago. The figure before him took on the aspect of the Arch-Heretic, Horus. He shook his head and cleared his vision. The attack had stopped him in his tracks as he struggled through the pain.

Even as he congratulated himself on wounding his opponent, the frenzy overtook him and he faltered momentarily in his charge toward the Blood Angel. The son of Sanguinius had halted when the bolt injured him. The wound didn’t stop him long, though, and the Blood Angel Space Marine soon took up the charge once again.

As the two warriors met, Archeion, servant of Khorne swept the vicious axe back in preparation for his attack. Darium of the Blood Angels was faster, though, and tearing into his opponent with the lightning claws, saying, “foul heretic, feel the wrath of the Emperor!!!” The lightning claws cut through the ceramite power armour of Archeion with ease, tearing tissue and breaking bones.

The traitor never had the chance to attack the Blood Angel as his body failed him. Falling heavily to the deck, Archeion heard the faint laughter of his lord. Khorne cared not whose blood was spilled, and the death of his champions pleased him as much as the deaths of their opponents. Before consciousness left him, though, Darium lifted his dying body up and looked him in the eyes saying, “you should have thought twice before choosing to oppose me, heretic. Now you have paid the price for not doing so.”


Darium threw the body of his foe down to the deck unceremoniously and looked up for a new opponent.

Victory to Darium.

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#14
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Håkan vs Crour Caedes

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Once he had been a warrior in the Great Crusade, conquering under the banner of the Emperor of Man. Then Horus had revealed to his Legion the truth, that the Emperor was a weak fool who had no understanding of the true powers that ruled the universe. As his awareness was expanded, he had devoted himself to a power truly worthy of a warrior, a patron who embodied the martial pride and acumen that had been the hallmark of the Space Marines, Khorne.

The Blood God had shown favor to his Legion, gifting them with abilities that augmented their already considerable prowess. The death and destruction they had wrought in his honour was the stuff of legend. Caedes had been present at the Siege of Terror, killing the pawns of the False Emperor with impunity. The disastrous loss of the Warmaster and subsequent retreat had cut the Legion to the core, staining their martial pride and spurring an atonement that left a swath of destruction. Caedes had fought on Skalathrax, on Igniss, in the Black Crusades of the Despoiler. The Blood God had spoken to him, promising him power in exchange for the blood he spilled. He had killed the weak and the strong alike, dedicating the multitudes of the slain to Khorne.

In the latest Black Crusade he had personally taken part in the profaning of numerous shrines to the corpse god. He had killed hundreds of men with by his own hand. After he killed the demagogue of the winged Primarch and taken his skull, the Blood God had endowed him with a mighty rune sword. Like him the sword thirsted for blood. “Take this,” Khorne commanded, “and with it spill the blood of Man.” Crour Caedes, World Eater, had obeyed his master. The blood he had spilled with that potent blade had stained the monuments of the False Emperor a glorious red.


Håkan’s canines showed as he smiled in anticipation of the upcoming battle. He had been recruited into the Legio following the defense of Cadia, hand-picked by the Great Wolf to replace an honoured brother who had fallen in battle defending the Imperium against the heretic Space Marines of the traitor legions. His predecessor in the Legio had once been his mentor in the days when he was still only an aspirant. The honor at being selected to replace the revered veteran instilled him with pride and respect – he would not dishonour the teachings or accomplishments of his battle-brother.

While many of the Space Marines intoned prayers in preparation for the upcoming battle, Håkan merely readied his hammer and shield. The traitors would pay for their insolence.

In the aftermath of the Black Crusade Caedes had joined with his comrades on a mission that, if successful, would strike at the heart of the Emperor’s Adeptus Astartes. The mysterious Legio, a “Chapter” comprised of Space Marines from a variety of Chapters, had been significantly weakened fighting Abaddon’s forces. Through the auguries of the sorcerer Orimandias the Warmaster had learned of the Legio vessels sent out to bolster the ranks of the Legio. Undermanned, they would be easy targets for the Warmaster’s forces. He had hastily marshaled several teams and vessels, one for each of the three Legio ships. Crour Caedes had been selected for this team. He relished the prospect of facing his hated counterparts.

Although the Siege of Terra had happened over ten thousand years past in real time, time flowed differently in the Immaterium. By Crour Caedes personal timeline only two hundred years had passed. His hatred of the False Emperor and his weakling tools still burned bright and strong. He had faced the loyalist Space Marines on only a few occasions since that time, fighting against Space Marines who didn’t belong to any of the original Legions. In the years following Horus’ rebellion the remaining Legions had splintered into the smaller Chapters. Caedes despised them for this weak decision – they admitted their own fallibility and weakness – fools. He had killed the yellow and red Howling Griffons at Igniss, White Consuls in the Gothic War, and Marines Exemplar in the attack on the Cadian Gate. The warrior in him sought out the challenging battles, and though they were weak in their slavery to the corpse, the Space Marines were still the most formidable of opponents. Crour Caedes would kill more of these fools and dedicate their deaths to the Blood God.


The Space Wolf felt the vessel vibrate and heard the sickening sound of twisting metal as the boarding vessel crashed through the hull and came to a halt in the compartment the Legio Marines occupied. As the ramp lowered and the traitors within poured forth, someone cried, “for the Emperor!” and the loyalists surged towards their mortal enemies.

He felt the bloodlust well up within him as the Dreadclaw penetrated the hull of the Legio ship. A voice whispered insistently in his head, “Blood and souls for your lord. The Skull Throne seeks death.” A tremor shook his body as the anticipation of the forthcoming carnage overwhelmed him. As the doors on the boarding vessel opened, Crour Caedes rushed forth with his allies in order to close with and destroy his enemy.

Håkan searched for an opponent. The fray was all around him and he could do no less than his comrades. He spied a warrior in crimson and brass armour. The traitor was as yet unengaged and Håkan was the closest of the Legio Space Marines to him.

"Come face me, Space Wolf. If you fight well I might honour you by taking your skull as a trophy to adorn my armour," said Crour Caedes, hate distorting his face. "Now we will see if you can prove your mettle against a true warrior, a chosen of Khorne; or if all you can do is stab fools like the Thousand Sons in the back. I will fill the rest of your pitiful existence with pain and offer your skull to the Blood God"

Pointing the hammer at the traitor, Håkan said, "The war will continue several lifetimes to come, but your war will end here traitor. Russ is my guide. The Emperor is my light. Your time has come."

With froth dripping from his mouth the Khornate champion charged towards Håkan screaming "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

Håkan howled as he countercharged, shield to the fore in order to block any of the berserker’s attacks. As he swept the hammer back in order to deliver a blow, the crimson-armoured foe lashed out with his weapons.

The rune-covered sword and chainaxe weaved in lethal circles, feinting and raining blows upon the Space Wolf. Crour grunted incoherently as he lashed out at the head of his opponent, but the Space Wolf ducked beneath the blow. The traitor followed up by spinning rapidly and thrusting the rune sword, but Håkan rolled to the side and evaded the blow. As the Space Wolf recovered from the roll, Crour scored a hit with the sword, but the blow lacked the power to penetrate the thick ceramite armour of the shoulder pad.

“Blood for the Blood God!” howled Crour Caedes as he marshaled a mighty downward blow with the daemonic rune sword.


Håkan barely had time to realize that the lethal blow was coming and only his quick reflexes saved him as he blocked the attack with the energized shield.

Enraged, the Khornate champion aimed a blow with his chainaxe at the head of his adversary. The Wolf Guard ducked his head and spun around quickly, though, and Crour Caedes couldn’t react in time to defend himself as he saw the massive hammer coming his way.

The thunder hammer struck the chest of the traitor with all the power Håkan could muster. The release of energy was deafening, and spots danced before the eyes of everyone in the vicinity. The broken body of the traitor was thrown back several meters and the chainaxe was sent flying across the chamber, depriving the Space Wolf of the opportunity to render any further attacks.

Crour’s body hit the deck heavily. He felt the crushed vital organs, the fiery pain as his lifeblood spilled forth. His breathing was labored, blood pooling in his shattered lungs. He struggled to regain his footing and bring his weapons to bear, but the damage to his body was too extensive and he collapsed in his own blood.

Somewhere far away he could feel the satisfaction of his master, for Khorne was pleased at the martial prowess of his opponent and cared not whose life was ended. His senses barely registered the form of his opponent approaching him at the ready. As Crour Caedes, veteran of the Long War let out a death rattle the Space Wolf looked down upon his broken body contemptuously.


Håkan kicked the rune-covered sword from the grasp of the crimson-armoured warrior. He growled at the body of his foe and said, “Your blasphemous weapons do no harm against those who carry the trust of the Emperor. With my hammer I smote you. With my faith I crushed you. Your traitor brethren will meet the same destiny, by my hands or another’s..."

And with the death of his opponent, the Space Wolf let out a long howl.

Victory to Håkan

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#15
Brother Tyler

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Avalon vs Arkaine the Twisted

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Avalon had come into the Chamber and had darted up a catwalk, his Terminator armor crushing each stair as he raced to the top for a better vantage. Where the battle was thickest would be where he made his first mark; carnage was all he saw below.


Arkaine the Twisted slobbered and screamed as he was finally set free from the cramped compartment of the dread claw. As soon as he entered the Imperial ship he was met by three Menials, men tasked to run the great ship of the corpse god. He dispatched them instantly, disemboweling the first two and severing the head of the third. Blood shot forth and covered Arkaine’s armor, entrails littered the floor. He shot a glance upward, and with his powerful legs leapt up and grabbed onto piping that ran the length of the room, the floor was too slippery to traverse; blood soaked. The mutated marine leapt onto a catwalk just as a Dark Angel approached in terminator armor; another victim.


The Dark Angel drew back abruptly as a deviant marine, twisted and vile, cursed with many mutations landed on the catwalk mere feet away from him. “I guess the battle comes to me!” thought Avalon. The Chaos Marine sputtered and wiped its jaw with oversized hands, smearing blood across its face. He waved to Avalon as if to taunt him, beckoning him into a close quarters fight.
Each man lunged forward, and in seconds was upon one another. The twisted marine, lascivious in his actions was just that much faster than Avalon and began assaulting him repetitiously with his giant talons. Blow after blow was shrugged off by the ancient armor, and then stabbing pain! Arkaine had gotten a razor sharp nail in between Avalon’s armpit, blood spilled forth for a second and then, with a deep breath the Dark Angel could feel his larraman cells going to work. The giant man scowled, flexed his Lightning Claws and buried them deep with the Chaos Marines chest, over and over and over. Dark ichor poured forth raining down upon the fighters below. Arkaine felt his life force leave his body; he gasped his last breath and felt the Angel of Death raise his body above his, actuators kicking in within the terminator armor.
Arkaine the Twisted was no more than an irony; his broken and twisted body tossed down below, hitting the floor with a great “THUD!”

VICTORY TO AVALON

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#16
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Vaishin vs Atticus Duval

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Warning klaxons sounded throughout the Divine Hunter, sending the embarked Space Marines in a flurry of activity in preparation for the impending attack. The vessel had been returning to the secret base of the Legio, carrying the precious cargo of Space Marines recruited from the various Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, replacements for battle-brothers who had died defending the Cadian Gate from the predations of Chaos. How the traitors had tracked the vessel was a question the veterans of the Legio asked themselves, but they regarded the question as secondary to the defense of the ship and its passengers.

The dark skinned captain and the bombastic veteran sergeant each selected a handful of the recruits and took their teams to other vulnerable attack points, leaving the Inquisitor and the bulk of the recruits in the area of the main bay. The focus of the attack would probably be here, so the majority of skilled warriors was needed here.

To call the newest members of the Legio “recruits” was inaccurate for these Space Marines were veteran within their own Chapters, hand picked to replace lost battle-brothers in order to maintain the fighting strength of the Legio. A mysterious force, the Legio was comprised of Space Marines from all Chapters and it conducted a secret war against the forces that threatened the Imperium of Mankind. To be selected for the Legio was a signal honour that only the most respected ever received. Each of the Space Marines in the bay understood this honour and sought to live up to it.

Vaishin had been chosen from his Brotherhood of the White Scars, and while leaving his prized bike behind was troubling, the opportunity to fight as a member of this elite force made up for the loss. He wielded the power lance that was used by only a handful of Chapters, a weapon that, when wielded by a mounted Space Marine, could kill a foe before he had a chance to strike back. Vaishin had never used the weapon afoot before and was glad he bore the power fist.

Within one of the Chaos dreadclaws the Apostle spoke to his fell brethren. Once a Chaplain espousing the virtues of the Emperor, Atticus Duval had turned to powers worthy of his service. The daemonic weapon he carried had once been a crozius arcanum – badge of office of the Imperial Chaplains. As a symbol of devotion to his new masters, Duval had corrupted the crozius, allowing daemons to inhabit it and warp its form so that it now resembled a malevolent horned skull instead of the death’s head surmounted by aquila it had originally been. The spirits bound within whispered to him, telling of the gifts and glory of Chaos. The exhulted in the blood he spilled in the name of the Fell Powers, blood he had spilled across a hundred worlds since the days of the Horus Heresy.

Though he addressed a motley crew of warriors collected from the various Legions, his fiery oratory skills inspired them. “The lackeys of the Corpse God will suffer an eternity of pain, punishment for their service to the False Emperor and his dying Imperium. The Dukes of Chaos will prevail, and we, their champions, will be the torchbearers bringing the light of their glory to the galaxy.”

Within his skull-faced helmet Atticus smiled as he saw his words begin to take effect. A champion of Khorne began grunting almost uncontrollably, anticipation of the battle overtaking him. The Slaaneshi servant began crooning to himself, eyes rolled back in his skull. The other Space Marines in the vessel prepared their weapons.

The destruction of their ship had solidified the resolve of the Chaos Space Marines. They could do nothing but succeed in their mission. It was always easier when there was no turning back, just as it had been when they had first turned from the slavery of the Imperium to the service of Chaos. The Warmaster’s failure had merely prolonged the war, it had not been the end. The triumph of Chaos was inevitable, and these warriors had participated in the Long War with the confident knowledge that eventually they would succeed in toppling the lofty power of the Emperor. Their mission here was to strike a telling blow against one of the elite Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes. Only one blow within a group of attacks, if it succeeded, each of the Chapters of the Space Marines would suffer with the Legio.

The Chaos Space Marines shook as the dreadclaw drove through the protective outer hull of the Divine Hunter and came to a halt. As the door opened, the traitors rushed out in order to engage their foes so that they could proceed with the larger mission. Yelling praise to the Dark Powers, Atticus led from the front.


The White Scar, fully indoctrinated in the lightning warfare methods of his Chapter, engaged the first enemy that came in sight. Although the foe appeared similar to the Chaplains of the Space Marines, his baroque armour was covered with inscriptions of blasphemous runes and the crozius he bore was a mockery of the blessed weapon the priests of the warrior cults carried.

"You WILL understand the meaning of faith!" said the Dark Apostle, pointing his daemonic weapon at the white armoured warrior before him. The two charged each other.

Atticus fired his storm bolter at his opponent, stopping him cold with an explosive bolt to the chest. The thick ceramite power armour protected the loyalist, though, pitting the armour but failing to hurt the Space Marine within.


Vaishin’s charge faltered as the anti-Chaplain challenged "Renounce our worthless oath to the Corpse God and I will show you the true path of life!"

“For the Great Khan and the Emperor!” was Vaishin’s reply as he readied the lance to receive the charge of his opponent.

Vaishin parried the threatening weapon aside as he moved within range, sweeping it to his left and raining a heavy blow down upon the shoulder of the White Scar. The strike staggered his opponent, but failed to penetrate.

“Fool lackey of the fool Emperor, you are nothing in the primal storm of Chaos. Your soul will feed the true powers and your broken corpse will be carrion for the vermin.” As the White Scar readied his weapon for attack, the Dark Apostle brought his crozius crashing into his helmet, sending the helmet flying in a spray of blood and sweat. Momentarily stunned, Vaishin barely brought the power lance up in time to parry the next blow, but overcompensated for the attack and presented a vulnerable opening that the veteran Dark Apostle seized. The wicked crozius swept around and upward, crashing through the abdominal armour and into the chest cavity.

The daemons bound within the weapon gave out a depraved laugh of delight as they felt the lifeforce of the Dark Apostle’s foe ebb.


Vaishin felt the agonizing pain as the weapon crashed through the bony protection of his chest cavity and rip his vitals apart. He felt the sudden cold as his spine was broken. Losing all control in his legs, a quick thrust of his fist stopped him from crashing all the way to the deck. The wicked weapon ripped his body as it was pulled out, and Vaishin was shocked to see how much of his blood spilled before him, his enhanced body unable to stop this much from flowing. The dark Chaplain’s words sent his head spinning:

”You were a worthy opponent though your devotion was to the wrong God. In death may your soul find eternal damnation in the fires of the Warp. Then and only then will you understand that Chaos will rule this universe and that I, Atticus Duval will be there when we win the final battle."

Then Vaishin of the White Scars knew no more as the daemon-bound crozius came down into his skull and ended his life.

Victory to Atticus Duval

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#17
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Maturac VS Omega

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Maturac stood waiting outside the portal of the dreadclaw hammering away with his lightning claws, if the foul traitor within would not come out, he would tear his way into the foul transport and tear their hearts out with his bare hands. His lightning claws were meant for lighter armored foes, he would need a chainfist to tear through the casing of this foul contraption. Maturac stepped away from the dread claw and started down the corridor where he had heard the distant impact of another dreadclaw. Outside the dreadclaw, above the marks he had left with his lightning claws was a maze of fragmentation grenades, a surprise for any traitor scum who may attempt to exit it. Inside the dreadclaw the jellofied bodies of four unluck servants of chaos had lain, their bodies destroyed in the impact, their souls commended to their foul gods.

Omega stepped over the bodies of the defense force that had attempted to stop his progress. The gore of the expiring souls still stained his Ancient Terminator armor. His progress, slowed momentarily, was again started, heading twords the ships armory he saw the powered armored marine running down the hall. The marine hadn't seen him yet, so he powered up the external speaker to full volume, I will get his attention he though. I will flay you alive for the New Machine, puppet of the corpse. My eyes now see the uselessness of his reign. As you bleed on the floor I shall make you renounce your allegiance to him...for your soul will go to the New Machine. If only you could embrace it as I have. You are a fool to face me. The marrow in your bones will taste delicious.

Maturac jumped at the first of the sound waves. The volume in the confined corridor only served to amplify the heretic's voice. He stopped and looked over the distant opponent. "Heretic scum, your life is forfeit." and with a thought his lightning claws crackeled into life and he charged the foul heretic. His response took the blashpemous armored foe by surprise as he launched into a fulsade of attacks, but the speed at which the enemy deflected them was unnerving, and the ancient terminator armor stopping all but one of his attacks from wounding the foul beast he now sought to slaughter.

Omega was taken aback, his foes flurry of attacks had been launched with cosumate skill. The thrill of combat, and years of training had allowed him to defend himself, but even now the pain he felt showed that his defense hadn't been enough, but he had been a marine for longer then this imperial lackey had been alive, and he would show him the meaning of pain. His counter attack was blocked attack for attack, with only the luckiest of feints piercing his opponent's defenses. But now they had both been bloodied, but he was sorely pressed to hold his ground and not attempt to take a step back and regroup, but he knew his opponent would attempt to capitalize on any show of weakness, so his resolve stood firm.

The two combants, warriors of consumate skill launched into a series of attacks, each simultaneously attacking and defending. Each usign every trick and training advantage they could attempt to use. And in the end, each found one attack had penetrated the opponent's defenses. Each had found the one weakness in the opponents skill. And each had landed the fatal wound upon the other. But Omega's ancient terminator armor had turn Maturac's claw at the last moment. The terminator armor holding where other lesser armors wold fail.

Omega stood looking into the glassy eyes of his opponent. His lighting claw still burried deep within the loyalists body, he knew that the fates had shined upon him, for in this battle the opponent he faced had been his equal. But it ultimately mattered not, for the chaos warrior was alive, truley proving he had aligned with the correct side. With a sharp withdrawing of his blades, the imperial marine fell to the ships deck in several pieces.

The dead lifeless eyes of Maturac seemed to stare at Omega as he walked away, his soul screaming into the maelstrom of the thin margin chance he had lived by. The emperor and the powers of Chaos had forced their hands, and it was the powers of Tzeentch who had saved Omega's life.


Victory to Omega

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#18
Brother Tyler

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Survivors of Round #1

++ LOYALISTS ++

Avalon
Darium
Du'Tek
Euripides
Gideon
Håkan
Octavian
Rhadamanthys
Ulkay Gondir
Yurtz

++ TRAITORS ++

Apraxae
Atticus Duval
Omega
Skull Taker
Strakar
VonBek
Vyrus Le Peste
Warghoul Fester

10 Loyalists vs 8 Traitors.

We will take a short break over the weekend to get some fluff written up and to allow the two sides to coordinate their activities. Look for the poll for Round #2 Fight #1 either Monday or Tuesday.

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#19
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ROUND 2

Fight 1 - Octavian vs VonBek - Victory to VonBek
Fight 2 - Ulkay Gondir vs Omega - Victory to Omega
Fight 3 - Darium vs Apraxae - Victory to Darium
Fight 4 - Euripides vs Skull Taker - Victory to Skull Taker
Fight 5 - Radamanthys vs Warghoul Fester - Victory to Rhadamanthys
Fight 6 - Yurtz vs Vyrus la Peste - Victory to Yurtz
Fight 7 - Du'tek vs Atticus Duval - Victory to Du'tek
Fight 8 - Håkan vs Strakar - Victory to Håkan

Avalon and Gideon get byes this round, but must fight in the next round.

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#20
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VonBek vs. Octavian

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Octavian felt drained of his energy after the last fight. These traitors had begged for the blessings of the dark gods to shield them from the Emperor's wrath. No matter. Rare would be the day when a member of the Inquisition will go without a fight. Octavian suddenly heard an incantation. A large figure in terminator armor was chanting spells.

He turned just in time to see the heretic psyker hurl a balefire bolt that consumed the figure of one of the Legio recruits, a Space Wolf. Octavian was horrified to see that the Space Wolf immediately fell, body twitching spasmodically and an obscene hole ripped into his chest. Before the Inquisitor’s eyes the Space Marine’s breathing slowed, then stopped.

Octavian looked from the form of the Space Wolf to his attacker, a sorcerer clad in the heavy tactical dreadnought armour favored for ship boarding actions. The sigils that danced across the heavy armour proclaimed the sorcerer’s allegiance to the Lord of Change. Each of the sorcerer’s mighty fists ended in a claw that flickered with barely contained energy. The witch’s gaze seemed to lock on Octavian as the Inquisitor threw his hood back to reveal the device concealed therein. The psychic hood was capable of negating the twisted powers of psykers, and Octavian had used it to good effect in his witch hunting. He channeled his psychic energy into the hood now, preparing to ward off the Warp-spawned powers of his new enemy.

VonBek registered the figure who now threatened him – not a Space Marine this one. As the loyalist revealed the psychic hood he wore, VonBek noticed the medallion that bore the stylized I hanging from his neck. An Inquisitor. Not a mere human, then, but certainly no match for a Space Marine, especially not one who had embraced the Powers of Chaos. VonBek’s gaze dropped to the figure on the floor immediately behind the Inquisitor. The silver and brass armour had been torn asunder. VonBek wondered how the Inquisitor had triumphed over the Iron Warrior, then he noticed the enormous chainsword held in the hands of his opponent. The teeth of the weapon were covered in gore. This one was a threat at close quarters. No matter. Within the horned helmet, the face of the Thousand Sons sorcerer broke into a wicked grin.

“An Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus? It seems you are well prepared indeed. Your kind will not prey on my sorcery. Test your might, this day you die.”

VonBek drew one claw across his throat, a gesture whose meaning was not lost upon the Inquisitor.


Octavian felt the power gathering in his aegis hood, psychic energy he would need to ward off the sorcery of his opponent. He had seen what the fiery blue bolts had done to the Space Wolf and had no desire to allow the same fate to befall him. He must exercise patience with this one, for the devotees of Tzeentch were the most canny of the lost and the damned.

VonBek performed intricate gestures with his clawed hands, traces of energy floating in the air before him as he marshaled his powers. He felt the power coalesce around him as he pulled the power of the Warp to his bidding.

Octavian could tell that his psychic energies had peaked out. Fingering the activation rune on the eviscerator, he made his move. "There is no room here for the occult powers of Tzeentch..." Octavian grumbled.

His eviscerator felt heavy. He felt a drop of sweat drip down his mask. There was no rest to be had while the vile roamed free. Reaching out with the power of his mind amplified by the psychic hood he wore, he sought to block the psychic energies being gathered by his opponent. Simultaneously, he lurched forth in order to deliver the Emperor’s justice to this traitor.

VonBek felt the psychic attack of his opponent, a feeble attempt to disrupt his psychic powers. How dared this fool attempt to perform this act, how futile it would be. VonBek had trained under the watchful gaze of Ahriman, Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons. His psychic powers would easily overcome the feeble efforts of the Inquisitor. VonBek acted as soon as the Inquisitor lurched forward. His mental energies crushed the powers of the psychic hood, dissipating Octavian’s warding effortlessly and tearing through the psyche of his opponent. Mouthing only the word, “die”, he released the psychic bolt at his opponent. Tongues of blue flame shot forth and as if of a will of their own, darted out and enveloped the Inquisitor.

Octavian was startled when his psychic warding was defeated. Momentarily shaken, he was unable to focus enough for the subtle protective field of the Icon he bore to take effect. He barely had the time to register the agony in his head as the fiery blue bolt leapt out at him. As the flames engulfed him, the strength of the attack threw his body back into the wall, crushing his skull against the control panel. As his twitching body fell down across the controls, tell-tale sparks indicated that the machine-spirits therein had suffered also.

VonBek let out a low laugh as he looked upon the body of his latest victim.

Victory to VonBek.

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#21
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Omega vs. Ulkay Gondir

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Omega moved down the passageway in search of new prey. Suddenly a figure stepped out of a hatchway ahead of him, barring his path. The Space Marine lifted his axe in challenge. Wearing the pelt of a slain wolf, the challenger was a Space Wolf. Omega had fought alongside the sons of Russ on one occasion. Fierce warriors these, this one would be no different.

Omega spoke, “Your death fuels the New Machine! Come face your doom or join me.”


The Space Wolf markings on his foe’s armour and realized that this traitor wasn’t one of Horus’ followers, but had fallen from the Iron Hands. The clan marking had been debased with blasphemous icons, but was still recognizable.

Ulkay replied, “You may have killed one of my brothers, but good fortune doesn't usually last long, foul traitor. In this place, in this time, I will personally see to your death. I do not care what evil, ugly god you heretics worship because sooner or later one by one you will fall to my blade that has killed so many of your kind before. You are but dust to me. A mere flea in my pelt that I will crush without mercy.”

Omega then threw his head back in laughter. I knew you would never join, now we shall see who is the stronger...and who wants vengeance more. Death is only the beginning.”

Ulkay Gondir leapt forward before his opponent could react. As he ran forward he fired his bolt pistol into the Iron Hands’ chest. The thick terminator armour protected Omega, though, and the bolt exploded harmlessly.

Omega charged his opponent in turn, feeling another bolt round strike him in the abdomen, but fail to penetrate his tactical dreadnought armour. The fallen Iron Hand brought his claws to bear as the Space Wolf’s energized sword whirred into action. Omega thrusted the claws forward at his opponent’s midriff, but the Space Wolf nimbly turned his body and parried the strike with his sword. “Fool son of Russ, I will show you the weakness of your flesh!”

The Wolf Guard only answered with a reverse swing of his frost blade, attempting to drive it into the vulnerable shoulder joint. The attack succeeded in cutting into the shoulder of the Iron Hand, but failed to sever the arm.

Omega felt the pain of the attack and registered it as more weakness of his body. Soon he would replace his entire body with augmetics, preventing them from suffering such weak pain from such a minor attack. His iron discipline enabled him to once again thrust forth with the claws. This time the Space Wolf couldn’t parry the claws with his sword, and both struck home, cutting into the bony chest protection of the Space Wolf and ripping into his lungs and primary heart.

Ulkay gasped as the claws penetrated his defenses and tore into his body. He quickly withdrew his own blade and beat his opponent back.

The Iron Hand feinted a with his left claw, drawing the Space Wolf’s guard up. His opponent had taken the bait and Omega was determined to make him pay for that mistake. As the frost blade moved upward, Omega drove his left claw forth into the abdomen of his opponent, eviscerating him as the energized claw tore through flesh, bone, and armour alike.

Ulkay Gondir let out a howl of frustration as he felt his vitals torn apart by the devastating attack. His howl was ended, however, when the other claw punched forth into his skull, ending his life.

Omega, fallen warrior of the Iron Hands, withdrew his claws and watched the lifeless form of his opponent fall. Looking down upon the Space Wolf’s body he said, "I told you not to fight the New Machine, I even gave you the option of joining...now bleed on the ground Wolfling...perhaps if you had chosen a different path we could have defeated our enemies...a pity, but vengeance is vengeance."

Victory to Omega.

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#22
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Apraxae vs. Darium

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Darium searched quickly for the next raider to fight. All around him the battle raged, the bodies of the fallen littering the deck as the survivors struggled for dominance. A blinding flash followed by a deafening blast came from his right – the massive hammer of the Salamander destroying one of the traitors. Not too far away Darium saw a figure in neglected armour affix something to his belt. A head? The Chaos Space Marine was mumbling something at the body at his feet. As Darium watched, the figure stood up and looked around. As it turned to see him, Darium challenged, “whatever foul energies drive you will be ended here, traitor.”

Apraxae, servant of Grandfather Nurgle, assessed the Space Marine who stood before him. “Fool pawn of the False Emperor, Death comes to all things, and I am His hand that shall bring you down.” The Death Guard Space Marine fired his bolter as both warriors closed, but the bolt glanced off the thick armour covering the terminator’s right shoulder.

Apraxae fired another round just before the two reached each other. Again the bolt failed to harm his opponent, the heavy tactical dreadnought armour preventing it from penetrating as it exploded. Apraxae could see the fury in the Space Marine’s eyes as they clashed, both lashing out like berserkers.


Darium slashed with his lightning claws, seeking to kill his opponent quickly. The renegade ducked beneath one of the claws, parrying the other with the vile sword he carried.

Nurgle’s servant riposted with the plague sword, thrusting the blade at the abdomen of the Blood Angel. His opponent rapidly bladed his body, though, evading the attack. Growling, Apraxae lashed out with the bolt pistol, striking the temple of Darium. The force of the blow knocked blood and sweat across the chamber, but the terminator only smiled in return.

Darium could see now that the object the foul traitor had attached to his belt had indeed been a head, the skull of his vanquished opponent. What depravity demanded such an act? It would be his sacred duty to eradicate this creature.

Apraxae noticed that his opponent’s attention was momentarily diverted, so he took advantage of the situation. With a bestial roar he brought his sword down into the shoulder of his opponent, feeling some satisfaction as the warp-blessed weapon’s energies broke through the armour and bit into the flesh of his opponent. The Space Marine grunted in pain at the attack.

Darium brought his right arm up to knock the green blade back. He could feel the sensation of the sorcerous energies empowering the weapon, the activity within his augmented body as it fought the assault. He would not make that mistake again.

Infuriated, he thrust both claws out towards the enemy, driving both into the torso of the traitor. The claws drove deep into the body of his enemy, energized blades tearing through armour with ease and shredding the vital organs of his opponent.

The pain! His body was awash with pain as the claws of his opponent ripped into him and tore his insides apart. His grip on the blade slackened as he feebly tried to attack the Blood Angel. Spots danced before his eyes and the scenery around him took on a surreal quality. The noise of the battle became a hollow ringing thing as his vision blacked out.

Death, the inevitable destiny of all things, had finally come to him. Papa Nurgle would welcome him to the domain of the dead.


Darium withdrew the claws as the body of his opponent fell heavily. This one would never again perpetrate his foulness upon Mankind.

The blood curdling yell of someone dying off to his left drew Darium’s attention in that direction. Who would his next opponent be?

Victory to Darium.

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#23
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Skull Taker vs. Euripides

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Skull Taker charged down the darkened corridor after his prey. Euripides, his fellows had called him.

The thrill of the hunt rose through his hind-brain. He ripped off his helmet and threw it aside, the better to catch the scent of his quarry. A primal howl fuelled by fury and rage and the expectation of imminent bloodshed echoed down the corridor, and it was only with an effort of sheer will that he was able to prevent the blood frenzy from robbing him of all control.

No. Not yet.

This ship, this next battle, this Captain Euripides was a point of Convergence. A moment of infinite rarity which was the herald of something truly spectacular. He had felt it draw him to the Dread Servant, to this place, and as soon as he saw the symmetry of that marine captain taking the head of the Night Lord all doubt had vanished.

On only three other occasions in his impossibly long life had he felt Convergence: with the Lord-Commander of his own Great Company on Skalathrax during the great inferno; the Dire Avenger Exarch from the Biel-Tan Craftworld, and the refugee infant on Armageddon.

Three skulls, they had been, but three special skulls! The number of skulls he had personally dedicated to raise higher the Brass Throne of the Blood God could be measured in the hundreds of thousands, and yet those three were his alone! At the point of each Convergence it was as if the Eye of Khorne itself was focussed upon him, and who was this Euripides to deny him that once more?

Skull Taker saw the handiwork of the servants of the Plague God ahead, the putrid remains of a combat servitor slumped across his path. He leapt over the obstacle, but as he did so the servitor entered its death-throes, and its mechanised limbs flailed spasmodically. Its flailing servo-claw sent him sprawling across the deck, and he landed heavily, his jaw smashing against the bulkhead.

He spat out fragments of broken tooth, and tasted the intoxicating coppery tang of blood. He snarled back in fury at the servitor. Most of its organic components had sloughed away exposing a grinning brass skull. Was this an omen, he thought? Was Lord Khorne displeased at his presumption of claiming Euripides skull for himself?

Snorting in disgust he leapt to his feet and smashed the skull of the servitor beneath his armoured foot. Such superstitions were fit only for the misguided followers of Tzeentch, and he cursed himself for such weakness so close to Convergence.

***

The metallic clang of an armoured body smashing against the plasteel floor startled Euripides from his thoughts of Embeth. He turned, and his mind connected the blood-curling howl he had heard moments before with the Khornate warrior sprawled across the deck.

As the berzerker stood and crushed the head of the diseased servitor in an explosive frenzy of rage, Euripides experienced a moment of epiphany. The creature before him had once been a brother marine, but had turned his face from the Holy Light of the Emperor. It was like one of Brother-Chaplain Chronus’ parables - without Faith in The Emperor he had become a mindless creature wallowing in filth.

Euripides felt his soul - shackled for so long by grief and doubt - soar.

He moved back down the corridor towards the red-armoured monstrosity. With his foe so distracted he could dispatch him quickly and save his dear Embeth without further delay.

With a silent prayer to his Primarch he set his storm-shield, activated his ancient power blade and charged...

***

Deep inside Euripides mind Tomax Hell shrieked with rage as the shattered panes of stained glass representing his hosts psyche began to reform before his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be happening!

There was another force at work here…

***

The red armored warrior of Khorne was rushing towards Euripides, the distance closing rapidly, and Euripides was attempting to judge the distance, to assure it was he who was first upon his opponent, his sword who opponed the engagement. But the speed of the Warrior of Khorne was unpredictable, the distance closing so fast that Euripides new he would be the one initiallly on the defense, and so he readied his shield. Come for me then.


Skull Taker's legs covered the distance between himself and the marine, who it seemed was jokeying for position. The pitiful champion of the false god king thought to outmanuver Skull Taker the survivor of a thousand conflicts such as this. His rage overtaking him, he lept the final feet to his opponent and unleashed a torent of attacks.


Euripides was taken back by the ferocity of the red armored warrior. His skill tested to the extreme. Each attack was a laser driving through his defenses, each a swing of the axe a mortal wound. But Euripides was not to be taken so lightly, his storm shield acted as though it had a mind of its own, finding the path of the axes and interspacing itself. He felt emboldned, the emperor shone upon him, truley he was awash in the moment. For each attack he parried, for each swinging of the fell axes his sword and shield were as strong as his faith. Again and again, his skill, faith and experience surpassed that of the Warrior of Khorne.

Skull Taker's mind cleared, another moment free of the red rage, a moment of introspection. His body though it seemed was still a weapon of Khorne's, for he watched his arms, and weapons strike repeatedly at the marine in front of him. Each swing of the axe blocked by the storm shield or parried by the glowing blade. Such was his skill at the axe that he would have cut down a half dozen men by now, but his foe still stood before him.

And so it was with a supreme effort, he took control of his body again, focusing the rage of Khorne and using the cumulative experience of 10,000 years, he changed the tempo of his attacks. He arms pausing for a moment, before the reposte of his enemy, the energies of their mighty swings held in check for the briefest of moments. And then with the skill of an ancient marine, and the experience of ten millienum, they finished their archs.

First the axe of Khorne passed withing a hairs breath of the power sword, and caught Euripides in the chest, and the power axe follwed but a blink of an eye later. Passing just below the bottom of the shield, the energy fields gliding past each other as the Axe drove to its target.


Euripides never felt his head seperate from his body, nor the chain axe as it tore through his chest.

With a grace not expected from a warrior of Khorne, Skull Taker Caught the head of Euripides in mid flight, and with the surety of a warrior who had done the act a thousand thousand times, hung it from his belt as he set off in search of his next offering to Khorne.

Victory to Skull Taker.

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#24
Brother Tyler

Brother Tyler

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RHADAMANTHYS Vs. WARGHOUL FESTER

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Rhadamanthys ran forward with Ulkay Gondir, bolter fire spraying to give cover to those in need.
His young Space Wolf friend found a foe immediately, broke stride and jumped into combat; may the Emperor guide him true.
Rhadamanthys picked out a lone Chaos Marine at the end of the chamber, his armor a ghostly white, the prophet of Nurgle smiled a toothy grin, as little ones danced in and out of his mouth. He called out to the young Brazen Claw, beckoning him closer “Child.... you look scared... Are you sure you belong here, amongst the GODS?”
Infuriated Rhadamanthys quickened his pace; he had to gain ground and get into combat with this servant of evil and show him swift justice with the weapons of the Emperor.
As he closed in on the festering marine a blast from the traitors bolter exploded next to Rhadamanthys ear, much to close for comfort; he slowed his pace an aimed his Bolt pistol it was time to return the favor.

Warghoul Fester smirked as the young marine in shiny quartered blue and red armor made a dash at him. How dare this pompous man think he could just waltz right up to a son of Nurgle and lay him down! The dance would be for Father Nurgle, the dance would be that of Death! He heaved his mass forward ready to meet the marine head on and as he did so leveled his bolter to fire a round, but as he did so stepped on a bothersome nurgling playing around his feet causing him to jerk the weapon and fire wide. “Damn you to Barbarus little one!”

Rhadamanthys dove low as a shot was fired, rolled and sprung up pumping his trigger on his Bolt Pistol; a shot hit the Death Guard marine but bounced off his armor, “A few more meters” thought the Brazen Claw “and the vile pestilent creature would be upon him.”

As the shot bounced of of Warghoul he picked up his pace his weight seeming little less than cumbersome. He swung his Plague sword in front of his face, pus and a slimy mucous flying off the blade spattering the walls and floor of the chamber instantly corroding.

Rhadamanthys knelt on one knee, placed his left arm in front of him to balance the weight of the bolt pistol, aimed and squeezed the trigger once more; the shot tore into Warghoul Festers leg, his acknowledgment in the form of a blood curdling howl!

Nurgles Champion stumbled forward as his right leg was struck by bolter fire. He screamed in agony, his pace lessened into more of a hobble as his leg wept a myriad of sickly colors. “Nahhhhhghh!! I have come to show you the dance of death little man!!” barked the angered marine. He swung his sword in a wide arc, slashing at Rhaddamanthys, but with the young marine already on one knee, he parried the blows easily with his chainsword and struck low at Warghouls open wound only to hit the ancient armored leg with a dead metallic thud; neither accomplishing any proper attacks, both attempted to regroup their combat stances.

Rhadamanthys quickly pushed forward with his leg and went instantly from crouching to springing in the air. Warghoul, his patience already lost, screamed yet again and swung desperately around, but the young marine was too quick and his sword yet again failed to taste human flesh. Rhadamanthys landed to the right of the Death Guard his chainsword failing to fall upon him and his bolt pistol screaming past the chaos servant’s face.

Sweat now poured from each man, they slowly paced around each other attempting to find rhythm within each others movements. Plague sword and chainsword met again and again; parry dodge, parry dodge.
The Brazen Claw saw an opening and struck onto the shoulder of the Plague Marine, but the powerful marine would have nothing of it and shrugged off the biting sword, leaving only a few chips on his shoulder pad.
This in turn left Rhadamanthys’s right side open, and Warghoul attempted to slice into his chest but his swords broad flat surface was only to connect smacking his challenger backward, but leaving no wound.
As Rhadamanthys stumbled backward from the hard hitting blow, he pumped his bolt pistol, but yet again the shot ricocheted off Warghoul Festers armor.

Warghoul lurched forward; the Brazen Claw seemed off balance and now was time for the finishing blow. As he leaned in, toward the marine he spread his arms up and out fanning his stench upon the young marine. “Such bravado…”thought Rhadamanthys he feigned a sense of hopelessness and then in a blink of an eye as the Plague Marine towered over him; arms outstretched ready to remove his head, Rhadamanthys fell to his knees and pushed the chainsword up into Warghoul Festers jaw, the blades whirred and spat bone and dead rotten flesh. The Champion of Nurgle seemed, almost, for a brief second, at peace. He continued to push the chainsword up, and in. Soon it popped out of the back of the now dead Death Guards head, brain matter and a dark black blood flew out as the chainsword continued to grind and grate. Slowly the young Brazen Claw released the key grip of the sword and it slowed down to a purr. A moment of clarity; Rhadamanthys lived.

VICTORY to RHADAMANTHYS

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#25
Brother Tyler

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Vyrus le Peste vs. Yurtz

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The babbling of the nurglings was a low crooning song to Vyrus as they feasted upon the flesh of the Space Marine he had just killed. A lesser being would have been driven insane by the mindless noise of the pestilent minions, but Vyrus was lesser being. He had pledged his soul to the Plague Lord millennia ago, buying power with his endless devotion to the Lord of Decay. The noise was a source of pleasure to him, a soothing song that reminded him of the power of his Master.

The sound of battle quickly brought Vyrus le Peste back to the present. His allies had ambushed the servants of the False Emperor, striking a blow against their kin. In the aftermath of the Warmaster’s latest Black Crusade the forces of the Imperium had been sorely depleted. It had been foreseen that a crippling attack on this vessel would be a telling blow in the Long War, so a force of warriors was hastily gathered. Vyrus had been aboard the Terminus Est when Lord Typhus had ordered him to join with this force.

“Serve the Plague Lord well and you will be rewarded,” Typhus had promised. So Vyrus went, knowing that the death and decay he brought would only further the power of his Master. He would show these weaklings the true meaning of power.


Yurtz, son of the Plains, looked up from the smoldering body of the traitor he had just slain. The stink of burning flesh filled the air, but the putrid odor of decaying bodies now assailed his senses. How could this be? The battle had barely been joined scant moments ago and the dead had not had time to rot so. Through the noise of battle Yurtz detected a more sinister sound – he could not place it. As he turned to see what it was he recoiled at the sight.

A Chaos Space Marine stood hunched over the body of a defeated opponent. The traitor was a mutant of some sort – the curved horn set in the middle of his forehead was above a single large eye that looked down upon his foe with some malicious pleasure. Over his body and around his feet a number of detestable creatures called, each grumbling in some strange tongue man was not meant to understand. They seemed to communicate with each other in this demented language, singing in pleasure as they devoured the flesh of the banished Space Marine. Yurtz noticed the decayed armour the traitor wore, stained with some unmentionable ichor and swollen inexplicably. The creature bore a fell sword that reeked of decay.

As Yurtz looked at the mutant, it turned its single eye upon him.

And it smiled.

”Come plaything, your inevitable doom awaits,” challenged Vyrus. This white-armoured one wore the mark of the Khan upon his shoulder. A White Scar, then. Vyrus would show this fool the promise of Nurgle.

Yurtz looked upon the mutant with disdain as it issued a gurgling challenge to personal combat. Armor sparkling, the White Scar grimaced slightly at the stinking pile of subhuman ooze in front of him. As the foul little green creatures moved from the body of the Space Wolf to join their master, Yurtz set his plasma pistol on 'purge.'

Seeing the menace of his opponent’s actions, Vyrus le Peste brought his bolter up to fire.

The lesson of the Khan had been lightning warfare – move swiftly and strike your opponent where he least expected it, then move again and strike elsewhere. Yurtz had mastered the doctrine of the White Scars, riding his bike as if born to it. Though he had left his bike with his brotherhood when he had been seconded to the Legio, he knew well the lessons of lightning warfare. Even without his bike he could move swiftly in order to take his opponent down. Moving quickly, Yurtz charged his opponent at a dead run in order to close within striking distance.

Patience was the watchword of the Death Guard. Death came to all things – there was no need to hasten it. The white-armored Space Marine’s sudden movement put him beneath the trajectory of the first bolt and Vyrus watched as it exploded harmlessly against the far bulkhead. His second shot was well-aimed, though, and succeeded in penetrating the power armor covering the White Scars’ chest. Vyrus congratulated himself inwardly as the bolt exploded, sending a spray of blood and flesh across the pristine white armor of his opponent. His finger tensed on the trigger for another volley.

The pain of the exploding bolt was a wave of white hot pain, almost forcing Yurtz to falter in his charge. Indomitable will fought through the pain, though, and the White Scar closed off that portion of his brain that registered the trauma to his body. Even as his disciplined mind blocked the pain out, his body went to work stopping the flow of blood. Despite the agony wracking his chest, Yurtz raised the plasma pistol and fired.

The stream of molten plasma struck the mutant Space Marine dead on, burning through a number of the diminutive creatures that crawled across the green-armored traitor’s body and melting through corroded power armor with ease. Quickly coming to a halt, Yurtz felt some small satisfaction in seeing the tortured look that danced across his opponent’s features. The babbling of the small creatures became a hideous wailing as they turned upon those among them who had died in the plasma blast. The mutant let out a rumbling curse as it raised its bolter.

The initial pain of the plasma blast was a reminder to Vyrus that death came to all things. Even though this fool was a slave to the Corpse God, he was still a threat. Vyrus would not underestimate this one again. Feeling the destruction the blast had wrought upon his body, Vyrus knew that Father Nurgle would reward him greatly for the death of this opponent. As his minions devoured each other, he rapid-fired the bolter once again.

He had not realized how much damage had been done to his body, however. The first bolt merely glanced off the thick shoulder armor of his opponent and the second shot went wide when his shaking arms could not hold the bolter steady. Vyrus’ single eye closed in momentary disappointment. He would settle this in close combat, taking the white-armored warrior’s head for the Lord of Decay.

With a bestial roar, Vyrus le Peste jumped forward towards his opponent. The servant of Nurgle fired another bolt as his opponent brought the pistol up to shoot again.


"Leather and perfume didn't stop my plasma rounds. Leprosy and flatulence will not bother them, either," Yurtz thought.

All that showed on his scarred face, however, was a smirk.

Fired upon at close range, the only thing that saved Yurtz was the armor covering his lead shoulder. The explosive bolt hit the thick ceramite armor at an angle and was deflected away, impacting with the deck and exploding. The force of the bolt’s impact threw Yurtz’ aim off momentarily and the first shot of his plasma pistol was too high. Yurtz could feel the pistol heating up, but fired again as the mutant closed within striking range.

This time his aim was true, burning plasma hitting the mutant square in the single eye. The head of the traitor was immediately melted away in the jet of white-hot plasma. The plasma struck the creature, sending its minions into uncontrollable evacuation and shrieking. Yurtz felt a sense of irony as he watched the pathetic creatures that had accompanied the mutant warrior suddenly turn upon his still-twitching body, feeding upon the rotting flesh within the corrupt armour.

Looking up suddenly at the warcry of another traitor, Yurtz was careful to walk around the smoking ruin of crust and soot in front of him, lest his armor be sullied.

Victory to Yurtz.

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