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Blood Vow

Happiness is success... (Buddha)

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Black Vengeance - Conclusion


A black pool of poisonous liquid mired quietly under the fading light as the sun sank low and dark clouds began to roll over the sunken horizon. The barren landscape seemed empty except for the Sons of Horus and Templars. Both champions stared across the pool, neither speaking.

Sigismund looked up to see a swarm of harpies suddenly crossing over between them. One fell from the sky directly towards him. Immediately he struck out with his sword chopping the daemon in twain splitting it right down the middle. Goops of pungent black bile exploded from the wretched remains of the warp creature spilling down upon the loyalist champion. Sigismund cursed silently as the sticky fluids filled the lenses of his helmet blinding his sight.

The Templar then heard Abbadon issuing a formal challenge. "So be it." he replied as he drew upon his enhanced auto senses immersing himself in his four other senses. He could smell the trepidation rolling off Horus' most favored champion and the crunch of gravel crushed under his terminator boots echoed within his ears. His tongue seemed to taste the hot traitor blood flowing within the corrupted vessel of the Despoiler.

Sigismund adopted a defensive posture dropping into a low crouch bringing up the black sword gripped tightly with both his blackened enameled gauntlets. "There is no joy in this galaxy greater than slaying your enemy." came the deep voice of Abbadon. The Templar listened closely knowing from which exact direction came his foe.

Slashing out with his blade the sword cut straight up striking hard against Cataprachti armor. Sigismund could smell the burning arcs of eldritch energy pouring out from the fractal edge of the black sword slicing through the hardened admantium outer layer. "You were saying?" he replied goading his enemy.

He imagined Abbadon moving towards his purposely exposed left side. The high pitch of an energized power fist screamed out into the dark void as the traitor struck his first blow. Sigismund ducked underneath the massive weapon driving an armor knee up into the Despoiler's groin. He heard Abbadon groan as he shot off to his right.

Quickly swinging his head around to clear his vision Sigismund bound into the pool of poison. The sweetly sick ether eminating from the bile ate away the thick dark harpy matter. His sight returned just in time to see Abbadon rushing straight towards him striking a second blow with his massive power fist.

Involuntarily flinching the traitor's fist struck him hard in the shoulder knocking him down into the black pool. Sigismund righted himself sloshing through the venomous fluids suddenly emerging on the far side. It was a death blow that would have instantly slain any other combatant but there stood the Templar erect squarely holding the black sword in a new posture of direct attack.

Abbadon cursed in frustration as he crossed through the pool as well, careful to maintain a safe distance from the outstretched long blade. "Well played." said the traitor as he ascended from the dark quagmire. "Well played."

Sigismund struck out like an unwinding vyper driving his sword straight towards the traitor's chest plate. The tip of the double edged blade hit true driving through the armor piercing both lung and heart. "There is no joy in this galaxy, only duty." said the Emperor's Champion as he tugged loose his sword. Abbadon felt numb as his limbs grew stiff and cold.

"I shall leave you here to bleed out for all your chosen to see." Sigismund grunted as his sword pulled loose again. "Your treachery is predictable and that makes you vulnerable." Sigismund was already backing away from the rigid figure watching ever intently.

"We shall fight again another day, mark my words dog, and it will be my day." The traitor's joints had swollen and were stiff, his tongue like super heavy lead as he slurred the last remark. Already his chosen has come to his side to aid him as they lifted him back up leading their beaten champion slowly back towards the waiting assault claw.

He turned ever so painfully to look back one last time. The Emperor's Champion was nowhere to be seen now and the black Spartan had vanished back into the night.

New 40k Primarchs (Loyalists)

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