04-23-2015, 04:18 PM
I have eight minutes before the ritual completes, by my estimate at least. I have to get to the summoning circle! I let out a bellow and spray bolt rounds across the room at the shrieking spider-beings that return fire with their autoguns and lasweapons. I roll out of the way, dodge behind a pillar, and come hurtling out from behind it and cleave downward with my force axe; however, I only manage to nick the foul xenos. I shove it backwards with the shaft of my axe and fire two precise pistol shots, the first shot blowing a bloody hole in its chest but not killing it, the second one detonating in its face and stunning it. I make sure of that by battering its face with the flat of Bulwark, then crash my way forward towards the cultists in the middle of the room, autogun shots pinging off me, little more than so much metal rain against my ceramite and adamantine power armor. One shot grazes me but fails to strike any vital organs, spraying a bit of blood in the air but doing precious little else.
I haven't reached the circle yet, but I press on, hacking my way through arachnoids relentlessly, sparing none. My pistol and my force axe are equally deadly, spitting bolt rounds and rending bodies with every step I take.
Suddenly there's a flash of light and I stagger as my psychic hood goes freezingly cold against the back of my neck. I'm...too late. A daemon has been summoned. A Lord of Change.
Close combat ensues immediately as I cry, "FOR THE GLORY OF FERRUS MANUS! FOR HE WHO SITS UPON THE THRONE OF TERRA!"
A cold chuckle fills my mind as I draw closer and I gasp as the Daemon rears its avian head and gazes at me balefully.
/FOOLS, THE BOTH OF THEM./ A flaming sword appears in its hand and it swoops at me with a shriek.
Even my hyperkeen senses are unable to register it as anything more than a blur, and suddenly I'm on the floor, bleeding from a dozen places, my armor rent open and unable to feel my right arm. I glance with an effort to my right and I see naught but a stump, the severed limb lying on the floor, still spurting blood.
That cold laughter fills my mind again and I grit my teeth, painkillers flowing through my system rapidly as I relax slowly and focus my mind in the way the Epistolaries have taught me.
I prepare to emit a banshee howl of fury, shattering the skulls of those around me, but it's choked off as the Tzeentchian daemon regards me hatefully, staring with one beady eye down at me. It strides forward to finish me off and I breathe, "...in His name...," defiant to the end...
A shadow moves in the back of the room and the daemon's head whips around...just as a scream, like the one I was planning to unleash, slams into him, splitting the heads of the cultists in a shower of gore and causing the Greater Daemon to put its clawed hands to its head, claws digging in deep enough to draw ichor, screaming in agony. I struggle to my feet and heft Bulwark in my remaining hand, and give a yell as I charge the ax's power field with what remains of my willpower, and hurl it directly into the daemon's head, sundering it instantly. The spider-xenos give a wail and retreat as my glowing-eyed savior strides towards me purposefully. I focus my dimming eyesight...It's a girl. Barely into adolescence, if she's entered it at all. She gazes at me in concern, fear, and confusion in equal measure as everything goes dark, possibly never to brighten again.
I haven't reached the circle yet, but I press on, hacking my way through arachnoids relentlessly, sparing none. My pistol and my force axe are equally deadly, spitting bolt rounds and rending bodies with every step I take.
Suddenly there's a flash of light and I stagger as my psychic hood goes freezingly cold against the back of my neck. I'm...too late. A daemon has been summoned. A Lord of Change.
Close combat ensues immediately as I cry, "FOR THE GLORY OF FERRUS MANUS! FOR HE WHO SITS UPON THE THRONE OF TERRA!"
A cold chuckle fills my mind as I draw closer and I gasp as the Daemon rears its avian head and gazes at me balefully.
/FOOLS, THE BOTH OF THEM./ A flaming sword appears in its hand and it swoops at me with a shriek.
Even my hyperkeen senses are unable to register it as anything more than a blur, and suddenly I'm on the floor, bleeding from a dozen places, my armor rent open and unable to feel my right arm. I glance with an effort to my right and I see naught but a stump, the severed limb lying on the floor, still spurting blood.
That cold laughter fills my mind again and I grit my teeth, painkillers flowing through my system rapidly as I relax slowly and focus my mind in the way the Epistolaries have taught me.
I prepare to emit a banshee howl of fury, shattering the skulls of those around me, but it's choked off as the Tzeentchian daemon regards me hatefully, staring with one beady eye down at me. It strides forward to finish me off and I breathe, "...in His name...," defiant to the end...
A shadow moves in the back of the room and the daemon's head whips around...just as a scream, like the one I was planning to unleash, slams into him, splitting the heads of the cultists in a shower of gore and causing the Greater Daemon to put its clawed hands to its head, claws digging in deep enough to draw ichor, screaming in agony. I struggle to my feet and heft Bulwark in my remaining hand, and give a yell as I charge the ax's power field with what remains of my willpower, and hurl it directly into the daemon's head, sundering it instantly. The spider-xenos give a wail and retreat as my glowing-eyed savior strides towards me purposefully. I focus my dimming eyesight...It's a girl. Barely into adolescence, if she's entered it at all. She gazes at me in concern, fear, and confusion in equal measure as everything goes dark, possibly never to brighten again.