Avatar of Al
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    1. Al 8 yrs ago

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"Comrades! Today the great enemy is slain! It is their blood that covers this land, the blood of the heretic! Find solace in that we have driven the dogs from this area, and avenged a great man! Today! Peace is not within our vocabulary, for we do the work of the Emperor himself!" Mikail was fervently zealous in his shouting, raising his gore-covered shotgun into the air with a defiant roar of victory, the sorts that you'd probably expect the enemy to be making if they stood in your shoes right now. His wickedly bladed bayonet is still in the possession of a rather bloody chunk of chest-flesh from the heretic he so savagely speared. His face said it all really, a man so possessed by the sheer thrill of what had just occurred that his earlier madness seemed drastically less menacing than this.

Glaring at the corpse of the flesh-brute, Mikail simply laughed at the thing with all the humour that he had before, yet his words bore spite far beyond anything else. "You will atone for your sins! You will thank me for allowing you to die!" Every word dripped with a demented fusion of utter venom yet also happiness like he was talking to an old friend. It mattered little to the Valhallan, as he drew forth a tiny bottle - more a shot than anything else - of the potent spirit so famously associated with his homeworld, he chugged the thing like a fish from water before simply...calming down. To surrounding people, he literally just went from bloodthirsty rage to...utter calmness, in a fraction of a second...

With a warming laughter, he bellowed the friendly words of: "Come comrades! To the fortress, yes!"
Brother Fellwalker was not bothered in the least by the deaths of the former humans. He saw them as utterly devoid of the Emperor's light and as such must be purged with all the ferocity afforded to the heretics and xenos of this world. Hefting his immense chain axe, he simply began to wipe the blood from across it's huge, jagged teeth whilst following the Librarian and Assault Marine. "I don't remember the Tau being so...aggressive, in their indoctrination. Current information suggests they normally go the slow brain-washing side of things..." His speech was slow and considerate, one moment of laxity could condemn them all to a lifetime of suffering for their heresy.

Kaerell marched alongside his brothers into the command room of the Tau fortress, he didn't falter in the least when he saw the imposing stature of the Tau battlesuit, however. No, instead he hurled his axe with all his might into the battlesuit, causing a huge rent in the armour and surely splattering any unfortunate that piloted it...

No screams of agony came, though. Just damning silence as the suit stood there, the teeth of the chain axe ground into the composite sides of the armour. "By the throne, what is this madness?!" He raged, pulling the axe from the suit with a fluid motion before simply walking away like nothing had even occurred. "Purge this place..."
Mikail had a wild, savage gleam to his eye now he was in the midst of real combat. He eyed at his bloodied bayonet like a prized war trophy, a talisman that would see him through the very depths of hell and back without a wound to show. He roared his battle cry at the very height of his lungs, filling the small area with an invigorated cry of war. "Join me in battle! Do you WANT TO LIVE FOREVER?!" His maddened cries echoed across the battleground with all the resounding fury and hatred that a lifetime of warfare brings, each wretched little annoyance spewing forth in an unending tide of loathing towards the heretics arrayed before them.

Levelling his shotgun, a manic smile on his face, Mikail watched as the barrage of low-velocity slugs tore the heretic that was threatening Jack into sheer nothingness. No agony, no misery, just a large patch of greasy red paste and a few scattered chunks of gore were all that remained of the man. Mikail was absolutely joyous at this, his smile becoming ever wider until he turned to see the prone form of Viber being assaulted by the Chaos entity. A tremendous laughter went up from the Valhallan, as he cried out yet again. "When you die, give your enemy the same honour!" With this, he levelled the immense shotgun are fired off another shell at the demonic monstrosity.

The hail of buckshot, while not fatal, did as intended as a blow to the leg ripped muscles and damaged tendons with ease, causing the creature to staggered back from the Commissar. No one would harm the Valhallan's comrades. No one.
Rolling some dice here.


Mikail was not surprised din the least when the guardsmen turned out to be heretics. He simply wasn't. They never laughed at his jokes, nor did they actually look like normal people, but the former was forever more important to the Valhallan. With a fluidity of motion that no man should ever be capable of, he did as he'd been taught all his life. He affixed his bayonet, a wicked piece of serrated steel that was a full eight inches long and perfectly suited for stabbing into the unprotected flesh of another human, though he didn't charge, not yet. He shouldered the immense shotgun, racking the slide before squeezing the trigger once.

A hail of shot flew from the angry maw of the gun, hitting one of the knife-wielding heretics squares in the head, the man's brains splattered across the wall behind him, as blood squirted in an arc of vitae whilst the corpse simply slumped to the floor in a tangled heap. With a roar of victory, Mikail screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged forth at the other member of the former pair. An immense “Uraaaaaa!” Bellowed forth from the man as he charged forth and jammed his bayonet into the fleshy innards of the chaos heretic. The man didn't die but instead doubled over in immense pain from the wound.

“WITH ME! TO GLORY!”
Don't mind this
Mikail was not fazed in the slightest by any of the days actions thus far, nothing had bothered him from the crash to even watching the soldier summarily shoot himself in the head. Such was his absolute job with life that he hummed an iconic Valhallan battle tune that was forever famed by the numerous and indomitable tank regiments of that world. Happiness oozed from the man in all ways, a smile bright on his face, highlighting his angular features and pale skin in such a way as to make the ghostly trooper seem almost beaming in the literal sense. “I tell you, comrades! Is not as bad as could be! Could be stuck on the desert world! Or, worse, without booze!” His wisecracks were, in Mikail's mind, the very grandest of comedy potential, as though no human could make such a string of words seem to so wildly hilarious as to make a man cough such was his laughter.

It would be said that the Valhallan looked much like a wild man, barred pearly teeth bared in a wide smile and some, glint in his eye, some deep uneasiness that no man sane man would ever bear in his gaze. Yet Mikail was devoid of any pernicious rage and devoid of any hatred, he simply saw the world as he did: as one huge comedy wherein he was a star to perform to those around him. “Ah, I tell you, on days like these I think to self, Mikail, why is not of simply making Pelmeni? But then I am remembering that last time that happens I very nearly into getting shot by Commissar. He was such funny man, very serious man he was, but then he dies. Even happier, but not because of rank.” Mikail seemed to reserve himself somewhat during those few moments, his grin ceasing and his light fading, but he soon bounced back with a tremendous laughter that shook his body from end to end.

“I tell you! I never seen Ork body fly as far in whole life! Was like a firework but green! Reminds me of Kuchov, he was near Ork, less green, but probably worse body hygiene! Could stink out whole canteen with mere presence!”

Mikail's joyous nature was retained, and perhaps even made more extreme by the appearance of the other Imperial Guardsmen. He didn't much care for the Sargent's attitude, but his bearded friend seemed like a riot beyond reason, the perfect companion for the Valhallan.
Brother Kaerell roared in animalistic fury, his rage enveloping his physical form causing him to snarl under his helmet and leapt into the midst of the nearest bundle of mutated humans. His wrath was made manifest in how his blade made such a bloody dance about his foes, flaying flesh from bones and ripping limbs from their bodies. Blood was spattered all about his midnight black armour, spraying the walls with blackened lifeblood. "SLAY THE HERETIC! BURN THE MUTANT!" He bellowed, his voice echoing across the walls of the alien citadel, assailing the ears of all those about him.

Moving like a bloody butcher of death, Kaerell struck out four times rending limbs and flesh like it was wet paper. He felled three mutants with his mighty blows, their bodies rendered into unrecognisable mush. The first had the least painful of demises, as it's head was crushed into a paste by a power-armoured fist striking it, the bones cracking and the brain turning into literal jelly. The second was brought low by a kick to the chest, having its ribs demolished into nothingness before a boot crushed its skull. The last had the worst, as both its arms were literally ripped out from the sheer force of the blade striking it.

"By the might of the Emperor! We will eradicate you!"
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