[color=598527]"Not now, entertaining daemons is never worth the cost!"[/color] Stukov was glaring at the other two, Smiles was concerning him given the back and forth she seemed to be having with herself. Coupled with those....damned eyes in the jump through the warp, and he would have questions that might need answering. Of course, the illusion fizzled out after commenting on being such a strange bunch and leaving them a gift. No gift from a warp spawned abomination was going to be worth waiting for, but given they had deeper to breach into this cult's lair, well, they had little choice in the matter. Of course, with the illusion vanishing, the runes on the door also vanished, and the silence settled in. That was....bad. Very bad, if he had to hazard a guess that door was holding this Throne damned 'gift' back, and it was only a matter of moments before they were dealing with whatever was going to make their lives more difficult. He braced, every muscle tensed and ready to launch in any direction or action he was capable of.

	With the doors going as violently as they did, the Armsman darted sideways, evading the thoroughly destroyed remains of the door, and of course things got worse. Horrors, and a Warp Spawn, all with Tzeentchian influence. That meant flight, the horrors splitting upon trauma, sorcery and the works. He hated Horrors, they didn't know when to stay banished, and he leveled the shotgun and racked a shell, taking aim as it rushed him. Uttering a silent prayer to the Throne above, he opened fire, slam firing the shotgun into the oncoming Horrors, starting from the one immediately coming for him. The first one he hit, rather than simply ignoring the damage or splitting, seemed to reel and actually get torn apart by the blast, sharp eyes seeing the flashes of the blessed buckshot tearing the Horror apart. He kept firing until it was very thoroughly gone, racking the next shell and taking aim at the Spawn.

	[color=598527]"Deal with the rest, I'll get its attention!"[/color] Stukov went to slam fire the weapon at the Spawn, but only got a single shell of blessed buckshot off, the resounding, worrying sound of the weapon running empty answering his attempts to keep firing. Throwing it back on the sling, the Armsman ripped the chain cutlass from its sheath, the roar of the weapon coming to life as he drew his Naval Pistol, an autopistol designed for maximum damage to flesh without damaging components. He opened up with the pistol, ready to respond to either a deceptively fast charge, Spawn were tricky like that, or if the Horrors tried to turn from their targets of choice. He was ready, though, ready to face the warp spawned abominations again. Throne above preserve him and his damned fool allies.