It seems I hold the record of giving identities to our otherwise nameless foes! ^_^
What can I say, I like making it more personal...
Hah, only problem is I don't think anyone is in any condition to pursue, except maybe Boss himself, eh?
Eisenhorn
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Hah, only problem is I don't think anyone is in any condition to pursue, except maybe Boss himself, eh?
Stukov sighed, which was painful sounding due to the underlying gurgle of blood that came with it, as Golden Bitch decided to become cannon fodder for Maltheus and his newest, grandest method of trying to escape being taken as a prisoner by the Inquisition. Seems she was an unwilling participant as well, as she was taken by the force unwillingly and mutated, the guts and blood spewing everywhere made the Armsman holster his sidearm and take the Cogboy rifle in both hands, already drawing a bead as the thing roared, warp tendrils waving everywhere and creating all sorts of ruckus. If the headache and voices he heard before were bad, this was a whole other level of pain and suffering in his brainspace. He was not unshielded, having spent his entire career guarding himself from the warp while engaging it, even on its own territory, but with the sheer sensitivity and raw outbursts of power left him ragged to begin with. But he stood his ground, scowling as he lifted the rifle and trained it on the abomination, firing off a shot that seemed to take out one of its flailing limbs, but to no real avail as it also took the spear and other attacks the retinue added. Boss showing up and taunting it probably didn't help, and if he could speak, he would have probably been rather ticked about the man putting himself in harms way like that.
When the cruel aura of lethargy grew and begin lifting them off the ground, the Armsman growled as his eyes seemed to flicker between sapphire blue and their natural color, subconsciously fighting the influence of the warp abomination. His wounds bled faster, to be sure, and the blood loss was indeed there, but he struggled against the lack of gravity, lifting the Cogboy rifle to try and fire again, adding in another high powered round in addition to the massive waves of power coming from Smiles as she screamed and unleashed waves of powerful lightning against the warp abomination. Stukov faded in and out of consciousness during the ordeal, each fade in consciousness meeting with an increase in power from the sapphire glow, while struggling back seemed to bring him back to the natural order of his eyes. Soon enough they were dropped, and he hit the ground, collapsing under his own weight, barely catching himself with the Cogboy rifle. Groaning he forced himself up onto his feet, gaze pained but rapidly hardening as he turned to set his gaze on Maltheus. This one, the source of all this chaos and mayhem, he would not pay for his arrogance and heresy.
The Armsman slung the Cogboy rifle, drawing his Naval Pistol and reloading, the empty magazine clinking in the now eerie silence as the Armsman stood to tower over the heretical cult leader, and for all the damage he had sustained, exuded an aura of pure dread, although this was not so much a warp extension as it was that, no doubt in the eyes of Maltheus, this mortal Armsman, no augmatics or heritage of power beyond an apparent untrained, newly found, and raw connection to the warp had stormed through every defense he had, refused to die in the face of better trained, or armed, psykers, daemons, and thugs, and was now standing over him, armed with the means of executing the man. From what Sis had said, medical help was coming, and he levered the Naval Pistol towards the head of Maltheus, before lowering its aim and putting a round through his knee cap, blowing apart the man's knee and preventing any possible means for him to escape before slamming the hilt of the pistol onto his head, knocking him out cold, or intending to, and ripping the bayonet from his abdomen, binding the wounds in dead silence before standing and taking a step off the platform before collapsing, finally, under the weight of fatigue and injury. He was still conscious, and he gestured towards Boss, and then at Maltheus, attempting to indicate the man was of great importance and would have information, no doubt. Hard, considering his vocal cords were utterly destroyed.
When the cruel aura of lethargy grew and begin lifting them off the ground, the Armsman growled as his eyes seemed to flicker between sapphire blue and their natural color, subconsciously fighting the influence of the warp abomination. His wounds bled faster, to be sure, and the blood loss was indeed there, but he struggled against the lack of gravity, lifting the Cogboy rifle to try and fire again, adding in another high powered round in addition to the massive waves of power coming from Smiles as she screamed and unleashed waves of powerful lightning against the warp abomination. Stukov faded in and out of consciousness during the ordeal, each fade in consciousness meeting with an increase in power from the sapphire glow, while struggling back seemed to bring him back to the natural order of his eyes. Soon enough they were dropped, and he hit the ground, collapsing under his own weight, barely catching himself with the Cogboy rifle. Groaning he forced himself up onto his feet, gaze pained but rapidly hardening as he turned to set his gaze on Maltheus. This one, the source of all this chaos and mayhem, he would not pay for his arrogance and heresy.
The Armsman slung the Cogboy rifle, drawing his Naval Pistol and reloading, the empty magazine clinking in the now eerie silence as the Armsman stood to tower over the heretical cult leader, and for all the damage he had sustained, exuded an aura of pure dread, although this was not so much a warp extension as it was that, no doubt in the eyes of Maltheus, this mortal Armsman, no augmatics or heritage of power beyond an apparent untrained, newly found, and raw connection to the warp had stormed through every defense he had, refused to die in the face of better trained, or armed, psykers, daemons, and thugs, and was now standing over him, armed with the means of executing the man. From what Sis had said, medical help was coming, and he levered the Naval Pistol towards the head of Maltheus, before lowering its aim and putting a round through his knee cap, blowing apart the man's knee and preventing any possible means for him to escape before slamming the hilt of the pistol onto his head, knocking him out cold, or intending to, and ripping the bayonet from his abdomen, binding the wounds in dead silence before standing and taking a step off the platform before collapsing, finally, under the weight of fatigue and injury. He was still conscious, and he gestured towards Boss, and then at Maltheus, attempting to indicate the man was of great importance and would have information, no doubt. Hard, considering his vocal cords were utterly destroyed.
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
I´ve always wanted to say that!
Adrianne is defo a Palpatine fangirl xD
Hah, guess I'll post in the aftermath then. Good ol Smiles making the Emperor proud this day (Which one, well, I'll let you decide!) Maltheus is about to have a real bad day.
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
This fight might end with Adrianne going all UNLIMITED POWER on the warp monstrosity!
Emperor Palpatine, if you would please?
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
That's daemons in a nutshell! They live for the moment, not thinking of the consequences ^^
(unless they're Tzeentchian!)
As for Maltheus, expect desperate crawling while we deal with Astrid's 10ft tall warp monstrosity... that also has awesome psychic powers, mainly biomancy and telepathy!
Oh I don't think our friend Maltheus will be going anywhere really quickly, not with a bayonet in his gut, and (once our good Sister is posted for) blown apart knee caps from a certain Armsman's pistol. And of course our 10ft tall warp monster has pysker powers, being born from a psyker and all!
This miiiiiight be Smiles time to shine since, well, Sis is shocked on the deck and Stukov is pretty much one stiff breeze from being knocked over again. Not sure how many more times he can take that, either.
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
Pssh, considering Chaos, it could have been worse! :P 10ft isn't THAT big... all chaos-muties considered.
Imagine if Maltheus had empowered saleen instead, then we'd have to fight a giant daemonette who was already kicking our butts(aviza's at least) while in her default size! xD
Fair, but I blame Saleen for knocking the Galvanic Rifle right towards Stukov who, you know, for not having any vocal cords, being slammed about like a ragdoll in a tornado, and generally getting his ass handed to him by the untamed powers of the Warp that he is sporadically channeling, is the last person to give a really powerful rifle to. So I suppose we should thank Saleen for taking herself out of the equation, yea?
All I know is that when this warp spawn is dead, Maltheus is going to really, really, really not enjoy what happens next.
Great, as if things couldn't possibly get any better, we got ourselves a grossly oversized spawn of chaos.
Stukov glared callously at the black armored goon raising an autogun at him, intending to finish off the battered and wounded Armsman. To his credit, he had his sidearm trained on the man in return, even though it would take a good, well placed shot to punch through the abnormally thick carapace the goons appeared to be wearing. At least he gave Maltheus a damn good injury to worry about, might slow them down long enough for the rest of the retinue to catch up and put him out of his misery. As soon as the door blew off its hinges inwards, however, a battered, knowing grin was on the armsman's face. He knew what that was as Smiles and Sis stormed in, Sis holding some Cogboy rifle while Smiles was all her usual grand psyker power house. Some might have even called it a shit eating grin, because every single heretic in this room was about to get right proper destroyed. The one turning his autogun towards the two entering the room forced the downed Armsman to act, firing off several rounds that glanced off the black Carapace they were wearing, which promptly got his attention again before getting torn to shreds by bolter fire.
The cogboy rifle seemed to be frying the other thug before the man detonated, sending bits of carapace and blood all over the place. Well, shit, he needed one of those rifles, Stukov couldn't help but think as he started forcing himself into motion. Still fighting to be done, Astrid and her pet daemon, as well as dealing with Maltheus. Spotting the daemon before Sis did, he tried to get out a warning to her but little more than a gargled choking noise came out, as well as forcing him to spit blood onto the deck. Great, he couldn't speak, that was going to make things difficult. But the daemonette was besting the Sororitas sister, sending the cogboy rifle clattering right to his feet as it began sparking and glowing like it had right before Sis fired it before. "Not how I wanted to get one, but it will suffice." Stukov thought as he grabbed the thing, hauling it up to his shoulder and taking a dead aim on the Daemon. No fancy one liners, no bold quips, just a quiet trigger squeeze and the harsh noise of the weapon discharging, sending a round hurtling dead center of the daemonette. "How about no eye, you daemonic, warp spawned abomination..."
The rifle was discharged and that left Astrid, and Maltheus. The hostile psyker had gone and engaged Smiles and was giving her a rough time, and giving his newfound weapon a quick look over, he cycled the weapon's bolt and watched it charge back up. It wasn't a fast firing weapon, then, and he drew his sidearm, taking careful aim at the hostile psyker as she stood facing Smiles and opened fire, emptying the magazine her direction. Other than the mask, she hadn't appeared to be wearing heavy armor and the rounds he kept loaded in his Naval Pistol were devastating on flesh and light armor. Even then, it was all an effort to get the attention of the hostile psyker off Smiles as he stood up fully, rifle in one hand and the Naval pistol in the other, empty magazine dropping as he slung the rifle, reloading the sidearm while the cogboy rifle recharged. He was keeping half an eye out for Maltheus trying to run, because if he did, he would be gunned down. That man had his bayonet, and he would be reclaiming it before this was said and done.
The cogboy rifle seemed to be frying the other thug before the man detonated, sending bits of carapace and blood all over the place. Well, shit, he needed one of those rifles, Stukov couldn't help but think as he started forcing himself into motion. Still fighting to be done, Astrid and her pet daemon, as well as dealing with Maltheus. Spotting the daemon before Sis did, he tried to get out a warning to her but little more than a gargled choking noise came out, as well as forcing him to spit blood onto the deck. Great, he couldn't speak, that was going to make things difficult. But the daemonette was besting the Sororitas sister, sending the cogboy rifle clattering right to his feet as it began sparking and glowing like it had right before Sis fired it before. "Not how I wanted to get one, but it will suffice." Stukov thought as he grabbed the thing, hauling it up to his shoulder and taking a dead aim on the Daemon. No fancy one liners, no bold quips, just a quiet trigger squeeze and the harsh noise of the weapon discharging, sending a round hurtling dead center of the daemonette. "How about no eye, you daemonic, warp spawned abomination..."
The rifle was discharged and that left Astrid, and Maltheus. The hostile psyker had gone and engaged Smiles and was giving her a rough time, and giving his newfound weapon a quick look over, he cycled the weapon's bolt and watched it charge back up. It wasn't a fast firing weapon, then, and he drew his sidearm, taking careful aim at the hostile psyker as she stood facing Smiles and opened fire, emptying the magazine her direction. Other than the mask, she hadn't appeared to be wearing heavy armor and the rounds he kept loaded in his Naval Pistol were devastating on flesh and light armor. Even then, it was all an effort to get the attention of the hostile psyker off Smiles as he stood up fully, rifle in one hand and the Naval pistol in the other, empty magazine dropping as he slung the rifle, reloading the sidearm while the cogboy rifle recharged. He was keeping half an eye out for Maltheus trying to run, because if he did, he would be gunned down. That man had his bayonet, and he would be reclaiming it before this was said and done.
Long post is long, and here I am making such short posts in return.
Stukov went to fire the autogun and put this madness to an end, and yet as much as his mind and soul wanted, his body rebelled and remained frozen, shuddering subtly as he fought to force the finger of his trigger hand down enough to discharge the weapon, but no matter how close he got it wasn't enough. A grimace spread on his face as he forced his head far enough to see, in his perephrial vision, the one behind him that was apparently causing this. Gold mask, the bitch from the servo skull recording. So the two events were linked after all, couldn't call him surprised in that regard. The cloud of smoke revealing a daemonette certainly didn't help matters at all as he strained against the invisible bindings on him, the unseen chains tormenting him and preventing him from acting against his target so close in front of him, the strain would be noticed by Astrid as abnormal, since it suggested a sheer determination to never give in or buckle. The perfect kind of man that Chaos loved to break, when they could, but he would not submit lightly regardless of whatever they attempted to do. He could feel the strain was not doing him any favors, but that wasn't going to stop him until his body physically could not operate any further. Straining still, he watched the cultist leader order his men to execute him, and before the Daemonette stepped in, those near him would hear his muttered defiance. "Bold talk for a traitor that will be changing his robes later."
Both obvious and subtle insinuations aside, when the Daemonette stepped in, Stukov only increased his straining against the unseen bindings. The warp spawned abomination loomed well over him, the damned creature's hand smearing the blood that had been running down one side of his face and interrupting the otherwise symmetrical lines of blood loss down his face. It defended the interference, claiming something that the Armsman refused to believe. He was no psyker, whatever damned lies the thing was spinning was none of his concern. A Daemon would always lie, just to get its way, and if that meant whatever liking it had taken was satiated, he had seen better men than himself break and crumble under their ministrations. He would not be going anywhere with this lot, and even as the daemon had pushed the autogun aside like chaff before a scythe, the tension and fight to raise the weapon at the cult leader was palpable, even obvious to those observing. The warp spawn asked for a name, moving ever closer, and he made a desperate ploy, tension loosening in a false surrender.
"My name...."
His left arm dropped back, following the way the unseen chains had been pulling, falling to his side as he was apparently pulled upright, autogun's sling tugging the thing at an awkward angle, bayonet pointed towards the ceiling as it slipped off his shoulder, barely not falling out of his grasp but no obvious threat.
"...is Senior Armsman Alexei Stukov and I will not..."
Within a split second his eyes went from their natural hues to the burning, sapphire blue that was fueled by sheer hatred and spite for the Warp spawned abomination and those that would consort willingly with such beings, and with the damn creature so close there was no avoiding his move, unaware of the unchecked powers surging forward, amplifying his actions and speed by magnitude, all a subconscious survival instinct to catch this Astrid off guard and as the autogun fell down, an echoing, keening howl backed fueled by the pain, suffering, and spite that welled up for the Warp and its agents, amplifying his latent powers. Coupled with the thin boundaries to the warp, the action could be comparable to a Banshee's Wail, with far more force and the closest to be affected would be the warp spawned freak and her handler, the renegade Psyker.
"SUBMIT"
It was not a finished phrase as the word blasted outwards with warp power and Stukov wrenched with all his might, breaking the bindings enough for his hand to blur towards the autogun as the two grenades next to his left hand fell to the deck, his last flashbang and concussion grenade, both missing their pins as he yanked the bayonet blade off the autogun that now fell in slow motion, arm whipping not at the Daemonette but past her, launching the blade hurtling towards the cult leader Maltheus in the desperate last hope to at least cripple the heretic bastard. He could feel his vocal cords, damaged as they were, be torn asunder by the foreign forces, completely crippling any means of even whispering and coughing out what little he had already, and he kicked off towards the far wall. If things went well, the concussive force would slam him into the wall with enough force to kill him so he could not be taken alive. Second best, it bought the others time to hone in on the sudden noise and violence breaking out. At worse, he could try to force them to kill him by not submitting, he still had his pistol yet as the autogun tumbled out of reach.
The concussive force would throw him into the far wall with considerable force, cracking the carapace plate he wore and forcing him to wretch up splatters of blood onto the ground as he slid to the ground in a sitting position, amplifying the previous impacts with even more blunt trauma. He was alive, vision unharmed due to the shades he wore, the ones he had picked up before making landfall from the Inquisitor's armory. Reaching into his coat, he dragged the Naval Pistol out of it's holster, struggling as he lifted it and aimed at anything that so much as twitched and would fire, whether it was in defiance of the Daemon or the Psyker, or making a few last spiteful strikes against the cultists and their leader Maltheus. He had made his last ploy, for whatever good it would be, and now it was in the Emperor's hands to either accept him, or deliver him from Evil.
Both obvious and subtle insinuations aside, when the Daemonette stepped in, Stukov only increased his straining against the unseen bindings. The warp spawned abomination loomed well over him, the damned creature's hand smearing the blood that had been running down one side of his face and interrupting the otherwise symmetrical lines of blood loss down his face. It defended the interference, claiming something that the Armsman refused to believe. He was no psyker, whatever damned lies the thing was spinning was none of his concern. A Daemon would always lie, just to get its way, and if that meant whatever liking it had taken was satiated, he had seen better men than himself break and crumble under their ministrations. He would not be going anywhere with this lot, and even as the daemon had pushed the autogun aside like chaff before a scythe, the tension and fight to raise the weapon at the cult leader was palpable, even obvious to those observing. The warp spawn asked for a name, moving ever closer, and he made a desperate ploy, tension loosening in a false surrender.
"My name...."
His left arm dropped back, following the way the unseen chains had been pulling, falling to his side as he was apparently pulled upright, autogun's sling tugging the thing at an awkward angle, bayonet pointed towards the ceiling as it slipped off his shoulder, barely not falling out of his grasp but no obvious threat.
"...is Senior Armsman Alexei Stukov and I will not..."
Within a split second his eyes went from their natural hues to the burning, sapphire blue that was fueled by sheer hatred and spite for the Warp spawned abomination and those that would consort willingly with such beings, and with the damn creature so close there was no avoiding his move, unaware of the unchecked powers surging forward, amplifying his actions and speed by magnitude, all a subconscious survival instinct to catch this Astrid off guard and as the autogun fell down, an echoing, keening howl backed fueled by the pain, suffering, and spite that welled up for the Warp and its agents, amplifying his latent powers. Coupled with the thin boundaries to the warp, the action could be comparable to a Banshee's Wail, with far more force and the closest to be affected would be the warp spawned freak and her handler, the renegade Psyker.
"SUBMIT"
It was not a finished phrase as the word blasted outwards with warp power and Stukov wrenched with all his might, breaking the bindings enough for his hand to blur towards the autogun as the two grenades next to his left hand fell to the deck, his last flashbang and concussion grenade, both missing their pins as he yanked the bayonet blade off the autogun that now fell in slow motion, arm whipping not at the Daemonette but past her, launching the blade hurtling towards the cult leader Maltheus in the desperate last hope to at least cripple the heretic bastard. He could feel his vocal cords, damaged as they were, be torn asunder by the foreign forces, completely crippling any means of even whispering and coughing out what little he had already, and he kicked off towards the far wall. If things went well, the concussive force would slam him into the wall with enough force to kill him so he could not be taken alive. Second best, it bought the others time to hone in on the sudden noise and violence breaking out. At worse, he could try to force them to kill him by not submitting, he still had his pistol yet as the autogun tumbled out of reach.
The concussive force would throw him into the far wall with considerable force, cracking the carapace plate he wore and forcing him to wretch up splatters of blood onto the ground as he slid to the ground in a sitting position, amplifying the previous impacts with even more blunt trauma. He was alive, vision unharmed due to the shades he wore, the ones he had picked up before making landfall from the Inquisitor's armory. Reaching into his coat, he dragged the Naval Pistol out of it's holster, struggling as he lifted it and aimed at anything that so much as twitched and would fire, whether it was in defiance of the Daemon or the Psyker, or making a few last spiteful strikes against the cultists and their leader Maltheus. He had made his last ploy, for whatever good it would be, and now it was in the Emperor's hands to either accept him, or deliver him from Evil.
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