The Eye of Terror: End of Terror

[Cameron]

The light radiates from Jharm and consumes everything around it. Bone and teeth are burned away, and the cracks in the walls begin to widen. Nurgle forces in more smog but the light clears it faster than it can form. With a sudden rumble, the walls collapse and are consumed, leaving Jharm free of Nurgle’s influence.

Tzeentch seems to anticipate Kitharsis’s actions, as it fires a volley of magic from behind Kitharis meant to knock him off balance and stop him from deflecting the spell. Fortunately, Soul Reaver’s arrival was not anticipated, and his defenses easily handle the attacks, leaving Kitharsis free to focus on the shields. The twin lances of disruption are reflected straight back at the cone. The sounds of conflicting majiks swells into a roar, and the cone is  consumed. The few remaining staff wielding appendages attempt to swing into the area the cone occupied but are destroyed by Kitharsis’s secondary volley. The remaining spells die off and Soul Reaver and Kitharsis find themselves uncontested.

The view that the three Companions are presented with explains the god’s silence. Only Danyael’s shifting prison of bodies is still intact. Every ounce of the Avatar’s remaining attention is focused on trying to free itself from the grasp of Gulgrim and move away from the WAAAGH!!! Fire that is slowly but surely consuming it. With three of the four gods now fully focused on Gulgrim, the ork finds his arms being pushed backwards. His body is blasted by bolter fire, bolts of lightning, and poison spikes that seem to fire from the Avatar at completely random locations and intervals. He can also feel a great energy building within the Avatar. Something that is clearly meant for him.

Inside the shell of clones and echoes, Slaanesh laughs a melodious laugh, reminiscent of church bells on a  wedding day, as they shake Danyael’s hand.

“WONDERFUL. WE SHALL TURN THE TIDE OF THIS BATTLE, AND THEN TOGETHER-”

Slaanesh’s words are cut short as a number of his clones are obliterated by warp energy, creating a gap where only Danyael’s echoes remain. A figure slips in between them, wreathed in warp fire. A voice intimately familiar to Danyael rings out.

“Danyael? What are you doing?”

This is definitely Mary, but a number of things are certainly off. Her polished plate armor is gone, replaced by traveling clothes and a hooded cloak of colors identical to those of Daynael’s own Everworld cloak. The two handed sword she wields is comprised of a deep obsidian material with bright purple veins of energy coursing through it. And her voice sounds older. Even older than that of the Future Mary that recently left Danyael’s side. The extra time seems to have done her well, as she looks better than ever, and extremely well rested. Danyael can also sense that her power has greatly increased. One would expect her to possibly be angry with the scenario laid out before her, but her only expression is an amused smirk.

“This offer of power would be insulting to the man I know. Are you really going to let this pathetic cast-off of a god, who by the way, is desperate for your help because his friends are outside currently losing badly, try to sway you with promises of things you already have?”

Slaanesh snarls. Their facial expression changes their complexion from one of abject beauty to one of almost terrifying perfection.

“LISTEN NOT TO THIS VILE CREATURE. SHE IS NOT WORTHY TO LICK THE HEEL OF YOUR BOOT.”

Some of the clones disengage from Danyael’s echoes and hurl themselves at Mary, crying and shrieking as they attempt to tear her apart. Mary moves swiftly, cutting the first few down with her sword and consuming the remaining attackers with warp fire. Mary grins.

“Come on, Danyael Ilixandros. Let’s kill a god. For old time’s sake.”


Neither Peterson or Cameron have immediately moved to engage each other. Cameron is taking stock of his energy levels and injuries to see how aggressive he can afford to be. Peterson, meanwhile, no longer has the ability to see Cameron’s moves before he makes them, and is thus holding back to avoid being surprised. Mary is not looking at either of them, and instead has turned her attention back to the warp rift behind them.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Is this not interesting enough for you?”

Mary’s mind was elsewhere, back in the Warp. She can feel something is wrong. Something with Danyael. She briefly considers leaving Cameron and diving back in to try and find them, but she knows that she is currently where she needs to be. She makes a mental note to herself to look into this later before Peterson’s snide comment brings her back to attention.

“Oh, fuck off. You haven’t even attacked yet. You’re just standing there, looking stupid.”

Peterson makes a big show of looking mock offended.

“Well now! You’re talking a mighty big game for someone who I’ve already beaten within an inch of her life today. Anything else to add before I finish the job?”

Mary grins.

“Yeah. Pay attention.”

Peterson has just enough time to look confused before Cameron’s armored boot strikes him directly in the face. He howls in pain as he falls. His few remaining chains dig into the earth and yank him upright and backwards, barely avoiding a downward slash from Valermos. He lands a few feet away.

“Oh, so very fucking CLEVER. Come on, Cameron. Stop fucking around and fight me face to face!”

Peterson takes a step back before lunging at Cameron, who also lunges forward in response. Now the fight truly begins.

[Veldanya Venalla]

The Seraphim floats down to the ground, light still radiating from within him.  His gaze settles on the struggle between Gulgrim and the Avatar.

"Well...three against one.  That certainly doesn't seem to be very fair now does it?  I believe it is time to rectify this.  It seems clear that your...Gork and Mork are quite formidable, you need not face this alone any longer my friend.  The Light, as always, stands with you."

Jharm raises a hand upwards.  From above them a multitude of lights seem to flicker into existence.  The small lights quickly begin to get bigger and bigger as the orbs scream downwards, all focusing in on the Avatar from every direction.

[Danyael]

A single finger from one of the echoes lifted to touch Danyael’s lips as he voicelessly uttered a ‘Shhhhh’ ever so gently. Whether he was addressing Mary or Slaanesh wasn’t clear. “You mistake me.” Danyael said, his voice eerily calming in the presence of the now hostile Slaanesh, his grip hardening all the more as the bond between the Prince of Pleasure and the Nephilim Lord of the Imperium deepened. Soon, the forms that were once their ‘arms’ seemed almost indistinguishably similar, as if they were now the same limb linking the two beings together.

“You see… I asked what you offered.” his voice croaked raspy, inlaid with sonorous reverberations following closely after every word. The hold deepened from Danyael’s side. “I never asked you to give me anything.” The shadows that were the echoes quivered with their white light eye slits thinning in shape a bit more, signifying an eerie, unified grin. “And I told you to show me.” Gently, with a croon, he pulled Slaanesh closer.  “I never said I’d accept.” His face instantly now nose tip to nose tip with Slaanesh. “Because you were so wrapped up in thinking you had me, that you didn’t realize…” the chanting whispers now becoming a chorus of bass hisses in the undecipherable language used on Abaddon. “…that you accepted my offer instead. All I needed…” the chanting boomed louder as the shell quaked in continuous reverberation. “…was a willing handshake to seal the deal.”

The air around grew heavy as sound began to pump and pulse with the chorus of voices. With every syllable did Danyael’s very presence become all the more overwhelming, his growing power becoming all the more present in this moment, as if vampiring strength away from the Prince of Pleasure. A sadistic grin stretched across the Nephilim Lord’s face, streaking now from ear to ear, displaying an array of knifelike wolfen fangs as the grin changes into a predator’s snarl. He heaved a deep continuing breath once more and his power grew, almost virtually becoming larger than the prince himself. Then another and another.

The echoes, eyes now flaring hostile in brilliant platinum, turned feral, now screaming their language – now taking a darker more guttural tone – with bestial uproar. At the very instant, the echoes, all interlocked with one another, dissolved into an ichorous mass – then suddenly exploding into dizzying array of inverted spikes that would impale everything within reach – in this case, all of the clones of Slaanesh. At the same moment, Danyael pulled Slaanesh closer, his own pull far beyond anything physical. It was as if all gravity became magnetized, pulled into a vacuum for which the Nephilim lord was its epicenter. His other hand opened wide, where five points of light extended from his fingertips. The collected power from before now pooling into the central point of the five lights, at the core of his palm where, in that very instant, did his lance, the Serenitatis, once again materialize into the world on a straightaway launch toward Slaanesh’s core.

[Shadow Chorus]

Gulgrim's feet slowly slide back, kicking up boulders of earth and rubble as his gargantuan form inches across the ground under the assault of the chaos gods. Gulgrim seems to be putting everything into defending himself, sparks of green energy crackling and bursting against attacks coming his direction, his massive arms struggling to deflect and defend against incoming blows. As the focus of the three chaos gods honed in on his current location, the Ork Avatar seemed to be taking real damage, soaking up the combined offensive of three gods of chaos.

"Heh." Gulgrim's voice was low, and quiet, almost impossibly so for such a massive mouth making the sound.

"You'z got a lotta fight in ya', spikey gits. You'z got some right brutality." The orks eyes lock with some of the many, many eyes across the chaos avatar's form.

"If I'z was ta fight ya alone, wif all o' me strength, I'z fink I'd actually lose. An' dat'd be a real shame. A first for da hist'ry books."

The Ork's massive maw slowly curls into a fanged, predatory grin.

"But I'z an Ork. An' Orks fight wif more den' just brutality. We'z Kunninly brutal, an' brutally kunnin'."

Green energy sparked across the gargantuan warboss's frame, his eyes glowing an eerie emerald.

"An' dere'z nobody more kunnin' dan' ole Gulgrim!" The warboss bellowed, his massive, titanic form vanishing in a thunderclap unlike any other.

The rush of displaced air his entire form's teleportation left behind was like a sonic bomb, air rushing in and then blasting out in a shockwave that sent debris flying in all directions as he reappeared on the opposite side of the avatar, neatly cutting through the constant barrage of attacks and positioning himself in what passed for an opening on this towering mass of flesh.

"AN' ORKZ IS NEVER BEATEN IN BATTLE!"

Gulgrim's six arms crashed forward, torrents of warpfire blasting from his eyes and mouth, green lightning cascading across his form as he gave his all into this surprise attack.

[Kitharsis]

"Thank you, Soul Reaver.  I fear I underestimated the persistence of this Tzeentch."

Now outside of Tzeentch's grasp, Kitharsis sees the happenings of the main battle.  Gulgrim has grown in size considerably, and was contesting the Avatar of Chaos by himself.  Jharm was firing a volley from a distance.  While Danyael seems to be stuck in the grasp of the Avatar still.  Kitharsis thinks to come to his aid.

Yet, a large build-up in power proves that Danyael was faring just fine on his own.  And it seems that Mary was somehow assisting him already.

"I'm going in."  He says.  "Jelly candy won't cut it once this is over."  Kitharsis puts a hand on Soul Reaver's shoulder.  "May we find a strong drink, and a place of peace for just a moment."

Kitharsis gives a nod, before taking off toward the Avatar of Chaos.

"Allow me some space!"  He shouts, before the tattoos on his body burst into life with crimson energy.

With each step they seem to glow brighter and more intensely.  Crimson specs of sand materialize in the air around him as he runs.  A bellowing shout echoes across what is left of the spire as Kitharsis leaps into the air.

As he leaps crimson sand explodes into existence around him, completely engulfing him in a wild and twisting sand storm.  Its size rivaling the immensity of the Avatar of Chaos.  Brilliant crimson tendrils of energy lash out around him as he sails toward the Avatar of Chaos.

Gulgrim attacks from behind in a surprise attack, and Kitharsis rains down blows from the Avatar of Chaos's flank.  The tendrils lash out like viscous whips, and strike like lances.  The crimson sand grinds and twists, while also solidifying to strike like fists and hammers.  Kitharsis's body is obscured by the massive storm of sand, which acts as much as a defense and an offense.  A central mass of crimson sand and energy protects him and the tiny mage inside the violent storm.

[Soul Reaver]

Kitharsis' huge hand claps Soul Reaver on the shoulder - and for a moment, Soul Reaver feels the warmth of real camaraderie, a comforting wisp of conjured memory.  These moments were rare and fleeting, but even through the millenia, they did still mean something.  He returns a smile that says "thank you".

Then Kitharsis launches himself at the Avatar.

Soul Reaver allowed himself just a few moments of contemplation.

Their enemy was a primal force - an embodiment of abstract concepts formed by mortals.  It was the raw stuff of the cycle of life and death, of hope and despair, of all the mad chaos that was life in this universe.

He could see his companions, fighting this horror with fury, passion, hope, and despair, the very concepts that composed this being.

He needed a different weapon.

In his mind crystallized memories of tomes clad in black leather and sealed with chains of lead.  Within were sorceries whose architects had long since been forgotten - dangerous sorceries that Soul Reaver was loathe to wield, for their risk was great.

But as he beholds his companions, each laying their own life on the line to defeat a horror that had corrupted and consumed so many - companions he had unwittingly betrayed through his self-absorbed lack of control - he knows that in this moment, he owes it to them to take the chance.

He sends a mental message to all those fighting alongside him who are not too distracted to receive it.

Stand back.

Soul Reaver's stance loosens and he sheathes Blooddrinker.   His eyes close and he clasps his hands in front of him, one over the other, almost as though in prayer.  Leaden words fall from his lips and are swallowed in silence - no, not silence, but into something even less - swallowed into a place where 'sound' has no meaning at all.

To those sensitive to such things, Soul Reaver's mana reserves seem to boil and then evaporate, as though a vortex of power were sucking everything around him away.  His skin grows cold, frost rimming his eyebrows and creeping over rapidly-cooling skin.

In his mind's eye, Soul Reaver sees the tiniest hairline crack before him.  He reaches out, his imagined fingers grasping and clawing at its edges.  It begins to split.

His heart stops.

[Cameron]

Danyael’s echoes explode in a violent shower of spikes that swiftly tear apart Slaanesh’s army of concubines. Their dying shrieks are only matched by the scream of rage that erupts from Slaanesh as they attempt to break away from Danyael.

Mary makes a quick motion with her free hand and reality seems to ripple around her, allowing any errant spikes to seemingly bend around her and resume their previous trajectory once they are safely passed. It is obvious to her now that Danyael had this well in hand the entire time. With her curiosity sated, she simply sheathes her sword at her back and folds her arms, waiting for the end.

Slaanesh shifts their form and shape numerous times trying to escape Danyael’s ire, but it is far too late. The lance Serenitatis strikes true, obliterating the physical form of the Chaos God. Their barrier instantly falls, revealing Mary and Danyael to the rest of the battlefield.

The massive form of the Avatar continues to rain blows down on the equally gargantuan form of Gulgrim, driving him back. A volley of light blasts conjured by Jharm slam into it from all sides, knocking it off balance just as Gulgrim vanishes with a deafening clap of thunder. The countless eyes of the Avatar swirl and search, seeking their quarry. But their attention is drawn by the sudden attack of Kitharsis, Kitharsis’s all out assault appears to be doing some real damage to the weakened Avatar, tearing off swathes of arms and darkening hundreds of eyes in an explosion of gore.

And then, as the Avatar shifts it’s attention once again, Gulgrim reappears behind it. The Avatar is caught completely by surprise and eats the full onslaught of Gulgrim’s attack. All of its remaining arms and eyes are burned from it’s form, leaving nothing but a massive tower of scorched flesh. For a brief and shining moment, all is still, and it appears that the fight has been won.

But then, a flash of blue light, a ripple of changing flesh, and a new eye, as big as Gulgrim's head, opens in the writhing mass of flesh. The eye splits into four eyes, each one representing a Chaos God. Slaanesh’s presence has returned to the Avatar. The four eyes are joined by millions more, all focused on Gulgrim. The burnt flesh begins to reshape itself. And with no warning, a massive spike of cartilage and bone, as big as a city block, bursts from the mass to impale the massive ork and end his WAAAGH for all eternity.

Mary, who has been observing all of this from the sidelines, glances to her right as a warp rift opens. A giant mech, as tall as Gulgrim, bursts from it. It wields a massive two handed blade of energy, which it uses to sever the spike before it can penetrate Gulgrim. The Avatar roars in millions of voices as the mech comes to a halt next to Gulgrim.

“Holy shit! I leave you alone for a few months and you pick a fight with actual Gods?”

The companions instantly recognize the voice of Jihon, distorted as it is by the Triton’s speakers. The massive war machine raises it’s blade, ready to attack again.

“I’m here looking for Cameron and Soul Reaver, but I guess I can spare a few minutes to bail you out of this mess!”

The mass of flesh and eyes that compromises the Avatar of Chaos slinks back, putting as much distance between itself and the companions as it can. Then there is an explosion of power. The mass shifts and grows faster than what should be physically possible. Soon, all the Companions can see before them is a massive wall of teeth, tentacles, blades, eyes, and bone in every direction.

“WE WILL SUFFER YOU FOOLS NO LONGER. YOUR CHANCE TO FLEE HAS ENDED. YOU WILL BE DEVOURED, AND BECOME A PART OF US FOR ETERNITY. YOU WILL CRY FOR DEATH AND DEATH WILL NOT COME. THIS IS THE END.”

The incomprehensible maw begins to close on the Companions. They will have one last chance to fight back before they are swallowed forever,

[Shadow Chorus]

'I sure hope dey kept da krooza gud an' close fer dis...' Gulgrim's thoughts seemed unnaturally calm, even to himself, as he gazed at the growing tower of chaos forming in front of his titanic form. Such a thought seemed ridiculously out of place, and incredibly far fetched, considering he knew that his boyz would be keeping close as possible, but wouldn't want to lose their own hides in the collapsing warp rift. Which would also make it difficult for himself and his companions to get out as well. All of these odds seemed to add up to the gargantuan Warboss getting no help from his krew.

But Gulgrim is the Avatar of Gork and Mork, and such things as Odds and Logic mean little when the gods of the Orks are involved.

"Boss!" Gulgrim's cybork eye buzzed with the incoming vox. "We'z 'ere ta 'elp! Big Mek Gazgob ready fer' orders!"

The rumble of massive starship engines begins to shake the surrounding area as the gravitational displacement of an enormous Kill-krooza begins to pulse and pound on what remains of the surface of this place. How something as unreasonably massive as a Kill Krooza managed to slip into this place and not be detected until now is a question for less sane minds to contemplate. What mattered was that roughly ten kilometers of bristling guns and steel was slowly descending toward the battlefield. The Warboss's personal Krooza, the Infinite WAAAGH!!!, had arrived.

"Nice o' you'z ta show up Gazgob." Gulgrim's voice rumbled across the battlefield, heralding the ship as readily as the pressure waves from its slow descent. "Target all da' dakka on dat wall o' spikey good fer nuffin' grot-paste! An' Gazgob, is Gorkamorka still in' da 'old?"

"Yeah boss, why you'z askin? We can't get Gorkamorka down dere ta 'elp out in time 'fore dis 'ole place comes down, we'z gotz' ta kill dis fing an' get goin now!"

"Don't need ya ta drop Gorkamorka. Jus' needed ta know it was dere. An' its big gunz were dere." Gulgrim grinned.

The colossal Warboss raised all of his hands up above his head, as if preparing to brace for something to fall on him. Deep within the most massive holds of the Infinite WAAAGH!!!, the Mega-Gargant, Gorkamorka, slumbered, a colossal titan of destruction that dwarfed even Gulgrim's current scale. And attached to one of the arms of Gorkamorka was a weapon that delivered destruction on a truly incredible scale. That weapon began to spark, to crackle with green lightning, and with a massive -POP-, vanished from the Mega-Gargant's arm.

Materializing into the air above Gulgrim, Gorkamorka's Skullkrusha Mega-Cannon fell onto his braced shoulders. The massive weapon was nearly as large as the Warboss himself, and he held it on his shoulders with all six of his hands like a more traditionally sized soldier would carry a Rocket Launcher. The titanic Warboss grinned, his massive, toothy maw stretching to his ears as he relished the moment about to come.

"If you'z want a ride out o' here on me krooza, you'd bezt get near me, ladz! Da Tellyporta's takin' us up soon as dis fing is good an' proppa frakked! Mista Gazgob! Open Fire!"

The Infinite WAAAGH!!! opened fire, unleashing weapons meant to destroy enemy ships of similar scale and to bombard planets on the tidal wave of chaos flesh before the Warboss, while the Ork himself braced his legs in a firing stance, chuckled, and fired the Skullkrusha. All sound went away for a moment as the weapon went off right next to Gulgrim's ear. Blood began to leak from the sides of his head as his eardrums ruptured from the sheer force of the blast wave, he nearly lost his footing from the recoil, even with six arms to hold the weapon, and a titanic weapon of fortress-leveling destructive capacity fired at relatively short range into the body of the Avatar of Chaos.

[Soul Reaver]

Even universes can die.

In most Planes, all reactions eventually slow and stop.  Conversions of energy and mass come to an end.  The universe continues to expand infinitely, tearing itself apart, leaving an endless expanse of nothing.  This void is always there, between the cracks of reality, and the inexorable march of time draws it forth until time itself ceases to have meaning.

That void is devoid of life.  Devoid of change.  Devoid of Chaos.

In death, Soul Reaver is able to reach into that void, splitting apart the world and plunging his hands into it.  The cold of absolute zero engulfs him - the cold so intense that all random movement ceases at an atomic level.

His heart has stopped beating, and it is only his magic and a supreme effort of will that keeps his soul from escaping his body.  Every muscle screams in agony as he closes his fingers.  It feels like trying to move through solid lead, but somehow he manages to close his hand into a fist - and grasp a shard of the void.

With a piercing jolt his heart beats and his glazed eyes focus.  He has not moved since he began the casting, but now the spell is complete.

What manifests from Soul Reaver's clenched hand is hard to describe.  It resembles a blade over ten meters long composed of purest midnight.  Its edges twist and crackle like a captured bolt of black lightning as it swallows and annihilates all light and heat around it.  But that is just how those around Soul Reaver perceive it, for by its very nature it is an absence of form.  It is the Voidblade, a fragment of the end of everything.

Soul Reaver beholds now the towering mass of twisting flesh that is the Avatar of Chaos.  It is a hideous mockery of life, an amorphous terror that would have driven ordinary men insane.  But even in the face of such horror, Soul Reaver found it hard to muster any emotion at all, the proximity of the Voidblade being its antithesis.

Before he can engage, Soul Reaver senses a powerful Warp Gate, and feels the flare of a familiar spirit enter the battlefield.

Jihon's triton mech bursts forward and the voice of his old companion is heard amplified across the battlefield.  With the Voidblade in-hand, Soul Reaver's emotions are suppressed, but for a moment even it cannot hold back the surge of courage and comraderie that swells in his heart.

The Voidblade would swallow the sound of his voice, so Soul Reaver sends a mental message instead.

It is good to fight at your side again, old friend!  You have arrived just in time!

But Soul Reaver is not in a position to enjoy his reunion - not with the death of entropy in his hands, and the Avatar of Chaos roiling toward him.  The voice of the Avatar of Chaos booms forth its proclamation of the companions' doom, yet Soul Reaver is unmoved.  He fixes his target in a steely gaze, braces his feet and runs to meet his fast-approaching foe, the Voidblade held two-handed at his side.

A sonic boom and blast of hot air washes over him as Gulgrim unleashes the Skullkrusha and torrents of weapon fire from the Infinite WAAAGH!!! to bombard the Avatar of Chaos.  Even at a respectable distance, the shockwaves almost make Soul Reaver stumble - a mistake that could well proven fatal.  Fortunately he maintains his footing, and now finds himself in range.

Nothing can truly defeat Chaos.  And it will.

A blaze of red lightning crackles over Soul Reaver as he swings the Voidblade in fast, sweeping arcs, intent on carving his way through shifting flesh to get at the four central eyes of the monstrosity.  He will advance inexorably until victory or death.

[Kitharsis]

The maelstrom of sand and crimson energy roils around him still.  On the defensive, Kitharsis quickly jukes out of the way as the massive spike of bone and cartilage bursts from the Chaos Gods.  It wasn't directed at him, but the sheer size of it was a threat not to be taken lightly.  Even so, the spike is unexpectedly cut short as none other than Jihon leaps out of a warp gate piloting his Triton.  Kitharsis smiles from inside the storm.  An unexpected arrival, but a welcome one.

But there is no time for happy reunions, as the Avatar of Chaos quickly pulls away from them.  What follows is an explosion of bone and teeth and whatever else the Avatar can muster from its twisted form.

“WE WILL SUFFER YOU FOOLS NO LONGER. YOUR CHANCE TO FLEE HAS ENDED. YOU WILL BE DEVOURED, AND BECOME A PART OF US FOR ETERNITY. YOU WILL CRY FOR DEATH AND DEATH WILL NOT COME. THIS IS THE END.”

"This is the end, that is certain.  But for who?"  Is Kitharis's reply.

The Avatar of Chaos advances.  The incomprehensible maw closes in, engulfing his vision and the rest of his senses.  It not only seeks to end Kitharsis's life, but all of those who would resist the forces of Chaos.  It cannot be allowed.

The storm around him grows calm.  The whirling crimson sand falls away, carried off with the winds of battle.  His crimson whips, blades, and clubs fade away as the tattoos on his body cease channeling the purified energy inside of him.

Staring at the approaching, endless maw of the Avatar of Chaos, Kitharsis sees no other way.  His reserve of purified energy is vastly depleted.  Not nearly enough.  Any attack he could muster with it would be like a pail of water on an inferno.  He would not survive.  That much is certain.

Ever since he changed into a Tirthandara, the dark well of power has been ever present within him.  And from the first moment, he knew it was pure destruction.  Seductive, addicting, destruction.

Never tap into that fearsome power, Kitharsis.  It will mar your soul, it will grab ahold of you and pull you down into it.  And you will not surface the same, if you do so at all.  The Shaman warned him many years ago.  Even going so far as to threaten his life if Kitharsis even considered it.

He grits his teeth, searching, grasping at anything he has it his disposal.  His ship is too far away, his runes and artifacts all spent or destroyed by now.  He could summon another desert, tenfold deserts, but they would not reach here in time.  He is uncertain if they could even break through the eye in the first place.

In order to save himself, and the rest of the whole Multiverse, he must not fall here.  There is too much more to do.  Too many things he needs to finish before he is done.

He will not fall.  He cannot.

He looks inward.

Kitharsis focuses on the darkness.  As he betrays the vibrant, pure spark within him, the most frightening part of it all is how easily the abyss rises to his call.  It is like stepping in a drawn bath after the longest day.  The veil is lifted.  The lie he has been telling himself for so long given truth.  With no resistance he crosses the threshold, and dives in.

As he plunges himself into the abyss, all of his aches from battle disappear.  Cracked bones, scarred and raw skin, torn muscles and strained tendons, all become wonderful and even better than they ever were before.  The sensation is overwhelming as he draws upon more and more of it, gorging himself on what he once believed was the most vile, most taboo of substances in the universe.  It was bliss.  He gives in completely.

He laughs.  A deep, bellowing laugh that pulls his face into a crazed grin.  The dark power courses through him, building and building.  The crimson of his eyes has given way to darkness.  His unkempt mohawk is drained of its color as it shifts to a platinum grey.

He looks down at the tattoos snaking up his arms.  The straight, clean edges of them crack.  Slightly at first, then all at once they crack and tear and ruin his stony grey skin.  The outer layer shears away as easily as a handful of sand tossed into the wind.  His stony skin now resembles smooth charcoal.  Dull and Dark.

He raises his hand in front of him, clenching his fist.  Dark energy effervesces out of it, lazily floating into the air.  In an instant, his entire body erupts in a cloud of dark energy.  It coalesces around him, hanging thick in the air.

The advancing Avatar of Chaos before him is nearly an afterthought.  His lips curl back into a tight, savage grin as he focuses his attention on the God before him.

The coalescing energy around him explodes forward as he throws his arms wide.  Wicked elements of destruction pour forth from Kitharsis as he roars intensely.  His will, engulfed in darkness, manifests into any weapon he can imagine.  Spears of bone, pulsing with untold energy, rocket toward the Avatar of Chaos.  Blades of enormous sizes sail through the air, their wicked edges keened by the dark power.  Countless obsidian weapons fire at the Avatar of Chaos, their velocity creating sonic booms as they fly.

Yet not only weapons pour forth.  Skeletons of all shapes and sizes clamber forward, empowered moreso than any Kitharsis has created before.  They are relentless in their attack on the maw, reforming as quickly as they are destroyed.  Stabbing, slashing, exploding in bursts of foul magical energy.  Their assault spreads as their numbers continue to increase, threatening to eclipse the size of the maw itself.

Blasts of intense dark energy rain down upon the maw, erupting rapid fire from Kitharsis's position.  He laughs uncontrollably as each manifestation of his power is brought forward.  Each time is better than the last.  He can't help but draw upon more and more of it.

Kitharsis remains, engulfed within the darkness.  Out of his mind with power.  He will not be stopped here.  He will not be stopped ever again.  The darkness rises to his call, eager with its gifts.  He dives deeper into it, the seemingly endless abyss.  Never wanting to surface again.

[Veldanya Venalla]

The Seraphim watches as the Avatar of Chaos seems to be destroyed by the Ork Warbosses flurry of blows.  The angellic knight slumps to one knee and lets out a sigh of relief until, almost unsurprisingly, the macabre tower of flesh twists and warps as it becomes evident that the Chaos Gods are still not defeated.  Reaching out, Jharm intends to pull everything he can in to finally finish this fight off....only to realize...there is nothing left.

"No....the Pool....its almost....empty."

His glowing eyes surveys as the other Companions begin to unleash their various attacks upon the massive wall of flesh.

Nothing left.  If I take any more, my people shall have nothing to restore themselves with.  It's....as I feared.

The Seraphims fists clench tightly as he strains to come up with some plan.  Some method to do something.  Then....

We come from the Light...We shall return to the Light....we ARE the light.  Perhaps....I have no other choice.

Standing up, the Seraphim extends a hand outwards before slamming it against his own chest.  Gripping tightly against his armored from he begins to grunt and groan, his large form shaking and quivering as pain courses through him.  A moment later, a sound similar to shattering glass resonates from him as he seems to literally rip a glowing spear from within his chest.  Grunting in pain he drops back to one knee for a moment before struggling back onto his feet. 

"We ARE the Light.  If I can not take from the Pool.....then I shall take from myself.  This ends...here...and now.  No more tricks...no more games."

Gripping the glowing spear tightly, the Seraphims gaze locks onto the four eyes seeming to "symbolize" the Chaos Gods.

"Burn in the fury of pure Light."

Bringing his arm back and then, with a grunt of exertion, he launches the weapon through the air.  With a boom it rockets through the open space, splitting into 4 spears a moment after leaving the warrios grasp.  Each projectile screaming through the air in a glowing trail of righteous fury as they home in the giant eyes.

[Danyael]

The Nephilim Lord helped himself to a soft chuckle as the Serenitatis phases back into the recesses of the Wellspring. Sniffing in a deep breath, as he’d fed off of the energies of Slaanesh’s physical form, he was back at Mary’s side in a snap. “Make no mistake… I know what’s mine.” It wasn’t arrogance, but rather assurance. If he was smiling, his face didn’t show it. But his voice did.

A disruption caught his attention and he watched as a warp rift open to reveal an all too familiar form. He smirked to see the Triton thundering back into the frontlines, knowing who was in the pilot seat. He didn’t get to know Jihon Bhed. But he’d caught glimpse of him and had known enough from what he’d heard. It was good to have another chance at seeing this long loved Companion back in action again. But from the sound of his introduction, it was more likely he’d never really stopped. But then again, the Companion probably wouldn’t remember Danyael, the Nephilim Lord thought. After all, when he’d known Jihon, the Nephilim Lord was a lot younger and not nearly as powerful as he was now. He’d grown much since then, and he had just enough time to help himself to a sigh before retraining his focus back on the final battle. 

He took a step forward, Everworld cloak flapping much like a war banner as energies raged all around him – and he put the transformation in to action. At first it started with just the Yamato, held firm in a ceremonial dual handed grip. He arced the sword to the side, his right hand glowing bright, with the Tessen whirling into existence as if brought into the world by sleight of hand. Wheeling the swords deftly into an upward motion, he lowered his arms to reveal every weapon of the Somnus, all seventeen, collected together behind him in the formation of two shimmering wings. As he spread his legs, bending into a horse stance, the ‘wings’ expanded and spun ‘round his form with such alacrity that they glowed with prismatic golden light, as if setting reality itself aflame. In a blink, he was enveloped in in a raging whirlwind of hellfire stretching high beyond sight before dissipating away with a slash from inside. He stood slow and cold, his hand gripped calmly around an entirely new weapon never before seen.

The final product was a dazzling amalgam of them all, blended into one for form a masterpiece of war – the Somnus. In the center were the fused handles of the combined Yamato and Tessen. But the ‘blades’ on each end were a different matter altogether. On one end were the elemental swords, blazing sunfire coruscation reaching outward into what seemed both unending and marginally ‘normal’ at the same time. The other ‘blade’ embodied all of the weapons representative of spiritual and primal energies – the ‘blade’ itself the epicenter of a howling maelstrom of silver light.  The sleek weapon surged and spiraled in his hands, as if it had taken on a life of its own, with a vigor all to itself. If Soul Reaver’s weapon was the embodiment of absence, then it was the Nephilim lord’s weapon that was the embodiment of presence. 

His eyes narrowed, they themselves no longer in the form of eyes at all. In place of them was absolute blackness. There was nothing. Just the void itself. But at their center were two balls of pulsing – almost organic – light. He looked upon the battlements with his ‘eyes’ and beheld the powers around him.
 
The Somnus spun, both by way of Danyael’s deftness and also of its own accord. With every rotation, power surged in shockwaves of the brightest, most impactful light. And in accord with Danyael’s speed, the weapon itself was practically a solid disc of roaring power. In a flash of speed, he was gone, as if he was never there, the ground grinding up in his wake in a unfolding showers of embers, then explodes as Danyael phases in and out of sight as his speed increases on a direct trajectory for the maw, dashing deep into the depths in moments. And the entire time, in just those few blinks of time, the light never went out – until it erupted into a flare of motion, as the Nephilim Lord’s speed was pushed to their peak, dashing and darting everywhere at once with the Somnus hammering, slicing and slashing away in unison with the full intent of shredding the Avatar of Chaos apart from the inside out - the alacrity of the attacks so vivid and omnipresent , it was as if the entire maw, once black and empty, was ablaze with burning golden light.

[Cameron]

The Maw of Chaos recoils visibly as the torrential hail of weaponfire from the Infinite WAAAGH!!!! pours into it. tendrils of flesh, eyes, and teeth seem to regenerate as fast as they are destroyed, but this all but halts it's forward progress and leaves it mostly defenseless against the sudden blast of energy from Gulgrim's Skullkrusha Mega-Cannon. The cannon tears a massive hole in the beast, and it is into this hole that the remaining companions surge into. Mary hangs back, spying that the massive Maw seems to be drawing energy directly from the Warp to regenerate itself. She focuses, concentrating, as her eyes light up and energy spills from her fingertips. She bends the Warp to her will, cutting off the Maw from it's wellspring of infinite energy and stopping it from closing the massive wound the remaining companions now seek to exploit.

The Maw begins to retract into itself as Kitharsis's weapons and skeletons repeatedly clash against it, causing it to begin to lose the war of attrition it had been fighting with the seemingly limitless firepower of the Ork Krooza. As Soul Reaver moves forward and Danyael darts ahead faster than the eye can see, the Maw tries to close on them. But the four Spears from Jharm's attack pin the wound open, stopping the ghastly construct of flesh from closing on it's prey. Jihon's triton follows close behind, slashing it's beam saber in every direction, cauterizing flesh and causing the maw to roar in millions of voices of pain and fury.

Danyael penetrates the heart of the Maw first, carving through flesh and bone like it was air. The central mass detaches from the remainder of the dying planet-sized mass of flesh, folding in on itself and hardening to try and protect itself from attack. But it is weak now, and can do nothing but squeal in terror as Soul Reaver's Voidblade comes down on it, again and again and again, until it finally pierces the very core of the Chaos God's combined essence.

All sound dies. Massive tremors ripple through the form of the beast, and suddenly all of the companions find themselves engulfed in an explosion of flesh, fire, and Warp energy. And then the Warp bubble that they had been in, held open by the will of the Gods of Chaos, collapses. The companions suddenly find themselves thrown into the Warp in seemingly random directions. But before they are lost, a guiding hand reaches out to each of them. Mary, still in control of the localized Warpspace around her, guides the companions, the Triton, and the Krooza through the Warp, and out of it. The Krooza, Gulgrim, and the Triton appear in space outside of the Eye of Terror, amidst the remaining Imperial and Eldar fleets. The remaining companions appear on the bridge of the Krooza itself. Mary is not among them.


In the Eye, the remaining Eldar, Tau, and Imperial vessels have retreated, using the Eldar's powerful Warp shields to survive the swirling, shrinking storm. Most of the Eye is now gone. The Chaos City is no more. Only the base of the destroyed Spire remains, and it is here that Cameron, Peterson, and Mary continue to trade blows. All three are exhausted, bleeding, and near death. Cameron desperately lunges at Peterson, a killing blow that is only barely deflected by Peterson barely managing to get Drach'nyen up in time. Mary, still reeling from her last attack, glances around wildly.

"There's no time left, Cameron. We need to go."

Cameron snarls, blood dripping from his face.

"I can't leave. Not while he still lives."

What's left of Peterson's face splits into a rictus of equal parts excitement and fear.

Are you willing to sacrifice yourself to kill me? Are you willing to sacrifice your friends?"

Before Cameron can reply, there is a sudden explosion from behind them. They all turn to regard the crater to witness a new burst of pure Warp fire explode from the hole. The sounds of millions of screaming voices follow it. Mary's eyes widen.

"They did it. It's over."

The ground shakes, and cracks split through the earth as the remainder of the asteroid the three are standing on breaks up. Cameron and Mary struggle to keep their footing as Peterson throws himself into the air. The warp storms will be upon them in seconds.

"Well, it's been real. It's been fun! But it hasn't been real fun. Let's call this one a draw and we'll reconvene in a few years to try this again, eh?"

Cameron cries out in anger and attempts to leap forward, but at that moment, the ground gives way completely. Cameron stumbles and starts to fall but is grabbed by Mary at the last moment. And then the warp storms close around the three, and they are gone.


From the deck of the Ork Krooza, the Eye of Terror can clearly be seen. Barely any of it is left, and as the Companions look on, the anomaly collapses in on itself and winks out of existence. The Eye of Terror has finally closed.