The Eye of Terror: End of Terror

[Danyael]

He had seconds to react as the obsidian shell begins to encase around Abbadon. One of the orbs, as they were each an extension of himself, shot toward Abbadon in a snap, making its way within the barrier just as the shell snapped itself around her. The chanting had stopped and only silence lingered, only for the orb to rapidly batter away at the shell. In synch with its brethren, the remaining 15 orbs erratically hammered onto the shell in violently erratic rapid fire over and over again. With the single orb on the inside and the remaining 15 on the outside, the shell was being attacked on both fronts. With each impact, a word from the guttural language barks into audibility. And with the speed and increasing frequency of their movement, the single word strikes from all 16 orbs once again started their chanting under a different tactic now. Not only this, but the Nephilim Lord could perceive the form of the Despoiler in full, her energy flaring in all colors anything but welcoming. And all of which well beyond the definition of sinister. But he had a clear depiction of her form. And an even clearer depiction of her position.

In addition to Gulgrim Bonecruncha’s cannon fire and relentless eruptions of WAAAGH!!! energy from various locations of the battlefield, as well as Soul Reaver’s direct attack against Abbadon’s shell, Danyael had now elected to enter the fray directly. But not before the sudden influx of energies took his notice and the tendrils of black energy burst from the ground to reach for their new prey.

The tendrils surge forth, and would have very well latched onto Danyael… if he were in physical form. Which he currently was not. And so they grasped at little more than air as the miasma that was his form parted and reformed like wind through a mist. But the lack of physical didn’t mean that physical harm was all there was to avoid, with the onset of a sudden and almost overwhelming His miasmal form spread, then constricted, then spread again, then spiraled toward the Yamato still in the ground behind him. The tendrils followed, but were lead into the whirling disc of the now dislodged Yamato, shredding them away down to the roots. And then both the sword and the swirling smoke form of the Nephilim lord leapt from the ground to land menacingly in the form of what lookd like a miniature thunderstorm. The Yamato whirling around him with speed so swift it was as if Danyael’s currently shapeless form was being enswathed by arcs of prismatic light.

The storm surged overhead, the chanting now picking up directly from his formless lips as he began to swell and spiral over the shell. All time slowed under his perception as his speed quickened thrice that of his companions. The crackle and boom of thunder shook the battlements as he took his original shape, accompanied by five echoes, each wielding a different weapon of the somnus.

While the five echoes spread, then spiraled down to directly catapult themselves at the shell at the same time as Soul Reaver, Danyael, Yamato in hand, hurled himself at the shell from above – sword tip aimed with the intent of making contact with the Despoiler’s head…

…if the barrier breaks.

[Kitharsis]

Oh.

Abbadon grabs onto the crimson tendrils.  It is a wonder that she is able to hold onto them and withstand the raw energy.  He digs his heels into the floor, straining to keep her in place.  Just a moment longer.  Just...

No!

Kitharsis's feet leave the ground.  Even his strength is no match for Abbadon in this form.  He simply has no time to react as he careens toward Soul Reaver.

The tiny mage scrambles, attempting to work a spell to stop the collision from happening.  But to no avail.  The two warriors collide, each taking precautions to not let the pointy ends of things come in contact with one another.

Kitharsis lands on his feet, somehow managing to twist himself around in the air using the tendrils still attached to Abbadon.  As he steadies himself, Abbadon's black tendrils burst forth as she cocoons herself in a shell of obsidian.  Kitharsis immediately snuffs out his own tendrils as he feels his energy being drained into them.  The skeletal mage zaps any other tendrils that get too close with a burst of magic.

Jharm explodes in a wash of Light.  It envelops the spire, reinvigorating Kitharsis as it does so.  His tattoos flare a bright white as the Light purges a large amount of dark energy within him.

Both Soul Reaver and Danyael assault the obsidian sphere.  Whatever Abbadon is doing in there cannot be good.  Kitharsis unsheathes his horseman's pick and hefts it in both hands.  The head begins to glow as he feeds energy into it.  With a grunt he charges forward.  Upon reaching the obsidian sphere he rears the pick above his head and crashes it down on the surface.  The buildup of energy releases in a violent explosion.  He intends to continue swinging against the sphere, or whatever may come from inside of it if the companions' efforts are successful.

[Cameron]

Abbadon roars in fury as one of Danyael’s spheres, which she had been ignoring up until this point, rushes into the obsidian shell before it can close. With a vicious swing, she deflects it away from her with Drach’nyen, only for it to bounce off of the inside of the shell and blast her directly in the face. She recoils, a pinkish liquid flowing freely from her broken face. With another swing, she deflects the sphere before it can hit her a third time and then erects a smaller, thicker obsidian shell around herself, shrinking her body mass to fit inside. She can hear the sphere battering back and forth between the two shells and knows it’s only a matter of time before this second line of defense falls.

“There are too many. I cannot fight them all at once by myself.”

This was her folly. As it was his folly the first time they fought. As it was Ahriman’s folly when he allowed them to come here. They all thought to take this seasoned group of warriors on by themselves. They underestimated them. Even with Abbadon’s fresh body and newfound power, she was still no match for them when they were fighting as a group like this. Only the wretch Peterson had seen this wisdom, trying to divide them and turn them against each other rather than attack them directly. And even that had eventually failed.

Time slows. Abbadon can hear the thunderous sound of Gulgrim’s heavy weapons fire joining in with the rhythmic shelling of Danyael’s magic spheres. She can feel Soul Reaver preparing magics that will shatter both shields like glass and turn that glass against her. She can feel Kitharsis, preparing to charge, looking to strike the blow that will be the catalyst for this happening. She can feel her shadowy tentacles torn away by the light of the Seraphim. This is the end, and she will soon be dead. Again.

“This cannot happen. Not to me. Not again. I am the Avatar of Chaos.”

Time slows. Abbadon ignores what she is sensing around him and turns her attention outward. Her forces are failing. The Eldar, Tau, and Seraphim’s reinforcements were too much to overcome. The Eye is moments away from falling out of her control.

“This CANNOT happen. I am the AVATAR OF CHAOS.”

Time slows. Abbadon looks inward.

“No. I am not. Not yet.”

Trapped in a shell, moments from death, Abbadon reaches out to her patron saints.

“Oh Ruinous Powers. Have I not served you? Have I not given you everything? Have I not asked nothing in return for myself? I stayed true to you even when the traitor Ahriman forsook you. I have vanquished the traitor and even now endeavor to undo his vile work. But I cannot do it alone.”

Abbadon shrinks even smaller. The first obsidian barrier has already shattered. Time is still slowed, but she can feel them coming. The spell will shatter the second sphere and Soul Reaver and Kitharsis are directly behind it. Soul Reaver is lined up for a killing blow and Abbadon has nothing left to defend herself with but faith.

“Your birthplace is about to fall. The Eye is about to close. I have nothing left. Nothing left to offer you.”

Abbadon sighs. Regardless of whether his pleas are heard or not, this is the end. She could allow the Companions to kill her again. Lie dormant and wait for another body to come along. But she will never be able to defeat them. This is the end. And Abbadon refuses to live in a world where she has been utterly defeated.

“I have nothing left to offer you but myself.”

Abbadon reaches out with her mind, still psychically attuned from when it belonged to Kalana. She reaches into the Warp.

“Come. This vessel is yours. Fill it with yourselves and cast out this rabble that seeks to silence you.”

The Spire trembles. The ground shakes. Deep in the core of this dead world, inside the pulsing tear in reality that Abbadon and Ahriman once tore open to help expand the Eye, something stirs.

“BLOOD GOD!”

The second sphere cracks. Soul Reaver is moments from his target.

“CHANGER OF THE WAYS!”

The Spire begins to crack.

“GREAT LORD OF DECAY!”

Allied forces around the city stop fighting and look around as the ground trembles under their feet.

“PRINCE OF EXCESS!”

The tear in reality buried in the core of this dead world, responsible for allowing the Eye to grow at rates exceeding 1000 meters an hour during Ahriman’s machinations, tears wide open. 4 massive, unknowable figures ride the massive surge of Warp energy upwards.

“I GIVE YOU MY LIFE. SUMMON FORTH THE TRUE AVATAR OF CHAOS.”

Abbadon feels the power welling up beneath her, and then feels no more, as her physical form ceases to exist.

Kitharsis strikes the second sphere just as Soul Reaver’s spell weakens it, and it shatters, driving the shards inward as Soul Reaver’s attack strikes true. Danyael also strikes from the sky, and both Blooddrinker and the Yamato both make contact with what used to be Abbadon’s head. But instead, they sink into a fleshy mound, along with the obsidian shards. The shards are absorbed into the mound. It would appear that Abbadon’s new body has turned itself inside out and collapsed in on itself to form an egg shape. Pink gore splashes Danyael and Soul Reaver as they rip their weapons from the vile construct. And before they have a chance to react, the ground rumbles and the Spire sways.

Mary had been about to dash forward with them when the Warp fluctuation beneath the planet caught her attention. She now shouts a warning, hastily erecting Warp shields around the Companions.

“BRACE YOURSELVES!”

Beneath the Companions, the Spire explodes. The chain of explosions starts at the bottom and works its way up to the broken point, showering the area for miles around with flaming debris. The remains of the Spire collapse into itself as the column of Warp energy that once spewed forth from it’s center grows to 10 times its original size. The Companions, the flesh egg that was formally Abbadon, and Peterson are all engulfed. To an experienced Warp Traveler, the feeling is identical to being thrown into the Warp when you are not prepared, and only the Warp shields hastily erected by Mary stop them from being instantly destroyed or mutated beyond recognition.

Peterson had quickly thrown himself away from Cameron as the Spire began to explode, surrounding himself with a barrier as the Warp energy engulfed them all. He looks to the fleshy egg in the center of this madness.

“Abby, what the fuck? You don’t just throw your friends into the Warp without at least… warning… them first…”

Peterson tails off as the egg begins to bulge.

“Oh, Abby. You’re gone, aren’t you?”

The egg explodes, showering anyone close by with gore. The daemon blade Drach’nyen is hurled from the explosion and out of the  column of warp energy, quickly lost from view. A massive creature unfolds itself out of the void left behind, continuing to unfold and unfold itself until it hangs in the air fully formed, at least 6 stories tall. The beast has 4 heads. One of a snake, constantly shifting and changing. One is that of an impossibly beautiful human, laughing with pleasure. One is the horned head of a large creature, dripping pus and other unidentified substances from it’s jaws. And the last is a brass-armored hound like face, snarling and dripping blood from it’s fangs. The massive creature has many arms, holding all manner of weaponry, from dripping axes to chainswords to staves that crackle with eldritch magic. The creature cries out with a thousand voices, all speaking in unison.

“WE ARE THE AVATAR OF CHAOS. WE HAVE PAUSED OUR GREAT GAME TO GRACE YOU WITH OUR PRESENCE. THERE IS NOWHERE LEFT FOR YOU BUT HERE. WITH US. FOR ETERNITY.”

Peterson regards the Avatar of Chaos for a moment before acting.

“Welp, that’s it for me. Later, guys.”

In a burst of energy, Peterson throws himself backwards and through the border of the flowing warp energy. Cameron, completely ignoring the Avatar, roars in anger.

“No you don’t, you SON OF A BITCH.”

Bursting into his full Elemental form, Cameron charges after Peterson, plowing through the border himself despite Mary’s protests.

“Cameron! Wait! FUCK.”

Mary glances at a data pad that she produces from his armor, and then looks back to the Avatar, who laughs in thousands of voices.

“THEY ARE NOW LOST IN THE WARP FOR ETERNITY. AS IS ANYONE ELSE WHO PASSES THROUGH THAT BARRIER. WOE BE UNTO THEM.”

Mary looks at the other Companions one at a time, her gaze finally lingering on Danyael. She speaks to them all, despite keeping her gaze locked on him.

“I have to go save him. I have no choice. Those warp shields should hold and keep you safe until you are finished with this. I’ll come back if I can.”

Mary closes her eyes, explodes into her elemental form, and then vanishes. The Avatar laughs again.

“EITHER MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GODS OR CHOOSE THE SWIFT DEATH OF THE WARP LIKE YOUR FRIENDS. IT MATTERS NOT TO US HOW THE BLOOD IS SHED, ONLY THAT IT IS SHED.”

The Avatar looms large, waiting.

“MAKE YOUR CHOICE.”

[Shadow Chorus]

As it turned out, Abaddon was exactly the cowardly grot that Gulgrim thought she was. But that was somewhat less important in the long run, because in the hectic chaos that blasted through the end of that battle, Gulgrim found himself and his allies face to face with the avatar of not one, but -all- of the chaos gods, all inhabiting the same host.

Gulgrim felt something new. A tremor in his hands, the presence of sweat that wasn't formed by heat. A waver of his eye as it gazed up and down the ever-shifting bulk of the Avatar's form. He brought his cybork arm up to his face to wipe the sweat from it. Was this fear? Was this the feeling that made puny humans run in terror when they caught sight of Gulgrim on the war march?

As Gulgrim looked up at the towering avatar of chaos and felt his entire form tremble, he deciphered that this was indeed fear he was feeling. Fear. And Excitement. This...This was the biggest fight Gulgrim could think of. Bigger than anything and everything that had come before. As much as Gulgrim shook at the awesome power that was on display before him, he could feel that driving his Ork nature even further into overdrive. His look of nervous fright slowly dissolved into a mad grin, his orky tusks glinting in the glow of the warp.

Gulgrim felt energy welling inside him. More than ever before, more even than during the battle against Soul Reaver, when he was fresh into the fight and raring to go. He didn't know if even he could contain all of this building WAAAGH!!! energy. It tore at his insides, threatening to blast his skull open from the sheer force of it. The warboss clenched his fists, lightning arcing and striking out at objects around him. For a moment his vision went white, and in his mind's eye he saw a place far from here.

In the distance of his vision, a pair of mountains drifted in the semi-real realms of the empyrean. These titanic objects seemed huddled together in the mists of the mind that were the warp's wild environs.

But these were no mountains, and as he watched they began to turn.

He couldn't quite make them out, their true appearance muddled by the realm they called home, but Gulgrim could not mistake the vast forms of the twin gods of the orks. Gork and Mork turned their brutally kunnin' gazes to their chosen champion.

"You'z ready fer dis fight." Mork's voice, like a subtle avalanche, swept into his ears.

"You'z gonna krush dese spikey gods." Came Gork's voice, like a focused landslide.

"We'z Gork an' Mork. An' You'z our chosen avatar. We'z can't ever be beat, an' neither can you."

The two gods leaned their heads back, opened their colossal, fanged orky maws, and erupted in a war cry that bellowed across the warp and reverberated through Gulgrim's very soul, and soon followed spilling out of his own mouth.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


A tornado of wind and emerald lightning cracked and stormed around the Warboss, his cybork eye glowing like a red sun as he clenched his fists and tilted his head back for this ear-shattering cry that blasted through ear and mind like a sonic boom.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity the cry died down, and Gulgrim fixed the towering avatar of chaos with his grinning, Orky visage.

"I'z said it ta yer grot, I'll sez it ta you. I'z Gulgrim Bonecruncha. An I'z da avatar o' Gork an' Mork. I'z ready fer ya, spikey gods. Come n' see why Orks can't ever be beat."

[Soul Reaver]

Within the obsidian shield, powers much greater than those wielded by Ahriman or Abaddon shred apart the magical barrier Soul Reaver had erected - it was never intended to hold at bay the sentient manifestations of Chaos...

There is a mighty crack as Kitharsis' blow shatters the second shell.  Soul Reaver's combined spells complete, tearing the obsidian apart, then driving the glassy slivers inwards.  Blooddrinker streaks toward its target, accompanied by Danyael swooping in from above.

However, the sight that greets Soul Reaver is no longer Abaddon - only a vile, mass of organ-like pulsing flesh.  Blooddrinker sinks into the disgusting meat with little resistance.

Soul Reaver pulls the blade free, sending a jet of pink fluid squirting at him, only for it to evaporate is it enters the blue flames of his Fire Shield.  Though Abaddon is no more, a sense of dread washes over him.  He could tell that this transformation heralded the starts of something worse, and he subconsciously takes a step back.

The ground tilts beneath Soul Reaver as the spire shudders in its death throes.  Barely maintaining his footing, he hears Mary shout "BRACE YOURSELVES!" just as the spire begins to explode.

A Warp Shield flickers into life around Soul Reaver as the ground beneath him blasts itself into gravel and a pillar of Chaos Warp energy engulfs him.

Reeling from the unexpected blast, he barely has a chance to registers Peterson's words before the fleshy egg erupts into the Avatar of Chaos, the resulting explosion sending Drach'nyen spinning away into nothingness.  Pink gore once more sizzles into nothingness as it impacts on the Fire Shield as the Avatar of Chaos reveals itself in all its terrible glory.

Looking upon the creature, Soul Reaver knows the horror of what he is facing even before it speaks.  Its words only confirm what he already instinctively knows.  His grip on Blooddrinker tightens.

Then suddenly, Peterson's spiritual signature disappears - which would be a small blessing, were it not followed by Cameron.  Soul Reaver is about to protest when Mary states that she has to join him, but is too late.  She too joins them, leaving the rest of the companions to face the Avatar of Chaos by themselves.

“EITHER MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GODS OR CHOOSE THE SWIFT DEATH OF THE WARP LIKE YOUR FRIENDS. IT MATTERS NOT TO US HOW THE BLOOD IS SHED, ONLY THAT IT IS SHED.  MAKE YOUR CHOICE.”

Soul Reaver did not just believe in the gods, he knew of their existence with certainty.  But it had been lifetimes since he had prayed to them.

What mattered were not the Gods, but rather how one would respond to the hand that fate dealt to them.  There were always choices.  He knew that the right one was usually the one strewn with thorns.

Beside Soul Reaver, Gulgrim surges with Waaagh energy so strong that he can almost feel it throbbing in his own skull.  But he looks up at the Avatar of Chaos with a sense of calm - almost serenity.  This was his calling, was it not?  To shed blood so that others would not.

He hefts Blooddrinker two-handed, the blade still shimmering orange.  The Daemon within the blade is forced into frustrated silence, Soul Reaver's iron will dominating it completely.

He meets the gaze of the four-headed Avatar.

"I am at peace."

His grip tightens as the crimson lightning playing over his body intensifies.

"And I will share it with you."

[Veldanya Venalla]

The almost unmoving form of the Seraphim shifts as events unfold around him.  The combined might of the Companions blasts against Abbadon's defenses, overwhelming them just in time for the Chaos sorcerer to..."transform' into something much, much worse.  The departure of Peterson could almost be said to be a blessing, if it did not also wind up costing the presence of both Cameron and Mary at the same time.  As the surrounding area explodes and the Avatar of Chaos arrives, Jharm groans and slowly gets to his feet, still weak after his violent transformation from the Avatar of Vengeance.  His gaze shifts up to the wholly demonic and utterly harrowing sight before him.

"By the Light...I should have known..."

He grips his hands tightly as his strength falters and he drops down to one knee, clearly still weak after his recent efforts.  Then from behind him the faint visage of 3 figures appear.  The Council of Light gaze down at the Seraphim as their words manifest within his mind

Seraphim...you must end this at once.  We have sensed that Darkness moves against us once more.  We offer what little more we can safely give.  See that it is not in vain.

One of the three figures extends a hand towards Jharm, their palm raised skywards as a faint beam of golden light appears between them and the Seraph leader.  The moment the beam reaches him, Jharm shakes slightly and slowly gets to his feet as his strength begins to return to him.

"By the Light....this hellspawn shall fall..."

[Kitharsis]

Abbadon is gone.  Left in its stead was a fleshy egg.  Soul Reaver sinks his deamon sword into the thing, finding no resistance.  As the blade pulls free Kitharsis weighs what this could mean.  Abbadon was not one to give up so easily. 

The ground shakes, a symptom of what is to come.  Kitharsis launches himself backwards, away from the conspicuous mound of flesh.  As he does so a warp shield -of all things- wraps around him and the tiny mage.  No sooner does Kitharsis land, that the spire explodes beneath him.  In the chaos, Kitharsis feels the power of the Warp as it engulfs the spire.

The egg, whatever was left of Abbadon, impossibly unfolds itself into a massive beast.  Kitharsis stares in wonder at the Avatar of Chaos.  Such a monster turning its gaze to the companions tells of the impact they have had on the forces of Chaos.  This is the being chosen as their champion, or at least the one thrust upon them by their masters.  While the gravity of their situation is not lost on him, he cannot help but feel a degree of honor to face such a foe.

Kitharsis sheathes his horseman's pick.  It is, after all, merely a tool to channel his power.  The trinkets and rune stones at his belt would be mere jokes to such a creature.  No, this will require a degree of power above such things.

His tattoos glow fiercely as he judges the Avatar of Chaos.  The air around him grows hot and dry as he channels the powers of an arid desert.  The air shimmers with the intensity of the heat.

He is prepared for war.

[Danyael]

As the yamato sinks in, the echoes, in sink with Danyael's focus, vanish back into the ether - the weapons of the somnus going with them. In the same instant, the nephilim lord cuts upward with his blade, leaping a safe enough distance away to survey yet another new circumstance.

As Mary chases after Cameron, the nephilim lord calls after her, but too late, she's already through the threshold of the warp. He positioned himself to go after her, having traversed the warp before. He survived countless eternities during his exile. What was one more. But something compelled him to stay. A power spike unlike any other pulsed and throbbed like the beat of a drum, the energies bobbing and flowing in all directions as his eyes turned back to the central grotesque egg that he and Soul Reaver had penetrated earlier, the beast from within bursting forth. Danyael's own revulsion at the 'sight' of the creature can no longer be hidden. "...gross." it was a wrenching sight to behold, even for him. As the avatar spoke, the nephilim lord's sight perceived the energies around it, all of them pallid, pale, barbed... and even beautiful.

As it spoke, he said nothing in response at first, then decided why not and yelled back an ungentlemanly two worded response in reference to the creature's head. He would show them no fear. He would show them no despair. He would show them no wrath. At least not yet. All he would show them now was the neutrality of his focus. Twirling the Yamato into a single handed salute, blade uplifted in front of his face - he lowered himself into a two handed defensive combat stance, the edge of the yamato aimed at his new enemy while the handle, held fast in the clutch of both hands, was held high by the side of his face.

[Cameron]

The four faces of the Avatar of Chaos regard the Companions coldly as they, one by one, make their choice. The thousands of voices again speak in unison.

"SO BE IT."

In the blink of an eye, the Avatar is in motion. It strikes out at it’s foes simultaneously, bringing it’s many instruments of destruction to bear.

Gulgrim finds himself assaulted seemingly on all sides by various weapons of war. Brass axes and hammers swing at his midsection while two mighty chainswords seek to remove his head from his body. As the attacks come, Gulgrim can hear a voice cutting through the many other voices ringing in his ears, a growl of inexhaustible rage tearing through the din and into the Ork’s very soul.

“FIGHT ME, O GREAT WAR BRINGER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!”

Kitharsis finds a number of eldritch staffs pointed in his direction and is quickly surrounded by awful violet tendrils of pure magic. They lash out repeatedly, attempting to strike both Kitharsis and his bony mage. Lightning crackles from them in great arcs, ensuring that even the tendrils that miss their target will still pass close enough to damage him. Voices taunt him from somewhere nearby, each one repeating the same words with different tones and inflections, and some of them saying the same thing in different languages.

“SO MUCH POTENTIAL WASTED ON ONE SUCH AS YOU. THE POWER WITHIN YOU SEEKS TO CHANGE YOU. TO MAKE YOU STRONGER. BETTER. YET YOU RESIST. EMBRACE THE CHANGE OR ACCEPT YOUR FATE.”

Jharm finds himself engulfed in a swirling mass of rotting, putrid flesh. Various limbs reach out from the infected mass and attempt to incapacitate the Seraphim. Gnarled bony fingers clutch at him and attempt to hold him back, while fleshy protrusions covered in teeth and claws attempt to tear him asunder. The ancient elderly voice that emits from these fleshy constructs maintains a jolly demeanor, rasping happily in the back of Jharm’s mind.

“ALL THINGS MUST COME TO AND END. YOU’VE SPENT SO MUCH TIME FIGHTING. YOU MUST BE WEARY. TIRED. IN PAIN. I CAN TAKE THESE THINGS FROM YOU. JUST GIVE UP. LET IT GO.”

Danyel is quickly surrounded by a seemingly endless crowd of lithe, faceless figures of an indeterminable race or gender. They dart around him, laughing and taunting, darting in from multiple directions to slash at him with knives and blades while others hang back and attempt to restrain him with whips and chains. Every attack parried or dodged leaves him open for another, and the crowd shows no sign of stopping. A beautiful voice rings out, dripping with lust.

“THIS IS NO PLACE FOR ROYALTY. LET THE OTHERS FIGHT YOUR BATTLES. THEIR PAIN SHALL BE YOUR PLEASURE. SURRENDER TO YOUR DESIRES AND TAKE YOUR RIGHTFUL PLACE ABOVE THESE WRETCHED SCUM!”

Soul Reaver can see all this happening, because unlike the others, he is not targeted at first. The main host regards him coldly, it’s four faces leering.

“YOU WHO DEALS WITH INFERNO. WHO WIELDS THE STRENGTH OF DEMONS. YOU WHO SEEKS JUSTICE ABOVE ALL. WE HAVE FOLLOWED YOUR PROGRESS WITH SOME INTEREST. IT WAS FATED THAT OUR PATHS WOULD CROSS. THE OTHERS ARE MEANINGLESS TO US. YOU, HOWEVER, SHOW THE GREATEST POTENTIAL.”

The Avatar rears back, bringing a number of its appendages to bear.

“WE SHALL CAST YOU INTO THE FIRE, TO EXPOSE THE DIAMOND HIDDEN WITHIN. YOU WILL BEND TO OUR WILL, OR WE WILL BREAK YOU.”

The arms are upon Soul Reaver. He finds himself attacked by chainswords from either direction. Eldritch lightning washes over him. He is engulfed by an awful gas that chokes the very breath from his lungs. And through it all, a voice whispers in the back of his mind, calling him to surrender, attempting to break through his mental defenses.

[Veldanya Venalla]

The Seraphim coughs and almost gags as he finds himself surrounded  by rotten, repulsive flesh, the odor almost overwhelming him as he works to fend off the vile claws and teeth.

"Never!  I am a Warrior of the Light.  I shall never cease in combatting the Darkness in whatever form it takes!  Your sickening, twisting words mean nothing!  The Light shall purge away your pestilence!"

Jharms form begins to glow as a shield manifests around him, helping to protect him against both the effects of the rotten flesh surrounding him as well as the multitude of teeth and claws attempting to strike at him.  His hammer swings around, crushing any appendages that get too close.  As he swings the hammer around with his right hand, the Seraphim forms a glowing blade of light in his left and begins to slash and hack at the flesh surrounding him as he begins to attempt to slice his wave out of the macabre prison.

[Shadow Chorus]

As weapons surge toward Gulgrim from all sides, the voice of the blood god roars in his mind, but Gulgrim does not respond. Instead, he merely raises both of his arms to the sides of his head, intercepting the incoming chainswords. There is a grinding sound as the teeth of the massive weapons chew through Gulgrim's Cybork arm, but for some reason find it difficult to bite into his Orky flesh. After a few seconds both chainswords grind to a halt however, as do the axes and hammers, each  arresting their movement without Gulgrim seeming to flinch.

As the last of the metal of Gulgrim's cybork arm falls away, what is revealed is an arm of green fire underneath the workings. A new limb formed of pure WAAAGH!!! energy holds back one of the chainswords, while his other arm seems to have hardened to stop the second.

Meanwhile, the weapons aiming for the Warboss's midsection slowly begin to inch away as a pair of spectral arms, which had crossed in front of Gulgrim's gut to take the blows, push outward.

There is a rumbling sound as the Warboss looks up at the towering avatar of chaos undivided.

"Orkz show strength an' power through size, roight Gulgrim?" the ork seemed to ask himself. "Das right, ya stupid spikey god, why you'z ask?"

"Well den why'z you so small?"

"Dat's easy ya dumb spikey grot." The weapons began to push further back as Gulgrim's form seemed to swell with power and size, his height and breadth beginning to increase. "Dat's because I'z kunnin. I knowz 'ow strong I iz. I'z da Avatar o' Gork n' Mork. Ain't nuffin' I can't beat. But showin' it off's jus' a way to give the game away too quick."

His body continued to swell in size and bulk as he spoke, a mad grin across his face. "If'n I alwayz prounced about as big as dat Ghazghkull git, everyone'd know I wuz somefin' ta reckon with. It'd ruin da surprize."

As big as a hab-block now. Bigger even than the ancient legends told of The Beast. Green lightning danced at his words.

"But sometimes it's time ta show 'em just how mean an' green ya really are. An' dat's when you show 'em what da biggest and baddest Ork in da whole 'ooniverse looks like. An' dat's what Mork's cunnin' is all about. 'It em hard when dey Underestimate ya."

The ork must have been approaching the size of a small Titan by this point, but in the realms of the Empyrean it was impossible to truly judge scale, especially when compared to the tower that was his opponent. He brought his physical arm back, reeling back for a punch, and the outline of two more spectral fists, the hands of Gork and Mork, seemed to manifest over his shoulder, equally pulled back and ready.

"An' den wif Gork's Brutality, you hit 'em even harder when dey realize it."

And then, with force like a falling skyscraper, Gulgrim's fist and the fists of Gork and Mork slammed forward like they were fired from a cannon, explosive, earth-shattering force on a collision course with the body of Chaos's avatar.

[Soul Reaver]

Soul Reaver is hit all at once by the full fury of Chaos Undivided.

Soul Reaver's nerves ripple in agony as the eldritch lightning coruscates over him.  His involuntary intake of breath to scream only serves to draws in the cloying, decaying miasma around him, threatening to rot his lungs and infect him with unthinkable pestilences.  All the while a lilting, seductive, soothing voice promises to make the pain stop... with almost no effort required on his part at all.

Driven to his knees from the agony, Soul Reaver still manages to force his way through the pain to defending himself from the potentially fatal chainsword strikes.  His sword-arm responds to the incoming weapons with unthinking ease, Blooddrinker moving in a blur to intercept the blows.  Sparks fly as the crimson blade bats aside the roaring weapons, each blow smashing chunks of metal from them.  But he is only on the defensive, unable to make headway against the constant barrage.

For a moment, the seductive voice in his head is ovelayed with a more familiar, hate-filled one.

This one is our enemy as much as he is yours!  Unleash us and together we will tear out its heart!

Blooddrinker was telling the truth - there was no love lost between Inferno and the Avataor of Chaos, and Blooddrinker would do anything to stop Soul Reaver allying himself with this enemy of theirs.

But this was not the way, not this time.  At the cost of his own honour Soul Reaver had learned that it was easy to step over the thin line where the sword was wielding its bearer, rather than the other way around.  Blooddrinker was not a shield to cower behind - it was a blade meant to be thrust into the heart of darkness.  Deep at the core of his being, his spirit stirs.

He hardens his will against the seductive whispers, allowing them to wash past him as water rushes past rock.  With gritted teeth and through a haze of pain, Soul Reaver forces bone, sinew and muscle to obey.  With a monumental effort, he begins to rise again.  His lungs burn, but his regenerative powers begin to counter the pathogens and rot, holding it from advancing further.  With rasping voice and through blackened teeth, Soul Reaver begins to speak words of magic, his free hand tracing runes into the air.

There is a sudden crackle as a sphere of blue antimagic pulses from Soul Reaver's body.  His Fire Shield snuffs instantly, and he intended for it to do the same to the Eldritch Lightning, even if just for a moment.  That moment, he hopes, will create enough of a crack in his foe's offense to drive a wedge into.  Even now, he prepares a second incantation: a powerful Protection from Magic spell.

[Kitharsis]

Fiercely glowing crimson tendrils rip through the air as Kitharsis meets the Avatar of Chaos's attack head on.  He roars in defiance as lightning from the violet tendrils arcs about.  The lightning that arcs too close for comfort traces dark, jagged lines on his stony skin.  The skeleton mage erects a hasty shield around Kitharsis.  The mage can barely maintain the shield against the onslaught.  With each strike the shield flickers like a fluorescent bulb on its last legs.

“SO MUCH POTENTIAL WASTED ON ONE SUCH AS YOU. THE POWER WITHIN YOU SEEKS TO CHANGE YOU. TO MAKE YOU STRONGER. BETTER. YET YOU RESIST. EMBRACE THE CHANGE OR ACCEPT YOUR FATE.”

Kitharsis furrows his brow at the repeated words.  Does the Avatar think he hasn't contemplated dipping into the dark, endless well of power before?  He can't help but respond with a clenched smile.

"And to think, I will not need to stoop so low in order stop you."

With a flare of power, scorching winds kick up around Kitharsis as he stops merely defending.  His crimson tendrils push back more fiercely, attempting to overwhelm the violet ones from his enemy.  As he does this, he charges the tattoo on his left palm and starts firing energy blasts at the numerous Eldritch staffs controlling the tendrils. 

All the while, red tinted sand begins to fall around him, collecting within the barrier.

[Danyael]

The onslaught was without pause as the figures hammered into the Nephilim lord wave after wave, moving at speeds blurred beyond comprehension with a ferocity rivalling any he’d faced before. And with every echo he unleashed, they appeared to match his numbers with twice their own. But increased he did, over and over again until they were a crowd all unto them selves. He heard the voice lull his attentions and, while combating his foes, still managed to take heed of its words.

The Imperium ruled over much, but this universe held but a foothold colony – or rather an outpost – to its majesty. He didn’t want to be here any more than before, save for a few choice individuals. But here he was, fighting someone else’s battle. And the more the thoughts rushed through his mind, the more attractive the voice sounded to him. It was then that in a single, unified motion, he and his echoes clasped hard against the figures, all locking onto one another and pulled each other into a single mass of bodies, each connected to one another by way of interlocking limbs around each other. But the tactic was two fold, as they had also brought the figures closer as well.

Another voice, unheard by the others reminded him of his status as sovereign of the imperium. ”You rule countless realms. Why not be emperor over all?” the thought mentally made him smirk. Why not? Who could stop him? Who could try? Who would dare? None after today. Not a single one. And he would take the imperium down an entirely different set of paths toward an even further reaching grand design. The phantom voice purred again, ”Yours for the claiming.”

Thoughts lingered first on Mary, whom was one of only three who could ever reach the part of himself that he kept away from everyone else. If it were up to him, she would never know danger, though would always feel the thrill of life in every breath. He looked to his dear friend Kitharsis, whom he’d held above all others in camaraderie. This man, his brother in arms, had fought too long a fight. He’d given time and again without expectation of reward. He’d done so much and gained so little. This was not acceptable. He looked to the seraphim, Jharm, who tirelessly paraded righteousness in the face of wickedness, even when supremely overwhelmed and outnumbered. His heavenly hosts fought in a war that they never wanted to come to pass and came it did time and again. And yet, while more was demanded, more was given from him. This was unacceptable. He looked to Gulgrim and… just looked. Then looked to Soul Reaver and hatred once again boiled to the surface. This man, this hypocrite, was paraded by the masses as a champion of the downtrodden and the meek. He used this mantle to savvy himself some noble warrior of virtue and the thought sickened Danyael to the core. He still remembered all the falsehoods that bubbled to the surface from past campaigns with this warrior and none of them painted him as the savior of anything but himself. It was he, whom he looked upon with the most scorn of all. And it was then that he made his decision.

While he and his echoes still interlocked and holding fast with the faceless figures, Danyael brought his face closest by the side of one of the creatures’ heads. And then, without hesitation, he said the words. “What do you offer?”

[Cameron]

Cameron forces himself through the Warp heedlessly. Powerful warp shields crackle around him, protecting him from the limitless energies that would otherwise tear himself asunder. At first, he thinks of nothing but catching his quarry, who can’t have gotten far with his minimal head start. But after a few minutes, rage subsides, replaced with a growing fear.

Cameron had assumed that this was just a wall of warp energy that had been erected around them by the Avatar to dissuade them from trying to escape. But now he realizes his folly. The Avatar pulled them into a reality pocket within the Warp himself, and Cameron has just thrown himself directly into the Warp with no clear destination or anchor to reality behind him.

Planeswalkers such as Cameron and the Companions know the dangers of traversing the Warp all too well. When entering the Warp, you must have a clear picture of your destination in mind as well as a similarly clear picture of the place you just left, to keep you anchored firmly between the two locations. Failing to do so will leave you lost in the Warp, completely at it’s mercy. Many a fledgling Warp traveler has lost their lives doing exactly what Cameron just did.

Cameron stops and turns back, but he cannot feel any of the Companions behind him. The Warp provides him no frame of reference to get his bearings. He tries to picture a destination and move towards it, but he cannot focus. His once powerful warp shields begin to flicker and die, and he can feel tendrils of Warp energy burning into them, seeking purchase. Waiting to rip him apart.

And then there is a familiar burst of energy behind him, and Mary’s arms slip under his, hauling him upwards. There is a terrible disorienting lurch before reality resumes. Mary and Cameron tumble out of the Warp together, back in the courtyard that once served as the base of the Spire. Mary manages to keep her footing. Cameron tumbles end over end, coming to rest flat on his back. His gaze falls on Mary as she stands before him, her hair whipping in a unusually powerful breeze coming from behind her.

“Cameron, are you COMPLETELY insane, or are you just really really stupid?”

Mary glowers at Cameron, who for now is content to stare into the sky and wait for the world around him to stop spinning.

“I guess maybe a little bit of both.”

The look on Mary’s face betrays both worry and frustration in equal measure.

“I knew I was going to have to leave the fight unfinished, but I didn’t think it was because of you of all people being that fucking dense. Do you normally just throw yourself face first into the Warp with no idea of where you’re at?”

Cameron sits up.

“No. I don’t. I thought we were still…”

Cameron’s voice trails off as he looks past Mary to the location where the Spire once stood.

“...Mary, look.”

Mary turns and follows Cameron’s gaze. There is nothing left of the massive Spire that once occupied this space. Instead, a massive crater descends into the ground, further than any light can reach. At its center spins a massive cyclone of Warp energy, which stretches upwards into the sky. This is the source of the unnatural wind. Mary studies this phenomenon carefully before turning back to Cameron.

‘Cameron, that’s pure Warp energy being sucked into the crater. A LOT of it.”

Cameron returns to his feet quickly, checking to make sure that his armor is still functional.

“What’s causing it?”

Mary leaps into the air, coming to a stop a good 30 feet off the ground. She hovers there and peers into the massive crater. A few moments later, she drops back to the ground and turns back to Cameron.

“There’s a massive hole in reality below us. The Avatar must have opened it when he tore into this Plane. Whatever enchantment Ahriman had set up to pull energy from the Warp and through the Spire has completely failed.”

Mary looks to the sky.

“At this rate, this anomaly we’re in is going to collapse in on itself. Soon.”

Cameron stares at Mary incredulously.

“This anomaly. You mean the Eye of Terror. The Eye of Terror is collapsing?”

Mary nods. Cameron joins her in looking into the sky.

“How long do we have?”

Mary turns her gaze back to Cameron, gesturing at the cyclone behind her.

“No way to know for sure. But based on this, it’s minutes, not hours.”

Cameron reaches for the side of his helmet, tuning his voxcaster. He is immediately rewarded with a burst of voices in his ear as radio chatter from the allied forces in the area flood in. He toggles his mic and shouts above the din.

“Priority Message, Chapter Master override, all channels. Authorization: Chi Lambda Upsilon Tau Chi Eta.”

All voices on the voxnet fall silent. Cameron waits and then proceeds.

“Strike Team Actual to Fleet Command Actual. Requesting tactical update and situational appraisal.Switch to my channel.”

Cameron toggles to a private channel and then waits. Soon a voice rings over his voxcaster.

“Admiral Benden, reporting, sir. All major enemy forces have been eliminated but we are struggling to hold our position. Something is pulling us to the asteroid-”

Benden is cut off by another familiar voice, one that sounds much less amused than the last time he had heard it.

“Lord Aileron. The Eye of Terror is collapsing. I’m assuming this is because you were victorious?”

Cameron’s thoughts drift to the rest of the Companions, still trapped in the Warp. He shouldn’t have left them so hastily.

“For the most part. The remainder of the strike team has engaged the four Gods of Chaos within the Warp.”

The Farseer sounds legitimately surprised.

“And you’re not there with them? How odd.”

The hint of anger in Cameron’s voice causes Mary to turn from studying the sky.

“Why I am here instead of there is irrelevant. You’re confirming that the Eye is collapsing?”

“Oh! So you noticed. I’ve been trying to tell your Admiral this for some time now, but he is not listening. I have already started withdrawing my forces but your Admiral refuses to follow suit.”

Benden replies in an exasperated tone.

“Lady Farseer, I have told you multiple times now that I am not authorized-”

Cameron cuts him off.

‘Enough, Benden. I am authorized. Prepare to receive as many allied forces as your ship can safely hold. Relay that command to the rest of the fleet. Farseer, we’re likely to need your help to get our ships out of here.”

“Fear not, Lord Alieron. Our fleet will lead the way. But do hurry.”

Cameron dials his voxcaster back into the main channel and repeats his authorization. Again, the channel falls silent.

“This is Lord Cameron Aileron, Strike Team Actual. This mission is over. The Eye of Terror is collapsing. All standing orders are lifted. All allied forces are to begin a full retreat using the closest exit points available to them. You have 30 minutes, at which point all ships are to follow the Eldar fleet out of the Eye and back into Alliance space. All leaders, confirm this order.”

A rung of confirmations floods the vox. Cameron flips back to a private channel and turns to Mary before he is interrupted by another voice in his ear.

“Lord Aileron. This is Lord Dante. Is this confirmed?”

“Yes. Both by the Eldar Farseer and our expert here on the ground. There’s no time. You must retreat.”

“Then we will do so. The other Chapter Masters are already relaying your order. What of the strike team?”

“They are still in the Warp. We’ll find them once we make sure this area is secure-”

Cameron is cut off by a loud thump from behind him.

“Well! That was NOT a good time!”

Cameron disables his voxcaster as he slowly turns to face the source of the voice. Mary has already drawn her two-handed sword from its place on her back. Peterson stands before them, grinning his half grin. His chains have mostly been severed, but a few still hover around him. The brightly glowing daemon blade Drach’nyen is clutched in his right hand.

“I wasn’t expecting to actually be in the Warp! Had no idea where I was! Man, what a fucking IDIOT I am! But it’s okay, cause I found THIS. And with this, I managed to get back here. And I guess since old Abby is dead, this is mine now!”

Peterson takes a few test swings with his new weapon.

“Good shit. Very good shit. Anyway, what are you up to?”

Cameron draws his elemental blades.

“Killing you.”

Peterson’s half-grin widens.

“Neat!”


Within the Warp, the battle between the Companions and the Avatar of Chaos continues.

The Avatar was not expecting the sudden shift in Gulgrim’s size. Now faced with an equally large opponent, it swiftly alters it’s strategy. Bringing every available arm to bear, it intercepts Gulgrim’s triple fists, barely managing to hold them back. Thousands of arms are snapped, ripped, or severed from the Avatar during this process and it roars in what could only be pain. The four faces of Chaos turn their attention directly to Gulgrim.

“YOU ARE THE AVATAR OF FALSE GODS. WE WILL NOT BE FELLED BY THE LIKES OF YOU.”

An untold number of the smaller arms merge together into four massive arms, each now bearing a scimitar of blue and green fire. The Avatar shifts it’s entire mass into a four pronged attack, looking to remove the Avatar of Gork and Mork’s limbs.

Jharm’s shield is enough to protect him from the swirling mass of teeth and bone trying to shred his flesh. His hammer smashes back the bony appendages and his blade of light cuts glowing swathes in the flesh imprisoning him. Light breaks through for a moment, before a cloud of green smog fills the area, flooding the gaps in the flesh and hardening, strengthening the prison. The smog weighs Jharm down, making each swing of his weapons twice as hard as the last. Teeth, claw, and bone once again protrude as the mass doubles its efforts in trying to consume the Seraphim.

“IT IS OKAY TO GIVE UP, MY CHILD. IT IS OKAY TO BE WEARY WHEN YOU HAVE DONE SO MUCH. THERE WILL BE PAIN AT FIRST, BUT IT WILL FADE, AND THEN YOU WILL FINALLY FIND THE PEACE YOU STRIVE FOR. SURRENDER TO FATHER NURGLE AND BE FREE OF PAIN AND DEATH!”

The words of Nurgle ring as loud and joyful as ever, but they seem distracted. And even with the smog, Jharm can still see tiny cracks in the flesh and bone of his prison.

The violet tendrils are completely overwhelmed by Kitharsis’s crimson counterparts. His attacks are enough to knock the eldritch staves from the hands that wield them. The many voices around him ring out in various words and exclamations of praise.

“YES. YES. YOU SEE IT NOW! YOU MUST NEEDS EMBRACE CHANGE TO SUCCEED! WE WILL TEMPER YOU LIKE METAL. WE WILL BRING OUT THE CHANGE IN YOU BY FORCE AND UNLOCK YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL! SUBMIT TO THE CHANGER OF THE WAYS AND FIND YOUR TRUE SELF IN THE LEGION OF TZEENTCH”

Although this voice too seems distracted, this does not stop the avatar from bringing the hands that held the staves together to form two large cones. Energy builds and two massive lances if disruptive force tear through reality and strike Kitharsis head on, looking to obliterate his shield, his mage, and possibly himself.

Lustful laughter rings out from the trembling mass of bodies made up of the intertwined clones and echoes. The one closest to Danyael begins to writhe and twist, reshaping itself from it’s faceless form to an unmistakable one. A perfect face, framed by long luxurious hair and an intoxicating smile. The most beautiful being most mortals will ever lay eyes on. The figure speaks, and the voice that rings out is even more intoxicating than it was previously. Just the sight of this figure and the sound of its voice threatens to overwhelm Danyael’s senses.

“I WANT YOU, OF COURSE. ALL OF YOU. YOUR BODY, YOUR MIND, AND YOUR SOUL. JOIN YOURSELF WITH ME. EVERY NEED. EVERY WANT. EVERY DESIRE FULFILLED. JOIN WITH ME AND YOU WILL NEVER WANT FOR ANOTHER. AND WE WILL RULE TOGETHER. ALL OF US.”

The figure extends a gloved hand in Danyael’s direction.

Soul Reaver’s antimagic pulse is more than enough to dispel the eldritch lightning, and the gas begins to fade. As SouL Reaver begins to mouth the words of another spell, he finds that no further attacks are coming his way. The Avatar has shifted its attention, and while it still maintains a stranglehold on Kitharsis and Jharm, it’s full might has been forced to contend with the suddenly gargantuan Gulgrim. Soul Reaver finds himself with a brief moment where he is completely unattended. It will more than likely be the last free moment the Avatar will afford him.

[Veldanya Venalla]

“IT IS OKAY TO GIVE UP, MY CHILD. IT IS OKAY TO BE WEARY WHEN YOU HAVE DONE SO MUCH. THERE WILL BE PAIN AT FIRST, BUT IT WILL FADE, AND THEN YOU WILL FINALLY FIND THE PEACE YOU STRIVE FOR. SURRENDER TO FATHER NURGLE AND BE FREE OF PAIN AND DEATH!”


The Seraphims weapons slow down as the smog begins to seep past his defenses, his shield diminishing in its radius until it is a scant few inches from his armored form. 

"Never.  I shall NEVER give up, nor surrender!"

With a final swing of his hammer downwards he releases his grip on the weapon as it slams into the bottom of the "prison".  His gaze stares straight ahead, his arms down at his side.

"I am NOT your "child" nor are you my "father" foul monster.  I came from the Light...I shall return to the Light...I AM the Light.  I came from the Light...I shall return to the Light....I am the Light."

The Seraphim continues to repeat the mantra as it seems like his presence withdraws deep within his form and his body and armor begin to shimmer softly.  After a few moments the mantra suddenly changes as its volume seems to increase noticeably and at the same time his body begins to shimmer and glow brighter and brighter.

"I came from the Light...I shall return to the Light...I AM the Light.  We come from the Light...We shall return to the Light..We ARE the Light.  We come from the Light...We shall return to the Light...We ARE the Light."

Jharms arms raise up, his palms facing upwards as his body glows brighter and brighter.  This glow seems almost..."different" though.  While normally he glows when using his powers, the glow would seem to radiate from within him.  This time though it seems to be coming from his body itself, as if his very form is in fact BECOMING Light itself.  His words increase further in volume, sounding now not as if a single being is speaking but as if multiple beings are speaking at the same time through him, each word reverberating with power as if to drown out Nurgle and his twisted voice.  The Seraphims radiance continues to increase, pushing back against the sickly smog and eventually even shining out through the cracks visible through the walls surrounding him.

"WE COME FROM THE LIGHT...WE SHALL RETURN TO THE LIGHT...WE ARE THE LIGHT!"

As the mantra continues, even as the Seraphim continues to chant it, his own voice can be heard as he "speaks" to Nurgle.

"Feel the radiance of the Light "Father" Nurgle.  You're foulness shall be burned away by it.  Embrace the radiance.  Let it envelop you and cleanse away the filth.  Your suffering and eternal battle with the others could finally be at an end."

========================Elsewhere===============================

Nethanya and Drayven walk side by side as the Seraph forces work to withdraw back to the portal in the courtyard, and their return to their home plane of existence.  The blind general gazes over at the female Seraph as he speaks

[D] "There is no doubt about it, you can feel it the same as I can.  This place is tearing itself apart.  We must withdraw our forces at once."

Nethanya nods firmly.

[N] "Yes,  we have already lost many in this campaign.  I must admit I am concerned if our defenses shall be sufficient enough now, should the Darkness make its return any time soon."

[D] "A valid concern, though our troop strength is only one aspect of concern in that regards.  Even if we were at full strength, there are other...issues that still are unanswered that could still spell doom for us.  We had hoped that the Seraphims travels with these Companions would help lead to answers but thus far there has been no success.   Once he returns from this battle I believe we must decide if we should focus on other methods and avenues for answers."

Nethanya gazes off to the side briefly.

[N] "What if he doesn't return?"

The two commanders stop walking.  Drayven places a gauntleted hand gently on Nethanyas shoulder, his "gaze" meeting hers.

"Then he shall become one with the Light, as do we all.  Then, in time, a new Seraphim shall arise.  Let us not dwell on that though until it is necessary.  We must needs see to our people first and foremost."

The two continue along, reaching the courtyard finally.  The two move about, issuing orders to Seraph officers as the angellic forces begin to withdraw through the large portal.  At one point a Seraph runs over to them and points to the other side of the courtyard.

"General....High Priestess...it's one of those Companions!"

The two gaze over in the direction to see Cameron and Mary....and Peterson.

[N] "Yes, I believe that is Lord Aileron, the one who is in charge of these other warriors, Space Marines.  That female I believe is also one of the Companions.  That other creature though..."

[D] "A monster.  I can almost sense that he has certainly encountered the Seraphim before and..."

It is at this point that Cameron draws his weapons.

[Seraph officer] "Shall I send some troops to assist Lord Aileron?"

Drayven is silent for a moment before shaking his head.

[D] "No.  Not only is that creature so powerful that our troops would be little more then chaff in the wind...but I feel almost that this is not something we are meant to be involved with.  We must focus on getting everyone out of here.  Protect the portal should whatever is about to happen draw near it but otherwise...do not get involved."

He looks over to Nethanya.

[D] "I shall remain on this side until everyone is out, you should go through and help see to our wounded."

Nethanya nods and moves off, crossing through the portal a few moments later.  Drayven turns back to the officer and is about to speak when suddenly he stops and seems to tense up slightly.  The General speaks into the minds of the Seraphs still in the Eye.

Continue through the portal.  Once safely through, then join.

Drayven gazes forward, his hands down at his side as he begins to speak.  At first his voice is strong and clear but then suddenly goes silent, even as his mouth continues mouthing the mantra.  On the other side of the portal, Nethanya and all other Seraphs seem to be doing the same thing, every mouth moving in the same motion and forming the same words: "We come from the Light...We shall return to the Light...We ARE the Light."

[Danyael]

Lustful laughter rings out from the trembling mass of bodies made up of the intertwined clones and echoes. The one closest to Danyael begins to writhe and twist, reshaping itself from it’s faceless form to an unmistakable one. A perfect face, framed by long luxurious hair and an intoxicating smile. The most beautiful being most mortals will ever lay eyes on. The figure speaks, and the voice that rings out is even more intoxicating than it was previously. Just the sight of this figure and the sound of its voice threatens to overwhelm Danyael’s senses.

“I WANT YOU, OF COURSE. ALL OF YOU. YOUR BODY, YOUR MIND, AND YOUR SOUL. JOIN YOURSELF WITH ME. EVERY NEED. EVERY WANT. EVERY DESIRE FULFILLED. JOIN WITH ME AND YOU WILL NEVER WANT FOR ANOTHER. AND WE WILL RULE TOGETHER. ALL OF US.”

The figure extends a gloved hand in Danyael’s direction.

The face, the voice, the feel, the offer was intoxicating in their entirety. The nephilim lord smirked again, thoughts lingering on the voice even the avatar couldn't hear. 'Grandmaster of Chaos' the title echoed over and over in his thoughts so much that he no longer fought the prospects of the scenario; in due part because he couldn't deny that it was indeed a temptation. 'Lord Over All' the voice echoed again, the whisper just as intense now. 'All for the taking. All for you.' it hissed in an alluring croon rivaling that of the avatar. The echoes shifted their attentions to Danyael and the beautiful figure now, their grip still simultaneously locked with the others, though their hold no longer held any animosity toward the faceless figures. Just the opposite, in fact.

Images flashed through his mind, or rather minds, of a future not yet unfolded. A future where this and every other realm would be brought under the banner of the imperium, where the Grandmaster of Light and Dark reigned supreme, seated atop his throne forged of dead stars where new creation began ad infinitum. The vision showed Danyael seated proudly, his focus locked on all in existence as all in existence served his will as if it were their own. They would all be one, journeying toward a future unheard of until the moment he took his mantle as master over all.

Bringing himself back to the present moment, Danyael's eyes looked deep into the faultless figure before him. At the same time, the echoes shifted to the appearance of total darkness, now emanating black flames of lightless midnight, save for the dual slits of sunfire that were their eyes. The nephilim lord's hand, now wreathed completely in an obsidian so deep it practically repelled light around it, clasped firm around the figure's gloved hand. And with the combined booming bass of the voices of both he and his echoes, he gave his response:

"Show me. Show me what it's like to be a part of true greatness."

[Shadow Chorus]

Gulgrim steps back and brings his arms up, a second pair of spectral arms emerging beneath his physical and WAAAGH!!! flame arms, defending against the onslaught of the Avatar of chaos's combined efforts, but it is clear that with the majority of the avatar's attention on him and with no room to maneuver, Gulgrim at the moment is on the defensive. Not an Ork's strongest position, either, as burns and lacerations occasionally scar the titanic ork's frame from glances with the avatar's weaponry.

Not content to stay on the defensive however, Gulgrim's four arms lash out as two more appear, the six arms of Gulgrim, Gork, and Mork all reaching to halt the arms of the Chaos avatar and prevent more attacks from coming as Gulgrim's cavernous jaw opens wide and a cascading bellow of WAAAGH!!!fire spews forth like a volcano in the direction of the avatar's body.

Meanwhile, the Ork hordes outside begin to notice the collapse of the Warp environs around them as several Weirdboys all cry out their surprise and exultation at once, bellowing about the imminent end of this warp rift.

"You heard da Weirdboyz, lads! We'z runnin' out a fightin' room soon! Everyone back ta tha tellyporta 'less ya want dis ta be yer last scrap!" Gazgob shouted, waving orks back to the tellyporta platform as he turned and started to shuffle away from the decaying warp terrain.

"Uh, boss?" One of the lesser Meks under Gazgob's command asked as he took up step beside the Big Mek. "Wot about da big boss Gulgrim?"

"Feh. Gulgrim's got 'is own tellyporta on 'im, an' 'e's too tuff ta get krumped by anyfin' as simple as a collapsin' warp rift." Gazgob said, his lumbering strides not ceasing as he proceeded to fiddle with information on the data readout on his left arm. Not satisfied with what he saw, he gave the device a sharp smack, after which it issued a green glow and a pleasing chirp, and the Big Mek Grinned and looked ahead as the Tellyporta platform sprang to life.

"We'll keep da Krooza close as we can jus' ta make it easier for 'im, but we'z leavin' dis place. Nuffin' left ta smash, so it's time ta get ready fer da next fight."

All across the battlefield, Orks began to depart on tellyporta platforms back to Gulgrim's fleet waiting outside the eye of terror, the sound of rapid teleport seeming like an Orky storm across the warped expanses. The orks soon vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind the rubble of the Roks they had flung onto the battlefield, and the detritus of war they left in their wake.

[Soul Reaver]

The intense pressure that the Avatar of Chaos has been putting on Soul Reaver suddenly eased as the Avatar was forced to contend with Gulgrim's now titanic, Waagh! infused form.

Soul Reaver only needs a moment to complete his spell.  A chill runs through him as he pours additional mana into a Boosted Protection from Magic spell.  A glowing white sphere becomes visible around Soul Reaver before snapping from sight once more.  Thus girded for battle, he rapidly takes stock of what is occurring around him.

Each of the companions was being attacked by the manifestation of one of the four Gods of Chaos - the enemy's tactic appeared to be to try and divide and conquer his foes.

Even with Gulgrim's distraction, Soul Reaver only had a few moments' grace - only enough time to help and unite with one of the companions.  Fortunately, his current preparations made the choice easy.

With an incantation and a blaze of red light, Soul Reaver teleports himself behind Kitharsis, standing almost back-to-back, his raven hair whipping in the hot wind.

Soul Reaver's left hand is outstretched and weaving counterspells, while his right swings at any incoming magical projectiles with Blooddrinker, disintegrating anything the blade cleaves through.  Those hostile magics that manage to bypass those obstacles impact on the shimmering shield of Soul Reaver's Protection from Magic spell, their power either heavily diminished or completely dissipated by the barrier.

No words are needed - Kitharsis will know that no magical assault will get through from behind him, allowing him to focus all his might on overwhelming the magical assault coming from the front.

[Kitharsis]

“YES. YES. YOU SEE IT NOW! YOU MUST NEEDS EMBRACE CHANGE TO SUCCEED! WE WILL TEMPER YOU LIKE METAL. WE WILL BRING OUT THE CHANGE IN YOU BY FORCE AND UNLOCK YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL! SUBMIT TO THE CHANGER OF THE WAYS AND FIND YOUR TRUE SELF IN THE LEGION OF TZEENTCH”

"Change is indeed necessary.  But I dictate the changes I must make, not you.  I will never submit to you!"  Kitharsis roars in response. 

The voice seems distracted.  His companions must be pushing the Avatar much more than he is at the moment.  He must not be a hinderance.  The real battle is happening without him.

As Soul Reaver teleports inside the mage's barrier, the immortal warrior can feel a rush of heat swarm him.  The crimson sand quickly retracts as Kitharsis realizes that it is Soul Reaver, and not some machination of Chaos come to join him inside the failing barrier.

Kitharsis grunts out an affirmation at Soul Reaver, before turning his full attention back to the workings of the hands. 

The crimson sand gathers in a mass in front of him.  The two massive lances of disruptive force streak toward him.  Before they strike the mass of sand superheats and melds together, revealing two shimmering, mirror finished shields.  As the lances strike the mirrored shields move to intercept them.  The shields are heavily reinforced and reflective in nature.  They angle themselves in such a way that the lances should be deflected right back at the two large cones of hands.

Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Kitharsis and the skeleton mage fire a relentless volley of energy blasts at the hand cones.  He has wasted too much time on this distraction, and won't stop firing until there is no trace of it left.