Chyld's Decent part 1

[HellChyld]

Lord Commander Damon Chyld knelt before the altar of dark obsidian upon his flagship ‘Hate’. Thoughts of his past life flowed through his mind like the strong currents of a stream of adamantite from the foundries on Nostromo. The darkness of Nostromo where he was born, the pain of being a ganger and the terrifying fear of the Haunter’s gaze just before he ran his long, dirty nails through the flesh of his face, marking him. Why the Haunter hadn’t killed him, only he knew. His face had scarred horribly due to infection of the wounds. Yet, he had survived.

 

With the arrival of the Emperor, He was reborn. The pain of the induction into the Eighth Grand Company of the Night Lords made life upon Nostromo seem like heaven. Planets turned red in blood, as fear stopped the hearts of those weak of will. System by system the Children of Terror, The Blades of the Haunter, reclaimed the lost worlds of man. Yet praise from the Emperor never seemed to arrive to the Father of Fear. With each victory, the Father awarded his Commanders and their Companies. Chyld was rewarded many times and soon commanded five full companies as Lieutenant Commander. Only Lord Commander Gius Crucis and Lieutenant Commander Vermithrax held as much, if not more, power in the Legion when the Emperor of mankind betrayed the Haunter and all those who followed him.

 

Grabbing the altar with a taloned hand, Chyld steadied himself. The Pain of betrayal. Which was greater? That of the Emperor or that of the Haunter? The Haunter would destroy Nostromo for its corruption, Yet the Emperor would wish all Children of the Haunter to be punished for merely following orders. In the End the betrayal of the Emperor in his quest to become a false god in the eyes of weaklings was greater. Chyld Laughed quietly as he remembered all the temples, churches and other places of worship to the corpse god he had corrupted in bloodshed or defiled with the corpses of those who lead worship there. Dorn’s hard headed sons had caught him and his honor guard on Terra during the siege as he bathed the inner sanctum of one such temple in the blood of fools.

 

Muscle burned as Chyld tried to rise to his feet. The pain had been gradually increasing since the informal meeting of the shadow council. One of their own had acted against them and only through the quick action of another’s agent had there been no Commanders killed and only minor damage to the Chapel had been sustained. The blood sweat had started as the fleet had entered the Warp, while the eldritch Tattoos that covered his massive frame had brightened in intensity before fading almost completely from sight. Attendants had helped remove his armor after the blood sweat had started to corrode it from the inside out. Chyld looked at the remains of the armor where it laid. It had been cleaned of all blood by his attendants yet it still corroded and crumbled till it was nothing more than useless metal. It had been a reward almost 4000 years after the siege of Terra. Its destruction was disturbing but in destruction and pain was rebirth.

 

Lorgar’s Madmen had shown Chyld the Path to Power but it would be his own force of will which obtained his status as a Demon Prince. Weapons, Armor, Strength and Size had all been given to him as rewards. All had been presented in Pain and Destruction, until nothing but strength of mind and will now remained. Had he Failed? Hundreds of millions had been slaughtered across the Imperium of Man as well as outside its borders in the name of Khorne and Revenge. ‘Failed? Doubtful’ thought Chyld, his body spasming as muscles tightened and released. If failure had brought on the transpiring events, Chyld would have been a gibbering wreck by now. Well did Chyld know how Khorne repaid failure; this was not it.

 

Chyld’s grip upon the altar relaxed as some strength had returned to his tortured muscles. Slowly rising to one foot Chyld remembered the day of his transformation from marine to demon prince. The shrine world of Lumos Savant had been a lush beautiful world, once it was covered in the blood of the Corpse Gods fools that is. It was through the sacrifice of seventy million souls and skulls to Khorne as well as seven thousand years of war since the siege of Terra that on that day, Chyld’s body changed rapidly and his honor guard watched his ascendance. Laughing softly, Chyld thought humorously of that day as his muscles spasmed again, taking his breath from his lungs and his footing from beneath him. A great cracking of bone on stone sounded as Chyld’s horns slammed into the altar top, scarring the stone as spiral fractures spread through his horns. With a curse, Chyld’s hands grabbed both horns where they protruded from his forehead. Whether by spasm or deliberate action, another echoing crack pierced the air. Both mighty horns now rested in Chyld’s hands…

 

Resting his forearms against the edge of the alter, Chyld looked at the broken horns in his grasp. What was once harder then Nostromo adamantite now powdered and crumbled like ash in his hands. The memory of pain filled his mind from when the horns had been gifted. Two days of agony like shards of glass pushing through the skin only millimeters at a time. With a grunt Chyld crushed the remains of the horns letting them fall like dust on the alter. Using the alter to rest his weight upon while regaining his footing, Chyld stopped as a torrent of blackish blood flowed down both forearms from rends caused by the alter. What strange wounds the alter had made, thought Chyld as he looked at each in turn. The flesh looked dead around the wounds, much like that of a snake just before it sheds.

 

Slipping back to his knees as he knelt against the alter once more, Chyld Growled as tremors of pain assaulted his muscles. Even his senses seemed to be failing him as the smell of burnt and rotting meat had risen over that of the incense of the sanctum. Looking back at his arms Chyld noticed with each spasm of his body more of his flesh looked like that around the wounds in his forearms. The floor around him now pooled with blood sweat and blackish fluid flowing from his arms yet his strength remained. Running a taloned thumb across deaden looking flesh on his bicep Chyld watched as the skin rent and more of the blackish looking fluid flowed from within yet no pain came from the wound. Had reason turned against him as well now? His body had released more fluid then it could possibly hold, His muscle had constricted and released enough to have torn and separated, Horns that had pierced the armor of tanks had fractured broken and crumbled like wood in burnt settlements of backwater planets. Yet even now the pain was no more.

 

Had death claimed him? Doubtful thought Chyld. Facing the reaper was nothing new and never like this. On how many planets had the phantasm death come calling only to be put down or run off like a cur? To many to remember. On Terra it had been that bastard Son of Dorn who had tried only to be crippled and left among the remains of his men. His yellow armor Covered in the blood of his brothers. what a glorious memory it was dismembering him upon the alter of the corpse god. His screams had been music to Chyld and his brothers ears. How had he come to this now then? Had he not remembered his teachings in Fear and Terror? Hadn’t he remained strong in will? Yes he had taken to a Chaos Power. Yes he had taught its strength to his Men and Brothers and been rewarded. Was he like the fools of the World Eaters? NO echoed through the sanctum as Chyld struck his Fist hard upon the Alter. Mindless Fools. The World Eaters and their Primarch were all nothing but fools. Battle was welcome yes but with suffering, pain, fear and terror it was nothing more then an exercise in weapon mastery.

 

Lowering himself to rest on the balls of his feet and knees, Chyld gazed at the Mark of Khorne covering his thigh. Only it had not faded of the eldritch tattoos that had covered his body. Tattoos, Markings, both had meaning, both had given and earned him respect as a Ganger. The marks on his face By the haunter had given others fear. The tattoos had recorded moments both before and after taking his rightful place in the Night Lords. Running a hand over his shoulder Chyld remember when the 8th had been tattooed upon his flesh under the winged skull of his legion. Eldritch tattoos had been done by the word bearer Markos to upon his body to strength his path to Khorne. Many had covered the old ink done upon Nostromo. Markos Had cursed when Chyld had crushed his hand for trying to cover his legion tattoo. Nothing even Khorne would stand between him and his Legion. Nothing in over ten thousand years.

 

The pools of blood and fluid upon the floor and now risen to ankle depth from the many opened rends in Chyld’s flesh as his mind wandered through memories of battlefields and ceremonies. Waiting, the calm before the attack. Never had he liked it. They fray of battle had always called to him like a victim’s scream rending silence. His inner strength has always shown in battle. Intelligence reinforced power of muscle, Knowledge of tactics strengthen the results of massacre after massacre. Terror hung in the air like storm clouds and broke like thunder when he and His brothers were Commanded by the Haunter to begin. Running his fingers over his legion tattoo once more Chyld’s eyes flew to his shoulder as the skin and muscle slough off in his fingers. Yet No pain accompanied it.

 

There beneath the thin remnant of blackish fluid gaping through the rend in dead purplish flesh showed his Legion Tattoo on alabaster skin. How in the nine hells thought Chyld as he ran fingers over unscarred flesh. Poking the talon on his right index finger into his bicep Chyld’s wonder grew as more purple flesh separated from his arm leaving alabaster flesh tinted in gore peaking through. Pulling more flesh from his frame Chyld questioned what this could mean. Flesh slough off in great sections splashing in the pooled fluid around Chyld’s legs. Laughing loudly to himself, Chyld pealed the dead flesh from his frame.

 

Purple flesh revealed white. Scarred flesh revealed unscarred. Taloned fingers revealed Normal nails. Grabbing the remnant of horns upon his forehead Chyld removed the top of his head with a sucking release of demonic skull letting long black hair matted in gore fall freely down muscular back and neck. Gore lay all around Chyld as he completed removing all the demonic purple flesh from his body except for that upon his face. Would they still be there? Laughing loudly Chyld wondered yet again. If his eyes remained amber like that of his demonic self he worried not or his fanged visage. Strange, Only his father’s first gift worried him. Would they remain? Carefully Chyld started to peal the purplish flesh from his face in strips and letting it fall into the gore around his Feet. With each piece his vision darkened before leaving him completely.

 

Quickly Chyld found the edge of the remaining demon skull covering his face and pulled. With a sickening pop much like that of the removal of the top of the skull Chyld’s vision returned gore tinted and hazy as he dropped the remnants into the pool at his feet. Carefully Chyld stepped from the pool of gore and walked up the steps to a alcove. With vocal commands Chyld had the lighting in the sanctum raised and approached only mirror. Matted gore, Blood covered his skin and face. Carefully cleaning his face and eyes, Joy spread through HellChyld, Lord Commander of The 8th Grand Company of the Night Lords. Staring back from within the mirror was his own scarred, Black eyed Visage. Revealing a Fanged smile Chyld Looked over his body in the mirror. Only shoulder and thigh tattoos remained. Raising his arms into the air Chyld Laughed Heartedly.

 

 

 

something wrote so far toward my Nightlord's on the Nightlords forum and figured I'd share. Comments welcome