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The Time of Ending (Chapter Nineteen up)

Skirax

By Skirax
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Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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In the dying moments of the 41st millennium, there was no war.
All things retreated to prepare.
To lick their wounds.
To re-arm.
To gather their forces.
For the End.

In the last moments of a war torn existence, where death was everywhere, there was peace.
For one, shining moment, there was peace amongst the stars.

Then the Emperor opened his eyes.

The Fleet of Suroh entered realspace from the Eye of Terror.

And the galaxy exploded with war.







Chapter One – The 42nd Millennium; The Birth of the Star Child.
The Emperor was reborn in a psychic storm that slaughtered any and all psykers in the galaxy and the warp. It began at his feet, and like a fire, it swept up his broken form, fixing bones and forming flesh. As the flames reached his head, they licked their way across his skull; his skin was perfectly tanned when the flames finally worked their way to his broken skull.
In the Warp, the after effects of the rebirth of the Emperor screamed through the warp; daemons dissipated from its power, and the very warp shook at it’s passing; all of this was amplified by the death of every psychically conscious being in existence.
After a moment, the galaxy was filled with peace. For the first time in ten thousand years, there was peace in the stars. It was like a breath of fresh air; it may seem insignificant, but in that second, the Imperial Guard’s ranks swelled to an unprecedented number; billions of war machines were pumped out of factories and forges; and for a single second, the God’s of the universe had their supply of souls falter. Their fuel of life lost, even for that one moment, left them extremely weak and recoiling from the terrible loss they had suffered.

Then that fresh air was tainted with the arrival of Suroh’s huge fleet. With a sound like thunder that echoed across the cosmos, the Eye was torn open and over two million vessels, of different makes and sizes, burst through, and it seemed like the very essence of the Gods flowed out into space. The first planet to come under the attack of Chaos’ darkest crusade yet was the bastion of the Northern Imperium; Cadia itself. As two million ships came into orbit over the fortress world, a thousand missile silos on each ship prepared for the worst bombardment that the Imperium had ever seen.

On Terra, the Emperor’s rebirth shook the galaxy with a psychic shockwave that slaughtered any psychic individuals of the Great Cataclysm. The Eldar, however, were safe, locked away in their own private war in Camorragh. The Custodes stationed in the Throne Room looked on in awe, watching their father come back to life. They were awaiting his reaction, poised to rush to Him, should He require aid of any kind.
But He did not move.
He simply stared into space.
Then He did something none of them expected; He screamed.
A shrill, piercing sound, it made the Custodes clutch their heads in unbearable torment, as they fell to their knees in pain. Then there was a flash of brilliantly white light, and when the Custodes looked up at the Throne, their beloved Emperor was gone. The tubes that had fed him with energy now flailed about, gas issuing from their torn ends. They rushed up the steps to the Throne, and were hit with a wave of Psychic energy that threw them back down the stairs. They stared at each other, confused and terrified; where had the Emperor gone? After ten thousand years of vigilance and protection, they had failed...
But they had seen him reborn! Surely that wasn’t for nothing? Surely there was a plan to this...

In the Warp, a great duel was raging.

Khorne swung in a downwards arc, his great axe cleaving through thousands of Daemon-Worlds, millions of Daemons dying in an instant. The Emperor dodged easily, and it was clear that the loss of souls had affected Khorne; he was slow, and sluggish, not the graceful and quick warrior that he was known to be. The Emperor roared a cry of pure hate, and Khorne swung his huge head around to see the Emperor bringing Firelord, his great sword, down on his back. Khorne’s eyes widened and he brought his axe up in time to block the blow; flames flew off in every direction, some licking Khorne’s eyes and burning them; he roared out in pain and covered his eyes with his free hand. Sparks the size of suns flew off of the clashing blades, and they illuminated the Emperor’s perfect features, twisted with wrath and hate; his lip was curled upward, a sneer breaking apart his smooth face. His eyes were alight with malice, and for a moment the saviour of humanity looked as vengeful and hate-filled a God as Khorne was. Then he groaned, and pushed down hard on the sword, putting all of his weight behind it; Khorne was being slowly pushed back, and closer to the roiling mass of hate that was the ground. Beads of blood ran down Khorne’s face, obviously his substitute for sweat, and the Emperor pressed his attack; he broke the lock with Khorne, and then swung the blade down viciously, smashing against Khorne’s axe again and again. Sparks were flying off ferociously, sending daemons that were trying to help reeling back or they were disintegrated.
‘Do you yield, you abomination?’ asked the Emperor coolly, though the strain in his voice was obvious.
‘Never, you false god!’ spat Khorne, blood droplets spearing out of his mouth like daggers, impaling themselves in the Emperor’s face.
The Emperor growled through gritted teeth, and pulled back his sword for one, final stroke. Khorne lay on the shifting ground, bloody tears in his eyes; the Emperor swung downwards, and Khorne’s head rolled away with several thuds.
Another skull for the throne, thought the Emperor. Now for the other ones.

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Thanks for the comments guys, and I can't update today ;) Chapter not finished. But don't worry; because I've made you wait an extra day, it shall be extra awesome.

 

 

This may seem strange, but I'm quite sad that Calgar101 hasn't posted :( But thanks everyone for commenting! :P

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Ok, I'll re-write the T'zeentch one, but you all seem to forget one tiny thing; they are now weak. Forget outside of this thread, in this thread, they have been weakened by the loss of supply of souls. I'll re-write it and re post it after this, but I want you to remember that they are now weak. It works so much better if you do.
Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Chapter Two; Trickeries and Lies.

 

The world swirled around him, the grey and blue fogs buffeting him one second, and then calmly caressing him the next; it swept him off of his feet, sending him flying through the space before cushioning him with a soft landing.

The Emperor growled; he did not enjoy being played with. He rubbed his chin with his hand, and the little cuts and bruises stung as he touched them. His hair was matted to his head with sweat, and rivers of perspiration ran down his face.

‘Face me, you little rat bastard!’ he roared.

‘And why should I?’ came a voice from everywhere, it’s sound resonating throughout the area of the warp he was in. ‘I have heard what you did to my brother Khorne; why would I wish to have the very same thing done to me?’

The Emperor raised his sword, and closed his eyes; he breathed deeply in, and out; he suddenly became aware of everything around him; he was able to distinguish the different souls in the cloud around him; and he could see T’zeentch’s form through the clouds, and it was truly disgusting.

His face was twisted into a shape so hideous that it was no wonder he hid behind false faces and fleshy masks. Like a targeting flare from behind a smoke screen, his form emanated through the clouds.

The Emperor’s breathing slowed; his chest heaved and his shoulders rose and fell slowly, the glistening sweat on his naked chest shining in the bright blue light. His fingers crackled, small bursts of lightning darting from fingertip to fingertip. A small ball of energy formed in his hand, and everything stopped. Using his psychic abilities, he charged the ball with raw wrath and hatred, the ball growing in size and power. Then he thrust his arm forward, and the ball rocketed into the clouds.

A scream came from the other side of the clouds, but in an instant, an even bigger ball of power jetted out from behind the smoke. It sent the Emperor flying, knocking him through the clouds and into a second part of T’zeentch’s realm. This was a barren landscape, with steam the colour of bile rising up from the ground; toxins. His awesome metabolism fought to control the levels of toxins in his body, filtering any breaths that he took. He wasted no time, and shot a stream of fire from his eyes, the great jets of power cutting through the area around him. He turned in a circle, and only stopped once he heard T’zeentch’s agonising screams. Once again, however, a jet of flame even greater than his flew from the out of the gas to him. This time, however, he was ready.

He ducked, the fire flew overhead, disappearing into the distance. Wasting no time, he raised Firelord and pointed it towards the source of the fireball and screamed a spell; white lightning leapt from his sword, parting the steam and gas and coursing through to find its target. He was rewarded with another scream; this time, however, it was deep and rumbling.

The ground started shaking, rocks skittering about and thin chasms opening in the ground. He realised too late that this was a counter-spell, and a huge rift opened beneath him, and he fell into the darkness...

He landed hard on the ground, and the wind was knocked out of him. He gasped for air, and his eyes dimmed and one turned bloodshot. He heard a soft cackling from behind him, and he turned agonisingly on the ground to see T’zeentch, standing over him.

‘Yield, little baby?’ asked T'zeentch mockingly. The Emperor lay rasping, and he felt from his sword, but the Lord of Change kicked it away from his reach, and he heard it skittering across the cavern floor. He looked around, and saw that he was indeed in a cavern, but the walls were nowhere to be seen; the roof was low lying, and it just seemed like the area his was in was illuminated, his psychic meant holding back the baying darkness. A tear ran down his face, and landed on the dusty cavern floor. ‘Well?’ said T'zeentch. ‘Do you yield?’

The Emperor lay there, gasping for breath and his broken legs lying uselessly beneath him. Then he stopped rasping for air. He took one long breath, his eyes alight with power and fire.

Then he roared.

The roar sent a psychic shockwave rolling around him at the speed of thought; it cleared the darkness and illuminated the cavern; like a shining light, it lit the area around him and fought back the dark. T’zeentch was sent flying through the air as he was hit by the wave, his fluttering cloaks torn and scorched. He landed hard on his back, and the Emperor ran over, his blade held in both hands and his eyes burning with ethereal fire.

There was T’zeentch, lying useless on the floor and a huge gash across his chest, guts and broken bones spilling out onto the cloak he wore. His right arm was raised, and a thin trickle of blood was snaking its way down his body and across the floor. He was whimpering, and the Emperor sneered at this feeble excuse for a God. He walked over to T’zeentch, lying helpless on the floor. He pressed his sword blade to the dying God’s throat.

‘Do you regret anything?’ asked the Emperor.

T’zeentch looked him square in the eyes. Tears lingered at the edge, and threatened to spill over. But despite this, his eyes were as cold as steel and even harder.

‘I regret nothing.’

Firelord was plunged into T’zeentch’s neck, and the Lord of Change finally died.

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