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The Time of Ending (Chapter Nineteen up)

Skirax

By Skirax
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calgar101 Venerable Brother

calgar101

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Bloody epic! By far the best chaper on this board! Absolutely epic sir! i applaud you! Now jealously flows through me like a river and inspiration leaves me like a waterfall. My plans now have to change for fear of copy right theft. Good work Skirax, you've done us proud :confused:
Dosjetka Venerable Brother

Dosjetka

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:) Yeah... ;)

 

Oh Damn :P Maybe I can get away with calling him The Lord of Change?

Maybe...:P *raises loaded bolt pistol*

Oh, that's... good *raises loaded Plasma Gun* :P

This is slipping from my control...*calls down Exterminatus upon both of them*

There, all under control again ;)

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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:rolleyes: Yeah... ;)

 

Oh Damn :P Maybe I can get away with calling him The Lord of Change?

Maybe...:P *raises loaded bolt pistol*

Oh, that's... good *raises loaded Plasma Gun* :P

This is slipping from my control...*calls down Exterminatus upon both of them*

There, all under control again ;)

*Hides under table*

Skirax Venerable Brother

Skirax

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Chapter Three; Diseased Souls

 

The Emperor coughed, his metabolism struggling to keep up with the continuously changing toxins that grew in potency every second. His every breath was raspy, and small pocks of illness were appearing on his neck. His eyes were going duller and tears were rolling down his face, collecting with the sweat that was rolling down his cheeks and forehead in streams.

He was in a factory, or something that resembled a forge. Huge vats of bubbling goo littered the place, and discarded buckets with sores and marks on lay around the rusting floor. He heard things in the darkness, and his sword was the only thing that lit the factory. Long assembly lines whirred as they slowly progressed along the cogs and metal plates, but their users and workers had abandoned the lines long ago, and small puddles of liquid dripped slowly onto the floor. Large pipes snaked along the floor and rose to touch the ceiling, rust covering them in patches.

‘Where are you?!’ roared the Emperor. When he had no reply, he sighed, but then focussed his mind. In an instant, the factory was alight with illumination. Shrieks and screams were heard as nurglings ran from the light. However, the light caught most of them and they dissipated; not banished, because they were already in the Warp, but they were broken down, atom by atom, and scattered about the Warp, then a spell cast over them to prevent them reforming.

Suddenly, he saw that beyond the pipes and vats, hiding behind the assembly lines and lying beneath the ooze, was Father Nurgle. He was huge, his stomach bloated and every part of him overgrown and out of proportion. His tongue snaked out of his mouth, curling up around his jagged meat cleaver that he held in his clawed hand. The other stroked his face, picking around his huge cyclopean eye at the crust that formed at the corners. Thick ooze dripped out of jagged cuts and snags in his leathery skin, the colour of vomit. A great horn jutted out of his forehead, the colour of old, decaying bone. Flies buzzed around him, landing on him and sucking at his dried, old flesh. When he spoke, his mouth didn’t move, but his body inflated and deflated in rapid succession as the words formed inside of him.

‘It’s been... so long, young one,’ wheezed Nurgle. He had to stop between words to draw a breath. ‘When did... I last see... you? Was it... when those... shamans died for... you, or was it... when I took... one of your... siblings?’ He was taunting him, baiting him with forgotten memories of his horrific childhood.

‘I have long since forgotten the distant past, and have passed the point of caring, you withered up old bastard,’ said the Emperor, the hatred thick in his voice.

‘Enough of this... stalling,’ said Nurgle, and as he did, his tongue slowly unfurled from around the sword, and the Emperor gripped his sword in both hands, planting his feet. As he did so, he gathered his powers, and the air around him crackled as it became charged with electrical power.

Without warning, Nurgle brought his huge cleaver down on the Emperor, attempting to cleave him in half. However, the Master of Mankind raised a psychic barrier as the blade came down, and it bounced harmlessly off. What the Emperor didn’t see, was Nurgle’s huge tongue come whipping around on the floor, knocking his feet out from under him. He fell flat onto his back, and the naked flesh stung as it dipped into a puddle of the strange green liquid. It was clear now that it was acid, as the thick goo burnt its way through the Emperor’s thick hide. He grit his teeth, then leapt onto his feet in one fluid motion, then unleashed a huge wave of psychic power at Nurgle’s huge form. It sent the God staggering backward, and his huge feet made great booms each time they came down on the floor. Pressing the attack, the Emperor leapt into the air, and plunged his blade into Nurgle’s stomach, the fire burning away the dead flesh as it touched the Lord of Decay. As he thrust the sword deeper in, he used the blade to send coursing lightning through his veins, vaporising his blood and whatever other foul liquid’s fuelled him. He pushed himself off of Nurgle’s disease ridden body, and landed on the floor gracefully, at a ready stance.

Nurgle roared, the sound reverberating off of the factory walls, and he fell backward, causing a huge crack to appear beneath the Emperor. Oh, not again, he thought, and he leapt aside, the chasm missing him by inches. Then he ran forward, jumped onto one of Nurgle’s feet, and launched into the air. He raised his sword above his head, and the blade crackled with ethereal energy. He landed on Nurgle’s chest and, angling his sword downwards, plunged his blade into the God’s chest; the blade speared through the cartilage and ribs, through the strands of blood and veins, and punctured the diseased heart that sat at the centre of the God’s chest.

With a groan, the Lord of Decay died.

The Emperor breathed out slowly, his head bowed and his sword still in the corpse of a God. The world around them unfolded, collapsing in on itself and imploding like a sun in its death throes. After that, the area of the Warp that he was in was empty; nothing. No hate, no denial, no love. Around him was blackness, and he liked it. A perfect Warp, he thought. Then he looked into the distance, and saw the realm of Slaanesh, and his soul was set afire.

‘So soon,’ he muttered, and he wrenched his sword out of Nurgle’s chest.

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