Blood Angel scene

[Daemonkin_888]

This is a little scene I've done featuring my Khorne Lord, Crull, and an unnamed Blood Angel captain.

Crull expresses some interesting opinions during this - opinions some may find interesting or possibly not agree with. I'm not entirely sure where I stand, but I thought it would be interesting to explore relations between the World Eaters and the Emperor post-Angron's abduction. I imagine the opinions Crull expresses would be shared with many of the World Eaters.

Any comments you have on this would be very welcome. Cheers, guys!

 

 

“Liar!” Crull snarled.

He glared at the Blood Angel with eyes like pools of molten metal.  One of the Blood Angel’s eyes was a pearly white sphere, his skin across it chewed by a line of scar tissue.  The other was undamaged and returned Crull’s glare with equal hatred.

 

He clasped the Blood Angel’s throat in an iron grip, pinning him against the wall with the weight of his terminator armour.  His hand trembled as the Nails sent all-too familiar tendrils of harsh stimulants stabbing through his body.

 

The captain’s once-burnished armour was a broken remnant of its former majesty, its surface marred by bolt craters and a network of chainaxe lacerations.  Through its fractures, his vitality spilled out and cumulated in a glossy crimson pool on the decking.

 

The Blood Angel’s scorn echoed inside Crull’s mind like a voice spoken over a great distance.  With every moment it became louder, quickly growing into a shout.  Other voices began to break into his psyche, all repeating the same scorn, like chanting during rituals of old.  Some of them he recognised, their owner’s faces imprinted on his mind like an iron brand.  He tried to block out the vexatious chorale, with as much success as trying to halt the tides with a spoken command.  As the chorale reached its crescendo, the Nails sent a blade of emotion stabbing through his mind.

 

“Liar!” he roared again, like an animal in pain.

He rammed his gauntlet into the Blood Angel’s face with a rewarding crack of bone.  He struck again.  And again.  With every strike the Nails sang in his mind, rewarding him for every ounce of pain inflicted.   Under the barrage, the Blood Angel’s face was transformed into a bloody pulp of broken teeth, exposed muscle and acidic drool.  At last the World Eater ceased and released his grip.  The Blood Angel slumped to the floor, his body motionless.

“I am no traitor,” Crull breathed.  A sudden wave of calm seemed to fall over him, his outburst seemingly forgotten.  “You know nothing of my Legion; you, the son of a Primarch so adored by the Emperor, couldn’t know less.  It was the Emperor who betrayed us.  The day we became the Eaters of Worlds, it was He who destroyed our Primarch, and through him, our Legion.”  Crull glanced away, seemingly gazing at a distant object.

 

The Blood Angel tried to utter a response through the bleeding fissure that was once his mouth.  Crull’s gaze snapped back like a predator catching its prey’s scent.  The Blood Angel clawed for his fallen bolt pistol, his fingers struggling to find purchase around its grip.  In the space of a single heartbeat, the World Eater struck.  Crull stamped on the Blood Angel’s vambrace, giving the rewarding sound of shattered bone and ceramite.  Harnessing his momentum, he brought his right sabaton down on the Blood Angel’s neck.

 

In tales of old, it is said that a man feels most alive in his moments before death.  As the Blood Angel drew his last breath, his eyes burned with life, a supernova before the death of a star.  This was the purest emotion of a warrior: to be a master over life itself, to feel the flickering embers of a man’s life die before you.

 

With a final release of energy, the Blood Angel spoke.

 

“The Emperor prot-”, he began, but his words were cut off by the sudden crack of shattered vertebrae.