Blood dripping from the smoky blue blade, it throbbed with power. She sung in his hand, “Chorranach thirsts, she senses prey.” The mewling spawn gibbered and chattered beside Zesh Tyrael. He hated them, but he knew they were the remains of his once mighty Space Marine chapter. That bastard false Emperor sent a legion of Blood Angels to purge their home world.

A flash of blood red ceramite flickered at the edge of his vision. Reacting on instinct, raising Chorranach, deflecting the fierce downward swinging blade. A flash of a grin went across his face. They clash again, Zesh’s laugh ringing as loud as the clash of the great blades. He feinted with a wide swing, Chorranach streaming towards the Blood Angel’s waist. A quick flick of his wrist brought the singing Daemon sword over his foe’s guard, cleanly severing through the Space Marine’s lower arm. Jets of blood spraying from the severed limb as it fell twitching on the ruined temple floor. The red clad giant roared in pain and frustration. Kicking his bleeding foe to the floor, Zesh grinned, resting the tip of the blade against the throat join under the helmet, the siren song of the bound Daemon shrilling in the air. “She thirsts,” he said as he decapitated the prone form.

The loud boom of bolters sang in the air, Zesh diving for cover and checking the ammunition feed to the bolter embedded in to the left arm of his power armor to free up his hands to wield the two-handed Daemon sword – Chorranach. Rounds impacting in to the wall he was using as cover.

“Don’t stand there gibbering, fools. Kill the bastards!”

Shambling out of cover, firing wildly at the foe, the daemon spawn in his command swiftly advancing from the left. Four Blood Angel Space Marines focusing their attention on the swarm of gibbering beasts, the loud blasts of their weapons firing at them, Zesh raised his arm and slid from behind the wall, taking careful aim and fired.

Her body a wreck in her pink armor, collapsed over the ruined shrine to the Lord of Pleasure. Her body shuddered, causing the retinue of Blood Angels to look around. Another convulsive shudder rocked her prone form, pleasured moans escaping her lips. “What by the God Emperor…” Commander Eldwin of the legion said under his breath. A scent, something scintillating drew him towards her. Cailleach Tyrael shuddered again, her ceramite breast plate cracking open, another gasping moan of pleasure escaping her lips. “Sir, what are you doing?” Asked a lieutenant, his head vaporising, Eldwin standing there in the smoke of his Bolt pistol, “she’s mine, dog.” His slow steps moving towards Lady Tyrael, exclamations on the lips of his men, “Sir, what by the Holy throne of Terra are you doing?” Another shot rang through the air as the men began to succumb. Zesh crouched, watching from his vantage point amongst the rafter, laughing quietly to himself, “so you’re still with us beloved. Let the dogs fight amongst themselves, and to the victor goes the spoils.” He took careful aim and fired. Another Marine collapsed causing the others to erupt in a fight, chainswords growling to life as her otherworldly scent overtook their minds. She shuddered again, writhing seductively as her armor began to fall off with her movements. Eldwin dove into the melee, his power sword easily cutting the nearest opponent in half, “I said she is mine. Leave now, that is an order,” he growled as the two remaining members of his command squad turned towards him. The men looked from each other and snarled, both rushing towards him, one swinging wildly for Eldwin’s head, the other making a deft thrust to his chest, he parried the thrust effortlessly, ducking back and using a burst of his jetpack to evade the swing to his head. Snarling as they readdress, the two marines advanced, using short bursts of their jetpacks to close the gap. Eldwin fired again, vaporising the head of the man advancing to his left, his open side – then quickly feints with his power sword at his former lieutenant’s chest. An effortless parry from his comrade, his wrist flicked around, taking the momentum of the block to carry the sword to cut off the man’s arm. Another block then a swift thrust, slash, reverse combo, forcing Commander Eldwin on the offensive. He snarled and raised his pistol hand, firing wildly, explosive rounds tearing the man’s armor to shreds. Howling in pain, the wounded marine swung a clumsy arc, a silent scream on his lips as his head rolled from his shoulders.

Slowly he descended near Cailleach Tyrael, heretic sister, his arms held out as if in benediction, “I am victorious, my Lady,” he announced, alighting gently on the floor and dropping to one knee. She sat, her bare, milky white skin glistening, she smiled. “Brave sir, come, take your prize.”

His trembling hands holding his sword out for the Lady, still knelt with his head bowed. Laughter filled the air, mocking and terrifying as he realised. Shit, my head, it’s… his booted toes millimetres from his nose as the light faded from his eyes.


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