Strange Aeons: 10/10 (+2 from I just write),
using.
Stand Tall: 4/10
+1
@I just write.
I stand up.
(General Action + 10 Post Charge In Use)
Casualties are inevitable in warfare. I knew this would happen as soon as I summoned my allies to the field. But, that does not mean that I cannot mourn, and more importantly for what I am about to do, that doesn't mean I can't reap a terrible vengeance upon the enemy for what they have done.
I shall go above and beyond what I have done before. I shall show the Guardian Dragon the wrath of gods.
I expend 20% of my charge in an instant, shrouding the enemy in a purple vortex, a portal to a strange and terrifying realm where it shall suffer a horrible fate. When the vortex dissipates, Hatred and part of the pillar he stood on had disappeared, being transported to the Warp.
I stand before it in the strange, twisting hellscape. 8 beings of indescribable power observe us impassively.
"Four and four. Gods of the material realm, cold and calculating, power based in quantum strings and the substrates of reality. Gods of the empyrean abyss, irrational and chaotic, power based in emotion and souls. Each set will deal upon you deep wounds, Hatred. Pick one."
Although too proud, mighty and angry to cower or react with feat, Hatred certainly seems far more subdued than he did on the field. He knows what is coming. It has happened before, a staggering amount of firepower speeding along his destruction. It is to happen again, here and now. He glares at the eight figures, looming above us.
"Both sets, one after another? Hmm, an interesting choice, but yours to make. Let us begin." I snap my fingers, and my remaining charge shoots off to the eight surrounding me, a point for each. A single point is not enough for them to commit significant forces, of course, but that is not needed. They are willing to commit enough forces due to the fact that they seem to be from a universe where they are aligned with me or my "kind" for whatever reason, and if they aren't just being brought forth by my subconsciousness then an unchecked Godmodder is a threat to them as well.
The rest of my personal actions shall be on my uncharged power, but that is more than enough.
I take off my jacket, and it disappears into a sub-dimension.
Yes, the jacket is coming off.
Our first step is in a realm of twisting crystalline spires, the Labyrinth of Tzeentch. Hatred bellows its wrath and charges at me, into the strange twisting corridors, and I retreat swiftly. For a few turns it follows me successfully, but then loses its prey, and turns around to find a wall were it passed through. It had been trapped in a twisting maze that was impossible to escape from.
A thousand years followed as the very air seemed to mock the dragon, sapping its strength, while Horrors leapt often from the shadows, hurling bolts of Warpflame that scorched away the soul itself instead of anything physical, cackling before being exterminated. Many times the dragon was crushed as walls came in from both sides, or impaled upon a network of snaking tendrils. For me, one with the current favor of the Master of Fate, it was a much easier time. Mere seconds passed as I simply walked a few hundred meters from one end to the other. I smirked behind my mirror-shades as the dragon emerged, charging at me again, still aware of who put it through its torment even after so many subjective years. Oh, it had no idea of what was to come.
I stepped back once again and disappeared through a portal appearing from nowhere. Shocked, Hatred looked to see a Lord of Change descending from the sky, and conflict began once again.
The battle was short, but swift. Bolts of lightning and waves of force emanated from the Lord's stave, and such firepower, able to down even the mightiest of foes, crashed against the Godmodder's servant like the hammer of a god, which in effect it was. Being flung back by such a mighty attack, the dragon breathed its own flames in response, but the Lord had taken off, beats of its wings putting it out of reach. The dragon took off likewise, but was sent tumbling back down by a wide pillar of inchoate energy, the beginnings of a concentrated energy beam smashing the offending beast down before it could rise up and strike. Hatred noted its chance, and rushed through the still-open portal before the Greater Daemon could attack it again.
A mistake, as it turned out.
The dragon fell into a vast river of blood, although river hardly did it justice. Sea perhaps, but it was certainly flowing to one point. Yet this was no ordinary blood, it burned away at life, for it was the
essence of the slain, distilled. An ocean of the last moments of countless souls, and the wounds that had killed them were inflicted back upon Hatred ten fold. The Choppa of the Ork, a simple and brute yet effective piece of metal on a stick, or the arcane Gauss weapons of the Necrons, and weapons of every level of sophistication in between including vehicular and starship-grade firepower. All were forced upon Hatred, smashing into his body and ruining it with the power of war, rendered into one of its components, weaponry.
I stood at the base of an impossibly vast mountain of bones, the Skull Throne, at a small enough forge, sweating heavily. I was fashioning a weapon to strike back at Hatred, who saw me and charged once again. It seemed as if he really could not learn.
Soldiers. Warriors. Those who served the God of Blood stood ready to do battle, as such was in their very nature. Disciplined volleys of fire came from Blood Pact troopers, tanks, and artillery, while countless Bloodcrushers riding upon Juggernaut steeds crashed into the sides, cleaving away with mighty burning swords, hacking and slashing to their heats content. Even as many of them were tossed away or crushed underfoot by the rampage of the dragon in response, more came forward, supported by Khorne Berserkers. Chaos Space Marines one and all, Daemonic Chain Axes cleaved further and deeper than the simple swords of the mounted Daemons, and they were swift enough to dodge the by now somewhat clumsy return strikes of the enemy. They were also tough enough to survive glancing blows, a fact that they took advantage of by getting in even closer to deliberately and repeatedly hack at vulnerable points caused from previous damage, for they were skilled, veteran warriors.
This went on for some time before they withdrew, although this was only because a new foe had shown itself. A trio of Brass Scorpions, each almost as large as the enemy, advanced on their many legs. Practically throwing himself at this latest foe, Hatred was annoyed to find that the group were resistant to his flames, for they were enchanted, and magic was protected against by the runes of Khorne. The fight soon dissolved into an unorganized, brutal melee, whirling buzz-saws and snapping pincers slicing and tearing off parts of Hatred's body, armor denting yet holding against the return strikes. Scorpion and Demolisher Cannons mounted on tails and in mouths fired constantly, shells exploding on the surface of the creature to exacerbate the damage done. But they could not last for long, and were soon reduced to scrap metal, but not before a heavy toll had been taken on the Guardian.
It was time enough for me to finish my work. I had crafted a
suit of armor and a weapon from brass, the favored material of Khorne. To be specific, I had crafted the armor and weapon of a Dragonslayer, intending to live up to that legacy. I gazed impassively through my new helmet at the supremely angered dragon that needed slaying, and charged before it could, a single bound taking me through the air in an instant, right up to its surprised face. I drove the spear in, up to the cross, and watch as the dragon roars in pain. Understandable, seeing as I just stabbed its brain. I kick off, ripping the spear out, going up, and then stab it in again at the top of its head, causing more damage. I wave away the equipment, its done the job for now. I then turn tail and run through another portal. The dragon tries to follow, but cannot.
At this point, Hatred is feeling very sick and tired. In fact, it despairs at the fact that it seems doomed to stagnate and inevitably fall to the onslaught of foes. It sighs deeply, and lies down for a moment, before it notices that it's being bothered by flies. It rouses itself to wakefulness, and finds itself transported, to the Garden of Nurgle.
The fetid swamp, no, the
concept of the fetid swamp, took its toll. Hatred was forced to march through the decomposing rot in search of some sort of escape, or at least respite. He marched through bogs that sucked down even the mighty dragon, flying maggots constantly attempted to crawl into eyes and ears, and in this realm of decay disease was everywhere, and it was far from natural. Even with an impossibly constitution and a body of roiling flames, the beast grew sickly and weak, diminishing in size a little and turning somewhat green and downcast. It fought hard just to keep moving, for if it let despair overtake it, the dragon knew that relief would come but in the form of Nurgle's "blessings", and it would happily serve a new master, a fate it deeply wished to avoid.
After hours of travel, it arrived at one point of potential aid. A single tree of white, but clearly of health and purity instead of the bleached bone tone of the surrounding trees. Isha, the Eldar Goddess of Life. Hatred did not beg for aid, but did demand it. And Isha refused, unwilling to associate with a creature no better than her captor. She aided the mortals against the diseases of the Plaguefather because there was nobility and goodness in them, but she saw no such qualities within the creature before her.
In response, Hatred angrily tore apart the tree, but in doing so achieved seemingly nothing, as the spire shattered on contact, disappearing into the ground to reform elsewhere. However, in attempting to harm the Goddess, Hatred had angered Nurgle. Another poor decision. Great towering constructs of filth and flesh emerged from the muck, hammering away at the interloper with mighty fists, infecting it further as the sentinels were all burned away. Yet more foes came, in the form of the Zombie Mecha and its allies. It would appear as if the undead machine had gained the approval of the local deity, who had brought it here with his point of charge to study and replicate it. The Entity would return to the battlefield after this, of course, but not before helping the fight against the Guardian even more. It fired with a plasma cannon that should by all rights have overloaded, and the rad-spewing gutted hulks behind it did the same with a variety of weapons of their own, ranging from kinetic guns to Conversion Beamers. This constant barrage was aided by undead mini-dragons. The 'flesh' the Brass Scorpions had torn off had drifted with the dragon to the Garden, where they were reanimated.
This enraged Hatred more than anything else. His own
being had been
turned against him! This foul violation of all that was holy must be answered! So he fought against miniature versions of himself, fungal growths for eyes and wings, bodies held together by tendrils of Warp energy. He fought and slaughtered them all in a frenzy of violence as he fought as hard as he could, all while the machines showed no mercy, including a few lighter Titans dedicated to the Plague God. This left it drained, and it was dragged down into the ocean of uncleanness below. Down and through, which of course did further damage, but it soon came out on the other side, a very different place.
A landscape of purple and pink, that seemed free of dangers and much more joyful than the previous three locations. Although only for some. The somewhat damaged dragon marches forward through the new world of laughter and lights, soon barging through the front door of a palace, or more accurately a side entrance. Still vast enough to easily fit Hatred, however. Then, he saw me.
Yes, I had no intention of fighting in the Garden. I mean, really, do you have any idea how hard divine mud, the muddiest mud to ever mud, is to get out of clothes? I'll tell you, too hard, even for a man with reality warping powers.
Instead, I'd just been having a lot of fun. What I was comfortable with doing was so below the purview of the Prince of Pleasure that this was thrown in as a bonus reward for the charge point, something on the house because why not? And so it was that I looked down at Hatred from the balcony I was sitting next to, wiping my mouth with a napkin after I'd just finished the finest steak I've ever eaten, and I drop the blackjack cards I'd been holding in my other hand.
Sighing, I stood up. "Well, guess that's over." I mutter as most of the "patrons", Daemonettes present to make the room feel more alive, disappeared before Hatred snacked on them.
I speak to Hatred, louder now. "To be honest, I hadn't planned much for this, so you get off a bit light, Hatred. In really just wanted to unwind, keep myself fresh, you know?" Of course, that didn't mean I had nothing.
"Although before we move on to phase two, I do want to introduce you to my lovely new assistant, and she wants to introduce you to some dust." A Daemonette in a magician's outfit sprung up from a hat on the floor, similar to a classic trick involving a rabbit, before kicking up the hat and having it land perfectly on her head with a showing of amazing acrobatic skill. She grinned too wide with a mouth too full of very pointy teeth, and in a grand gesture swept her claw arm in a wide arc, sparkling dust rapidly moving from it and settling on the beast.
It soon began turning against itself, mind tricked into thinking it was its own enemy. As it ripped itself apart with tooth and claw, I shared a quick laugh with the 'magician' Daemon, and also a fistbump. She turned and strutted out the door after she was done tittering at the foolish Guardian, which was beginning to come back to its senses.
I then just shot at it with a massive energy cannon. Just for a bit of extra damage.
Hatred regained awareness as it was plummeting through the atmosphere of a dead world, and seconds later landed with a resounding detonation, sound visible for miles around as it impacted the earth at terminal velocity.
"Time for phase two. Chin up, we're halfway done and this part should be quicker." I say before disappearing in a flash of light. The dragon clambers to its feet, and is met with the visage of death itself. Cloak, scythe and all. A tiny piece of the Nightbringer. Usually, even ordinary C'tan Shards have their kill-count measured in number of planets, not individuals, ended, but this one was so small that an exception could be made. But small as it was, it remained more than large enough in terms of power to crush the foe into dust.
No words were exchanged, not even roars or yells, for this was not a fight but a reaping. Drinking deep of the Guardian's essence with its gaze, the Nightbringer shard was soon upon it, slashing with a Necrodermis scythe. Repeated strikes cut the foe to pieces, the hyper-advanced technology the metal represented preventing flame breath or physical strikes from breaking or even bending it. Caught off-guard by this high speed furious assault, Hatred was quickly forced on he defensive, but could not seem to block the many strikes of its enemy.
Drawing on what power it did have, the Star God reached out with its off hand, and a transdimensional thunderbolt, a spear of crackling energy, erupted forth to skewer the wounded beast. Reeling from the intense blow, it could not resist as the Nightbringer closed in once again, and like an executioner drove its weapon deep into the neck of the dragon, before withdrawing it in a spray of viscera and slicing through the spine a moment later.
Lifting the dragon up with manipulation of gravity, the shard calmly floated over to a deep crevice in the ground, and thrash and twist as it might the creature could not escape the cold grasp of the C'tan. It was flung into the pit, and as it rose to try and escape, the shard raised a finger once again and shot Time's Arrow at the foe.
In an instant, it was in another year, flensing and withering temporal energies having taken a hefty toll as it was flung back in time. Now it resided in an impossible and broken land of gravitational and spatial anomalies, remnants of the Outsider's wrath. Anomalies that seemed to move, closing in on Hatred, shearing and shredding his physical body to bits, while horrific constructs approached. Fighting past the painful distortions in spacetime, the dragon found himself face to face with legions of Flayed Ones and Charnel Scarabs. With matter-flaying claws and teeth, the flesh-stripping machines launched themselves into combat.
Savage yet undeniably effective, they ripped straight through the mauled creature, ten more appearing for every one that the enemy managed to down, and they had a very annoying habit of self-repairing, getting back up after they should have stopped working and regenerating from wounds before the dragon's eyes. At the sight of this his struggles intensified, his flames often being enough to put down the foe for good, but it was not enough.
Their frenzied attacks were supported by slightly more intact beings. The Necrons of the Maynarkh Dynasty joined the assault, numerous Gauss Rifles and Cannons aiding the brutal assault on the dragon's form, while the formidable weaponry of Annihilation Barges and Doomsday Arks were brought to bear with predictably explosive results, blasts of ancient weapons powerful enough to bring low even heavily fortified bunkers in a single volley covering the foe in massive detonations, sending it staggering from the Necrons' artifice and skill in the ways of bloody conflict against even beings of godlike power.
Brought low by mad servants of the Outsider, Hatred was almost relieved when they seemed to leave along with the anomalies for no discernible reason. He was rather less relieved when he realized why.
Up in the void, the servants of the Deceiver rained down destruction. Ever practical, he had decided to fulfill his part of the bargain via orbital bombardment after removing the impediments with a minor exertion of power, and torpedoes and shells impacted upon the planet to truly devastating effect.
And these were not minor munitions either, far from it. Thanks to technology such as Q-Mirrors, every weapon was converted into antimatter before landing, and each was very big. This resulted in a lot of truly titanic explosions occurring, leaving the planet a blasted ruin for hundreds of years, before it cooled into the barren place that the Guardian Dragon saw when it first arrived.
The apocalypse, the inferno that Hatred had constructed back on the battlefield was as a candle before a volcano, as it would have seen if it was not blinded by the constant and complete desolation surrounding it. Armageddon was here, and it was centered upon this foe. Capable of nothing, it could only accept this fate somewhat meekly, as even its hardy body was not immune to firepower of this magnitude.
As the flames faded, a few hits by railgun artillery from distant armor for good measure wounding the beast further, the final foe made itself apparent. But the best had been saved for last.
A legion of the Void Dragon's personal forces marched, bright silver automatons walking to wage war and wreak destruction. And the artifice of the true Dragon was vast indeed, his soldiers equipped with weapons of unimaginable potency thanks to arcane technologies beyond the understanding of mortal scientists.
Plasma appeared inside of Hatred in vast quantities, lightning slashed across the field in great bolts to wound the beast, countless energy blasts of stupendous power slamming home with bone-crunching force and heat sufficient to vaporize even the fire of the beast's body, air flashed to plasma in several areas to create sonic attacks that liquefied organs, while alternating blasts of heat and cold shattered several parts of the creature's much diminished body.
Yet deadlier and more deviously crafted weapons fired, energy blasts resembling arcing beams of fire crashing down from above, intense laser beams that bend via gravitational lensing, special orbs of energy that are linked by quantum-entanglement to some vehicles, allowing them to change their properties in mid flight, large barrages of hard-light projectiles, and certain vehicles triggered quantum tunneling, causing the matter that comprised Hatred to run like a liquid. Attacks that interfered with the Higgs Field happen, the same kind of attack that I used what seems like much earlier.
The sky was not safe, of course. Strike craft deployed destruction of their own, strafing runs launching blueish-white energy while heavy bombers drop energy balls that expanded into black star-shaped rifts on impact, ripping the foe yet further apart before exploding.
Perhaps the worst thing of all was the fact that these units seemed invincible. Try as he might, the Guardian Dragon could not kill them. It soon realized the issue, for the units were all quantum-linked themselves. Damage taken was spread evenly among all of them, allowing them to effectively combine their shields and regenerative properties that they all had, meaning that despite the spindly and delicate looks of the units, they were almost impossible to deal with, allowing them to fire more and more, weaponry continuing to take its toll on the beast.
And then, I decided that enough was enough.
Thoroughly beaten and battered, Hatred was before me once again, in the black void. Although after I had it float through the vacuum of space for a thousand years to drain its strength even further.
"So we now return to the field. But not before I finish my vengeance."
I raise both my hands before me. "For Glory, for Mercy, for a sniper. This may be war, but you and your master would seek to subjugate and slaughter many worlds, and so you must be laid low. Take this!"
A trio of spinning balls of light appear above my head as I say my opening sentence. When I finish my miniature speech, they shoot off and disappear in the darkness above, and from where they go a barrage of arrows descend. Arrows of light, piercing the cursed beast before me with their holy radiance, stabbing straight through soul and body both, purging by light as a finishing touch on top of the absolute annihilation I had the eight gods lay down upon my enemy before. The storm of cleansing brilliance subsided after only a minute or so, but that was enough for millions of pinpricks, of justice and hope, to penetrate clean through the dragon, fighting against its very essence, its very
narrative. And with that, we returned.
It had been moments for the people on the battlefield, hours for me, and eternities for Hatred.
It looked suitably wounded.
I put my jacket back on. "And that's what you get for messing with me!"
