WHISPERS IN THE DARK

Duncan Wright

Abaddon laughed from his charnel throne as the stranger finished his challenge.

“I am Abaddon. I am the Arch fiend, Despoiler of the Corpse-God’s worlds! I will not be defeated, by bolter nor blade, and yet, this is what you lay at my feet. What chance do you possibly think you have?”

The armoured figure simply said, “We shall see.”

“Detain this fool.”, Abaddon spat contemptuously.

Two massive terminators stomped from behind the throne, one with a pair of crackling power claws, the other hefting a chainfist and combi-bolter. A line of shots stitched across the floor, but the newcomer was nowhere to be seen.

That changed a moment later as a gladius rammed through the exposed cables and grilles at the back of the armour, and the bolter fell silent as its owner slumped to the floor.

The other terminator charged forward and slashed at the power armoured killer. The rage-filled strike was easily dodged and countered, and the legionnaire had barely the time to register his innards spilling over his knees when a well-placed bolt silenced him forever.

“So”, Abaddon boomed, “you may have defeated my bodyguards, but rest assured, for you will not-”

The crack of a teleport strike filled the room, along with the accompanying stench of ozone.

A massive figure covered in a cloak of dark reptilian hide had appeared in the room.

He said but eight words. “I am Alpharius, and I am your doom.”

Abaddon cried a wordless bellow of pure rage, rising from his seat and drawing the great sword Drach’nyen.

“I will kill you, weakling!  Horus himself could not stand against me! You are an imbecile for coming here!”

The Warmaster charged at Alpharius, but the power armoured Primarch nimbly dodged Abaddon’s tremendous bulk, making a shallow slice as he moved. In the movement, the Primarchs robes were dislodged, and a rippling suit of scaled power armour was revealed beneath.

Abaddon swept his claw through the air futilely, missing the Primarch once more, and once more, the blow was returned.

“Fight, you coward!”, Abaddon shouted.

“Very well, then”, came the answer.

Alpharius moved quick as lightning, delivering an impossibly powerful blow that sent the Warmaster staggering. Abaddon seized his chance to strike a blow that he knew would rend through flimsy power armour, but as the blow struck, but the scales hardened and turned rigid at all points of impact, in much the same way as the armour worn by Eldar warriors.

The Warmaster’s momentary gave Alpharius the chance to make a precise strike that sliced off Abaddon’s left hand, and Drach’nyen with it. Alpharius caught the sword blade down as it fell through the air with his right hand, the left hand holding the gladius delivering a bone shattering punch to Abaddon’s face. The Warmaster fell flat on his back with a thunderous noise.

Monster-headed tentacles erupted from Alpharius’s back with an accompanying spray of gore, pinning Abaddon down such that he could not escape. He brought Drach’nyen above his head in a two-handed grip, asserting domination over the daemon bound inside as he did so.

Abaddon struggled futilely as the sword slammed into his chest down to the hilt with enough force to send spiderweb cracks across his abdomen. Blood filled the air as a fine mist, coating everything near in a thin coat of corrupted sanguine fluid.

The Primarch’s jaw dislocated and his mouth stretched unnaturally wide. At a volume unattainable by physical vocal cords, he announced to the entire ship that the Warmaster was dead.

Part II

A mound of dead Legionnaire’s blocked the door to the Warmasters chamber. Many of the Black Legion were resigned to Abaddon’s death, but a great deal were chagrined, to say the least. This contingent had charged the chamber, intent on drowning Alpharius and his twin in their bodies. Little did they know that the Alpha Legion’s mastery of the teleport strike would render this plan inert in very short order. When the Black Legion reached the door, they found that in addition to a pair of  Primarchs, the room also contained a contingent of Alpha Legion terminators, replete with weapons that would insure the Primarchs were never reached. Jets of promethium bathed the horde in crackling waves, drowning them in flame. Bolters chattered, blowing off arms and heads. The basso thump of an autocannon accompanied entire bodies being blown to bits, and on top of it all, the Primarchs and their Chosen waded through the mess, wreaking havoc wherever they passed.