[Subzero]

The title isn't actually the title of any of these three (more to come) short pieces of fluff, although ir accurately describes them...they're the stories written about an Arena of Death on another forum that I'm helping to run. There are eight entrants and this si the first round, so there will be seven duels in total. The victorious entries fight each other in the next round until only one remains. The entrants are as follows:

1) A Possessed Aspiring Champion (Pothgar Poxspreader)
2) An Inquisitorial Storm Trooper Veteran (Kagutsuchi)
3) A Veteran Space Marine Sergeant (DUI)
4) A Justicar
5) A Harlequin Mimic
6) A Justicar (Kylos)
7) A Veteran Sister Superior (Bethan)
8) A Khornate Biker Aspiring Champion (Krognak)

Note: entry 3) is represented by an Exorcists chapter recruit. Entry 4) is represented by a veteran of the Exorcists chapter.

Possessed Aspiring Champion Pothgar Poxspreader vs Inquisitorial Storm Trooper Veteran Kagutsuchi
In the chapel there was nought by silence. The congregation bowed their heads towards the battered altar in front of them; their lips were sealed and their hands were clasped together in fervent prayer. Even the wind dared not howl and scream; neither did it whisper and murmur conspiringly. The only light flickered from within rusted lanterns adorning the cold stone walls, although the meagre light barely illuminated the crumbling masonry. Occasionally though, shafts of steel-blue moonlight would peer through the gaping holes in the roof as the unnatural moon flitted from storm cloud to storm cloud.

As the first droplets of rain fell from the heavens a chill descended upon the church, but not a word was spoken between the mass; not one of them shuffled or sighed in the cold. As time passed it seemed like they would wait an eternity for a god that would never arrive; however, after a time there was a dull, drawn-out creak as one of the great wooden doors behind them grinded upon its hinges. Where the entity opening it was pushing it the already rotting wood began to decay and disintegrate into dust as disease spread throughout the once-proud structure. Finally, the prayers were answered. A great figure stepped through, as magnificent as it was horrifyingly inhuman; a giant wearing filth-encrusted power armour stride purposefully forward, staring with pale eyes at the altar with single-minded determination.

Each of its acolytes faced it and bowed reverently as it passed; upon each one body a triangle of blisters, pustules and lesions sprouted on his body, yet their faces did not wince or show pain. Even the beast’s own twisted face of torn flesh was set with an all-encompassing grim determination that betrayed no emotion. Finally, reaching the altar, it drew the rusted gauntlet from its right hand and produced a tarnished chalice from a rotting pouch at its belt. At this sign its followers turned to the creature once more and bowed their heads in submittal, this time with fervent incantations flowing forth from their cracked lips. However, the beast gave them no heed, instead fixating its milky orbs upon the rapidly filling chalice; a frothing, sickly ichor had appeared in the once-empty cup.

Before it could tilt the concoction to its mouth its enhanced senses picked up the faint echoes of guns upon breastplates and shouted orders in the distance. Then, with greedy haste it poured the corrosive liquid down its parched throat, letting drops of it spill down its chin. Closing its eyes, it relished the venomous, agonising taste as the ichor seeped into the creature’s gut. The ritual had taken too long to prepare this time, it seemed to the plague marine, but if it had held back any longer there would never be another chance.

The dull crump of an explosion was the first sign that the woefully unprepared crowd had that something was terribly wrong; many of them had no time to ponder upon that as a raging, blossoming ball of fire burst through the entire front wall, blasting the oaken doors from their hinges and smashing the once lichen covered and rain-slick rocks apart. Over half of the creature’s followers died in the rain of burning splinters and hail of crushing stone that swept over them; the others were gunned down in a storm of hellgun laser fire by the squads of black-armoured soldiers clambering over the still-warm rubble. Striding purposefully through the rain, a dark figure wrapped in robes of grey and black walked amongst them, observing the carnage they had wreaked and directing their brutality with wordless gestures.

However, even as a myriad of glaring, red target lasers trained themselves upon its forehead the beast remained where it was, standing calmly and seemingly oblivious to the oblivion that awaited it. The crackle of a vox cut through the rain; in response to the message, the shrouded figure appeared to shake its head, although the dense rags covering its face made it nearly impossible to discern his action. Turning its attention back towards the creature behind the altar, it took a single step towards the immobile sentinel, who finally seemed to awaken from its slumber. Slowly and deliberately placing the chalice back upon the altar with a sharp clink that echoed from the chapel’s walls, the beast opened its eyes.

Never before had the soldiers seen such green fiery eyes that burned within their sockets.

With a mad smile as its stone visage melted away the best lunged forward, tearing the flimsy altar asunder with its right hand; leaping upwards it dodged the hellgun fire that obliterated the altar’s remains. With a hundred cracked stone flags marking its impact with the ground it pushed onwards, building up momentum as it thundered between the pews. Swinging its left arm behind itself in preparation for the first blow it felt the Daemonic ichor course through its bloodstream and into the hand. The gauntlet burst open like an egg as the armour plating along its arm peeled away. Shedding the power armour the beast’s arm began to throb and violently pulsate, swelling into a bloated mass of rotting flesh; chitin lined its back and its hand became blunt and as hard as rock. Rapidly approaching the enrobed figure the possessed prepared to deal its first deadly blow.

As the monstrous being drew closer innumerable hellgun targeters followed its path, waiting for the signal to open fire. However, the warrior dressed in rags lazily raised his hand, dismissively waving them away. The entire group slunk back into the swamp of shadows, lurking in the depths, waiting to strike. With all interference removed, the figure drew a simple leather scabbard from the uncountable folds of his robes. From the scabbard he pulled forth a shimmering sword, decorated with skulls and Inquisitorial symbols. Flicking a thumb over the activation rune he felt the steady thrum and vibration as the power sword burst into life; within milliseconds a glowing red energy field surrounded the weapon, coruscating and twisting like waves. Dragging a heavy metal shield from his back the warrior held both tightly, activating the rune on the shield too before squaring his shoulders against the impending attack.

Placing its first step upon the mound of rubble that had once been the front wall the creature swung its chitinous fist forwards, expecting the blow to knock the warrior from his feet. The spikes of its fresh exoskeleton struck the rags – and went straight through them, tearing them to shreds. The screech of metal and rattle of falling gravel betrayed its enemy’s position; he had tossed his rags away and ducked beneath the barrel-shaped arm, easily rolling behind the plague marine. Trying to catch its balance the creature staggered forwards; stabilising itself it swung the mighty club around again to no avail as the warrior lightly batted away the mutation with his shield, the energy field sparking and crackling as the two surfaces met.

Ducking beneath the second blow from the possessed’s right fist, the warrior eased away from the third, a powerful kick with threatened to decapitate him. Leaning to the side he dodged a fourth blow aimed for his head, another kick; specks of corrupted water flew from the armoured greaves and where they touched the warrior’s armour they sizzled and burned. Even in heavy metal plating he managed to jump beyond the range of the fifth blow; the mutated arm was swung around in a devastatingly fast arc that put the possessed off-balance once again, leaving them nearly slipping in the rain as they struggled to maintain their balance.

Sensing the glaring opening, the warrior lunged forwards like a snake, his sword humming as it cut through the downpour. Stabbing straight towards the creature’s exposed back, he put his full force behind the blade, his eyes shining through their vision slit in the armour with a burning hatred. As it struck there was a painful ringing sound; an echo that pierced his ears and stunned his mind. The next thing he saw was the great, unnatural fist heading for him, the leering face behind it seemingly grinning with more malice than it had before. Barely blocking it in time the warrior had to stumble backwards to take the strain; even then there was a sickening crack as the arm bearing the shield broke, yet he paid the wound no heed. Deliberately slipping backwards to avoid the following punch, he gathered up his reserves of strength and grasped the shield and sword with renewed vigour.

Swiftly ducking beneath the next blow he thrust the sword forwards once again, this time feeling the energised blade pierce the beast’s gut, frying the nearby skin with crackling power. This time, the sword struck true. The behemoth began to falter, the manic grin slipping from its face as its eyes dulled. Swaying unsteadily in the rain the creature blinked as if it had only realised the full extent of its injuries. Releasing the sword from his hand, the warrior stepped backwards, deactivating the shield and waiting for his enemy to fall. Raising one silver gauntlet to the sky, he then brought it crashing down, and with it a ferocious storm of hellgun fire ripped the corrupted angel’s body and armour open, burning its unholy flesh; each drop of ichor and blood that fell upon the warrior before the beast was incinerated as the holy wards activated.

The laser fire ceased with the creature still standing as if in a daze; eventually, it ripped the still-active sword from its stomach in a shower of polluted blood, stared at it with empty eyes for a brief second, gurgled an incomprehensible curse from its blood-caked lips and fell backwards. Crashing into the rubble it scattered a cloud of dust and small fragments around itself. The sword clattered to the floor, its activation rune striking a stone and dissipating the miasma of energy that surrounded it. Slowly the giant’s eyes closed as it felt its lifeblood seep away onto the wet and cold stone.

As if he were waking from a trance the warrior walked over to his discarded sword, not taking notice of the very faint triangle of rust marks that had formed near the pommel.

[Subzero]

Veteran Space Marine Sergeant DUI vs a Grey Knight Justicar
A solemn procession ghosted through the fortress of the Exorcists. Every recruit was anxious to finally, proudly, wear the crimson power armour of the chapter yet all knew of the horrific risk involved in the final stage of their training. Both guided and guarded by fully-fledged veterans of the chapter’s first company resplendent in their power armour, the recruits, dressed in simple robes, silently filed into the final chamber, the room in which their faith would be strained to its limits; their sanity battered and broken; their resolve crushed. Under the watchful eye of an agent of the Emperor’s Inquisition the half-dozen newly enhanced humans lined up along the plasteel bulkhead at the closest end of the room.

Before them lay several banks of monitors and computers, each one an amalgam of flesh and machine as the mechanical and electronic parts merged with the bodies of psykers and tech-priests. In the centre of the cavernous room stood a glimmering metal throne; the light that bounced almost playfully from the rest of the room glinted maliciously from its body. Straps and bindings of the finest, strongest materials hung loosely from the front legs and the arms. Each of the acolytes took notice of the bloodstains surrounding it as well as its scarred plasteel plating, sliced by swords and scorched from fire.

Each one of them knew they would pass the final challenge.

Each one of the guards knew they would have to spill blood that day.

Yet none of them feared the ritual possession that took place there, none of them shrank back or cowered.

The first of them was called to step forwards; known for his pious and devoted nature towards the Imperial cause, he was considered the most suspect by the Inquisitor. Reverently approaching the throne, he allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the beast by a pair of shining, angelic cherubs that quietly and deftly fastened the restraints around his limbs with such force that he bled where they bit into his skin. Attempting to return to their shadowy roost in distant heights of the room with insane grins on their childlike visages, they were almost immediately blasted out of the air by the veteran Exorcists, their bodies torn apart by screaming bolt shells. The Inquisitor nodded, satisfied that the threat of corruption had been eliminated.

It was only then that the true process began.

Slowly at first, the warrior’s skin began to darken to a hideously dark crimson that matched his guards’ armour; horns began to form as twitching lumps beneath his burning skin and tusks threatened to burst from his jaw like saplings pushing their way through wet soil. His eyes turned a pale grey that shone from within like incandescent pearls; with this his teeth had sharpened to vicious points that could shred skin in an instant as the canines became cruel fangs that yearned for blood. Soon enough it was gnashing and screaming into the air, salivating like a hunting dog and snarling as if it had been denied its prey. Straining against its restraints, the now-inhuman creature barely felt the cords tear into its limbs, grinding against its bones like serrated blades.

Around the room lights began to flash red; the monitors signalled the progress of the Daemon as well as the resistance of the potential marine. One by one the psykers screamed until their hoarse voices became a twisted chorus; from the inky blackness above swooped a flock of cherubs that dressed them with blindfolds and rags upon their heads, blinding them to the world in a futile attempt to ease their pain. With blue lenses glaring hatefully at the writhing, screeching beast in front of them, the veterans’ helmets barely conveyed their utter revulsion for the creature that was desperately trying to inhabit the recruit’s physical vessel.

After an almost eternal wait, watching the writhing creature scream in rage before them, the guards began to note the first signs of the acolyte’s true self showing through again; he began to return to his normal appearance while the noticeable effects of the possession gently subsided. The angry red colour that had once been prominently displayed upon the monitors gradually waned in its vileness, becoming a soothing, gentle blue. The psykers began to sigh with relaxed contempt for the Daemon; the Inquisitor seemed repulsed by what he saw as a show of weakness, although he was far too pre-occupied with the recruit, now being freed from his restraints by two more cherubs, who were promptly blasted out of the air with the same speed and efficiency as the previous pair.

With a lolling head and bleeding limbs the warrior sat pathetically upon the throne, struggling in vain to extricate himself from its grasp. Pained moans emanated from his face, which was clutched by both bloodstained hands. Several adepts moved to help him up, but they were waved away as he struggled to his feet. With a signal from the Inquisitor he allowed his exhausted feet to push towards his freedom and his full induction into the Exorcists.

In a frenetic burst of speed his head snapped upwards, his spine arching back to let his mouth scream in agony at the shadows above himself. With this the nearest psykers began to wail and shriek, blood pouring from beneath their veils and blindfolds. Monitors smashed and burst forwards, showering their unfortunate observers with shards of glass. Their weapons were already raised to fire and put an end to the destruction but before they could use them the guards were hurled backwards, their armour shattering and power plants breaking against the bulkhead behind themselves. Above all of them the cherubs screeched madly in a confusion of bodies and Daemonic energy that crackled around them; the maelstrom forming above the corrupted acolyte began to exert such pressure that the walls became deformed, groaning as they bent inwards, threatening to crush all those present.

With strength borne more from his sense of duty than his biological enhancements, one of the guards struggled to their feet against the colossal weight of their deactivated armour; even with the swirling storm of energy cascading from the storm in the ceiling flashing and howling around them they pressed forwards. A face set in bitter determination was hidden behind their impassive crimson helmet as they staggered forwards under the burden of their entire suit of armour. Soon enough, though, they strode towards the immobile, screaming acolyte, who was rapidly becoming the nexus of another whirlwind creating a wall of pale blue energy at its periphery. With the burning, freezing, blinding, shadowy wall before him, the space marine gave no pause for his thought before pushing his way through the energy.

At once he entered the eye of the storm; a blissful calm had descended upon the other side of the wall. Treading forwards, the space marine felt a sharp pain that didn’t seem to originate from any part of his body; all around him a miasma of words, letters, numbers and symbols began to swim in the air, fading in and out of existence, if they even existed at all. His mind flashing back for the briefest of moments to his own possession, the Exorcist recalled his interpretation of the Warp clearly and as he did the symbols began to solidify in a surge of white light. Soon everything around him was a rich tapestry of chaos; a pleasantly insane story; a scene of pure and holy madness. It threatened to overwhelm him, but he had passed through this maze once before and knew which path to tread to its end. Letting all thought of his previous experience drift from his mind, the space marine was rewarded with the sight of dispersing numbers and letters that drifted away into the depths of his subconscious. With the familiar metal floor at his feet and the shining, swirling wall on all sides, he pressed forwards.

In front of him was his target; the acolyte, once clad in humble brown, now stood calmly in arrogant white. Even as the soldier strode purposefully towards him with a single, bloody purpose etched into his mind the young recruit didn’t edge away or cower, or even prepare for battle. Either the possession was almost complete or he had gone entirely mad, or both; no matter which, it was the Exorcist’s duty to destroy both him and the Daemon. Upon his forehead a bubbling lump slowly bulged before tearing open to reveal a third eye; no doubt the sorcerer-god was attempting to gain victory from the blood god’s loss. Nevertheless, there was no attack; no battle-cry; no sword was drawn and no gun was loaded. There was nothing. Nothing but a soulless grin that played briefly upon the youth’s waxen, empty, rictus features.

The grin faded as the space marine plunged his fist into the acolyte’s chest, striking just beneath the ribcage. Even in its enhanced state the shield of bone was easily torn loose by the Exorcist, taking with it a rag of flesh and creating a fount of blood. With a second blow into the gaping wound and the torn robes his fist penetrated the rear of the ribcage, bursting from the recruit’s back in a spray of blood. With each beat of both his hearts more of his lifeblood was pumped through the wounds. Finally, the Exorcist brutally tore his fist from the acolyte’s body, drawing it back for the killing blow. As the Daemon’s influence faded with the injury the stone-carved expressions began to crack under the strain; the recruit’s eyes became glimmering pinpoints and an unsteady laugh sputtered forth from his lips above the gushing blood.

Alternating between a cackle, a guttural chuckle and a truly insane, resounding, booming laugh, it distracted the space marine just enough for the Daemon to use its last reserves of energy to drag the mortal into the Warp, sucking with it into the rapidly shrinking vortex the entire storm of light and energy. The final punch swung only a second too late, meeting only empty air instead of flesh and bone. Nevertheless, the carnage and destruction had ended, even at the cost of one of the Emperor’s finest. Despite this, the Exorcist still heard the echoes of his laugh drifting through his mind, the voice of the acolyte or perhaps something of infinitely greater power.

[Subzero]

A Harlequin Mimic vs Grey Knight Justicar Kylos
Driving his nemesis force sword through another Daemon’s skull, Kylos fired a spray of consecrated bolter shells from his storm bolter into the advancing plague bearers. Those in front screeched in pain, writhing and spasming as their bodies burned away into nothing. Yet, even with his efforts the horde still advanced; it mattered not to them whether their vile kin died before their eyes. Like the slow creep of death they drifted over the land, the air stagnating around them as plants withered and rotted beneath their feet. Tearing the sword from the plague bearer Kylos swung the shimmering, crackling blade in front of himself, shredding a swathe of the Warp-spawn in a single slice. Of those that managed to duck beneath his righteous blade only a few remained as one of his battle-brothers butchered and slaughtered his way through the sea of corrupted corpses.

Only three of them remained, and reinforcements were still a long way off arrival. One had finally succumbed to the tide of Daemons, outnumbered and adrift in an ocean of fetid creatures and poisoned air. One of the endless spawn had put an end to his life with a jagged blade that tore open his armour and skin, putrefying him in seconds even as he blasted the Daemon’s head off with his blessed storm bolter. His rotting carcass lay amidst a gaggle of jeering Daemons; though their physical form melted away if they drew too close to his holy armour nothing prevented them from driving countless swords and blades into his body.

Kylos had annihilated them.

One of the Justicar’s men had forced a blood-slick path to the gate itself, roasting innumerable Daemons with holy promethium and dispatching the remainder that opposed him with his combat knife. His long and illustrious life had been brutally ended as he attempted to place demo-charges upon the cursed portal; a great beast, many times taller than the noble knight, chose that moment to burst into the material world, swinging a filthy, rusty blade about their head like a berserk madman and shredding him without a moment’s pause. Even his holy wards were not enough to protect him from the malignant aura that the beast possessed and soon he too was no more than a corpse, his eyes pale and his jaw slack within his helmet.

Kylos had beheaded the behemoth in single combat.

Since the gargantuan creature had staggered through the gate neither he nor his surviving battle-brothers had been able to move close enough to destroy it; there were simply too many unholy beasts to destroy before they reached the Warp portal and they were endlessly reinforced. Not only that, but conditions had deteriorated; now the sky bore an insidiously dour shade and storm clouds loomed threateningly as if waiting to ambush someone. The air was soon filling with pale fog that obscured the marshy earth beneath Kylos’ feet. If the Daemons prevented them from achieving their ordained task for too long, not only would Kylos himself and his brethren be dishonoured, not only would the deaths of his allies been in vain, but the world would be overrun by the infernal plague.

The mere thought filled Kylos with bloodlust and rage.

Hacking the limbs from a plague bearer with his sword, Kylos shrugged off the pummelling blows of the dizzyingly large horde and let a small amount of the holy frenzy overtake himself. Swiftly decapitating a score of the beasts with one swipe he cut through the abdomen of many more with another swing; with a final stab he thrust the blade through the gut of another creature, pumping storm bolter shells into the endless stream of Daemons around him. Those that still lived drew back in fear and revulsion; with snarls on their faces they swiftly back away, creating a ring around Kylos.

No. This rage was wrong. Kylos let the feeling seep away; he would have to report to the chaplain after this battle.

Slicing and slaughtering their way through the mass of Daemons, his companions rushed to his side, readying their blades and reloading their storm bolters. They prepared for the almost inevitable attack, though it was an attack that did not come. A ripple surged through the horde and for a brief moment there was complete and utter calm, with an all-encompassing, gnawing, absolute silence that would have eaten into the souls of lesser men. The ripple stopped as suddenly as it had started and the three readied themselves once more, adjusting their aim and drawing their swords back.

In an explosion of gore, bones and body parts, the horde parted and fell before their new foe. Monofilament wires, invisible to all but the space marines’ advanced sensors, tore the creatures apart like deadly strands of spider-silk. Looping around them and constricting in the blink of an eye the fibres tore through the shifting mass of creatures; a rain of limbs, skulls, Daemon-flesh and ichor fell upon those that still lived, although their last seconds were spent searching for their foe in futility rather than revelling in the corruption. Soon the sources of the attacks were made apparent to Kylos and his battle-brothers; almost too fast for the human eye to pick up, garishly and extravagantly dressed creatures darted and flitted between the plague bearers, the coils bursting from the back of their wrists. Minions of Slaanesh? No. They were something entirely different, yet a threat which still needed to be eliminated.

Soon enough he was given the chance, although it slipped from his fingers as readily as it appeared. One of the lithe, inhuman creatures leaped for him, arms stretched out to strike him with a pair of glowing blades. His reflexes enabled him to duck and roll away, although his battle-brothers were not so lucky; both were ensnared and torn apart by the daggers. Raising his storm bolter to obliterate the being in vengeance, Kylos was enraged to see no traces of it. The silent creature had vanished into the rapidly diminished mob of plague bearers, which were now disorientated and confused as their numbers steadily decreased.

Swearing for revenge for his fallen brothers, Kylos put every last bit of his concentration upon searching out the creature that had deprived them of victory. After a mere second he had found it; it was heading straight for him again, clearly intent on his destruction. Once again he barely managed to dodge its lethal blow; the daggers almost took his head from his shoulders. However, unsteady as he was, he managed to swing his sword around just fast enough to slice through the being’s torso. The blade ripped through the creature, shattering the bones it didn’t cut cleanly through with the sheer force of the impact. Kylos allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction at having avenged his battle-brothers and pushed himself to his feet, scanning the area for any nearby enemies.

There it was again. The very same beast that had dealt the finishing blow to his brethren; the very same creature he had killed a mere second ago. Drawing itself up to its full height the creature swept the daggers around itself with almost imperceptible speed, as if taunting Kylos to attack. Its suit was composed of confusing patches of colours; black and white, green and red, they all swirled in patterns that defied his eyes’ attempts to decode them. Slowly it dawned on him; they were the colour of insanity and had the patterns of dementia. They threatened to suck him in but he managed to break his eye contact when the beast plunged its daggers deep into his ribcage, severing both of his hearts from his circulatory system with inhuman precision and speed.

Slowly, the great giant toppled, descending through the mist and crashing into the ground like the great ruins of a silver tower. Still perched upon his breastplate, the creature seemed to be laughing at him.

Laughing at him.

Dishonouring him.

Showing its bare-faced contempt for his dead battle-brothers.

Such a creature had no right to live.

With a final surge of strength and a burst of speed that surpassed the creature’s own he lunged upwards, feeling his fist punch through its gut and impale the beast. Struggling to his feet Kylos ignored the desperate warnings flashing on his armour’s display, raising the creature from the ground as he did so. Reaching through the fetid water for his nemesis force sword, Kylos drew the holy weapon from the moss and mud and swung it back for the final strike. His body was numb; he barely felt the raging storm of blows that his dying enemy bestowed upon his chest. Feeling real blood seep from the creature’s wound and real flesh and bone in his gauntlet, he tightened the grip on his sword with his other hand. Even as the creature drove one dagger into the side of his helmet, cutting deep into his skull and scorching his brain where it struck, his stoic expression remained; he neither flinched nor snarled at the blow. He had conquered the anger that had plagued him before.

Like a bolt of lightning the sword stabbed upwards, into the creature’s chin and through their skull in a shower of blood. With one last flex of his muscles Kylos tore the sword free, and along with it scraps of flesh and brain matter. The creature’s jaw shattered along with its skull. Letting the lifeless body slide from his slackening arms, Kylos slumped to his knees, letting his greaves sink into the mud. All around him blue light began to shine and crackle as a terminator squad teleported onto his location; his last sight was of his brothers tearing into the remaining Daemons and the alien creatures alike with ferocity unlike anything he could muster. Then his eyes closed for the final time, his brief life vanishing amidst the sea of souls.



Comments/criticisms? I'll update as I write each battle.

Sorry for the multiple posts but the maximum character limit is 20000, so I can't post all of them in the same message.