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Trophy
With a solid crack of his Daemonhammer, Inquisitor Horatio cast another damned soul down. The tainted flesh crumpled to the floor, lumpy grey matter pooling around his carcass. The whole valley was infested with traitorous scum, and the Ordo Malleus came to answer the call.
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An entire regiment of Imperial Guardsmen had stumbled upon a blood relic used aeons ago for the worship of the God of War, and through ritual and sacrifice had become corrupted. Word had reached the Lord Militant of the planet, and by the time re-enforcements arrived, had lost many men in his attempt to hold back the frenzied heretics. Some were butchered in remorseless cold blood, while others had been maimed and crippled, their broken bodies dragged over crags back to the hive centre of the cult as offerings. Others had been driven mad by the horrors they saw, and those who were not lucky enough to kill themselves had been executed in the field by Commissars.
The valley was teeming with life in a visceral melee of swords, chains and lasgun blasts. The Grey Knights Thunderhawk had passed overhead, and the Inquisitor jumped out with his Brothers into the maelstrom, eager to quash the canker that had spread. Wax medals of faith flowed gallantly in the wind as they charged forward, crushing each heretic that foolishly got in their way. Horatio's immense mallet pounded a traitor in the temple, caving his corrupted head amidst in a fountain of dirty red.
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Horatio stood atop the carrion of the cultist that had attempted to slay him, and crunched the staff of his handle into the weak chest of the dead. Across the battlefield, one figure drew the attention of the gargantuan Inquisitor. Head and shoulders above the herd was a Chaos Marine. Wearing black Power Armour and a brass mark of Khorne merged with his flesh and worn as a mask, it was obvious. This must be their leader. Horatio darted forwards, his passions aflame and his wrath seemingly limitless. Much like a heretical preacher, you can cut out his tongue, but he shall scribe his filth for illegal posters and banners, and if you cut off his hands he shall dictate it to the masses. No, the only way to stop such a being is to remove every part possible, and destroy the very heart of it, lest it find another way to convert and corrupt.
His faith in his skills was strong, and his faith in the Emperor was unquestionable. Skulls of previous enemies rattled on his hip and bounced of his thigh plate as he stepped into water. His Daemon hammer was aflame with faith, and as he ran, he harvested the cultists, his weapon searing them and melting through their evil flesh.
As the leader drew ever closer, Horatio said a silent prayer to the Emperor as he leaped into the air. He drew his sacred bolt pistol and unloaded the clip at the disgusting vision of tyranny. He was protected by his power armour, and now had his attentions firmly on the airborne Horatio. The Inquisitor landed with his Daemon hammer locked with the glaive of the Marine. The daemon in the weapon let cry a terrible wail as the sacred hammer carved down its shaft. The two giants drew back their weapons and flew into mortal combat again. Horatio's golden armour shone in the sun as the greats of good and evil battled.
"Maim! Destroy!" cried the psychotic killer as he whirred his glaive about his head. He lowered his weapon and drew a plasma pistol. He launched searing bolts at Horatio, whose armour began to melt amidst the extreme heat. The pristine shoulder plates he had used to shield himself were crying as they withstood the plasma. He drew his attention from the battle to assess the damage, and by the time he turned back to the conflict, the Marine had ploughed his daemon weapon into the damaged armour.
Horatio winced in pain and dropped to his knees. The berserker twirled his glaive and made a clean cut at his neck. The head of the brave Inquisitor dropped to the floor, a look of pain and terror infused in his eyes. The Marine kicked the carcass of the fallen to the ground and let out a laugh as his blood layered the dirt. He leaned down and picked up the head of the deceased, and his black glossy eyed stared coldly into the lifeless eyes of Horatio. He let out a maniacal laugh and punched a hole in the head, then tied it to the hilt of his glaive. Aiming his glaive in the direction of the capital city on the horizon, he let out a roar and marched his men onward, his battle here complete.
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