“Enough.” A single word spoken from his lips was enough to
silence the entirety of the room’s occupants. He was their master, a tyrant amongst killers, and the leader of these warriors. His words were law, his sword the executioner of
disloyalty. He was their Archon. No one dared speak. “Bring it to me” he said. At that command, the Haemonculus
standing beside the command throne nodded to a Wrack hovering near the room’s
entrance. Moments later, the two intricately sculpted doors opened to a pair of burly
Grotesques dragging an Ork between them. It was one of the largest specimens of
the infernal alien race that Kyllith had seen. A monster at eight feet tall,
no teeth and the raging instinct of a firestorm. It was this greenskin that he
had first thought to have been the Warboss, however during the initial raid it had turned out to be one of
the leaders of a lesser warband's. Kyllith was furious at the revelation, instantly executing the Scourge that had brought him this information. In the scouts defence, the Ork was obscenely large, and could very easily have doubled for the intended. It was violently attempting to escape the
grasp of the monstrous ‘pets,’ they themselves ten feet in height, of the
resident Haemonculus: Golth. It was evidently a struggle for the pair of
Grotesques to contain the Ork, the constant thrashing was causing their
stimulant injectors to work at double speed, giving them the strength
to contain the beast. “Impressive specimen” Kyllith uttered. “Thank you my
lord. During the failed attack I secured only the largest of their force for
your pleasure” replied the Haemonculus. Kyllith tilted his head in annoyance at
being spoken back to in such a manner - his comment had not been seeking a reply. “Clear the room” he ordered. The Eldar
warriors standing in loose groups instantly made their way to the exits and within
moments the entire space was nothing but an echoing hall. “Golth, you may
begin.” The Haemonculus moved slowly towards the Ork, almost as if to challenge
the Archon’s will. The beast became enraged as it saw something so small coming towards him – an easy kill. Kyllith was amused by the orks lack of knowledge. The Haemonculus may have been the smallest character in the room, but he was also one of the deadliest. Golth was, evidently, unphased. He stared into the
enraged face of the greenskin, snickering at the thought of what was to come. From beneath his
robes he produced a glass syringe filled with a bubbling black liquid. Still
unknowing about what the object was, the
Ork doubled it's efforts to escape his captors hold, struggling with all the
strength that could be mustered. The ploy had worked, he knew his Archon liked
to see his sacrifices played with before their death. Golth pricked the syringe
against the Ork’s massive frame, barely causing a scratch. Almost instantly
every muscle in the captives body began to convulse, It’s roars doubled in
volume and intensity. The muscle stimulant that Golth had administered was
an expertly made combination of the deadliest poisons known to the mistresses of
Lhamaeans, and strength, speed & sense enhancement agents. It was said that
every nerve in the subjects body became over 600% more sensitive, causing their
pain to become much sweeter for onlookers. Golth, knowing what was to come,
turned and casually strolled out of the room - leaving only his Grotesques to
aid in his masters pleasure.
The
stimulants were beginning to take affect, the ork’s strength becoming too much
for the monstrous figures to contain. A restrained fist broke free and smashed
one of it’s captives faces, breaking metal, bone and compacting the skull so
much that it killed it instantly. Kyllith could feel his heart beginning to
quicken. This would truly be something unique. The remaining grotesque wrestled
with the Ork, struggling to pin it down on the floor. Such a display was
amusing to witness, no doubt the amount of combat stimulants pumping into the
Grotesque would kill it within minutes. They fought hand to hand, punching each
other in a series of bone shattering blows. There could only be one outcome,
the black poison was the strongest known stimulant known to the Eldar race, and
a few seconds later that fact became clear. The Ork pushed the Grotesque off of
him and pummelled the beasts head and body with an endless succession of
bare-fisted blows. The grotesque tried to swing it's third arm, which held a
horrifically serrated blade, but the Ork caught it in an arm lock - causing the Eldar beast to become unbalanced for but a moment. The greenskins muscles were
now pulsating. It drove the grotesque to the floor and with a single kick,
broke it's elbow at the double joints. No scream was emitted from the injury, only dull acceptance at what could only have been a reflection of what type of pain the mutated Eldar was used to. With a
mighty roar the Ork pulled the arm free of it's socket, wielding it like a
battle axe. The Grotesque rolled out from beneath his opponent and managed to
half get to it's feet before the mighty blade was buried three feet through
it's shoulders and into its chest. The gaping wounds poured blood and
mechanical fluid onto the floor, creating a pool in which to catch the limp
body in a sickening splash. Without
pause for his victory, the green beast turned and ran at Kyllith. Even in his
weakened state, the Archon was twice as fast as the Ork, and in a single fluid motion the Archon rose out of his chair, drew his blade and eloquently danced under the
Ork’s wild attack to come up behind it. The Ork swung around mindlessly, but Kyllith had already anticipated such a move. He side stepped and spun to, again, rise up behind the Ork. The beast was becoming equally confused and enraged at the situation, and Kyllith decided not to let the moment slip. He silently slid the blade effortlessly into the
back of it’s skull. Within seconds the beast was a motionless heap on the
floor. Kyllith stood over his enemy, savouring the moment. He felt renewed.
Such a kill was rare, the violence intoxicating. His physical wounds would heal
within time, but they would no longer slow him down. All pain was gone,
replaced only with the pleasure of the kill. Without even sparing a glance at
the two Grotesques who had died for him, Kyllith turned and walked back towards
his throne. He activated his communication rune: “gather the Kabal, we will
launch another attack at once.”
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