The Maroon Shadow Project.

Some free fan fiction, following Archon Kryllich and the Maroon Shadow Kabal. Will be slow coming, but will get there eventually.

Prologue:

“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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