The Daemonette tried to run, but a vice clamped around her claw - an irony that Asoron didn't fail to notice - holding her in place. Turning to face her attacker in desperation, the lithe daemon found herself pierced by a gigantic lighting claw, so large only three of the four blades fit within her frame.
A flick of a wrist and the Daemonette was severed from the collarbone up, her beautifully grotesque face still showing the shock that marked her return to the Warp.
This was a grim defeat. Asoron had fought Astartes before, of course, and even lost battles, but this was an annihilation, his forces had been completely wiped out. He felt his hearts racing, the sensation filling him with an acrid pleasure. The last time he'd known such a feeling of dread, a Primarch was advancing on him, his eyes those of a prime beast challenged by runts and unexpectedly wounded. He'd fallen upon his lesser competitors like a lion among hounds, tearing into them until only Asoron was left. By the fickle will of the gods did the Lion sense something deeper inside the fortress and raced to confront it.
But the look of hate Lion El'Jonson threw at Asoron while he moved away was a killing blow in itself.
Yet a new master had accepted the Fallen Angel's service, a master who was ever-watching and proud of Asoron's service. Yes...Slaanesh had given him a new existence. And Asoron had spent much of it killing the Corpse-God's angels. Every once in a while, though, he revived the look on the Lion's eyes in his mind, the memory enough to jolt his hearts.
The bone-and-black Terminator slowly strode towards Asoron, his iconography catching the light of a burning Defiler. The Fallen narrowed his eyes.
"Unforgiven", Asoron hissed, his lashing tongue lending to the contempt with which he spoke the word. There was something different about this one, though. "But a lesser breed, I see. You lack a wing, little ange-"
"Ours is not the long soar of the questing seraph
But the hovering watch of the vigilant angel
And the stooping wrath of the righteous host."
The Astartes' voice was smooth and almost young, but Asoron sensed power behind the fašade.
"Will you lecture me to death, is it, Guilt-Ridden?", Asoron asked, his grin barely masking his irritation.
"You will not be awarded the pleasure of vengeance, Fallen. I will deal with you as I did with your cultists and daemon-whores. No Interrogator, blessed be their service, shall waste his time with you."
Asoron wanted to answer, but no words left his dry mouth, such as no structured though left his mind. He was expecting the pageantry that came with every Unforgiven hunt, the hatred and importance they directed at him...for a servant of Slaanesh, being confronted with indifference was a knife wound.
The Lion's eyes appeared in his mind, still burning with rage and betrayal, but there was something more in them this time. A sense of righteousness, of justice having been made...of...relief for another traitor slain...?
Asoron, a black-clad and fucsia monstrosity taller than a Terminator, the slayer and torturer of thousands, roared, a roar so rasp and devoid of power that it resembled a desperate scream, so weak the Fallen Angel still perceived what the charging Astartes spoke, his words the last Asoron would ever hear.
"I've come merely to clean the filth."
has been one hell of a matey, performing some great colouring on my drawings. This is Xavier Kain, a count-as Belial for his DIY Deathwing, named Bloodwing.
I can't thank Shamblin enough, to have someone devoting his time to my artwork is just awesome, it's really a dream come true, since I've always wanted to see them in colour.
Here's to you, mate. Hope you like it. Thanks a bunch, and stick around. Cheers