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Are you going to write up the battle for Abaddon vs Fulgrim, or keep it strictly to primarchs, because thats seems like a pretty important fight.

 TheRobotLol wrote:
Are you going to write up the battle for Abaddon vs Fulgrim, or keep it strictly to primarchs, because thats seems like a pretty important fight.

You're right; I'll write up that one first. Also, ty for the comments.

Good to know, It should be an interesting read and I'm guessing it definately won't be an easy victory for Abaddon.

Well done you really have a talent for epicness

And I must ask now that I have better time to type, how do you come up with all this? Any particualry form of inspiration you care to share with your humble minion?

Lord Fulgrim slithered his huge bulk inside. His chest was clad in interlocking plates of amethyst-colored, golden edged armor decorated with blasphemous icons to Slaanesh. In each of his six wiry arms he held a poison edged rapier, its guard formed from the eagle winged icon of the Emperor's Children. Curving ram horns flanked his slanted, reptilian face and tears of blood streamed down from his glowing eyes. His lower body was that of a great serpent's, it's scales burnished to a shimmering onyx hue. Leathery wings emerged from Fulgrim's back, casting a shadow over his monstrous form.

He was surrounded by a retinue of Phoenix Guard, their gemstone embedded power armor outfitted with brass spikes and draped in tanned flesh. Their armor was dangling with chains, adorned with trophy poles and engraved with flowery designs, while their flesh was ritually mutilated with scars, tattoos and piercings. Those who had earned the favor of Slaanesh were rewarded with horrible mutations, ranging from oozing tentacled limbs to breasts and horse-like endowments. Some of the Phoenix Guard had become Noise Marines, perverted audiophiles wielding fearsome musical instruments and booming speakers. The more visually oriented of them had repainted their armor in a riot of ugly contrasting colors

Fulgrim passed by the rows of pews, slinking towards the Warmaster's corpse. He and his retinue were aboard the Vengeful Spirit, the crown jewel of the Black Legion's fleet, having attacked it out of boredom. Bolter fire, Slaaneshi music and the screams of the dying echoed through the ship's claustrophobic halls as the battle raged. This church to the Dark Gods was the only place where people weren't noisily killing eachother. Yet.

In mocking tones, the Black Legion were oft referred to as 'The Widowed' by their brother Legions. Dressed in all black, they spent their days mourning the death of their Primarch. Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, it seemed to be a never ending funeral procession for them. At a church in the center of the vessel they kept the Warmaster's corpse in a glass coffin for all to see. He was horrible burnt and deformed, his dead skin peeling from his blackened bone. His body's finer details, such as his facial features and genitalia, had been lost to the flames. Only a vaguely humanoid corpse-thing remained.

"My Children," Fulgrim said, his voice resonating through the church. "Feast your eyes on Horus." He put emphasis on the word; it was sacrilege to not refer to the Warmaster by his title.

"Horus," the Phoenix Guard echoed mindlessly. Some babbled crazily. "Whor-ussss, wa-orpus, Horussssss, Herest, Horus, Ha-ha-ha-orust! Horus! Whore! Horus! Hahahahhahaha!"

"Yes, dearest Horus, dearest Horus" said Fulgrim. "Who walked the path of Undivided and paid so dearly. To try and balance morality, Countess Slaanesh, with immorality, Lord Khorne, is to invite madness, mortality, misery, monotony and malaise!"

"Madness, mediocrity, mortality, malignancy, misery, maliciousness, monotony, meanness, malevolence, mindlessness and malaise!" a Noise Marine sung. His unhinged jaw was locked in a permanent scream by a built-in speaker. The other Phoenix Guard repeated what he said, adding their own variations. "Maladjusted, misinformed, mundane and morbid." One of them, Legionnaire with spiked nipples, said, "Musical." Fulgrim executed him on the spot with a flourish of his blade. The Legionnaire had committed an unforgivable crime by implying that being musical was a bad thing. Another of the depraved Legionnaires began to feast on his corpse, panting heavily as he took a horrible pleasure from the act.

Fulgrim reached the coffin. He sheathed one of his blades and rested the palm of his hand against the glass. "Do you feel it?" he said. Tears streaming from his eyes, the Primarch collapsed against it. "Do you feel it? It's beautiful."

"Daemons buzzing, swooping, laughing, gnawing and crawling, like flies on the whore's corpse," said a Legionnaire, the icon of Slaanesh carved into his horrible face. "A thousand beings vomit at once as they drag their pain bloated bodies from a ravine, dripping with molten metal. Screaming souls cackle that others are condemned. Flowers blossom in metal as missiles blast ships' exteriors. A mosquito taps into an artery and explodes with blood. This is a concentration, a source, a concentration of chaos. It is-"

Two shots rang out.

The Legionnaire's head disappeared from his shoulders, leaving behind a bloody mist. In his death throes he clenched down on the trigger of his plasma gun. A bolt of searing plasma blasted into a Noise Marine's chest plate, exploding on impact. Reddish black smoke trailing from the crater in his chest, the Noise Marine slammed into the pews. One broke under his weight, leaving him lying in a pile of wooden splinters. His Doom Siren amplified his screaming to a degree that it shattered the glass of the Warmaster's coffin, sending shards flying in all directions.

In the church's doorway stood Abaddon the Despoiler, Captain of the 1st Company and the Warmaster's favored son. Dark bags hung under his eyes, accentuated by his pale skin. He wore the black, bronze edged Terminator armor of his Legion, making him almost as tall as Fulgrim and just as wide. Rows of trophy poles ran down his sloped back, proudly displaying the helmets and skulls of his loyalist brethren. In one hand he gripped the glowing blade Drach'nyen, writhing with the silently screaming faces of a thousand imprisoned daemons. In the other he wore the Talon of Horus, a lightning claw of unique design that brought the urge to kneel for all those he saw it. Smoke wafted lazily from the twin barrels of it's built-in stormbolter.

"Abaddon, you're here just in time," Fulgrim said. The Primarch's eyes burned with a horrible madness. Panting heavily, like an overexcited dog, he licked his lips. "Horus is a... dead failure!" He planted a rapier in the Warmaster's chest for emphasis. There was a wet squelching noise. "And we are here... to defile him."

"You know I can't let you do that." Abaddon's voice reeked of sadness and desperation, in sharp contrast to Fulgrim's energetic tone.

"Phoenix Guard! Kill him!"

Howling, the Phoenix Guard fell upon him. Abaddon dismembered them with ease, the servos of his armor grinding and clanking furiously with every moment. He wore his armor like a second skin, his movements unnaturally fluid for Terminator armor. With every swipe of his claw and flick of his blade, a Legionnaire fell to the ground. No gun was powerful enough to breach his armor and no sword was quick enough to so much as touch him. The Phoenix Guard were some of the most skilled warriors of the Emperor's Children, but they were grossly out of their depth faced with a Chaos Champion. They fought to the last man, moaning in terrible ecstasy through-out.

"You can slaughter as many of my men as you like, Abaddon. For all I care, you can paint your armor black and cry yourself to sleep every night. It still won't bring daddy back."

Abaddon lunged at him. His earlier precision was lost, with unbridled brute strength in it's place. He slashed at Fulgrim with Drach'nyen, putting all of his momentum into the swing. Fulgrim recoiled back, just barely dodging the blow, and burst into hysterical laughter.

alright, going to have this finished up in next 12 hours

Aaaaaaaa by Khorne! Dont leav us with such suspense!

Indeed, very good piece so far.

Drach'nyen was longer than any of Fulgrim's rapiers. Despite the rage clouding his thoughts, Abaddon was careful to attack from beyond the range of Fulgrim's blades, putting the Daemon Primarch on the defensive. Fulgrim was forced to give ground, slithering over the corpses of his Phoenix Guard as he fled from Abaddon's barrage of attacks. Emboldened by Fulgrim's retreat, the Despoiler grew reckless. Soon he was moving as fast as his terminator armor allowed him, laying into Fulgrim with one relentless attack after another.

As he jabbed at one of Fulgrim's chest plates he overextended his arm, putting it within the range of the Primarch's two uppermost swords. Fulgrim angled the blades downward, aiming at Abaddon's inner elbow. In response, Abaddon lunged forward and slashed Drach'nyen upwards, slicing off both of his hands at the wrists. The twin bloody stumps exploded with warp spawned maggots, causing Fulgrim to shudder in ecstasy. By charging at Fulgrim, Abaddon had put himself within the range of the Primarch's blades, something he would pay for dearly. Fulgrim's remaining four blades became a whirlwind of biting steel, attacking him from all directions.

Their roles were reversed. Abaddon seceded the ground he'd gained, falling back to avoid the onslaught of blades. With both his lightning claw and his sword, he batted Fulgrim's rapiers away desperately, almost sloppily. As he stepped over a corpse he stumbled, giving Fulgrim an opening. A sword sunk into Abaddon's leg, at the joint where his thigh and shin plates met. With the servos of his armor jammed and his bone broken, his leg became stuck in place. Abaddon was trapped, face to face with a Daemon Primarch. There would be no retreat, no mercy.

Fulgrim raised a sword and struck at the Despoiler's head, putting all of his weight into the blow. Holding Drach'nyen overhead, Abaddon was barely able to parry the blade. Simultaneously, Fulgrim swung at the Despoiler with his two remaining left arms, aiming for his chest. Abaddon wrenched the sword out of his leg, holding it in a reverse grip in the Talon of Horus, just in time to parry the twin blows. Still keeping Fulgrim's swords at bay, he trained the talon's stormbolter on where two of Fulgrim's armor plates met. Before the Phoenix could react, he opened fire.

The bolts pierced in deep, exploding within Fulgrim's chest and rending his organs with shrapnel. His intestines were torn to shreds and his lungs pierced in a thousand different places. Both of his hearts were punctured, flooding his chest with blood. It was the most exquisite, purest pain Fulgrim had ever felt. This wasn't the usual dull ache of chainswords clattering against his armor and lasbolts cooking his flesh; this pain was sharp and brilliant. He could feel his body dying. Fulgrim staggered, giving Abaddon the opening he needed.

Abaddon brought Drach'nyen down on Fulgrim's face, leaving it cleft in two. The blade's daemonic faces screamed not out of rage but pleasure as they tasted the Primarch's flesh. Fulgrim's broken skull was exposed by the wound, as was his demented brain. Blood matted the Phoenix's hair, stained his cheeks and flooded his eyes. Strands of gore hung from the wound, especially around his split mouth. He tried to speak, but the two halves of his mouth moved out of sync, rendering anything he said incomprehensible.

The essence of Slaanesh withdrew from it's Champion, recognizing him as a lost cause. Fulgrim's impossible form began to destroy itself. His wiry limbs withered into nothingness while his snake tail melted into a puddle of bubbling ceramite. Fanged teeth receded into his bleeding gums, which were being rapidly consumed by snow-white tumors. The curving horns that flanked his face darkened to an ugly brown color and rotted away. His wings crumbled as if they were dust. A grin on both sides of his cleft face, Fulgrim died in the most euphoric way he could ever imagine.

Abaddon took no satisfaction from Fulgrim's death. The Primarch's word still stung him. Fulgrim being dead didn't make them any less true. The Warmaster had the whole galaxy within his grasp, and he had let it slip away. No, not the Warmaster; Horus. Horus had failed and now the Black Legion wasted their days mourning his well-merited death. In their despair they had abandoned the vision of the Imperium in flames, settling for living out their days in the abject misery of the Eye of Terror.

This could not be allowed to continue.

The Despoiler sheathed Drach'nyen. Reaching down, he grabbed a discarded flamer from one of the Phoenix Guards he'd slain. It was an old model, built at the beginning of the Great Crusade. The Imperial Aquila was still shown proudly from the weapon's side. Gripping the flamer one handed, Abaddon pointed it towards Horus' corpse. The time for mourning was over.

He felt no regret when he pulled the trigger.

I say this was a epic showdown! Go Abbadon! And death to all those who serve Slaanesh

Agreed, very good ending to such an important conflict. Glad Fulgrim got a suitably horrible end.