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Thank you it is just a begining for that part.

CHAPTER 6: (Continued)


He had barely a moment to find a second target before an earsplitting scream fill his ears. Spinning round, he could see a fellow sergeant, a good friend, fall to the ground, A jagged cleaver embeded in his spine. Standing above him was a tall figure, bedecked in foul, gore-soaked clothes wearing a butcher's apron on which a crudely drawn red star was painted. The horrified figure steps foward, pulling free its blade from the sergeant's twitching body with a gurgling chuckle. Before the thing can react, he is charging it, mechanical hand clenched into a fist. The figure makes a pathetic attempt at sidestepping but is far too slugish and the last thing it sees is the metalic shape sweeping down towards his face. Willem chuckles quietly as his hand passes easily through the cultist's head, bone fragments and grey matter bursting from the gaping hole in the back of his head. Glancing over his shoulder, Willem catches sight of two more such foul cultists, one must had killed an arbities due to his navy blue carapace armour and shotgun. The other was much different, he wore tattered but evidently expensive clothes, likely a noble. He wielded an ornatly crafted dagger. Both chanted the words 'Dominari Chimerae'. Both would die.

With a frenzied shout, the renegade fires his shotgun. To bad he was aweful with it. The shot misses him by easily a foot or so but that is of no concern to him as he lunges foward, clutching the heretic's head in a vice-like grasp. With a grunt he lifts the struggling man up off his feet, the shotgun dropping from his hand. Willem gazes blankly into the insane man's eyes and laughs. Willem slowly reaches to his back, and draws out his serrated combat knife. With deafening shout in his ear, a surge of pain fills his body, the finely made dagger embeded in the back of his shoulder. With this Willem drops the choking shotgunner and his knife to the hard ferrocrete ground. He turn instantly to see the noble standing there, cackling madly, hand still on the dagger thrust into his shoulder. With his unmodified hand, Willem clutches wildly at the cultist's neck, the man's crazed strength no match for his. Breifly looking sideways, he casualy obliterates the head of the shotgunner with a iron backhand. The primary target eliminated, he reaches round to to his back and grips the blade lodged into his back. With a shout of pain and rage, he pulls the dagger from its position and sweeps it round into the squealing madman's neck, a torrent of brght red blood bursting forth. A smile on his face, Willem kicks the noble hard in the chest.

Update time

CHAPTER 6: (Continued)


Between him and the platoon, they had killed dozens of the foul, screaming cultists but it was not enough. Nowhere near enough. Now he knew what it was like to face your own tactics, sending waves and waves of poorly trained soldiers to wear you down bit by bit. This was only an outpost and they had not been expecting much opposition, they didn't have the numbers to deal with something like this. All around him men, loyal and renegade were dying in droves, cut down by either point blank gunfire or a frenzied slash of a knife. Turning around Willem puts his iron fist through a charging cultist's chest, shattering ribs and rupturing organs. Lifting the gurgling man off his feet, he pulls hard, tearing out his spine through his front with a shower of meat and blood. Turning round, he sees a group of blood-stained cutists of Khorne tear through a squad of guardsmen, the screaming men torn limn from limb as they try desperately to scrabble away. They were surrounded. Countless cultist were now flooding down into the compound, all the while more and more cultists rushing foward from the freezing night. They would not see the dawn.

There was only two dozen or so of them left now, in a rough circle. They would be lucky to last the minute. Driving his combat knife through a frenzied cultist's jaw, Willem turns to see a bloated, club-wielding renegade charge into him, a loud crunch coming from his leg as the weapon impacts with his lower leg, sending him falling to his knees. With a disgusting chuckle, the cultist slowly and deliberately raises his club, a dripping grin on his face. Then in a purple blaze, he is no more. With a low whirring, three sleek, four-man craft bring themselves to a stop feet from the ground. A deafening shout piercing the air, sixteen tall figures, each clad in bladed deep red armour, leap from their transport in perfect unison, a dozen confused cultists falling dead within the opening moments.

To be continued.

Nice work, really mystified about the newcomers.

Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

TheRobotLol wrote:Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

Just wondering who they are and such. Nothing else.

Beaviz81 wrote:

TheRobotLol wrote:Mystified? How so?

And thank you for the kind words .

Just wondering who they are and such. Nothing else.

All will be reveiled.....

I'm real sorry, but think I've gotta duck out of this project. Good luck everyone, if this thing is still in progress.

TheRobotLol wrote:I'm real sorry, but think I've gotta duck out of this project. Good luck everyone, if this thing is still in progress.

I'm out as well. But hopefully we two can continue a cooperation, or at least mentioning the characters of each other. As that I feel is a good way to go at it, or what do you say?

As I'm fully willing to mention Willem in passing notions and such if he does anything heroic.

Sure, I'l carry on with it when I can.