Deio breathed in the recycled air, his twin hearts racing in unison. In front of him were arrayed the various visionaries that Deio had recruited into his personal warband.
Damus shivered in excitement, clutching his chainsword. His brutal features were cast in a hellish glare by the red warning lights. A former Space Wolf, the Emperor had finally been shown to him as the corpse he was, and Damus had gladly taken up the mantle of Chaos. Brutal trophies covered his greay armor, relics of many great battles.
Omnibus stood silent, no doubt reflecting on the battle to come. He had once been part of the Night Lords legion, but had seen Deio's warband as an opportunity to kill at his leisure. Omnibus was an excellent scout, death from the shadows. Creeping silently around the battlefied, sowing discord and terror before executing the enemy with lethal precision.
Razarius's hood was drawn over his head, but the gleam of his augmetic eye illuminated his sadistic smile. A Dark Mechanicus elite, Razarius was a pariah of man, machine, and daemon. Or perhaps machine and daemon, as there was no visible indicators marking him as a man. His bare skin showed through beneath his red cloak, the eight-star of Chaos on his right pectoral. Clutched in his hand was the fearsome Bassaxe Cleaveland, mounted on his back was a servo-harness clutched a plethora of deadly weapons. By his feet gibbered the daemonhost Quaritch.
Beside them was the mysterious Alpharius. He was honoured to look similar to teh great Alpharius, Primarch of the Alpha Legion. His eyes were closed, perhaps offering a benediction to the Gods of the Warp. He held his chainaxe across his chest, and the bolt pistol rested in it's holster. He rarely came alive outside of combat, but when he did, he was a maelstrom of death, sowing disaster and murder in the name of Chaos.
Kalas stood immobile, clad in his scratched black-armor. He claimed to be of the Fallen from the Dark Angels chapter, yet he seemed to enjoy killing more than worship of any God. Deio know little about Kalas, having found him alone on an damaged Imperial ship in the middle of the Eye of Terror. At the offer to join, he had agreed, and ever since he had shed blood in Deio's name.
To Deio's right was the Chaos Sorcerer Serbion. Clad in the ornate armor of Thousand Suns, he held the Black Icon, a symbol of Serbion's devotion. On his belt hung his power sword, Simae. An aura of power surrounded him, as he was one of the psykers of the Thousand Suns, a Legion devoted to Tzeentch, god of Change. Serbion, for a Change, had approached Deio. Serbion had led a force of twenty Thousand Sons at the behest of his Commander, to hunt down the traitors and make them suffer for the disruption Deio had sown. Serbion had invoked ancient magicks to bring him and a squad of his followers to the bridge. He had fought with Deio, and had been about to strike him down when Ozzure had emerged and blocked the fatal spell. Falling to his knees before the mighty daemon, he had mentally executed his men and pledged eternal service to Ozzure.
Deio nodded to the two serfs holding the powercutters to slice through the thick hull of the Imperial ship and let loose the servants of Chaos. They scampered over to the hull, and a dull whine filled the air as the lasers went to work. He faced his warband, clearing his throat.
Deio lifted his chainsword, letting out a bloodthirsty roar that was amplified by his Hellvox. The serf's dropped to the floor, their unprotected ears rushing blood. He kicked them away, stepping through the hole they had carved. He grabbed the laser-cutter one handed and cut away the rest of the hatch. A angry red outlined the passage. He lifted his boot and kicked it inward. The thick hatch fell to the floor with a heavy Thunk!
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Deio's howl brought the Guardsmen firing upon him to their knees, clutching at their bleeding ears from the intense noise. Scattered volleys of las-fire were deflected by his power armor. He raised his bolt pistol and fired, the chest of a nearby man exploding as the bullet punctured the puny flak armor. The lasered hatch opened onto a crowded corridor, white tile floor already running with blood. Around him flowed his roaring warband, weapons raised, cutting down the enemy. Deio raised his arm, bolt pistol spitting death. Guardsmen broke left and right, fleeing for their lives. Serbion struck them down with savage bolts of power.
"Slaughter." He said, boredom in his voice. Deio laughed, and lept into the fray. He thumbed the activation rune on his guillotar, the serrated teeth coughing to life. He cleaved through a screaming Guardsmen in a single fell blow, and kicked another to the floor, smiling at the crunch of bones. It was indeed a butchery, little finesse or glory about it. The Guardsmen were already routing, but the warband fell upon them, weeks couped in a ship with no combat or sport. They needed slaves, as this ship was full of potentials.
"It is time to kill again, brothers. The corpse god's boot licks are crawling all over this ship. Slick the floor with their blood! Slake your thirsts! Kill in the name of Chaos!"
(Kill Count: 3