In his ceremonially threatening pose, his chest swelling, the daemon weapon shared between his hands thrashing and cooing. The metallic breeze at the high corner of the building whipping up into his short-cropped black hair which writhed and changed. His cape snapping and whispering at his back.
Lord Commander Dragger was laughing.
The inhuman sound came from the rectangular opening of his small, hard mouth.
Around him, his chosen went ruthlessly about their business of shelling their attackers from the roof of the building. Inquisitorial Rhinos threatened the base of the tower, foul arco-flagellants whipped their arms into the Mad Squad, and right before Dragger's gaze, an emergent Land Raider had wrecked the black defiler, which was burning and shrivelling mechanically.
The Inquisition was coming to assassinate him.
He saw nothing save for the will of Tzeentch.
He turned gracefully away from the corner of the building. In the middle of his squad appeared, with a fizzing, snapping sound, a horrible deformation, something which surely had to be a blasphemy. It hooted and yammered at Dragger and raised its foul appendages.
The perfect squeeze on the handle of the daemon sword sent it through the Daemonhost in several ways. The monster descended to the floor in a host of gory pieces.
To translate his laugh, ungracefully, incompletely, would yield here it comes. But the nature of Tzeentch was to serialize this feeling until it became the scream of change.
Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes.
Dragger turned to face Wylie. His eyes met the marine's silvered helmet lenses. And Dragger thought about what a beautiful, vulnerable, sad brute Wylie was. He goaded the daemon sword and pointed it toward him. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah..."
He raised it high as Wylie bridled, ferociously, and drew back his power fist. "Dragger, what the FUCK??!"
Then the second Daemonhost appeared behind him. Dragger lunged, weakly, and the daemon sword stretched itself into a huge needle which speared as it grew through the gibbering monster. It snapped back to sword shape as the creature howled and flailed lethally at Dragger and the squad.
Here he comes.
The Inquisitor appeared over the parapet, climbing the building in a gleaming and forbidding golden suit of terminator armour. As he caught sight of Dragger's face, both of them snarled.
There was no time for curt and honourable exchange. The spinning death dance of two mighty champions began oblivious to all else, a golden thunder hammer reverberating inexorably as it descended on its target, the mangling, screaming daemon sword twisting and thrusting.
The Inquisitor fell.
Dragger raised the daemon sword with two hands and the laugh-gunshots from his mouth blended to an avian yell. His hair roughened and rose in predatory ridges as the mortally wounded body in its magnificent, proud casing slipped over the chasm of the damaged roof, crashing down into the auditorium below.
They would come for his bones, make some dashing last-second recovery and make him again. And he would be foremost calling the hunt. Dragger stopped laughing and sighed as he turned to face the daemonhost that was disabling the last of the chosen.
But then, Dragger thought as the monster turned on him and howled earsplittingly, the Inquisition was also helping in other ways too...
Far above the deathtangle of beast and doomed megalomaniac, far above the shell-wounded city, Wolfram's sky was crying cyclonic Life Eater torpedoes...
Somewhere down the halls of Time, a skull-faced madman screaming, an innocent one being fooled for everything...
here it comes, here it comes, here it comes...
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