Fiction Fight Scene - Chaos Chosen
“Blood for the Blood God...” The hulking figure stood in the moonlight, reflections of everything around him showing on his scarred armour. “Blood for the Blood God...” His sword hissed from his sheath, an enormous seven foot claymore glinting with the reflections of nonexistent fires. “Blood for the Blood God...” The blade swung a full arc, and was embedded in the ground. And then they came. The Chosen turned to face the glinting weapons. Forty empire knights, out at midnight chasing the monster. And so, they came face to face with it. “You there! You are accused of murder. Remove your hel—“ He was cut short as the Chosen barrelled into his chest, full force. All forty knights turned and hemmed him in with their weapons. He stood, the first knight held by the head. He writhed and clawed at the gauntlet that held him, then screamed as his head was crushed. “Blood for the Blood God!” The huge fist came around in an arc, literally snapping one knight in two and sending his torso flying into the knight to his left. His legs wheeled through the air, and the Chosen grabbed one ankle and swung the piece a full circle above his head, before sending it crashing into another knight. Weapons came in a flurry from all directions, glancing blows with little effect. Sparks danced in the knight as the Chosen laughed at their pitiful attempts to harm him. A sword jabbed in, aimed at the crack between helm and plate. It hit a second collar plate, and slid towards the front of the throat, only to be grabbed. Sparks flew from the gauntlet as it held the sword fast, and the blade slowly grew red as it heated, then melted, under the will of the Chosen. The now disarmed knight attempted to flee, running headlong into the woods. The Chosen grabbed a weapon in one hand, and its owner in the other, forcibly separating them, and hurling the weapon after the fleeing knight. A scream echoed through the woods, slowly fading off to a liquid gurgle, as the presently held knight was used as a temporary shield. He was moved as a blur, collecting wounds like a bucket in the rain, when finally his screams were cut off by a sword slash to his throat. The circle around the Chosen tightened, attempting to prevent him from reaching his weapon. It was evident to any sane man that the knights were doomed either way, but the zealous frenzy that drives man against chaos is anything but sanity. The knights were swept aside as the Chosen strode forward to his weapon. Gripping it with one hand, he easily pulled it from the ground, and the first knight to come within striking reach was quickly cut in two, then four as the sword moved too quickly for the eye to see. As the blade was wet with blood, it began to glow, the heat causing a blood red vapour to form around the blade, leaving streaks of red for several seconds behind the blade. Barely a minute from the Chosen touching his weapon, all the knights were dead or bleeding to it, bar one. A mere boy, some sixteen years of age, with a sword and a shield backed up with flimsy leather armour. He had long since backed himself against a tree, smeared with blood from his comrades and hiding behind his shield. He was whimpering like a pup, and the shield was shaking visibly. Suddenly, he felt his shield wrenched away. The Chosen looked at the shield he was holding, then folded it in two by clenching his fist. The broken shield fell to the ground, and the gauntleted hand reached down to the boy. The voice came from the Chosen, but it was surely not his own – there was a second echo, a layer of bass that isn’t present in the voice of a mortal man. “Join me, and you will have power beyond your wildest dreams.” “Join me, and together we will crush many. I can offer you the hopes of glorious battle in the name of Khorne.” Tentatively, the boy reached out. His hand touched the gauntlet, and he screamed. Flames burnt from his chest, his armour shrivelling away as the sigil of Khorne burnt itself onto his chest. He then got up, and they began to walk from the clearing. One man moaned. The Chosen kept walking, but the boy stopped. He walked over to the immobile man, who was missing a leg. A second moan from the prone near-corpse, and the boy grabbed its forehead and crushed the head completely into the ground with a spray of blood. “Blood for the Blood God.” Constructive criticism appreciated.
“Blood for the Blood God...” The hulking figure stood in the moonlight, reflections of everything around him showing on his scarred armour. “Blood for the Blood God...” His sword hissed from his sheath, an enormous seven foot claymore glinting with the reflections of nonexistent fires. “Blood for the Blood God...” The blade swung a full arc, and was embedded in the ground. And then they came. The Chosen turned to face the glinting weapons. Forty empire knights, out at midnight chasing the monster. And so, they came face to face with it. “You there! You are accused of murder. Remove your hel—“ He was cut short as the Chosen barrelled into his chest, full force. All forty knights turned and hemmed him in with their weapons. He stood, the first knight held by the head. He writhed and clawed at the gauntlet that held him, then screamed as his head was crushed. “Blood for the Blood God!” The huge fist came around in an arc, literally snapping one knight in two and sending his torso flying into the knight to his left. His legs wheeled through the air, and the Chosen grabbed one ankle and swung the piece a full circle above his head, before sending it crashing into another knight. Weapons came in a flurry from all directions, glancing blows with little effect. Sparks danced in the knight as the Chosen laughed at their pitiful attempts to harm him. A sword jabbed in, aimed at the crack between helm and plate. It hit a second collar plate, and slid towards the front of the throat, only to be grabbed. Sparks flew from the gauntlet as it held the sword fast, and the blade slowly grew red as it heated, then melted, under the will of the Chosen. The now disarmed knight attempted to flee, running headlong into the woods. The Chosen grabbed a weapon in one hand, and its owner in the other, forcibly separating them, and hurling the weapon after the fleeing knight. A scream echoed through the woods, slowly fading off to a liquid gurgle, as the presently held knight was used as a temporary shield. He was moved as a blur, collecting wounds like a bucket in the rain, when finally his screams were cut off by a sword slash to his throat. The circle around the Chosen tightened, attempting to prevent him from reaching his weapon. It was evident to any sane man that the knights were doomed either way, but the zealous frenzy that drives man against chaos is anything but sanity. The knights were swept aside as the Chosen strode forward to his weapon. Gripping it with one hand, he easily pulled it from the ground, and the first knight to come within striking reach was quickly cut in two, then four as the sword moved too quickly for the eye to see. As the blade was wet with blood, it began to glow, the heat causing a blood red vapour to form around the blade, leaving streaks of red for several seconds behind the blade. Barely a minute from the Chosen touching his weapon, all the knights were dead or bleeding to it, bar one. A mere boy, some sixteen years of age, with a sword and a shield backed up with flimsy leather armour. He had long since backed himself against a tree, smeared with blood from his comrades and hiding behind his shield. He was whimpering like a pup, and the shield was shaking visibly. Suddenly, he felt his shield wrenched away. The Chosen looked at the shield he was holding, then folded it in two by clenching his fist. The broken shield fell to the ground, and the gauntleted hand reached down to the boy. The voice came from the Chosen, but it was surely not his own – there was a second echo, a layer of bass that isn’t present in the voice of a mortal man. “Join me, and you will have power beyond your wildest dreams.” “Join me, and together we will crush many. I can offer you the hopes of glorious battle in the name of Khorne.” Tentatively, the boy reached out. His hand touched the gauntlet, and he screamed. Flames burnt from his chest, his armour shrivelling away as the sigil of Khorne burnt itself onto his chest. He then got up, and they began to walk from the clearing. One man moaned. The Chosen kept walking, but the boy stopped. He walked over to the immobile man, who was missing a leg. A second moan from the prone near-corpse, and the boy grabbed its forehead and crushed the head completely into the ground with a spray of blood. “Blood for the Blood God.” Constructive criticism appreciated.