Malifact's iron hooves crunched beneath them the bones of the Great Skull Lands. Much had happened since the Great Invicto fell. Malifact had wandered into the Old World, gained his daemonhood, was summoned into a Sword, was released, and found himself with his Ascension robbed of him. Since then he had wandered over the World's Edge Mountains and into Dawi Zharr territory. A harsh wind whipped up dust and sent it flying everywhere. It got into every nook and cranny of Malifact's armour. For mortal eyes it would be impossible to see in the dust storm, but Malifact's eyes picked their way through it and could see far into the distance. Malifact's eyes now shone yellow in confusion. Something was tugging at his mind, drawing him somewhere. It felt so familiar, but he couldn't place where he remembered it from. He briefly remembered the last time he heard of a mysterious prescence leading someone on, and his eyes momentarily flashed azure in amusement but quickly they turned back to yellow, as he realised that the same could happen to him. For weeks he was led. He passed east again. Along the Road of Skulls and over the Mountains of Mourn the presence took him. He had passed into the realm of the Nomadic Tribes. The presence took him off the beaten path and into the cold wilderness. The mighty wind blasted across the flat featureless plain. Frost crowned the earth, much as it did before, back on Invicto's last march. Malifact turned north to face the final part of his journey. Into the Chaos Wastes he went. It was different than he remembered. The sky shone green and yellow. Odd animals melded into the earth, shrieking, then resurfaced and eyed Malifact warily. Blood rained from the sky, and the ground writhed and twisted at it's touch. Then the hills began shifting, which was what Malifact remembered well from his last visit. He once came upon a lone tree. It was huge and gnarled, and a great bulbous eye peered out of it's wizened bark. It's boughs creaked in laughter as Malifact passed, and it spat blood at him through a large hole. Afte a long journey, Malifact was nearing the end. Where the ocean of blood once was, a great forest now stood. The trees of the forest fought each other. Grasping branches ripped the bark off of rival trees, revealing sore flesh beneath. The wailing was deafening. Malifact sighed. He stared at a pile of dead wood, and thought of a fire. In this magic saturated place, his thought took shape. A flame kindled there. Here Malifact stood, gazing at the insubstantial flame. It danced in his mind, changing colours all the time.

Cleaving the unknown assailant's head from his shoulders, Tz'trom gave a maddening roar that was filled with his obvious love of battle. He spun quickly and crushed the chest cavity of another attacker with his axe. Blood spat at his already crimson coated helmet, but this didn't slow him. He grabbed the throat of a charging enemy and crushed his windpipe with his spare hand. "For Tchar!" He roared, "For Chaos!" The other marauders around him roared the same and continued their raid. A horn blew and they quieted. A regiment of knights turned the corner of a street, not three blocks away and formed rank, facing them. Tz'trom heaved a spear out of the hand of a dead Imperial's hand and gripped it's shaft tightly. The horn blew again and the knights charged in unison. Other warriors around him had copied his movements and they each held spears. As one, they flung them at the charging knights, most falling harmlessly, some glancing off their armour and a couple finding their marks. Tz'trom hefted his axe and began a charge at the knights, with his loyal warriors close behind. "Chaos!" they screamed. Rolling to the left, Tz'trom sliced the legs of the closest knight's horse, sending both to the ground. He regained his bearings and made for the downed horseman. Blood satiated the thirst of his axe, if only for a minute, and Tz'trom fed it well. The melee lasted only a moment, the desperate last charge of the knights was the small town's last defence. They helped themselves to the spoils of war. Tz'trom removed his helmet and drew in a deep breath of the north's cool air. The tang of blood filled the air and it only made him smile more. A good day's work. The night began to settle in and the town would provide their shelter for the time being. Campfires crackled and laughter and crude jokes swelled above the drowning silence that their conquest had wrought. Downing a mug of ale, Tz'trom lifted his feet and placed them on the desk of the Lord who had once owned the office. Since the battlefield lacked anyone who looked like a noble, Tz'trom had to assume that he had fled. He picked up a pistol, that had been sitting on the desk and looked it over. It appeared as if he could break it at any moment. "Bah, weak Imperialist weaponry," he muttered to himself as he threw it back on the table. He got up and refilled his mug, before taking a swig. "Tz'trom, it's been a while," came a familiar voice. Startled, Tz'trom spun around, axe already free from it's belt at his side. The room was empty. He checked the hallway, it too was empty. When he turned back to the desk, the image of Malifact hung in the air, shimmering and disappearing for seconds at a time. "Malifact," Tz'trom spat through his teeth, "I can see right through you, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" He laughed. The image returned no sign of emotion, but instead it spoke, flatly. "I heard the call, the one I heard before Invicto's demise, the one you heard too, when Osiris-" "Osiris was weak," Tz'trom muttered, "we were blinded by his promises of power, but he couldn't even complete one task set by the Gods," "I don't recall you besting the challenge either, Norseman," "I would have, had it not fled into the abyss," "You say that now, but would you prove it?" "If the opportunity arose, I-" "The opportunity, has arisen, Norseman, I heard the call, as you will hear it. Invicto lives," "Impossible, Invicto was destroyed, along with Osiris and his false promises," "Am I not proof? I stand before you now, though my body is within the Chaos Wastes, near to where Invicto was, disbanded," Tz'trom returned the axe to his belt. "Daemonhood awaits you, Tz'trom," Those were the last words he heard before the mirage vanished. It had been 4 months since the visit from his fellow warrior, and still he trudged through the wastelands, his mind, familiarly shattered millions of times over at maddening sights that would make a normal man tear out his eyes. A campfire caught his attention and he set his course in it's direction.

Since the demise of Invicto Te'kor has been traveling the Chaos Wastes, he has had many adventures far to dark and evil to record here. Te'kor has been trying to learn as much as he can about Chaos,he believes it is he who will bring about the Truth Of Chaos to the old world and in doing so will set the world ablaze. Te'kor has traveled to many evil places and has gained the favor of the gods as well as powerful artifacts. Te'kor sat in a Temple to Tzeentch he stared into smoke. He threw some more herbs on to the flames which causes them to flash blue and green. The Smoke began to darken till it was the deepest black and not even light could escape it. Te'kor chanted a few words and the smoke exploded into the brigh-*test*-('") colours and there in the middle was a vision of a lone Chaos warrior marching though the wastes. Te'kor smiled he had grown bored of studying , he gathered his things and head out into the night.

OOC:Just to clarify italic are flash backs while bold and italic are the Leader of the speaking to him. IC:"WAAAAAAGGGGHHH!" "I shall slay you in sigmares name foul greenskin, your filth shall no longer pollute this world and I shall condem thee unto the Aethyer" "You Talk to much umie jus Die Alreatie den I cna getz back to protactin da Shaman like da boss told me" *the sound of swords clashing, followed by a wet 'thuk!' noise and a mans dying scream* "WAAAAAAGGGHH!! UMIE WAAAAGGH!!" "Come! Come to the North! To My Realm! I shall grant you, your every wish and Desire, My Masters Shall make it so "Gud job Gorogrog, Da boss shall ere bout dis" "Tanks shaman but youz so tough owz come I gotta protact yar" "Da Boss' Orders Umie Slica da Boss Orders" "Iz be boss one day n den I make da Orders, No Orc big n Tough like me will shield you pathetic Shamans" "Iz be lookin Forward to it" COME! I summon you, you are the best, the grea-*test*-('") Orc I could find whom would leave his tribe, I shall grant you power, wealth and a tribe the size of which is beyond your wildest dreams Gorogrog looked to the sky, it swirled and melted, never staying the same, some days it would show him the future, some days the past. The sky tormented him and made his mutated arm ache as if the Plague were still fresh but he knew it had not afflicted him in a long, long time he bore the scars of its ravages with pride and had openly slaughtered people who looked upon them. Looking around the warriors of the north boxed him in, their ranks of black and silver armor could be seen for miles in both directions, the Orc knew what he was involved with from the start "Back off umies, I needz me space" the warriors were closing in as the pass narrowed making the large Orc who stood several heads taller then the soldiers feel rather claustrophobic, he only hoped what the humans gave him was worth the trouble "Orc, they trick you, they plan to kill you in the narrowest part of the valley, where you can't run, break out now" He heard the voice he had been hearing for a while now every time he closed his eyes, in his dreams, his memories and now when he stalked the land conscious, the voice was no Orc it wasn't human...it spoke like a human..but it didn't sound like one and yet he trusted it and so far it had not led him wrong so he wouldn't distrust it now "WAAAGGH!" Gorogrog roared and sliced through the nearest human the mark of Gorks wrath began to burn as the magic was activated, Gorogrog felt his body start to burn with hatred and anger, any thought or ideas washing from his brain in a flood of WAAAGGH energy "WAAAGGH!" he roared as he cut another down, already small wounds covered his body but he was an Orc he was tough enough to weather this he has been impaled by an armored humans spear once and lived to tell the tales. his red eyes glared balefully through the darkness within his skull helmet. "WWWAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!" the cry echoed around the valley drawing in more of the Warriors, he was hopelessly outnumbered and could see no way free. "Repeat after me, Scaerosi yjuikjalt marraguthypwq kaefgutry" The voice had spoken to him again and with that Gorogrog tried forming the words that sounded complex in his mind, yet slipped from his tongue with no effort, he felt his body shiver and churn, his mind blank....no wait he was falling through darkness, when he awake he was in a clearing of skeletal trees that surrounded a bubbling lake which leaked a foul stench and coated the plants in a corrosive Ichor like puss, he turned his head and saw a mountain range so high it penetrated the clouds and stretched for eternity, he knew thats where he'd find who had saved him.

The campfire hissed and crackled, it shot sparks out, which landed on the ground screaming. Tz'trom eyed it warily as he approached, a figure stood with it's back to him, though he recognised it easily enough. "Malifact," He sighed heavily. Malifact's head turned towards him, "Leave me, vision, I am in no mood for your mind games," "I would say the same of you, yet that fire looks to offer respite from this unceasing cold," Malifact drew his sword and turned to face him. "If you will not leave me, then I shall banish you," Tz'trom laughed before he was set upon by his old comrade, his good joy turning to surprise. Rolling to the left of the attack, Tz'trom loosed his axe and spun to meet Malifact. The two brought their weapons up and they met with a loud clang that seemed to stun Malifact more than his assault had stunned Tz'trom. "You're insubstantial, why- Unless.. Tz'trom?" Not lowering his weapon, Tz'trom replied, "You've been expecting me, yet at the first sign of me, you attack?" "Expecting you, what would make you think I've been expecting you?" They both backed away, still remaining on guard, yet slightly more at ease. "You came to me in a vision, when I was in Osterland, you bid that I come to this forsaken land and that Invicto had been revived," Malifact laughed, "I have done many things, but going to you in a vision was not among them," "Then how do you explain your presence here?" "Would you believe coincidence?" "No more than i believe that Invicto has been restored, yet this seems a tad more forced than mere coincidence," "I swear to you, you have been duped, Tz'trom." And with that the two lowered their weapons as an old camaraderie fell over them. The Chaos moon hung low and green in the cloudless sky, with it's light, it was impossible to tell night from day, and Tz'trom had not slept since he reached the wastes. His skin was red from the cold, as he had nothing but his fur pelt to protect him. The two continued to talk around the campfire until it had stood up, cursed at them and walked off. They marched further into the north, not knowing in which direction they should head, madness is fickle.

Malifact eyed Tz'trom with something that bordered concern. The hardy warrior's skin was turning blue from the cold, and with only his pelt for warmth, it could be a problem. However, the fierce determination in his eyes quelled Malifact's doubt. "We will have to enter the forest sooner or later." Said Malifact. They had been avoiding entering the forest ever since they set off. The trees were shrieking and wailing, and tearing of chunks of bark from each other's boughs. Sore flesh was revealed beneath and blood bubbled from the open wounds and trickled down. Every so often, the trees would bend backwards, revealing leering and distorted mouths, then with their whipping claw like branches they tried to strike them. Luckily, the two warriors were out of reach. Tz'trom gazed at the forest bitterly, his green eyes narrow under his furrowing brow. For a little longer they walked until there was an opening in the forest. It was wide enough for them to get past unharmed by the trees, though to further Malifact's concern the trees were becoming increasingly violent. The shrieks and wails turned into bestial roars. Malifact kept quiet as ever as they walked into the opening. Slowly, the coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils, and he felt an old part of him stir. He kept it at bay. As they walked further, they noticed skulls strewn about the ground, Orc, Man, Elf, Dwarf, Goblin, every kind. A slight red haze filled the air and the sky he noticed was gradually turning crimson. The clouds were black, and they raced across the sky at unnatural speed. As Malifact studied them closer, he saw them form into leering skull shapes. Suddenly the path widened and they came across a wide opening. Flowers bloomed on the ground, though unlike any he had seen before. Their petals were deathly black, and each bloom was a twisted face. Their stems were a spine of twisted bones, and crimson flecked flies fed upon their bloody nectar. When Malifact looked up, he saw that the opening had extended for miles ahead. Tz'trom and Malifact walked through the strange opening and the flowers nodded at their passing and conspired with one another. The ground was soggy wet with freshly spilled blood. The shrieks of distant daemons filled the air, but they were too far away to be a problem. Ahead, they saw the ground ripple slightly, as if their very presence caused it agony. "Who walks upon the Meadow of Khorne?" A chilling voice whispered behind them. They spun around and found themselves faced with an old man. Long straggly hair reached down to his back and in it was dried blood and gore. He wore nothing but tarnished robes wich hung loosely from his cadaverous frame. His face was gaunt, and a white beard bristled from his chin. Though he looked frail and weak, his eyes were orbs of fire that smouldered in their sockets. He leant on a huge axe, equaling his height. Malifact said nothing. Just then he felt a ripple in the Winds behind him, and he turned to see this new disturbance, his muscles stiff and ready for combat,

Guided by visions Te'kor followed the Warrior.He needed not rest or food so he traveled onwards for days. Te'kor sat in the shadow of the trees, it was hard to meditate with their constant howling. He had shielded himself form there senses. He could sense he was close to his prize but something troubled him in his last vision he had seen two warriors. Te'kor pushed these thoughts aside and began to chant, slowly his mind began to free its self from his body. Soon it was free and flying across the waste, though his Mind Te'kor saw a makeshift fire and tracks leading into the forest. Te'kor's mind returned and he sighed he had wished not to enter the forest, who knew what lived in there. Te'kor set off to the entrance of the forest,slowly he entered keeping his mind alert and ready to use the winds of magic. He followed the tracks and soon came to a clearing he saw the Warriors and moved ahead of using the cover of the trees maybe he could ambush them. A chilling voice crept into Te'kor's mind "Who walks upon the Meadow of Khorne?" Te'kor spun around dagger ready,nothing nobody was near him. He looked back at the warriors thinking they could have seen him but he was greeted with an odd sight. They had turned back and where facing an old man with a mighty axe. "Hmm some tricky from Khorne thought it was not his type" smirked Te'kor Te'kor walked out into the clearing and readied the winds of Magic

"Ready up ladz, dem big umiez is comin" "Come yer Gobboz get ur Choppaz ready" "Shamanz Get blastin dem" "Gorogrog go chargez dem now" "WWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH" The lake bubbled furiously as Gorogrog looked over it's edge, a dark form neared the surface as he stepped back readying his choppas, a great amphibious creature with a crest of horns and vestigial human arms lept from the water, its movement a mimic of a frog, The orc readied his choppas to slice through the beast but the plagued arm began to burn fiercely dragging him to the ground as the creature loomed near movement appeared at the edge of the tree line

Caminus wandered first left, then right. He stepped back, looked to the sky, and sighed. For days now, he had wandered the wastes, and no matter what way he went he felt an insistent pull from the other direction. He hadn't eaten in fifteen hours, for his food supplies ran thin and there was almost no animals to be found. Sitting by his fire, he pulled the small log from his pack, and a knife from his wrist, and began to whittle. Soon after, he sat up. His fire was gone, and in its place loomed a demon. "Come to us, warrior.." The beasts enormous hoofs pawed the ground, and behind it he saw his fire, and his pack. Then what was he leaning on? He rolled onto his side, and felt that he was still leaning on his pack. Then, and only then, he realised that it was only a hallucination. He stood, turned, and laughed at the demon, which roared and swung its axe, aiming for his neckline. He continued laughing, and simply walked through it, moving to stand at his fire. He leant down, and gathered his stores back into his pack, and shouldered it. "Wait! Stop!" It was the demon. He turned, and it had his back to him. It was cowering, its hands held up over its head. He began to laugh again, then the demon split in two. This time, it was very real. The ichor spattered over him, burning his exposed flesh where it landed. And then, from the mists, came a huge demon. "Come now, warrior! Laugh your laugh now!" it roared, offering a challenge. Caminus knew he was outmatched, and simply turned and ran directly away from it. He heard the whistling of the mighty axe, and adjusted his course to the left, leaping four feet into the air. The axe smashed into the ground, and he continued running. His adrenaline was pumping, and he checked behind himself. He couldn't see the demon anymore, and he turned back to his front. He noticed, now, that he was moving with the tug. He slowed to a walk, and from the fog loomed a great forest. It seemed to grow itself outwards to him, and he aligned himself to the north, and moved through the forest. The trees were violent, and regularly tried to strike him. He knew that here, he would find no rest. Athough - he looked through the trees ahead, and saw that he would find animals. The deers fur was deathly dark red, and its antlers where bleached white bone. It looked edible enough, and he managed to first lame it with a knife from close to fifteen feet away, then got close as it lay there and cut its throat. He hoisted the corpse over his shoulder, and made a break west, towards what he thought would be the edge of the forest. It turned out not to be, and he came to a meadow of black flowers. Across the clearing, he could see people. Most had bigger weapons than he did, and he moved out of reach of the trees, which now seemed calm on this side, and dropped his meat. He crouched low to the ground, and he could hear whispers in some arcane language emanating from the flowers. Your turn.

The old man spoke again, his tone more insistant, "Who walks upon the Meadow of Khorne? Tz'trom eyed the man cautiously, taking in his axe moreso than the one who held it before turning to see what Malifact looked at. A wiry thin man walked confidently into the meadow, treading on the flowers which screamed for vengeance at their felled kin. He looked to be contorting the winds of magic to do his bidding, Tz'trom guessed he was a zealot of some sort, a devout follower of the bird god. Turning back, he noted that the old man had effortlessly hefted his giant axe onto his shoulder. "I will ask but once more, then, you will die," he said calmly, "Who are you to walk upon the Meadow of the Blood God?" "You deal with the magic wielder, i'll take Old Man Lumberjack," Tz'trom whispered to Malifact. "Done and done," was all he heard before his comrade leapt into action. Tz'trom lifted his axe from it's loop and drew the short sword from his back. He took a relaxed stance. "I am Tz'trom Crom'sha, and it is I who treads upon the Meadow of the Blood God," "Tz'trom Crom'sha, prepare to meet your doom, in the name of Khorne, I kill all who breach the sanctity of the Meadow." "We'll see about that," Tz'trom spat, intentionally standing on one of the flowers. The ones surrounding it screamed for it's killers blood. With unnatural speed, the old man was bringing his axe down upon Tz'trom. He rolled to the left and brought his axe up, only to have it blocked by the hilt of the massive weapon. Spinning with the attack, he brought his short sword around to take his opponent's head off, but the old man had rolled away and was using the momentum of his huge axe to push Tz'trom to his defence. Time after time their blades met, neither gaining any advantage over the other, Tz'trom had to give it to the old man, he was good. Ducking under another swing of his attacker's weapon, Tz'trom feigned an attack to his right and swept his short sword in to take out the man's legs. The old man used his axe as leverage and leapt over the attack, kicking Tz'trom in the side of the helmet in mid-stride. The blow disorientated him for a second, a second too long. The hilt of the massive axe slammed into the front of his helmet, bending it inwards, breaking his nose. The old man laughed at the sounds of bones breaking, bringing his weapon up for the death stroke. Tz'trom lashed out with his weapons, working himself into a ruthless, blood-induced frenzy. He swung recklessly, his vision blurred by the blood that sprayed from his nose, but each attack was dodged or parried by the old man. Tz'trom screamed in pain as his left arm was severed at the elbow, the old man bursting into a fit of laughter, maddening laughter. Something happened that Tz'trom had not expected. His left arm began to swell, the pain becoming intolerable. His vision hazed as he almost passed out from it. The old man stopped laughing and turned to look at Tz'trom, raising an eyebrow. His arm grew back, but it had changed, it took the form of a massive raven's beak, some four feet long. It opened it's mouth and squawked loudly. Tz'trom could only gasp at his supposed reverence from the Lord of Change. Now it was he who laughed. He ripped off his helmet and spat out the blood that had found it's way into his mouth. The old man swung his axe around in a ferocious attack, but the blow was stopped abruptly by Tz'trom's new left arm. It bit the hilt of the axe, it's beak razor sharp, and broke it in two. Stunned, the old man tried to retreat, but a swift heft of Tz'trom's axe left it embedded in his forehead . As soon as his newly acquired arm had come, it had left, forming the shape of his hand again. "Tzar be praised," Tz'trom muttered his thanks to the Lord of Change and turned to see how his comrade fared.

Malifact strode forward towards the newcomer. The Winds rippled about him like air about a flame. There was something familiar about this man. Malifact drew his sword and electricity flowed along it's edge in eagerness. But as soon as Malifact saw the skull clutched in the Newcomer's hand, he relaxed. "Te'kor" Nodded Malifact. Now it all came back to him. The runes on Te'kors face, the two horns that sprouted from his brow, the milky white eyes. Te'kor, it seemed, recognised Malifact too as the Winds became less intense and Mordex calmed. However, the land did not take kindly to Sorcery. The earth rippled in anger and the fell flowers hissed and shrieked in hyserical rage. Te'kor gave a snarl of contempt. Te'kor opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a low rumble. It sounded as though it could be thunder. Malifact spun round and saw the old man dead on ground. Or so it seemed. His eyes opened, and the orbs of fire within raged wildly. A feral snarl escaped his throat which sounded very unlike his original voice. He stood up, and bloody tears escaped his old tear ducts. His form began to shift alarmingly, and his muscle mass increased tenfold. He grew in height, and massive wings punctured their way out of his shoulder blades. His skin changed from pallid, to gore coloured. His face stretched into a snout with snapping canines. He picked up his axe, and it too seemed to have gained in size and ferocity. In a snap of flame a spinal whip appeared in it's left hand. Malifact knew what he looked upon. He looked upon Osiris' Bane. The flowers were stretched out in glee. Their vile mouths were open, hoping to catch any blood from the slaughter that was sure to follow. Malifact glanced to Tz'trom, and then to Te'kor, and then charged in.

Tz'trom, at a loss for words, staggered backwards. A voice rang through his mind "This is the same foe to best Osiris, you think you can do any better than he?" it insulted. Green lightning hissed passed his head towards the Champion of Khorne, dissapating upon impact. It laughed, an unholy sound, and it shook Tz'trom to his core. "Magic is no good!" Malifact yelled, "It's a creature of Khorne, they are immune to it- Tz'trom! What are you waiting for? A chance for glory doesn't present itself like this every day, you know," Glory. Tz'trom remembered glory. He lived for it. He breathed it. It was all about him. Regaining his focus, his left arm contorted into the raven's beak once more. Hefting his axe, he made his way to the right of the Daemon, Malifact moving to the left. The Bloodthirster loosened it's whip from it's belt and unravelled it, the cruel barbs on it's end were the size of Tz'trom's arms. Soon, the dance would begin. Malifact's laughter caught Tz'tom's attention. He and the Bloodthirster both looked at the chosen warrior, hefting his massive longsword. Malifact looked past the Bloodthirster's foot to Tz'trom. "Osiris' bane," he said excitedly, "Daemonclaw would grant the title of Sol Invictus to the one who brought him his head," "Then it shall be a shared rank, won't it?" Malifact simply laughed. A three-way battle with a Bloodthirster? Was he mad?! The hissing of a giant axe caught his attention and he sprung into action, sprinting to get out of the way as the Greater Daemon's weapon lodged itself into the earth not two paces behind him. Roaring, it pulled the weapon out of the ground and brought it's whip up, aiming at Malifact. Tz'trom rolled, sitting his axe back in it's holster, and recovered his short sword. He spun with determined strength and threw the blade towards the daemon's knee. It found it's place beneath the knee cap and stuck firmly. Malifact hadn't moved when the whip bared down upon him. At the last second he brought his sword up and rent the whip's end off, leaving it useless. "I had no idea you'd become so powerful, Malifact," The Daemon mocked, bringing his axe down in an arc, which was, unnaturally, gracefully avoided by the Chosen of Chaos. Tz'trom leapt and took a hold of his sword, and levered himself up onto it's hilt, retaining his balance. The daemon was too pre-occupied with taunting Malifact to take notice of him, so he began his climb. Malifact brought his sword up and blocked the next attack. Tz'trom couldn't believe Malifact's power either until he caught sight of the zealot, his eyes fixed on Malifact, chanting wordlessly. At least one of them would leave the battle alive, Tz'trom conceded that it be best if it were his superior. Gripping the Daemon's hair for balance, he stood upon it's shoulder. "He isn't the only one with power!" He yelled, and plunged his mutated hand deep into the beast's temple. It roared and a fiery chasm opened beneath it, sucking it back into the abyss. Glory. "Glory is mine, Malifact!" He spat, triumphantly. Malifact remained silent. Tz'trom leapt from the shoulder of the beast but was caught mid-fall. "You will join Osiris," it cried. And it dragged him into the abyss with it.