Kharakhos, lord of the Iron Gorgon's renegades cast a practiced eye over the battle unfolding before him whilst ignoring the pitiful escape attempts of the man gripped in his fist.
He noticed the battle had swung from their blistering attack into a stalemate, the Astra Militarum line buckling but holding against the pressure of his cultist horde's battering them hundreds of combatants died every minute but still they held. Only where his heretic Astartes brothers assaulted were gains being made.
'Give me ten thousand souls, and I shall give you victory here', he remembered the words of Ephilim, his sorceress from the day before, looking around he realised that she would soon be held to account.
He glanced at the raised hill where Ephilim and her coven were stationed. Arcs of orange lightning blasting any loyalists who came too close into clouds of ash. A miasma of power circled them, the very soul stuff of the slain ripped from their bodies to power whatever fell ritual was reaching it's climax.
With a scream, Ephilim slashed her ritual dagger at the nearest cultist, nearly sawing his head off with the stroke. The bruised sky seemed to swell in that moment, turning black as pitch as lightning tore from the clouds of souls. Lightning which didn't ground itself but formed together into a ball of electricity floating thirty feet off the floor.
All this happened in the span of three beats of each of Kharakhos' twinned hearts, he had reflexively lashed out and smashed a guardsman from his feet as he watched. The commissar still struggled, held firm in his iron grip, forgotten for the moment.
The ball of lightning exploded with a supersonic blast wave throwing the nearest warriors to the floor and frying heretic and loyalist alike in its efforts to ground. As the blinding light died down, Kharakhos' realised with a start that a growling titanic thing had been summoned.
Darkness engulfed it in sheets of roiling black cloud, but a leering daemonic face peered about, the source of the growling. The unmistakable sight of a powerfist the size of a battle tank hung at one side and poking through the clouds on the other were six elongated battle cannon barrels, already whining and spinning like an assault cannon. Above the head was a huge missile launcher, Kharakhos could see rows of deadly ordnance ready to fire and he smiled to himself as he realised that Eliphim had summoned a daemonic Reaver titan to the field. The victory she had spoken about...
The Titan roared, first with it's warhorns' sounded like an enraged beast and the screams of tortured souls forcing the imperials to cease their advance. Next it roared with it's substantial firepower. Shells tore from the cannon as it span ripping into the imperials flank. Missiles stabbed from the launcher seeking armoured targets to blow to smithereens.
A muffled scream was cut off by a wet sucking noise as Kharakhos realised he had crushed the unfortunate commissar, unconsciously flexing his powerfist at the sight of such wanton destruction.
He screamed praise to the dark gods and resumed the advance of his Iron Gorgon's.
****
I was asked recently to detail up the base and of a ChaosRChaos Titan by a friend. Just some drybrushing I thought, which turned into adding a few gloss bits on the joins to represent oil leaks, and then weather the feet, the list goes on, but I'll let the images do the talking for me now:
He has a method of painting all his chaos equipment using black and then drybrushing with Incubi Darkness and Thunderhawk Blue giving this dark greenish hue to the armour which personally I really like. The base is an old piece of terrain which GW used to make which has a wrecked rhino (painted in his own Emperor's Herald's chapter colours) and craters and trees built on. The trees were made as if blasted in the warzone rather then with the moulded leaves GW provides with the kit.
Lastly, my favourite photo I took of the thing, probably the last thing an unfortunate loyalist would see.
Until next time...
- Lewis
