The Harbinger... Part 1/2

This is a Short piece I wrote loosely based on WarHammer Lore but not related to any alrrady standing fluff. Enjoy.

He stood alone.
Around him the thousands upon thousands that opposed him were fearful, trepid. From the Imperial Guard, to the Imperial Knights, to the ranks of the Adepta Sororitas...
All of them frozen in place.
They dare not inch toward or away from this Chaotic Monstrosity. Many among their ranks have heard tell of this herald of Chaos.. The Harbinger. But not in their worst nightmares did they dare to believe...
Never did they think such a being could or indeed did exist.
His form is small for such large stature... His poise is unassuming...
But still they cannot move.
His aura screams death, and they feel his bloodlust building.
His gleaming yellow eyes appraise even the smallest of movements with minute flickers... the small plumes of vapour trailing from them adding to his menacing presence.
His helm obscures most of his visage.. But does nothing to mask his obtrusive Bloodlust.
They can all feel it...
That baying sense of dread that at any moment he could lash out, unleashing who knows what manner of Carnage with a single stroke.
His armour is Chaos itself, hazing and hardening and morphing in untold intricate patterns of various colours and shapes. It bristles and spikes and bleeds and screams as the faces of his innumerable victims bay from within the depths of his dark soul, trapped within forever.
He is almost perfectly still save from the slow morphing of his armour and the legendary Hellwhip at his hand, lashing out of it's own intent, it's latent thrashing, crying out for blood to bathe in and skin to eviscerate.
It almost howls as it cracks through the air... and occasionally its spiked tendrils strike for the Harbinger himself, only to be repelled by some unknown force. This is a true weapon of Chaos and the countless Daemonic souls that reside within it are insatiable in their bloodlust.
In his other hand.. If that is indeed what it is, taloned and scaly, twice the size of a normal fist, and wrapped around the hilt of a Sword that is sheathed in Blue/white flames that seem to scorch the very air around them... Apptly named the Soul Searer.. This hell forged blade, is matched only by the great sword of Khorne himself, as cruel as it is formidable. Death by any means is preferable than to be struck down by this sword, for as it's name suggests, being struck down by such a weapon locks your soul into a realm of ever burning Chaotic hell.
Yes, Fear holds their step, and with good reason. Their numbers mean nothing to him, their causes, their intent, their goals and dreams... Mean nothing, to this deranged Fiend of Chaos.
He is insane of course, As insane as any touched by the warp can be, but his mind is surprisingly intact for one that bears the sigils of not one or even two but all 4 of the Chaos Gods. Such a feat should be impossible. The Chaos Gods fickle natures and even more unpredictable moods would deem such a thing ludicrous to even imagine...
But Not so.. For he has done the impossible... he has united the four Great Sigils and in doing so has had the gift of self placed upon him. Among the many denizens and contraptions of the warp, Self is a much saught after gift, even amongst the great Primarchs and Champions..
Afterall, what good is power or strength or rage or even decadence if such a gift renders one completely devoid of self?
For this is the nature of the Ruinous powers and their dark gifts.
A testament, then...
To his strength, to his sharp mind and to his voracious bloodlust and animosity toward any that oppose the Dark Ruinuous powers that he fanatically worships. Nobody knows how it is possible to curry favour with the Allseer Zteentch, while avoiding the ire of Khorne, or how one pleases The Great Grandfather Nurgle, while not earning the wrath of the The Dark Prince of All Decadence, Slaanesh. Preposterous, even as a thought...
BUT, as the four great Sigils emblazen his form and strengthen every facet of his being, They are also a warning to the transfixed thousands.
Yes... They are afraid...
And they should be!

As His great black wings unfurl and his arm twists back like lightening, cracking forward and releasing the HellWhip, there are no words for the pandemonium that spreads through their ranks, as those on the inside turn and retreat only to be sliced and dismembered, beheaded or cleaved cleanly in two, where they stand, before they can even scream in pain, their voices barely audible above the Harbingers bullish roars and the crack of his whip as it's many tendrils arch and fly in directions impossible for any whip, as if they are choosing their own targets... which, they probably are. Atleast hundeds are wiped out in the first cleaving slash. Their lives extinguished in one brutal stroke, and it is not hard to imagine that even the blood god is smiling with satisfaction. As the Harbinger charges in with his Soul Searer, slicing through everything and everyone in his way, they now know the true power of Chaos.. They know hopelessness and they know despair...
But, Every single one of them, Emperor's Children, Grey Wolves and Battle Sisters alike... Every single one of them yearns to have died long before ever setting eyes, On The Harbinger.

-Sir Chaos

Author's Note

Sorry about any mistakes I've made. I haven't edited this one much as I really liked the way it flows.