The overwhelming force of the Breaking Dawn space marines had been halted by the ambushing Night Lords warband. Isolating ground forces from their rapid re-deployment vehicles, jamming communications and targeting their senior NCOs the fighting became desperate. Clashes ranging from close quarter combat savagery, technical flanking maneuvers of fire support and most critically, aerial superiority.
Sergeant Grax was losing, his helm was the first thing the power clawed chaos marine struck rendering communication to the 3 squads under his tactical command. Without opportunity to retrieve a comms bead they were without direction and forced into hold ground maneuvers.
The Night Lord didn’t carry the hallmarked corruption of its brothers with a well maintained mixture of heresy era and contemporary armour marks. It was until they were both diving jet packs flaring down the spire’s edge that a strike opened up the Night Lords helmet. Utter madness bled from the eyes the near total black orbs straining the sergeant’s focus, laughter echoing around him in the open air.
Locked in an embrace of sword and claw they spiraled further and further down. Grax tried to angle the Night Lords sufficiently to break his fall, even in his best estimates survival would include total armour failure and significant wounds.
On impact Grax’s awareness went black, a slow applause softened with a chuckle lingered before the nothingness.
Commissioned by @salvador_trakal
