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The shimmering veil between worlds was rent asunder once more, and from the iridescent wound upon the world, the harbinger stepped forth. Hot and humid winds wafted over him, carrying with them the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of birdsong. Light rain drizzled down from the verdant canopies, warm water utterly failing to cleanse his corrupted warplate, falling to the fertile earth beneath his feet utterly befouled, black and writhing sludge taking its place.

Ragged, rasping breaths took life from this atmosphere, and in return, a deadly fog seeped from the corrosion-spawned holes riddling the pestilent paladin’s helmet. Deadened legs that knew precious little rest but the temporary graves that the Omniverse had permitted him carried his diseased bulk forward, the whirring hiss of antiquated pistons and the resounding clamour of his footfalls drowning out the errant roars of thunder far above. Some self-professed lord of the tempests sought to defend their divine territory, flashes of lightning briefly igniting treetops far overhead before the downpour silenced the burgeoning flames.

But the tainted titan carried His God with him- in his veins, in his dessicated flesh, marked upon his twinned hearts, intertwined with his very soul, and as a skyborne spear of power carved its way down from on high, the Tangled Green learnt its first lesson.

It had already lost.

The wrath of the heavens coursed through his ironclad frame, redundant organs cooking where they lay within him, marrow vaporizing and muscle charring and becoming black as sin. His left arm turns to shrapnel, the viscera of untold parasites dwelling within turning into a thick paste that splatters across his surroundings, the accompanying thunderclap’s shockwave leveling the area around him. Within the newly-formed clearing, ebon smoke billowing forth from the many cracks in his ceramite plating, the abomination moved, seemingly unhampered by the divine intervention.

A hand clad by a gauntlet that had strangled warriors across a thousand stars and ten thousand years reached to his side, drawing forth the familiar bulk of his boltgun. Mass-reactive shells bathed within the entropic light of dying stars were carried forth towards the ancient weapon’s action, ferried by parasitic tendrils emerging from the severed stump of his arm, delicately carrying their host’s precious cargo to its destination.

The thunderstruck champion of corruption gurgled out a chortling laugh, staggering forward as he readied his ancient weapon. There was yet much work to be done upon this blighted earth, and he’d be even further Damned if he simply left this cursed realm to continue.
The End Times

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