Pre-heresy :: Ahzek Ahriman :: Wh Past :: Thousand Sons :: Diego Gisbert Llorens :: Warhammer 40000 (wh40k, warhammer 40k, ваха, сорокотысячник) :: artist :: фэндомы

То что ты не тзинчит не значит что ты не тзинчит

Ну да, все мы не хаоситы, мы просто пользуемся силами вариант а не поклоняется им и то что вместо руки у меня клешня это всего-лишь побочный эффект.

Вообще как раз про их лояльность не было ни слова

Along with the Visarch and the Yncarne, Yvraine suddenly found herself adrift – not within the webway, but without. They were stranded in a near-silent limbo, trapped on the top of the psychocrystal walls. The sounds of battle were muffled beneath them, and the cool void sucked in its breath at their backs. Yvraine did not look around, for she felt something there, in the darkness. A voice in her mind said should she do so, she would behold the Changer of the Ways himself, and learn the meaning of madness. That voice was not Eldar, but human; it belonged not to a salvaged soul, but to the Arch-Sorcerer below. Another joined it; that of Elierrogh the Sage, one of the spirit passengers within her. She had studied this one at length.

A flash of insight struck Yvraine. ‘Ahzek Ahriman!’ she shouted, ‘I have that which you seek. I can restore your brethren!’

A stone’s throw away, the Visarch cut at the webway’s exterior with the Sword of Silent Screams, but he could not scratch it. The Yncarne hissed in pain to her flank, trailers of purple mist unwinding from its body as it was dissolved by the aether behind.

‘And why should I believe that?’ came the sorcerous voice in Yvraine’s head. ‘You have no power here, in my new domain.’ She felt white heat as something loomed behind, the fell gaze of godly eyes burning down upon her with terrible, inhuman focus.

‘Open your eyes!’ she cried, secretly praying to Ynnead that her desperate gambit would work. She pressed her hands upon the psychocrystal of the webway’s exterior, focussed on the armoured Legionaries within, and reversed the cycles of their existence.

A dozen of the Thousand Sons Rubric Marines, previously levelling firepower into the Reborn with the emotionless efficiency of automatons, staggered backwards as if struck. They looked at one another, clutched their hearts, and fell back, rallying around Ahriman before taking up the defensive stances of the Emperor’s Legiones Astartes. Yvraine could just make out their words as they frantically sought to make sense of their situation.

‘Ahzek? Is that you, brother?’

‘Where are the Athenaeans? These are Eldar we face this day!’

‘In the name of Magnus, what is going on?’

Ahriman shook his head as if stunned, his wide shoulders shaking uncontrollably with mirth, grief, or a mixture of the two. He brought his cupped hands together once more and yanked Ynnead’s luminaries downward with a shout of pure exultation.

A lurch of the stomach, and Yvraine suddenly found herself in the swirling tide of battle once more, the Visarch and the Yncarne quickly taking up positions behind her.

‘Do it,’ she said to her companions, siphoning the rich reservoir of Eldar life force that flooded the tunnels into a single burst of invigorating energy. In a flash, the Iyandeni giant Soulseeker was there, trailing white flame as his wraithblade carved a chasm through the crystal of the webway’s superstructure with an ear-splitting scream. Stepping to the edge of the fissure, the Yncarne opened its maw impossibly wide. It inhaled so mightily the resurrected Thousand Sons were drawn towards it, stumbling over the edge of the chasm to fall away into the void beneath. Ahriman screamed in denial, riding his disc after them on a trail of fire.

‘The Whispering God gives new life,’ said Yvraine as her Reborn surged forward around her for the kill, ‘just as he takes life away.’