Confrontation of Chief Apothecary Fuhor and the Khornate Daemon Prince Malfarum Illdactus

From 1d4chan

Writefaggotry for the Argent Strix /tg/ chapter.

The fires blazed around Fuhror, he knelt cradling the head of a brother whose body had been broken and had his life stolen. He had sired this initiate, he was of his stock, he held the body as gently as a father did his newborn son. Somewhere to his left, another gave out a pained death shout, met by the laughter of the Bloodletter that cut him down. Slowly the apothecary lifted his head towards the horizon of the battlefield, the fresh and safe gene-seed of his fallen son hanging limply in a secure container from his hand.

He spotted the leader of this Warband, the one who brought these Bloodletters, the one who led these berzerkers. The foul beings figure jostled, clutching his stomach in laughter as he cut down another marine of the Argent Strix. Bodies of the fallen decorated the red-skinned monstrosity's shining brass armor, impaled on its many spikes like trophies. Without even realizing it something snapped inside him, some hidden wrath and hunger awoke. "No more." Fuhor growled out.

As if possessed he lurched to a standing position, standing like a statue amidst the chaos of the battle before he set off in a sprint. The stone cracked and crumbled beneath his steps, blood from those struck low stained his ceramite greaves. All around him the Chapter and Warband fought to see the other extinct. But Fuhror's course never strayed.

From the crowd a Bloodletter jumped, coming at him from the right, up ahead, with inhumane agility. It's long red tongue lashing the air, a shout of pure anger piercing the air, claws outstretched, and sword pulled back.

It did nothing to deter the Apothecary. With barely any acknowledgment, Fuhor slammed his right fist into the head of the creature. A sickening crunch filling the air as the apothicarion drill pierced the Neverborn's skull. He never broke his stride, leaving the body behind to disperse back into the warp energies that spawned it. Never noticing that the drill had broke from the power of the blow.

He closed on the great prince. Sliding to a stop before it as it turned to regard him. It let out a low chuckle as it took in the dwarfed form of the Apothecary. "YOU seek to slay me?" It asked in an almost disbelieving tone, turning fully it revealed the limp form of another Argent Strix gripped in its claw. A surge of anger wafted off of Fuhor at the sight. The Daemon perked up with a malicious smirk as if it could taste his anger. "Ah yes, there is rage in you, I'll give you that. Perhaps to avenge a fallen brother?" It asked in a demeaning tone as it plunged its clawed hand into the chest of the fallen marine, shredding the armor, plucking out the gene-seed of the marine and shredding it beyond recovery. "You do not even have any weapons." The prince kneeled, as it spoke. "Perhaps you wish to beg for mercy instead?" It asked with a Chesire grin as it drank deeply of the Apothecary's fury, goading him further.

To the Daemon's surprise, Fuhor launched himself at the creature. Using his enhanced strength, and powerful armor. Fuhor leaped several feet into the air, landing a powerful blow against the creature. It gave a shout of alarm, standing, and backpedaling, as one of its four horns broke, flying through the air and lodging in the stone. Blood ran from the broken crest of where one of his horns at once been. "YOU INSOLENT WELP!" It shouted, shaking the air and making those nearby nearly froth with rage. No longer did it look at the Apothecary like a toy, but as a foe. "I HAVE BURNED A THOUSAND WORLDS! SLAUGHTERED MILLIONS! REDUCED MOUNTAINS TO RUBBLE!" It yelled as its own anger took control, the ground trembling slightly with each achievement called.

"I have no words for you abomination, only death." Was Fuhor's calm reply as he launched himself at his enemy once more.

Powerful fist narrowly missed Fuhor's running form as the Daemon attempted to strike him. Each narrowly missing but the last. The Daemonic claws of the damned monster left three large gashes across the chest of Fuhor, a small trickle of blood flowing out of each, the Khornate monstrosity's power preventing the wound from sealing.

With the small opening he had, the beast's guard down from its many blows. He lept through the air once more, clinging himself to the chest of the creature, gripping hard enough to prevent himself from sliding. The Daemon shouted in anger and rage as its skin tore beneath Fuhor's iron grip. Freeing one hand, Fuhor tore his helmet away. Curly locks of gold flowing to the wind, half his face an almost reflective white pierced by black veins, like rich marble.

His face twisted in fury he clamped on the neck of the prince, and tore and twisted with all his inhuman strength, tearing chuck after chuck from the throat of the Lord of Skull's pet. Each bite only added to his anger, making the hunger all the more unbearable and voracious. Its blood burned like liquid fire but brought a soothing reprieve from the now all-consuming need to devour. The corruption of the warp sought to turn him. But his faith and righteous wrath burned brighter, only letting it fuel him to ever greater destruction of the being before him.

Regaining its senses partially the Daemon wrapped one of its massive armored claws around Fuhor, and threw him to the ground. Clutching its throat it fell to its knees, its own blood on its tongue, flooding his warped body even as the wound regenerated. "Damn... you." It choked out in primal hate as the wound finished healing. It tried to stand, only to fall back to its knees in surprise.

It felt... weaker! With fire in its eyes, it looked to see the face of Fuhor as he stood, the Daemon's still-beating heart in its hands. Causing it to look in shock to the hole in its chest that healed much slower.

Fuhor took a bite from the beating heart, drinking deeply of its sanguine fluid. There was not much to be gained without the Daemon's mind. But one thing did fill Fuhor's mind, the thing that would win him this battle. "Malfarum Illdactus, I banish you."

"What!" Malfarum exclaimed in shock as he heard his true, Daemonic, name. A Daemon's name had power over them, and Malfarum was no different, even now as the words had barely left the Apothecary's lips he felt the threads of the Immaterium weave over his body like chains.

"You will plague the world of men no more, banished from the realms of humanity, forced to the farthest forgotten stars." Firey chains materialized around the prince, a circle of fire appearing around him as he began to sink into the ground.


"And there you shall remain until the day comes that the Argent Strix hunt you down, and destroy your soul till the end of this universe and the next." The heart healed the bite taken out of it, continuing its drum-like beating.

"NO!" Shouted Illdactus as little more than his head remained in the Materium. With his final moments, he spit a foul hex. "CURSE YOU, APOTHECARY! I CURSE YOU, YOUR SONS, YOUR BROTHERS! NEVER SHALL YOU KNOW PEACE NEVER SHALL YOU KNOW RELIE-!" Its head was submerged, spirit and body, little difference between them, banished from this world.

All around the field the battle ended. The Berzerkers, few remaining, scattered or were cut down. The Immaterium grew weak with the banishment of Khorne's prince and the Bloodletters faded, returned to their bloody lands in the warp.

Stepping towards the severed horn of the prince, brothers of the Argent Strix gathered around the hero. He pulled it from the ground, lifting it aloft his head, beating heart in his other hand, the last remnants of the Daemon, for now. A cry of victory sounded across the field.


"Brother Fuhor, please let us help you!" Asked one of the three other Apothecaries assembled around their teacher, his tone on the verge of begging. "You will die if we don't do anything."

Fuhor merely waved him away. "I've made my choice." The entire front of his body was red, coating the floor of the Thunderhawk. The wounds across his chest had not healed but instead grown in their intensity. "There is nothing more that can be done for me, and I will not die on my back, or kneeling." He said, allowing for no reproach in his tone.

"We... understand." They said looking between each other before backing away.

"Good." He whispered as he stood straight, stance wide and strong, locking his armor in place. Speaking his final words with the last of his strength he declared. "Let me die not on the ground, but standing. Defiant against the dark that sought to claim me, as my brothers and sons have gone before I did." And so he died standing, not giving the ruinous powers the satisfaction of striking him low.