#kraedaan

[chaosprinceundivided]

Swing.

Deflect.

Cut.

Slice.

Kill.

KILL.

KILL! MAIM!

Sweat rolled along Rulek's hide. His sword cleaved left and right. He felt something, the kinship of a mortal's muscles burning to a body that knew new exhaustion. His blade sliced through daemonic flesh and set flight to ichor. His shield lift, catching the hammering strike of a burning axe before the Daemon King whirled his weapon, catching a Bloodthirster's muscle-bound neck. Its hellish making tore tendons and bone before exiting behind a scaled nape, aciding ichor flying but he kept moving.

He didn't stop. He couldn't stop as he fought through the all consuming Void that held daemons trying to reform and regain favour with their god-makers.

Rulek was there for another reason. This is but a physical representation of the truth; the Undivided King of Kislev, Dishonoured Failure, and Ever-competing Prince of Darkness was a writhing tempest that fought against the many hues of Chaos in its countless and unfathomable multitude. He doesn't remember what happened. He doesn't even know how long he have been in here, but he is here, fighting and consuming.

Sometimes he was overwhelmed, almost devoured, before a surge of defiance raged and he was remade again. It was a constant flux of being. Daemons were foul mirrors of concepts, thoughts, and demands made, they came in every form imaginable and not. Those born of mortal making were different, even with their lacking to the naturalborn daemonkin, ascended daemons had a surge of power that one could almost called 'human stubbornness'. A trait even dwarves learned to grow respect and wear of. The right human could ascend beyond their station, it was in their soul and that is what allured the gods in such malevolent desire for them.

The imagination of what humans can accomplish in their short, insignificant lives compared to the long-lived elves and dwarves. The skaven were horrid little similiarity, if their short lives weren't already plagued of the warpstone and the Great Rat's own claim to their hateful little lives. Some were claimed by the Ruinous Power, but they never lasted long, as if their very making abhor being without the Rat King.

And so, Humanity had the gaze of the Gods and their children hated them for it. Rulek mused upon these in the crystal libraries of Doomkeep, the shadow soul that became him yearned to return. His war wasn't done.

It was never done.

As he fought, tore, devoured, lost, reformed and came again and again, his form twisted and pushed through the infinity of darkness and worlds unseen. He sometimes saw planes so unusual. Sometimes he saw mirror-shards of a reality filled of a galaxy in an eternal war with great ships encrusted with monastaries, blightful making, and genocide upon worlds like jewellers constantly seeking the perfect gem before slamming them away. Then, he saw a expanse calling him, he could feel it. The Gods' gaze shifted now and again, he followed it, compete with daemons of natural and human made.

Worse of all, he smelt him.

The Great Betrayer. His genesis. The Shadow was there...sometimes the trail split into two, only to strengthen more in one direction. There, Rulek had to hunt. He must.

Something snagged at his being, twisting around and his fist crashed into the face of a reforming Great Unclean One, crushing it under a hammerstrike of knuckles and its leathery, toothy flesh exploded. And when a tide of Nurglings writhes and rolled over each other in a stinking green motion, he unleashed a hateful roil of warpfire.

Another loomed its fat frame over Rulek, a multitude of tendrils swinging and spearing for him. The hideous long smile drooling as the Nurglite being cackled, "O Little Fly. You are bloated with power. With this, I-"

Suddenly, its head split like a ripe fruit and fatty frame was churning by roaring chain-toothed blades as a bullish-faced bloodthirster pulled the body already devoured by its former minions and rivals. "There you are." The greater daemon snarled. Rulek was already in the motion of engaging before a wave of recognition washed his hateful being.

"Kraedaan?"

The named bloodthirster huffed before grabbing Rulek, behind him, a Keeper with a silver mask and fluttering whiskers flickered. Back scorpion claws snapped and tore at daemons wanting to taste the gathering, "Ah, there he is. Our favourite little daemon." Jaz'mahnn purred before a great shadow of Venris chuckling with Hexcowl upon his shoulder. "Ho ho ho - thought we would forget so easily, Little King?"

Rulek felt something, a surge of great concern before Jaz'mahnn's tail snapped and jabbed into his neck. The flood of venom burning into his skull and veins. Blackened ichor gurgled before Kraedaan took first bite. Jaz'mahnn mounted over his Khornate cousin's back, the hateful fire roaring at his chest beautifully melding and joining with his own warpfire.

"Oh don't fret, Little Rulek. We have a beautiful eternity before we reach our destination." He purred, drawing his claw along Rulek's jaw. A smile of lover's warmth and sadist's building glee. Ventris' deathly smile stretched before he and Hexcowl's lore writhed and twisted around them. Daemons too foolish not to leave this reunion be were consumed by the tempest of the five before their forms speared along Be'lakor's trail!

All the while, the four enjoyed their time with Rulek...

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Conqueror of Burning Desolation finally getting drawn on paper in my little memo book

[chaosprinceundivided]

who is stronger, ventris or kraedaan?

Physically, Kraedaan is stronger but Ventris is a powerful Unclean One woven with the wind of Shyish. He unmake the material bodies of Daemons and drain the aether to become stronger.

Like a typical Nurglite, Ventris is a bastion that need to be weathered down and he is no sloth of personal combat.

[chaosprinceundivided]

Kraedaan's Raze

Kraedaan Slaughtercrusher roared with the quake of a volcano reborn, the earth trembling as his hooves tore boiling craters in his charge. Muscles burning as if they never felt such fury before. The armoured Bloodthirster crushed man under his approach, black sword in hand as he swept a house in twain and coiled his burning scourge around the defense tower that slammed its iron projectile into his chest. With a musclebound flex of his arm, the monolith of stone and groaning wood crumbled bit by bit before tearing the tower apart. Defense men screaming in their terror and freefalling ends. 

He gave them no more thought than flies when the garrison of knights came charging down the cobblestone street. 

The doggish face twisted into a magma-drooling sneer. Hand skillfully whirling his scourge, lashing one way. Then another and when it seemed he might throw the eightfolded star-head, the Bloodthirster hurled himself into a great winged leap. One heated flap threw the formation into a whinnying break, the momentum tattered before the Greater Daemon smashed into them. The sound of crushing beast bones and armoured bodies, Slaughtercrusher kicked one knight hard through a window - horse and all - and exhumed a fiery breath to add to the already burning city’s pyre. 

All around, the Legion of Burning Desolation unleashed its unbound terror. The chanting of daemonic bloodthirst, the howling of madmen and the screams of innocence drowning under the crackling flames. And their general, Rulek’s firstmost, climbed through the air for the citadel with murders of crimson furies around him and one of his Khornate kin. 

“Aghena, take the east!” He commanded as slamming through the citadel’s church, the icons of faith shattered and the screams of sheltered folk filling his ears. The soft sensation of sadistic glee tickled his corrupted form. The brand of Undivided burning, drawing in attributes he never would have experienced as a pure servant of Khorne. Such was his everlasting oath onto the Godslayer, until the Ruinous Powers break his bondage or he faced a Death Absolute, he was the Mortalspawn’s. 

And frankly, the Bloodthirster felt no need to break free anytime soon. 

“Foul Daemon!” A voice, greater than all of these terrified sheep braying, called out to draw Kraedaan’s burning gaze. A Warrior-priest of Sigmar, the gilded aura burning of unbending zealotry with a thick tome tight to breast and hammer in fist. “Daemon of Khorne! Murderer of most foul glee! You will not have these souls! Begone from this saintly hold!” 

In a blast of faith, it struck at the Bloodthirster with a burning lash that provoked a snarl. Akin to a tamer trying to hold back a bear, the priest hollered out prayers while gunsmen lifted their weapons and fired a volley that either exploded from the overwhelming aura that Kraedaan radiated or struck like bee stings onto his scarlet hide. 

“Is that all you have, Priest?” Kraedaan mused, pulling his scourge into his fist and slammed his hoof that sent an explosion of force. More high-pitched screams and the holler of soldiers thrown aside, only for the priest to remain firm with acolytes continuing their frantic prayers against such a powerful being. “You think your mumblings and hollering onto a false hero-god will save you and your people? Do you think they will be spared becoming a part of the great Throne? What make them more import than the countless that form His foundation? Your weak. Your lame. Your cowardly. Their skulls might be too feeble for his mighty boots…” 

The Bloodthirster arched up, almost as if pondering.

“Your words mean nothing, Daemon! Begone!” The Priest demanded, waving his hammer and charging with another spell of divine smite to slam into Kraedaan’s breastplate. It brought only a laughter of amusement, even as his hide seared. This pain was nothing, it only brought…pleasure. The pleasure of a feeble battle, a man that thinks he can defeat him!  Swinging his forearm to catch the hammer with an ear-ringing slam of defiant forces. 

Again and again, the two traded blows that made the church’s remaining glass windows crack more and more. The heat ate at witnesses’ clothes and hair. Flesh bubbling but they could not turn away. The power radiating from Kraedaan’s great form demands them to witness this duel. 

When the next trade came, the black gauntlet slamming hammer and the shockwave exploded the windows. Priests screamed as their bodies became shadows on the floor. Their souls loosed with their ether burning of hellish flame. The Sigmarite crawling in ruin, the Bloodthirster chuckling as he slowly stepped on the armoured frame. Weight just enough to apply that right pressure without utterly crushing the feeble mortal.

“Do you hear it?” Kraedaan questions, letting his scourge unravel before whipping it around his head. Once. Twice. And the eight burning lashes and the starred flail-head destroyed the walls, sending them toppling to reveal hell on earth. 

As furies covered the skies. Daemons were smashing into the citadel doors, soldiers and running citizens slaughtered. The scarlet lightning and black storm wrapped a great fist around for all of the Empire and Kislev to see. 

“Ruination.”