Tales of Angrish

Chapter Eleven: THAT SHITHEAD DID WHAT NOW?

It was such a nice day for the world to end.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the horde of gibbering cultists that galloped down the street, screaming praise to their foul gods, raping, pillaging and beautifying everything in sight, it would have been a fairly normal day.

Even then, Manehatten was used to these sorts of things, giant monster attacks, giant robots, heck, even alien invasions… they all seemed drawn to the city, intent on either crushing its inhabitants to a pulp or forcing them to their will.

At the head of the vast legion assaulting the city was the Beautiful yet Terrible Lord Krull, the mighty chaos lord was sulking behind the front lines, surrounded by his best sorcerers and finest warriors.

He nodded to his head sorcerer, it was time.

As one they cried praise to their dark gods and reality seemed to buckle and twist. Hundreds of cultists writhed in ecstasy as the ritual began, hundreds of damned souls sucked away in an instant, offered up in sacrifice to their lord and master, their true spiritual liege ~~Roboute Guilliman~~, ~~Rowboat Chilliman~~ Slaanesh.

Krull roared with feral delight as the barriers between the materium and immaterium shook and hundreds of deamons tumbled into realspace.

“See, see!” He bellowed, still maintaining an elegant edge to his voice. He knelt down on one massive knee “Oh mighty ~~Robot Girlyman~~ Slaanesh, I offer this world up in your name. The souls of the soon to be vanquished are yours, yours to devour.” He paused, feeling a great surge of power course through him. “All I ask in return is your favour… the ultimate reward… ascension.”

The crack in reality howled with bestial laughter and bolts of red lightning split the sky. The breach widened, spilling more gibbering daemons out to plague Equestria.

“Yes… yes!” Krull squealed as his flesh started to boil and grow, unholy vigour coursing through his veins. His champions took a large step back, both to protect themselves in case their lord turned into a gibbering spawn and more pragmatically, so that their elegant armour would remain untarnished from the swirling warp energy.

A unnatural glow surrounded Krull as he grew to a titanic size.

“YES!”

***

“FUCK!” Pounder roared with feeling as the lone Thunderhawk circled the battlefield. Hastily put back into commission, the mighty craft had roared towards the largest congregation of PRETTY MARINE FAGGOTS that Dipshit could find. A few ponies rode in the cargo bay with them, mouths agape in horror as their world was slowly consumed by the ravening powers of the warp.

They were too late though, whatever foul magic Krull’s entourage had cast was taking hold and even as Pounder watched a fresh wave of daemons spilled through the slowly growing portal.

Pounder leapt into the cockpit and pointed through the shattered windshield at a collection of forty-odd pretty marines. A large misshapen shape was forming in the centre of the group, giving Pounder the suspicion that they’d find the PUSSY-FACED FAGGOT Krull there.

“DROP US RIGHT THERE, PREPARE FOR SATURATION BOMBING PATTERN ‘FUCK YOU, WHORES’.”

Dipshit spun around in the pilot’s seat, not bothering to pay attention to trivial things such as flying the massive metal box. “WE HAVE BOMBS? SINCE WHEN?”

“SINCE I STRAPPED A COUPLE OF COCK KNOCKER SQUADS TO WINGS YOU FUCKHEAD NOW GET BACK TO FLYING YOU INBRED SON OF A MACHINE WHORE.”

“FUCK OFF.” Dipshit yelled, pointing the Thunderhawk’s nose down into a nearly vertical dive. The airframe groaned, the metal unable to handle the sudden forces applied to it.

“FUCK, WHAT’S THIS MADE OF, USED KLEENEX?” Pounder boomed, leaping back down into the troop bay when twenty odd marines and the smoking Belligerent Engine stood. Despite the craft’s near-suicidal tilt, the marines were still firmly clamped to the floor, their magnetic boots and sheer anger making gravity too terrified to disagree with their preposterous positions.

Pounder strode to the front of the front of the ramp where the six ponies that accompanied them stood, terrified out of their minds.

“LOOK YOU LITTLE FUCKS, THERE’S A HUGE-ASS WARP PORTAL OUT THERE SPEWING ALL SORTS OF FURRY SHIT ALL OVER THE PLACE AND WE NEED TO SHUT THAT FUCKER UP LIKE IT WAS A RABID GW FANBOY.” He roared, silently wondering how the ponies were still staying on the Thunderhawk’s deck. “PROBLEM IS WE HAVE TO FIGHT ALL THE FUCKERS AROUND IT, LEAVING LITTLE TIME FOR HOLE FUCKERY.”

“What can we do?” Twilight asked.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I DON’T KNOW. USE YOUR BRAINS YOU JUMPED-UP DRAGON FUCKER. USE YOUR GAY FRIENDSHIP MAGIC SHIT.”

“The elements of harmony! Of course!” Twilight cried.

“DEUS EX MACHINA THAT SHIT UP!” Pounder agreed, bashing a gauntlet against his chest plate.

“FUCKHEADS, THIRTHY SECONDS TO DIRT!” Dipshit announced over the craft’s intercom.

“He knows to land this thing, right?” Rainbow Dash asked dubiously.

“LANDING JUST MEANS ‘STOP FLYING’, YEAH?” Pounder asked, having never experienced what most sane people would call a ‘Soft landing’ in his entire career he was slightly unfamiliar with the term ‘Landing’

“Oh fuck.” Twilight said dryly.

Pounder ignored this and instead voxed Dipshit. “FUCK THE WHORES! NOW! DEPLOY MULTIPLE, SIMULTANEOUS AND WHORE-CRUSHING OFFENSIVE DEEP STRIKES!” He boomed, making Indrick Boreale sound like a heavenly choir of angels. A moment later the six bomb clusters on the Thunderhawk’s wings detached, revealing not bombs, but eighteen yellow clad and very pissed off Cock Knockers. Angry Marines were already frightening good in close combat but when one strapped a jetpack to their back and did the sensible thing like not even bothered to give them a bolter and instead, say, a wrench the size of a small car, scary things happened.

Cock Knockers happened.

The ‘bombs’ fell away, the usual whistling sound they made on their descent replaced by a titanic roar of pure fury.

“YEAH, GET THOSE CUNT MUNCHERS!” Pounder cheered as the eighteen yellow streaks fell into the demonic horde, chainswords and sacks of doorknobs whirling in bloody arcs. They didn’t even bother activating their jump packs, the impact of each marine carving great bloody trenches into the Chaos lines.

Pounder nodded in approval, next time he’d try it with a squad of Terminators.

“TWENTY SECONDS!” Dipshit roared, leaping out of the cockpit and climbing onto the back of the Belligerent Engine. He swung his massive thunder hammer in a huge arc, eager to smash some CHAOTIC FUCKTARDS in the balls.

Pounder spun around to his warriors and pointed at the buckled ramp. “WHEN THAT FUCKER DROPS, YOU KILL THEM! KILL THEM FOR THE EMPEROR! KILL THOSE FAGGOTS, RIP THEIR FUCKING MANGINAS OUT THEIR THROATS AND THEN KILL THEM AGAIN, JUST FOR GOOD MEASURE! DON’T STOP UNTIL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THOSE SLAANESHI MANWHORES ARE DEAD!”

The Angry Marines roared in approval, brandishing their clubs and power wrenches eagerly.

Pounder turned back to the six cowering ponies. “DO WHATEVER IT IS THE FUCK YOU NEED TO DO, JUST STAY THE FUCK OUT OF OUR WAY!”

The six ponies nodded silently, the needed no further encouragement.

“TEN SECONDS!”

Pounder turned back to the ramp, waiting with uncommon patience for it to drop. He slowly counted off the seconds in his head, lost count and then started again, this time beating the shit out of any numbers he didn’t like (I.E. all of them.). A flexed his empty hands, feeling a little exposed without his power chair. Still, he more than made up for it with the ridiculously oversized Powerfeet he was wearing.

Suddenly the Thunderhawk slammed into the ground with tremendous force, sending the hatches flying off in all directions and turning hundreds of heretics and daemons who had been unlucky enough to be in its way into nothing more than red jam. With a savage roar, Pounder sprinted down what was left of the ramp, his battle brothers close at his heels.

“ALWAYS ANGRY!”

“ALL THE TIME!”

Author's Note

Don't judge me.
I'm tired, in the middle of an exam block and this was the perfect release for my frustration.

The end is nigh.