Tales of Angrish

Tales of Angrish

Chapter Seven: HURRY UP YOU SLOW FUCKS.

Pounder watched as the pink and purple shuttle descended slowly through the atmosphere. The thought of how many warriors it could hold briefly passed through some unimportant part of his brain. Next to him, his three remaining honour guard lay crouched in the mud, their hands flexing around their weapons eagerly.
“GODDAMN IT, WHY AREN'T THEY ON THE GROUND YET?” Pounder roared. ”I WOULD’VE TORN THE ENGINES OFF BY NOW AND SHOVED UP ONE OF THOSE PUSSIES’ ARSEHOLES. HURRY UP YOU SLOW FUCKS.”
The two ponies that were with them, ‘GAY-PRIDE DASH’ and ‘PRINCESS HORNFUCKER’ exchanged barely suppressed looks of alarm. Hornfucker had come along insisting she see the new arrivals in the flesh and Gay-Pride was in it to see the action the encounter promised to provide.
While Pounder couldn’t give a flying fuck about the first one but he had to admit that the walking gay pride mascot had a point with the second.
Pounder growled and was pulled out of his violent thoughts by the high-pitched scream of the shuttle’s engines swinging down into landing mode. A moment later the lander settled into the ground with a rough thump and the hatch dropped.

Taking that as his cue, Pounder leapt forward, power chair held loosely in one hand. A few figures armed with industrial strength hairdryers descended from the ramp, blowing the dust cloud away from the shuttle’s hatch. After it was ‘safe’ to descend, a large figure decked in beautifully horrid armour emerged from the bowels of the lander, a beautiful unarmoured woman following in his wake.
“Welcome brother.” The chaos lord said in an oddly affable way. “My name is Krull and I… I am your end.”
It occurred to Pounder that if he didn’t have to SMASH THIS FAGGOT’S BALLS TOGETHER SO HARD HE COULD SING CONTRA SOPRANO, he would have smashed them anyway.
“I ASSUME YOU’VE COME TO SURRENDER FAGGOT?” Pounder boomed.
“Only to collect yours. But I know you’d never be so… reasonable.”
“FUCKING-A, YOU MUST OF FINISHED TOP OF YOUR PRESCHOOL CLASS. BRING IT, FAGGOT.” Pounder challenged.
“I have an entire company of my finest warriors, how do you and your pathetic rabble hope to defy me? You believe that your three men can defeat an army?” Krull scoffed.
“WE’D DO IT WITH ONE, BITCHFACE.”
“Very well.” Krull sighed. He waggled a finger and a horde of cultists streamed down the ramp of the lander, shouts of wonder and glee coming from their mouths and other, less identifiable, orifices,. “Kill him.” Krull said simply. “Do keep his head intact though, it’d make a fine addition to my mantelpiece.”

With a mighty roar, Pounder summoned the rest of his warriors and dove into the warband without a second’s hesitation. This is what he was born for. Smashing faces and pounding arses with his power chair.
“May you find beauty in death!” One of the cultists screamed as it tied to beat Pounder's face in with a decidedly dead flower.
“FIND IT YOURSELF, DICKWAD!” Pounder yelled, taking the fellow’s head off with his chair. Within seconds, the massacre was over and the only difference was the piles of garishly dressed corpses filling the field and the previously yellow Angry Marines now more closely resembled Blood Angels.
“Kill them!” Krull screamed, drawing his own sword in a suitably dramatic fashion. “Rend them limb from limb and drown them in their own blood!” He screamed as he charged Pounder, leaving a dozen of his marines to deal with the honour guard.
“FUCK YES, 1v1 ME FAGGOT.” Pounder bellowed enthusiastically.
Krull replied by swinging his sword through the empty air where Pounder had been a moment ago.
“AHHH OWWW, TRY HARDER NEXT TIME FUCKTARD. MAYBE YOUR MUMMY WILL HELP YOU.”
Krull smiled savagely, a look not entirely befitting his legion of origin. “Mother! Help me please.”
“Yes dear.” The lady replied. She chanted ominously for a second before directing the flow of psychic energy towards her son.
“Thank you mummykins.”
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS HORSESHIT?” Pounder said, outraged by the fact that the PRETTY FAGGOT’S mother was actually present and helping.
“This is chaos you fool.” Krull snarled, lashing out again with supernatural speed and clipping Pounder across the shoulder. The ridiculously oversized pauldrons did their job though, protecting Pounder from the worst of the blow.
“Too easy, I expected better!” Krull crowed, swinging his sword at Pounder’s exposed head.
“FUCK OFF. THIS IS MY HEAD AND I’M GOING TO KEEP IT.” Pounder roared, catching the sword in the palm of his hand. The power field surrounding the blade melted his armour and burned his palm, but he ignored it. If he could take the pain of watching part of the Twilight saga, he could take losing a hand no problems. Krull had a moment to look surprised until his weapon was yanked out of his hand forcefully. Pounder kicked him hard in the chest and sent him sprawling into the dirt. In a deft motion, he swung the demonic blade around in one hand, grasping it by the notched and battered grip. The chaos lord scrambled back through the dirt, for once in his life too scared to not care about how filthy his armour was getting.

“What are you?”
“I’M FUCKING ANGRY!” Pounder roared, stabbing Krull’s sword straight through his chest and pinning him to the ground. Krull could only look on in horror as Pounder slapped the lone chaos marine protecting his mother to the ground with a casual swing of his power chair and plucked the beautiful woman off the ground.
“Mummy, no!” He cried, desperately trying to pull the sword out of his chest.
Before his mother could react, Pounder smashed her into the ground, removed his groin-plate and raped the witch with a brutality she would’ve never imagined possible in her eight-hundred and forty-three years. As he finished, Ponder stood up, readjusted his armour and looked Krull in the eye so deeply it reached right into what was left of the warlord’s dark soul. It was a look which would have sent greater demons back into the warp, tail tucked between their legs, a look that would have halted an entire Black Crusade in an instant, a look that probably would make the Dark Angels admit to being heretics out of fear.
“I FUCKED YOUR MUM.”

***

Pounder watched in contempt as the lander spiralled away back into orbit. After Krull had ripped the sword from his chest he had retrieved his dazed mother and retreated to the shuttle, vowing revenge. While Pounder had been too busy fighting Krull to pay attention to his own warriors, they had a made a fine example of themselves; killing the dozen Chaos Pretty marines Krull had brought with him while only losing one of their own number. At the thought of his retinue, Veteran Crusher stormed up to him, globules of cultist blood flying off him as he marched up to his captain.
“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THOSE DYKES GET AWAY YOU FUCKING COCKSICKLE? WE HAD THEM!” He punctuated his point by kicking the head off a fallen pretty marine. The helmeted head flew off into the distance, probably destroying some poor furry creature’s home in a brief yet destructive blow.
Pounder remained surprisingly composed, not even backhanding the enraged veteran across the face for questioning him.
“THOSE WARP WHORES AREN’T THE ONLY ONES WHO CAN PLAN AHEAD, DICKHEAD.”