Chapter 25: Wrath of the Forsaken
3rd Person POV
*Boom.* *Boom.*
The battlefield was a storm of destruction. Banshee/Margaret and Darot clashed in reckless abandon—blades screeched, claws slashed, and the air crackled with arcane energy. Darot, a corrupted behemoth bathed in unholy fire, swung his mutated sword-arm in savage arcs, his bloodstained grin widening with each desperate dodge from his prey.
Margaret, her form encased in the hellish fusion of flesh and ceramite that was the Banshee, evaded with honed instinct. Every counterattack she launched was met with an overwhelming force, her claws scraping uselessly against the daemon-infested warplate of her adversary.
Off to the side, Goss maneuvered with seasoned precision, his custom-built gatling rifle roaring as it spat high-velocity rounds. Each shot was a calculated strike, forcing the daemon into moments of hesitation. But Darot, his body reforged in the crucible of warp-tainted madness, shrugged off the storm of metal and responded in kind—hurling gouts of fire that seared the air, forcing Goss into constant motion.
With unnatural speed, Darot caught Margaret's arm mid-swing, gripping with bone-crushing strength.
"Stupid wench," he snarled, his voice a guttural blend of multiple entities speaking at once. "Die."
With an exertion of monstrous strength, he lifted her and slammed her into the ground, the impact leaving a crater beneath them.
Before he could drive his corrupted blade into her skull, a *thunderous* crack split the air.
*Swish—Ptuich!*
A crackling projectile struck Darot's sword-arm with pinpoint accuracy. The explosive force sent gore and molten metal spraying outward, leaving only a smoldering stump where his limb had once been.
"You *insect!*" Darot howled, but his rage was short-lived.
Goss' weapon system had already reloaded, and another round was chambered. Margaret, still dazed from the impact, barely had time to react as Darot redirected his remaining hand, now pulsating with raw warp energy, in an attempt to obliterate her outright.
The Banshee's instincts took over. It rolled at the last second as Darot's fist connected with the earth, causing the very ground beneath them to *fracture*. A colossal rupture spread outward, the ground splitting apart like an open wound. Even Goss, positioned further away, felt the tremors as massive chunks of land rose into the air, suspended in the swirling maelstrom of warp energy now radiating from the daemon.
Darot's breathing became ragged, his once-exuberant grin contorted into sheer hatred. His body was failing, warpfire licking at his exposed wounds as his host struggled against his possession.
"I will not die by the hands of you wretched *monkeys!*"
With one final exertion of his remaining strength, Darot *unleashed* his power.
The cracks beneath him glowed with an unnatural *purple* hue before erupting into an earth-shattering explosion. Massive landmasses, torn asunder from reality itself, were lifted into the air, creating a chaotic battlefield of floating debris. The very fabric of space trembled as the laws of physics bent under the sheer magnitude of warp energy.
Margaret, reacting on instinct, lunged toward Goss, who was now screaming as he plummeted from a collapsing piece of floating terrain.
"FUCCCCKKKKK, SAVE ME!"
She caught him mid-air, the Banshee's enhanced servos straining as she landed with a resounding *crash*, rolling to absorb the impact.
"Huuuh... thank you," Goss exhaled, dazed but alive.
Margaret, regaining control of herself, looked up toward Darot. The once-mortal being now hovered amidst the wreckage of their battlefield, his body partially dissolving into an unholy fusion of warpfire and flesh.
"We can't reach him like this," she muttered, watching as Darot began hurling massive chunks of debris and torrents of warpflame toward them.
"Well, *fuck,* that's a problem," Goss gritted his teeth. "Hold me steady, I'll line up a shot."
Margaret obeyed, gripping him tightly as he raised his rifle.
*Boom—Crackle!*
Rounds screamed through the air, infused with the electric fury of his weapon's custom capacitor system. But Darot, wreathed in his corrupting energies, conjured a barrier of seething blood-red fire. The first rounds melted instantly upon impact—but the *force* of the projectiles still carried through, striking his decayed flesh, rupturing organs, and forcing him to cough out thick, black ichor.
"GRAAAAAAAAA!"
His enraged scream sent another pulse of warp energy outward, warping the battlefield further as reality itself seemed to *fold.* Thunder cracked, fire rained from above, and the very ground trembled under his fury.
"I will not be slain by you!" Darot's voice bellowed, distorted and inhuman. His fractured consciousness warred against itself, the original Darot *fighting* against the daemon consuming him. "And *you!*" He pointed toward Margaret, his eyes glowing with otherworldly hatred. "I will *destroy* this body before you take what is *mine!*"
Margaret and Goss exchanged a look, the sheer magnitude of Darot's rampage leaving them momentarily speechless.
"...Okay, what the *fuck* do we do?" Goss finally asked, his voice barely above a breath.
"I *don't know,*" Margaret admitted, bracing herself against another shockwave.
Then, a voice crackled in Goss' earpiece.
# "Hey, I see you guys are in a tough spot. Let me handle it." #
Goss' eyes widened.
"Varn?!"
Far from the battlefield, amidst the ruins of their previous skirmish, a wounded figure dragged himself forward, body covered in gashes and burns. Varn, barely able to stand, raised his heavily modified sniper rifle—his only lifeline in the chaos.
With a weak chuckle, he muttered to the weapon, "I leave the shooting to you, *Ghost*."
A voice echoed in his mind, a presence bound to the rifle itself.
'Shut your bloody mouth, save your strength. I can do this myself. And don't *ever* call me that.'
Varn managed a smirk. "Oh, shut up and shoot."
The rifle *purred* in his hands.
A pulse of violet energy surged through the weapon, the barrel crackling as it gathered unholy precision. Darot, still raving in his corrupted state, failed to notice the thin line of light that cut across the battlefield—targeting him with pinpoint accuracy.
A single shot rang out.
*BOOOOM!*
The air itself trembled