Battle of Isstvan III

As Zharak strode through the dark corridors of the Strike Cruiser '*Tireless Vengeance'* he couldn’t help but doubt the orders of his Primarch, Horus, to purge the remaining Loyalist forces that remained on Isstvan III with the rest of the Sons of Horus companies. Usually his cold demeanour would have brushed aside such thoughts, but the sheer act of slaughtering his own brothers shook his faith in his father. Nonetheless, the position of power he was in as a new Captain of the Justaerins was a great honour he would not be willing to give up just because he was having second thoughts. It had been almost three months since the Loyalist resistance had rallied together to delay the Warmasters’s unrelenting advance, and it was his mission to eliminate the command element of a particular group led by his former mentor Kalus Argeddon. It had been Kalus who had trained him personally throughout the Great Crusade, the man who had taught him the ways of the warrior, to respect honour and duty above all. Those values were twisted now, only suiting to Zharak’s pleasures, for his pride in his martial skill and impressive wargear made him feel superior to all others, save for the members of the Mournival themselves. Preparing for the inevitable spearhead that the Justaerin was famed for, his sergeant Grael approached him, “Captain Zharak, we shall reach the drop zone in two minutes minutes, the men are ready to unleash the full fury of the Legion!” With an acknowledging nod Zharak took his position in the lead Dreadclaw Assault Pod, taking one last check on his combi-bolter and power sword and sealed the doors shut.

Upon planet fall, Zharak and his squad were immediately met with the roar of bolter fire and several volleys of frag grenades, all which had little effect upon their mighty Cataphractii Armour. “Return fire, then close for the kill!” Zharak roared the order, as disciplined bursts of combi-bolter and autocannon fire gunned down the surrounding loyalists, their Power Armour no match for the focused firepower they produced. Striding out of the landing zone, a few Loyalists jumped out of cover, surprising him with their tenacity as they charged him with chainswords in hand. Letting loose a laugh of mocking amusement, “Rushing out of cover to cross blades with me will only hasten your demise!”, when Zharak suddenly felt a voice explode his mind, “***KILL. THEM. ALL****”*. Inexplicably, his discipline gave way to a sudden uncontrollable frenzy, charging into his assailants like a wrecking ball, using the sheer bulk of his weight to send one Loyalist flying away, and then parried the blows of the other two with unnatural ease. It was if a greater being had took hold of his body, guiding his hand with greater skill, parrying their futile attempts to score a blow on his armoured form. With a mere flick of his wrist he carved one marine into bloody ribbons, causing the other marine to hesitate by the sudden brutal death of his comrade, only for his hesitation to result in his head being torn off, flying away in a spectacular display of gore. Turning towards the dazed foe he had battered moments before, Zharak watched the victims armoured frame explode in brutal explosions from his gun until only a bloody crater remained. With the blood craze still clouding his judgement, it took all of Zharak’s willpower to start to regain his own free will back. Blinking back his confusion he could only briefly think, “*What in the Warp was that all about”?* It was unusual that he would revert to such a barbaric fighting form, one that valued brute force over drawing the combat out to better watch his foes suffer, knowing that they could never defeat one as great as himself. Dismissing it as merely the eagerness of drawing first blood, he strode on to regroup with the rest of his squad, moving swiftly to cut off the head of this meagre resistance.

It hadn't taken long to locate Kalus’s command bunker through the chaos intense fighting through stout loyalist defences, dropping the original squad strength from ten strong to four terminators left. However despite the cold, calculating, efficient orders that Zharak issued to his remaining brothers, the infernal voice from before constantly compelled him to abandon all reason and instead charge the defenders in the open, appealing to his pride, and his sense of honour. Gritting his teeth against the whispers of madness, he and three other squad members rushed towards the bunker, nothing would stand in his way for glory and recognition. Expending every last shell into the bulkhead door he kicked it down and simultaneously discharged his grenade harness into the breach. Charging inside, Zharak quickly engaged the defenders and roared out his challenge, "Show yourself Kalus! Do not waste my time with these *weaklings*!” Even as the stunned Astartes prepared to fire upon him, Zharak charged in, goaded by the infernal whispering of some wroth god, becoming a whirlwind of carnage as he sliced through their Power Armour as though it was paper with his master-crafted blade. With sheer exultation of the carnage that he, the mighty Zharak, could accomplish by himself against even warriors such as these Space Marines, he made his way towards the final room…
Kalus watched grimly as his former friend tore through his squadron with relative ease, for how could they have known that he had trained such a powerful traitor himself? Shaking his head in disappointment he turned to his remaining bodyguard and gave the order, “Go quickly, assist Loken and Torgaddon in the final defence, I shall remain to deal with this traitor myself”. Although they argued against him, they were duty-bound to obey any order from their Captain, and escaped through the hidden hatch, sealing it on the way out. Activating the mighty power fields on his prized Paragon Blade, Kalus could only wait for the inevitable confrontation.

Approaching the bulkhead doors, Zharak was surprised when they opened themselves, revealing Kalus battle ready with his deadly blade. In a contemptuous sneer he walked into the room to confront his former teacher, “Kalus, your men did not put up to much of fight, perhaps you grew weak in placing your trust in such weak warriors instead of relying on your own skill… but alas, here you are, ready to slain by your once favoured apprentice”. Merely shaking his head, “It is disappointing to see such an aspiring champion such as yourself to turn your back against the Emperor, but it is my duty to see your death traitor”. “Do not trifle with me worm for I have far surpassed you, and with your death I will have proved myself to Horus, you should have escaped when you had the chance." This time the outside voice was kept in check, not this time would he let it get in the way of enjoying a worthy confrontation such as this for his warrior pride steeled his mind, focusing only on this sole duel of their fates, mastering the boiling rage inside of him, channeling it into enhancing the strength and skill of his blows.

Immediately he rained precise blows onto the Loyalist Captain, both swords clashing with blurring speed and power, however no matter how vicious Zharak’s assault was, it was nigh impossible to penetrate the expert defense of Kalus’s dueling style no matter how powerful or fast he attacked. Kalus was always one step ahead, swiftly parrying an overhead slash while transitioning into a counterattack to throw Zharak off balance. Even though Zharak was arguably the one of the most skilled combatant in his company excluding Abaddon, Kalus had taught him himself, giving him insight to every possible blow and parry the Justaerin Captain could conceive. The sheer frustration that even after all of his training and martial pride, the fact that he could not even phase his old teacher infuriated him. Suddenly, a lightning-fast strike came arcing towards his skull, only Zharak’s inhuman reflexive parry saved him from decapitation, but as the two power fields sparked and crackled, the paragon blade’s superior craftsmanship and power field behind the blow that was enough cut through and shatter his power sword. The sudden shock of losing one of his most prized possessions and the realization that his death was but mere moments away immediately allowed for the daemonic presence to take worm its way back into Zharak’s mind, influencing the warrior’s mind, tainting it. The blood frenzy took hold once more, and the armoured juggernaut threw himself once more at Kalus, his style different than the one he had taught Zharak. With both fury and speed, Kalus was thrown off guard, one that was capitalized greatly. With a brutal stunning punch with Zharak’s empty fist to the gut, the protective chest plate smashed open, crushing his rib cage underneath. So utterly stunned by the power of his opponent's blow, Kalus was unable to stop Zharak from ripping his blade from his weakened grasp and watched as his former brother sheared off both of the his arms and collapsed to his knees in defeat. With the satisfaction of his victory, Zharak no longer felt the uncontrollable bloodlust that took hold of him, and looked down at his wounded friend. Surprised with himself, Zharak hesitated to deliver the killing blow, for the memories of fighting alongside Kalus, of all the times they had stood back-to-back saving each others lives and the once strong bond of honour the two warriors that they had shared held him back. Sensing the weakness in its champion, the bloodthirsty daemon that had been influencing Zharak the whole time took full control of the Chaos Champion’s body, and impaled Kalus with his own blade. Snapping back into reality and shocked by what had just transpired, rage filled his mind at his moment of weakness, that a daemon had taken advantage of him and how it had robbed him of his greatest kill. With all of his willpower, he engaged in a mental dual with the daemon of unfathomable rage and hatred. Buckling down to his knees in the sheer effort to conquer the daemon, Zharak unleashed the full emotional torrent of his anger, pushing out the daemon’s mind in an unstoppable wave of sheer willpower. Exhausted, he immediately felt the blood haze completely lift, yet he knew that he had attracted the attention of some god by doing so, if only for a brief moment. Gazing down at Kalus’s impaled corpse, he felt no grief at the demise of his former friend, only rage that he did not truly best his mentor. Glancing at the Paragon Blade, he claimed it as a prize and placed the shards of his power sword beside Kalus, a symbol of his past.

Stepping out of the bunker, he found what remained of his squad waiting loyally outside, “Captain, we have eliminated the remaining loyalists, Isstvan III is ours”. Taking a moment to view the destruction they had wrought, Zharak gave the command, “We are to return to orbit to join the Warmaster push towards Terra, and there we shall end the reign of the corrupt False-Emperor!” Approaching the Dreadclaw, still intact, Zharak thought of the upcoming siege, and the glories that awaited the Sons of Horus to offer to the Chaos Gods.