Operation: Pacifica,  Welcome to my Canyon!



 Samhain stalked across the desert of Pacifica in the rapidly
  gathering darkness.  As he walked, his thoughts roamed freely from time to
  time, place to place.  He thought of all the friends and comrades that had
  been captured, beaten, and tortured by the minions of B'harni.  He thought
  of all those that had been massacred in the relentless carnage wreaked by
  the X'hirjq, acting as its allies.  He thought of how often and how hard the
  Jihaddi--he and his friends--had fought against the Plushy pussbag only to
  have it escape and strike again; more often than not he would strike
  dishonorably and for the sole purpose of his own twisted glory.


 As night fell upon the magical isle of Pacifica, Samhain made his
  way toward the castle. His rage growing with every step he took, he didn't
  even notice he was now walking on solid black discs that floated about a
  foot above the ground.



...




 Samhain pushed on, every step he took bringing him closer to the
  cathedral of the obscene located at the end of the island.  The desert was
  gradually becoming more desolate and foreboding; its sand turned into a fine
  grey dust that reminded Samhain of areas of volcanic activity but without
  all the fire and lava that TV shows loved to display when discussing the
  topic of eruptions.  Here, though, it was obviously not of such a
  spectacular origin--here it was simply a part of some great wastelands.  A
  gnarled tree stump jutted upwards into the night sky as if its roots were to
  embrace the moon overhead.  A breeze that was both hot and cool at the same
  time stirred some of the gray dust, whirling and spinning it across the
  barren landscape.


 Samhain now found himself standing at the edge of a shallow ravine.
  Jagged, red rocks along the shoreline looked like teeth that would devour
  even the bravest of souls.  Perhaps water had once flowed here, wrapping
  itself in around those same rocks in rapids so great that they would sink
  the sturdiest of rafts.  Samhain looked to the sky and the bright moon
  overhead, then leapt off the edge to land in the bottom of the forbidding
  gulch.  Dust whirled around his feet where he landed and a few rocks
  skittered off into the distance.  He then paused to look upwards to the top
  of the shear rock face he had to climb to complete his trek across the
  forbidding landmark.


 Suddenly, a Lyran clad in indigo robes popped into existance,
  perched atop one of the rocky fangs nearest him.  Tendrils from his gruesome
  mask alternatively coiled and uncoiled around his neck and shoulders as he
  gazed upon his trapped foe.  "Ah, greetings, mon capitan!  It is so good to
  be seeing you again, no?"


 "No," responded Samhain dryly.  He had no intention of letting this
  Lyran get the best of him again.


 "Tut Tut!  You should be nicer to me, Mein Herr!  You're a guest
  here, after all!"  The Lyran gestured to the canyon walls with his bony
  hand.  "Welcome to my canyon!  I designed it myself just... for... you!
  Tell me... what do you think of Rezon'El's canyon?"


 "A gift?  For me?  Well, that's very nice of you, I'm sure," came
  the biting sarcasm of Samhain's reply, "but I've had nicer gifts, and I much
  prefer my office and heaps of paperwork to a trap any day.  So thank you,
  mister... Rezon'El, was it?"


 The Lyran twirled his wrist cordially and nodded in a mock bow as
  verification.  "Rezon'El, second apprentice of Charn'El, at your service!"


 "Good, I shall have to remember that name when I kill you."


 Rezon'El laughed heartily at that.  "Kill me, you say?  Now why
  would you wish to do that, Mein Herr?  I've brought you all /kinds/ of
  wonderful friends to play with!"  The Lyran swept his arm sideways, then
  upwards.


 Samhain's eyes followed the arm along its motion while his fingers
  twitched feverishly at the Claws[tm] hanging at his belt.  He was about to
  slam his hands into them and rip vital organs from the mage when he realized
  why the mage was being so brazen and smug... all around them, and all along
  both edges of the canyon top were fearsome creatures of all shapes and
  sizes.


 Saethrians peered over the rocky edge, swords, scythes and lances
  at the ready.  Smudges shimmered dully in what little moonlight filtered
  into the canyon.  Thanatins with their nightmarish eyes stared longingly at
  Samhain as if he were food for their table.  Among them stood Lyrans wearing
  various different shades of robes, each with a mask as repulsive as the
  next.


 "You see, Mein Herr, the advantage here is MINE."




...


 Samhain stood solemnly, his glowing red eyes fixating on those of
  his Lyran antagonist. Torrents of power rushed to feed the Holy WarpSpasm
  growing within him.  Samhain fought to stave off the spasm in order that its
  pent-up fury might become that much more devastating once released.  Comets
  of black darker than an arctic winters' night whirled around him in a
  cyclone, partially obscuring his body from view as both night and wastelands
  fuelled his tumultuous change.  His shoulders broadened; muscles became
  larger and more defined.  A deep black liquid flowed both up and down from
  his waist like a widening belt, wrapping and covering the tremendous body.
  The Claws[tm] of the Holy Albino quivvered in their place at his hip, then
  suddenly slammed into place over his hands, seemingly of their own accord.
  The sky above him roiled violently; clouds expanded rapidly in the once
  clear night air.  As his complete rage was finally unleashed, the sound of
  the Maenad war cry echoed like thunder through the canyon and across the
  barren wastes of Pacifica. "NYAR!"



...




 The 10th Company of the Chosen stopped cold where it stood, all
  eyes transfixed on the strange storm of energy that was growing rapidly in
  the distance.


 "Looks like a battle brewing," commented one of the women.  "Think
  we should go and help our side out with a little divine intervention[1] ?"


 "If that's what I think it is, sister," answered another, "It ain't
  our side you should be prayin' for."



...


 In the realm of the spirits and gods, a young figure trembled
  slightly.  He subconsciously bent and flexed his massive Claws and gnashed
  his teeth.  Somewhere on earth, one of his followers was soon to unleash the
  Holy WarpSpasm, and with such intensity that he could feel it brewing even
  now.



...




 Samhain's transformation into BlackBlood the Feral was complete.
  Shimmering waves of blackness danced around a body of deepest obsidian.
  Rows of razor sharp teeth gnashed against each other as black flames danced
  across the huge Claws[tm] that were seemingly a mere extension of his
  tremendous hands.  A last ray of moonlight danced across his body, sparkling
  from his new glassy skin.


 So horrifying was the sight of the Maenad in this form that a Lyran
  adept stammered a bit, releasing the spell he was casting prematurely to
  scatter away from its target without the slightest damage inflicted.


 BlackBlood snapped his head to the side and growled, his blazing
  red eyes boring deep into the Lyran's soul.  A thousand needles of darkness
  ripped through the wizard's form, shredding the blue robe into
  unrecognizable threads and spraying a cloud gore across the canyon wall.


 "NYAR!" Snarled the Maenad as he leapt for the nearest Saethrian.
  The tube-like creature swung its scythe, but was far too late.  The Maenad
  ripped straight through the center of the beast, slitting it in two with a
  wet ripping sound as its chitinous armor plates pulled away from the soft,
  meaty body they concealed.


 A pair of smudges came forward to try and aid the beast, still in
  its death throes, and soon found their limbs ripped from their sockets.

...




 Rezon'El, third in command of the Lyrans on Pacifica, watched
  impassively as the storm of blackness quickly become a moving cloud of
  nagenta gore.  Two of his own apprentices were suddenly grabbed by their
  arms and jerked into the fray.  He ducked instinctively as rock fragments
  exploded from the stone wall just above him, then looked to see what it was
  that had so narrowly missed killing him.  Embedded in the sheer face of the
  cliff was the head of K'hayn'El.  The eyes of the disembodied face flickered
  down to Rezon'El, an expression of unspeakable horror and agony forever
  frozen in his gaze.



...




 BlackBlood whirled, catching a Saethrian across the top of its head
  with his Claws[tm].  Blood red sensory organs came out, long tendrils of
  nerves still clinging to them as the beast howled in pain and began to
  writhe on the ground.  Whipping his arm rapidly to his side, BlackBlood
  caused the tendrils to wrap around the neck of a nearby smudge before being
  quickly ripped away, pulling vast quantities of glowing purple flesh with
  them.


 Blood and gore filled the canyon around BlackBlood's ankles in a
  flowing river of death.  Uncaring, he raged on.  A blast of electrical
  energy smashed into his back, crackled around him, then scattered in several
  directions to fry nearby smudges.  He shredded  the tail section of a
  saethrian and slammed it through the chest of a thanatin before turning to
  face the mage.  He snarled harshly as dark flames enveloped the attacking
  Lyran, seeped into his body and expanded outwards, scattering his ribcage in
  a brief burst of purple goo.


 Even before the flying ribs had impaled and ripped asunder a group
  of Smudges huddled close to the Lyran, BlackBlood had whirled and smashed a
  thanatin into one of the sharp rock fangs which devoured its chest cavity
  hungrily.


 "Turn... Face me..." hissed another thanatin from behind him.
  "Gaze into my eyes..."


 BlackBlood turned, his blood red eyes now seemingly floating in mid
  air.  They focused on the thanatin's eyes as it tried to force paralyzing
  fear into his mind.  Instead, the thanatin suddenly found itself awash in
  terror; visions of things more horrid than even IT had ever thought of
  before forced themselves into its mind as it shrivveled to the ground in a
  huddled mass.



...




 BlackBlood raced through the canyon.  No foe was too great or too
  small;  all were equal when it came time to meet the fury of his Claws[tm].


 A loud voice suddenly boomed across the canyon, and BlackBlood
  paused. The Claws[tm] on his right hand were currently run through the body
  of a Lyran while his left contained the scorpion-like tail of a Saethrian.
  His eyes tracked their way up the cliff wall to settle on his indigo-robed
  friend.  "ENOUGH!" bellowed the lyran.  You have slaughtered all but a very
  few of my creatures!"


 BlackBlood ignored the Lyran for a moment and finished off a group
  of thanatins around him.


 "I SAID ENOUGH!" yelled the lyran again, then teleported down into
  the canyon.  "This is for the two of us to settle!" he proclaimed.


 BlackBlood rapidly dispatched the last smudge remaining in the
  canyon before turning to face his nemesis.  "Damn right you are!"

TBC!

[1] Divine Intervention : Slang for unleashing massive firepower upon a target in honor of the Blood God Khorne.


"Welcome to my Canyon"
Copyright 1997
David R. Hibbs