Imperial Literature

They were coming.

Howling and shrieking like nightmares made scaled flesh, the scrabbling of murderous claws a maddening clatter, the snapping of leathered wings like monstrous heartbeats; the sounds of Hell itself preceded the Devourer as it tore across the rockcrete boulevards of this broken city towards him, eyes black marbles deep-set in jagged snouts and slimy swathes of carapace.

More than a hundred creatures crawled, leapt and galloped upon spiked limbs across the pavement and over the sides of the buildings before him. A hundred bodies, one dark, cold and inhuman mind. The mind of the Great Devourer powered a hundred spined and clawed monsters as they threw themselves forward in almost insane hunger. Lictors moved at snakebite speed up and over the walls towards him, a carnifex like a massive scaled tank barrelled forward on legs resembling pistons and dozens of hormagaunts flung themselves down the street in an obsidian wave of fangs and blood-tinged claws. And before this horde, this cacophonous mob of bloody tearing death from the depths of any mortal’s wildest and most frightening dreams, stood one man, pale and slim, with an ironic half-smile on his handsome face.

So this is how he’d die.

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