NUUURGLE PAAAAWNCH!

found an old sketch, decided to finish.

here's some text to it.

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Maximus knew that as a result of his activity in the Axes Hive, they would come for him. When he closed his eyes and tried to imagine all the horrors that could be thrown at him – a shoreless sea of men, machines, both combined into one, even more twisted amalgamations, brainwashed, reprogrammed, fueled with only one instinctual desire – his mind got lost in the endless possibilities. Dogbloods pride told him that he deserved the full attention of the Munitorium and Ecclesiarchy, no matter how slow and bureaucratic they were to react, but common sense chimed in and reminded, what a speck of dust he is, even if that speck had gotten between two important gears.

With each shot, each priest killed, his blood spilling amidst the panicked masses, Dogblood could feel these symbolical steps crossing an invisible line. He was teasing a rabid dog that had no chains – and he well realized it.

But, as he thought, the movement towards this ultimate outburst of rage, when the beast will finally awaken in it’s full glory and power, that movement began too long ago to stop now.

He got confident. He faced many challenges and considered himself still potent enough to predict the outcomes.

His imagination, however, failed.

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The Eversor lunged at him, muscles working at their limit, for the speed was uncomprehensible for even a trained human. Metallic claws flashed like a guillotine in the pale morning light and swooped, screeching across Dogblood’s chestplate. The mere impact from that hit sent the heretic flying to the rooftops edge, making him tumble and loose orientation.

The cursed Rusted armor saved Maximus from the fate of being sliced in two. The Rust didn’t like shiny poison-slathered clean blades and averted an otherwise lethal strike. As Dogblood got to his feet, face bleeding, he didn’t have time to realize his one-time luck – the assassin charged again.

In the Eversors mind, it didn’t matter how much time the elimination should take. It would take as much as it should – no more or less, until the target is destroyed. Dogblood too didn’t, couldn’t know, even despite his vague knowledge of the opponent, that even a second attack after the unsuccessful first, was a rarity for these assassins.

His senses heightened, he had the time to notice than in mid-leap, the drug-crazed Eversor was drawing a baroque-looking massive gun from a hip holster. He fired, but the heretic darted to the side, nearly missing the bolt, his pose crouched and tensed up. But the imperial assassin had no time to overanalyze the battle.
The next seconds their bodies collided – and got thrown off the skyscraper.

The Eversor let out a strange, muffled hiss as half of his deathmask shattered when Dogblood dragged the spikes of his wristguard through it, the spherical visor exploding in a rain of glassy dust. He continued firing in empty space, as they fell down and the cultist’s knee pressed in his stomach. The intact eye whirling madly, he tried to raise his deadly taloned hand up again, this time for a mistake-free decapitation – only to notice that it’s being firmly held by the sniper.

And a strangely darkened, smoldering fist was raised above his head.

Wind wailing in their ears as they fell, the assassin still heard – but could not understand, for he wasn’t made to – the heretic screaming, the scarred and bandaged face contorting with rage and despair:
- Going down together, asshole!


also, comments are highly welcome. And if you want to color the lines, you're free to do so.