All five of the Praetors had left the safety of their cover. All five stood in the open, their limbs locked tight, shuddering as spasms wracked their bodies. As First Claw watched, two of them dropped their weapons. Their unburdened fingers trembled and curled, all control lost. A figure stepped into view behind them. Horns curled in an elegant rise from his skull-faced helm, and his T-shaped visor looked upon the scene in expressionless silence. In one armoured fist, the figure held an ancient bolter; in the other, a staff of mercury-threaded black iron, topped by a cluster of human skulls. The Praetors’ shaking helms clicked with flawed vox signals, as they tried to vocalise their torment. Smoke hissed from their melting armour joints, and their epileptic quivers redoubled. As holes appeared in their armour-plating, the screams finally broke free from the molten decay. One by one, they collapsed to the hangar decking, liquidised organic filth spilling in slow gushes from each armoured suit. The figure lowered its staff, and walked calmly towards First Claw. ‘You weren’t thinking of leaving without me, were you?’ asked Ruven. His voice lacked even the shadow of emotion. ‘No,’ Talos lied. ‘Not for a moment.”

Somebody pls draw him with his elegant horns and his skull staff and his monstrousness <3

And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned; The calmer, I, to see it true That ways of love are never new— The love that sets you daft and dazed Is every love that ever blazed; The happier, I, to fathom this: A kiss is every other kiss. The reckless vow, the lovely name, When Helen walked, were spoke the same; The weighted breast, the grinding woe, When Phaon fled, were ever so. Oh, it is sure as it is sad That any lad is every lad, And what’s a girl, to dare implore Her dear be hers forevermore? Though he be tried and he be bold, And swearing death should he be cold, He’ll run the path the others went.… But you, my sweet, are different.

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Incurable

Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

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