# The Virulent Syndicate (40k-DE)



## unxpekted22 (Apr 7, 2009)

The ambient sounds of war faded into a blur for the ears inside the bombed out structure, darkened by heavy shadow, a setting sun, and chilled from the passing breeze that stunk of mortal death. 

Pointed jet-black claws raked against a similarly armored chest, pressing the multitude of hooks beneath even deeper into Araklyd’s already stinging chest. Desperate gurgling sounds interrupted by hopeless breaths came from the form beneath him. Beithir laid on his back with dark perverted blood flowing from the open wound in his throat and destroyed collar bone. He had thrown off his helmet in a crazed enthusiasm early on in the raid. Araklyd remembered it vividly, having stood just behind him and to the right.

_More Sabotage._ 

None of the other archons would let the Syndicate gain any momentum, they’d rather suck on the twisted genitals of the great destroyer until the end of time. False support, false information. It was becoming clearer and clearer to Araklyd that the Syndicate would need to become the viral threat it strived to be on its own...a nearly impossible task.

A full gasp was inhaled with a wet, hollow sound below him. “_Araklyd,”_ another scratch on his chest armor. Araklyd watched the armored fingertips as they screeched silently downward. Beithir was petrified. His breaths came at a faster rate now.

“Araklyd, I can feel Her! She’s taking me!” His body was convulsing slightly. Araklyd couldn't tell if Beithir was delusional or not. He watched with curiosity. The thing all of his kin ran from. Could it really be taking Beithir at this moment, approaching his tormented soul with glee?

His voice sounded nothing like it had before the round had struck him. He had had a fairly pretty voice in fact, but now...

“Don’t....don’t let me go,” he growled Araklyd’s name now. His eyes glistened, and the word ‘no’ escaped his lips more times than Araklyd cared to count. “Why do you just sit there!?”

Araklyd was balancing on his toes, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. The eldar was motionless, stooping over the other who lay on the ground. His own helm now resting in the dirt beside him. The two figures were alone on this world they no longer cared about, as if they had ever. He sat there, staring at the fallen one who scratched and begged for his life.

“It feels so _good_.” said Araklyd. 

As he mouthed the words his face was expressionless, but a slight moment after saying them his lips flipped to a smile and he laughed softly, enjoying the suffering just a little longer, and his own soul getting further away from that which now banged on Beithir’s door.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, the smell of the air sweet to him now. He opened his eyes to a sight that seemed crystal clear compared to that through which he saw a few seconds before. The hunger in his stomach faded and the tension in his calves disappeared completely.

He looked down at the dying one again, “This desperation of yours is not very becoming of you Beithir. You know this? In fact, its disgusting. Do you want me to take a piece of you back to the Haemonculi or not?”

“Yes, take me to Tyylhv! In the name of all that we are and ever have been take me to him.”

“I will take you to whoever I want.” Araklyd said curtly. But then he laughed again, slightly louder this time. He mocked Beithir’s words “In the name of all that we are and ever have been”. He shook his head as he chuckled.

With a sudden burst of movement, Araklyd smacked Beithir’s hand away from his chest harshly, placed one of his own hands over Beithir’s pale face; his palm covering the mouth and fingers gripping tightly into the cheeks and temples. His other hand simultaneously unsheathed the intricate blade from his hip and stabbed into Beithir’s flesh beside his open collar bone between the armor segments. The dagger dug into Beithir’s shoulder. Araklyd wiggled it back and forth violently laughing like a jester over Beithir’s muted screams. His arm came up and down again...and again...and again. He could feel the thin armor covering his palm becoming warmer with the hot breath of Beithir’s agony pulsing back and forth against it. 

With a few final twists and plunges Araklyd had the arm separated from the shoulder. His vision was dark, but Beithir stared up at Araklyd above him in a daze of pain. Araklyd’s facial skin was stretched back on purpose, tied and pinned with metal where the crown of his hair would be if it wasn’t shaven off. The pulled back flesh made Araklyd’s face skull-like with gums and eye flesh showing. It was an odd thing to see him blink, the lids only making it half way over his eyes before quickly returning to their pulled position. He could close his lips but they looked almost pursed with effort. Now with his full smile...nearly all of his teeth were showing.

He knew Araklyd would never have been able to take his entire body back to commorragh, but he hadn’t been prepared for it. As his consciousness left him he heard Araklyd speaking again.

“When your eyes open, find me.”


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## VulkansNodosaurus (Dec 3, 2010)

A promising beginning. The switch from Araklyd's to Beithir's point of view felt slightly awakward to me, but other than that, I liked it. (Dark Eldar... being Dark Eldar.)


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