Gamordal: Charnovokh begin purge

The Necrons were defending a run down city with a manufacturing facility which they hope to convert to their own use against a genestealer insurgence. Waves of humanoids akin to guardsmen broke out of the cover of the jungle, supported by a Chimera transport and a mighty Leman Russ tank. Identifying the Tyranid mutation instantly the Charnovokh were nontheless taken aback by the creatures' ability to pilot vehicles and Overlord Arakamen soon realised that his garrison of warriors and immortals was not enough to handle a threat of this scale. Reinforcement protocols set in effect as the eradicator cannon of the Russ laid down it's deadly salvo, blasting the Immortal phalanx. The Necrons relentlessly marched forwards, the teal of their Charnovokh pattern gauss weaponry lighting up the smoke, thudding metal feet rhythmically shaking the ground. With a soul wrenching screech a shadow flared over the war torn terrain and lightning lit up the Leman Russ as a Doom scythe ripped across the sky. Arcs of blue-green danced across the flank of the Chimera as Destroyers descended down on their displacement platforms - the reinforcements had arrived. Disoriented neophytes scrabbled out of the smoking transport and beheld what was left of their battle tank. Losing morale, the humanoids threw themselves at the advancing Necron gun line, falling prey to the flesh rending shots. Yet the Cult had one last trick to play. The Patriarch, a mighty sinewy beast with a pack of purestrain genestealers rose up from the shadows and threw himself at the vulnerable Overlord of the Necron armies. The genestealer knew that while victory was out of reach it could still severely cripple the Necrons by taking out their chief in command.

Letting out a terrible shriek the beast bashed against the machine, flesh and claws colliding with hardened Necrodermis - living metal. Razor sharp talons flashed and tore across the chest of the ancient being, spewing metallic tendrils and tubes across the ground. The necron took a step back. The Overlord shuddered and seemed to fail yet even as its machine brain was whirring the advanced self repair mechanisms were already working. Liquid metal pooled and restored fractured surfaces and all the while the scythe of darkest black gleamed in a circle of death. Once, twice the blade whirled, the machine tirelessly executing complex manoeuvres, going through routine protocols of annihilation. The beast stretched and went for another strike but came to a halting stop as a clean, calculated blow separated its head from its body. Arakamen glared at the carcass of his enemy before wrenching its spine from its torso, kicking away the dead meat. Many warriors had challenged him in the past, some even coming close to claiming his soulless life yet this beast was not one of them. He did not cast a backwards glance at the pile of flesh as he raised his arm and decided the fate of the rest of the vile beings.