Fight Night: A Lobo/Warhammer 40K Story

Prologue: The Main Man

Fight Night: A Lobo/Warhammer 40K Crossover

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Romance

Disclaimer: Lobo is a property owned by DC Comics and Lelith Hesperax, Commoragh and "Warhammer 40K" are properties belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Shout-out to Akularz-Shati for inspiring me to write this story and for the incredibly thorough guide on the Drukhari that they have provided me with - thank you so much for your help! I am very grateful! :D

Prologue: The Main Man

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."

- Ernest Hemingway

"Last call!"

The bar tavern erupted with groans as its various patrons loudly protested.

Spitting into a mug, Zeke washed the inside with a rough dishcloth, the orange ape-like being waving off all the drunkards as he exclaimed loudly, "Alright, you fuckers, you heard me. Enough's enough, and I'm not repeating myself. Everyone get the fuck out!"

The patrons let out murmurs as one by one they all left, some of them wobbling unsteadily, with one or two of supported by a buddy.

A few stumbled while one goofy bastard smacked himself face-first into the corner of a wall, causing the bartender to roll his eyes.

Moron.

Turning his attention over to the last customer, Zeke felt his forehead become damp with perspiration as he regarded this particular individual with a certain degree of apprehension, approaching him slowly.

Seated at a back corner with his boots on the table was a man that always made the old bartender feel on edge.

Even though Zeke had been a decorated war veteran in his fifties and prided himself on dishing out when the going got tough, that meant nothing to a person as dangerous as this particular customer, and Spirits help him, Zeke was not that brave.

Only an idiot would feel brave in the presence of a vicious killer such as Lobo.

Leaning back in the ruined leather of his chair, the bounty hunter was dressed in a black sleeveless leather jacket and jeans, with thick black boots, while parts of his rough hewn features were marked with dark rocky/boney scales and ridges, notably around the eyes. For the less discerning, the latter could easily be mistaken for intricate axe head tattoos or stripes.

Long, filthy, wild and unkempt black hair cascaded past his shoulders into a dark mane, some of it standing up on end and spiked in various directions, his hair so greasy and dirty that it practically formed dreads and knots in some sections.

A thick black handlebar mustache curled over his upper lip down to his pronounced stubbled chin, his long and thick aquiline nose and facial features giving him a distinctively feral, almost tiger-like countenance.

Taking another swig of his drink, the mercenary shifted in his seat as he adjusted his position, his knees covered in skull-like decorations as he let out a loud belch. One arm had chains wrapped around it, the chains connected to a hook that rested on the man's hip.