Fight Night: A Lobo/Warhammer 40K Story

Chapter Three: The Dance Of Death

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.

Chapter Three: The Dance Of Death

The battle that unfolded was long and bloody.

All around the coliseum, the air was still as all the fighters entered the arena, all of them staring each other down in grim resolution.

Insults were exchanged between a few races, and while a few let out soft whimpers and tears of fear, others stared ahead with nothing but a harsh resolve, a determination to survive no matter the cost.

Seconds turned to minutes as all the factions waited for the battle to begin, time moving at a crawl as they all waited for a sign.

Finally, the air became pierced with the various rallying cries by its captives and participants, all of whom shouted something in opposition and defiance.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" Cried one faction.

"FOR THE CRAFTWORLD!" Cried another. "FOR OUR ANCESTORS!"

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

And with those declarations, all the players charged forward to meet their enemies.

Men and women of every conceivable species met in battle as they all fought valiantly against each other for the sake of survival, be it Imperium guardsman, Aeldari, Ork or Necron, while from the sidelines, all the Drukhari watched and laughed, taking pleasure in their collective suffering.

Reaver jetbikes and skyboards roared across the skies as beastmasters whipped their bestial charges, the latter spurring the creatures on into the fray with reckless abandon in order to catch their meals, dead or alive, part or in whole.

Bolters cracked and shuriken weapons retaliated in kind, projectiles and explosions rippling across the arena, splitting the air and their targets at tremendous velocity.

Blades danced with blades, chainswords clashed with razors, teeth and claws met with spiked gauntlets while power swords cut deadly swathes through flesh and bone, reducing their opponents to mulch.

The deathly gears of Commorragh's horrible engine turned, grinding up every life that was casually thrown away into its teeth by the multitude, be it man, woman or child, experienced veteran soldier and feeble civilian alike.

Children cried for help only to be quickly cut down, their pain and suffering providing nourishment and sustenance to the monstrous watchers of the Crucibael.

As numbers dwindled, allies became enemies, and enemies became allies of temporary convenience before ultimately stabbing the other in the back in an endless cycle of violence, resulting in the arena becoming stained with rivers of blood.

Commorrites laughed hysterically and cheered for every Mon'keigh that ended up skewered, dismembered, trampled, run over or burned alive, while Lelith Hesperax danced and twirled around her foe, her knives clashing against the massive meat hook and chain that he wielded.