[spoiler]I'm pretty sure that this competition is already over (thanks Shad), and I know that this makes no sense canonically, but I merely wish to test out my own narrative skills. Let's see how I fare, shall we?[/spoiler] Matthew Hallwinter had long bore the burden of his own impossibility, the utter defiance of law, and the sheer butchery of reality that he worked. He was no god, no immaterial being, no fallen angel or bloodthirsty demon. He was a soulless copy of another failed copy, spanning a hundred thousand generations back, yet he had been elevated by the sheer force of his own will to this echelon of existence. What he was, when he was, where he was--it didn't matter anymore; it was rendered as null and irrelevant as he himself. Did it matter? Particulate dust orbited around him as he strolled into the room, his metal greaves banging against the floor, as tidings of death. The strange armor he wore neither reflected light nor absorbed it, but shimmered with its own power nonetheless. His presence surely got the attention of the Necrons, who suddenly turned their collective gaze to this anomalous figure, this inexplicable being, and found that they hated it. The clamor of screeching and scratching soon filled the room as the horde rushed him, clambering over each other to fight this intruder, who began to calmly stride forward into this tide of metal and hate unfazed. A careful watcher would have noticed the balling of his fists, the slight dilation of his purple irises, and the imperious snarl that crept across his face, but a trained watcher would have recognized the gears turning behind his face. He didn't want to beat the Necrons: he wanted them to be rendered null, as he himself had been. The first Necron leapt at him, clawing and scratching in midair as it prepared to pounce on its prey, and was met with an armored gauntlet to the base of its neck, pulverizing its spine and decapitating it in a single blow. Telekinetic barriers vibrated rapidly across the surface of those knuckles, and the force behind the fists was so powerful that any scrap of metal would be atomized upon connecting. Hallwinter twirled, backlashing with his arm, the force tearing a wave of incoming Necrons to smithereens, and then he bent down to crush the head of one of the unlucky survivors. He did not let himself take blows from the uncountable horde, and their claws never so much as scratched his armor, less they were dead on the floor. They came at him in crowds, then reeled away as his lashing fists connected. One managed to flank him, but he ducked under the blow, grabbed the arm above him, and tore it off from the shoulder. His punches and kicks, every movement of his body was an impeccable economy of muscle and bone, augmented so many times beyond what any human could dream of. Never once did he draw a weapon, nor did he boast or taunt or laugh: he killed mechanically, without emotion or feeling, until the unrelenting crowd suddenly faltered. Hallwinter stood but feet apart from the broken horde, which stood cautiously away from him, as if a physical barrier stood between them. His eyes gazed the crowd, and saw that even these cruel machines had tasted fear and defeat, but they had not yet been broken. A challenger yet stood amongst them. He felt it in the vibrations in the cold metal floor, in the eyes of the defeated, in his very being. With a surge, an entire line of Necrons were knocked aside, like a ripple moving through a pool, until a Necron Destroyer stood in front of him, looking down upon him like an ant who bitten him. Hallwinter looked up with the same expression. These Destroyers had been augmented with anti-gravity flyers that allowed them to levitate, and unlike his predecessors, he lacked the anti-gravity boots that could protect him from any gravitational field. Now, he would test them, and himself equally. He raised his hand, with the palm facing the floor, and suddenly all of the dust swirling around him fell to the floor. The Necrons felt it first, and the injured ones fell to the floor as the gravity in the room increased, slowly but surely. At ten times the standard gravity, no Necrons were left standing. At twenty times amplified, Hallwinter began to feel strain, and the Destroyer found itself immobilized as well. At fifty times amplified, Hallwinter stood unbent, with his teeth gritted, as he saw the Destroyer's flyer falter for a second. He balled his fists in strain, raised them above his head, and with a surprisingly human scream of rage, increased the gravity a hundredfold. The metal ceiling caved then, and shards of unknown metals fell from the ceiling like stalagmites. The gravity returned to normal then, and dust particles rose like a cloud from the floor, and obscured the battlefield for several seconds. When it cleared, all of the Necrons had been flattened like steel disks to the floor, and the Destroyer found itself on the floor, it's anti-gravity overcome by the sheer force exerted on it. Across from it stood Hallwinter, bent but unbroken, somehow saved from the Necron's fate by an impossible reserve of strength. He was caked in white dust, and appeared more wraith than man, of which he was neither. Now, the Destroyer realized what it faced, and almost felt a grudging respect at this mortal that overcame what he could not. Hallwinter walked then, taking massive strides until he looked the landlocked Necron in the eyes, and it gazed upon the depth of his being, until he reached towards his head and tore it off entirely, tossing it aside until it hit the side of the wall, hundreds of meters away. He was the only being in the room now. The Chaos Marines has suffered a similar fate as the Necrons, and Liberious appeared to have left during the conflict. And deep inside, he felt a spark of pride, and with that, primordial rage. Rage, with no recipient. Rage, with no outlet. Rage, with no hope of comprehension. Years of entropy and hate had fashioned him into this: a polished pinnacle of selfless rage and anger, at the Universe which had spurned him, the one which had accidentally created him. Accident, he had been an accident, a work of chaos that despised chaos. Before he left the room, he spoke one, unerring sentence. "So may you all."