Tenebris Resurget: Chapter3
Down the steep sides of the mountain transhuman figures raced in a wide spread formation, weapons raised as they pursued the trail before them. The terrain was rugged and broken with rising hillocks, sharp clefts and piles of looming boulders: perfect for an ambush.
They moved swiftly but surely, ever watchful for a trap as they hunted down their quarry. To ensure they did not miss anything the squad spread out, searching each possible hiding place but in doing so they were forced to move beyond visual range only keeping in contact by vox.
Behind them raced a smaller figure in grey robes trying to keep up while desperately labouring to breathe. As they advanced Toran was talking on to the rest of his squad via the Vox, he relayed messages through Persion who was Pyrus squad's communication specialist.
Toran barked, "Report status!"
Persion replied, "We are sweeping up the mountain, as long as you keep driving him down towards us there is no way he can slip past us."
Halis' voice cut in into the link saying, "You have no idea what Warp Tainted abilities this scum boasts; nothing is certain where the infernal powers are concerned."
"We will face that possibility when the time comes" said Toran, "What of our reinforcements?"
Persion replied "Captain Jossat is requesting confirmation, the Traitors have been declared exterminated and it was confirmed that the Dusk Princes' forces are all as dead as Vorshaan himself."
Toran gritted his teeth as he advanced and voxed back, "Then tell him someone made a mistake, those kills were fresh,one Heretic must have slipped the net."
There was a long pause on the Vox, then Persion's voice came back saying, "Captain Jossat agrees however the Light of Terra is currently in orbit on the far side of the planet. They are changing vectors but orbital dynamics do not alter on a whim, redeploying the reserve Companies will take at least five hours."
"Five hours is unacceptable" retorted Toran, "This Heretic could well evade the net and escape, we need more Marines to run him down."
"Fourth Company are on the far side of the continent but Seventh Company reports they have a squad in the region" replied Persion, "A Thunderhawk is on the way as we speak and will arrive within the hour, there are no other assets close enough to intervene."
"What of the Serfs?" asked Toran,
Persion replied, "Hevostan is organising them to retreat, Captain Jossat has ordered Transport diverted to collect them."
"Keep me informed" order Toran cutting the link.
The Marines kept moving onwards, pushing their prey further down the mountainside towards the approaching Pyrus squad. As they hunted they climbed ridges and swept around outcroppings of rocks.
They were making good progress but Toran was painfully aware how few they were. The mountain was vast and they were but one squad, the chances of this Traitor slipping past them were unacceptably high. Yet they had no other options, until their reinforcements arrived they were the only marines available.
Behind them Bylan was wheezing hard in his attempt to keep up, he crept closer and breathlessly asked, "Master, should I return to the other serfs?"
"Absolutely not" stated Toran with his bolt pistol held out before him, "There is a Chaos Marine out there, you would never make it back alive. The safest place for you is by my side."
Bylan nodded then asked, "Master, what sort of Traitor do we face?"
Toran's eyes never stopped sweeping for the foe yet he answered, "The blessed Roboute Guilliman wrote that information is victory, use your logic and examine the evidence at hand."
Bylan thought for a second, "The only evidence we have is the scene from the massacre so we know this foe is sadistic and bloodthirsty. He enjoys killing and takes his time, that suggests a Night Lord as opposed to a Beserker and the corpses were not defiled after death so not a Noise Marine either."
Toran was surprised how well informed Bylan was but then remembered he had been in the Scouts so must have received basic hypno-indoctrination, he asked, "And the trail before us, what does that tell you?"
Bylan looked down replied, "The trail is clear and direct making no effort to mask his route, suggesting he is either overconfident or not expecting pursuit, we may catch him unaware."
Toran was disappointed by the serf's obvious answer and growled, "You have identified the evidence but your conclusion is flawed. You have missed one key fact: the massacre was unnecessary. The forces of the Dusk Prince are cunning and sly, they never attack unless they hold all the advantages. If escape was this Traitors' agenda he could have slipped away and we would have been none the wiser. He chose to massacre the serfs leaving the bodies behind and this trail is too easy to follow, no Astartes would be so careless. As the Primarch would say, Theoretical: he wants to be found."
"But why?" asked Bylan struggling to understand.
"That is unclear" said Toran sweeping a cleft in the rock with his bolt pistol, "But take care, to try to understand the ways of Chaos is to invite corruption. We can only be Practical and expect an ambush."
They moved out of the highlands onto the smoother slopes, Toran calculated they were closing on the rest of Pyrus squad and yet there had been no sign of the Traitor. He cursed and thought that despite their precauitons the Chaos Marine must have slipped by them.
He was about to vox Persion for an update when he suddenly spotted movement ahead and a yell rang out on the vox, it was Brother Rickard moving up from the battlefield and shouting, "Contact, I have contact with the enemy!"
Instantly the squad changed direction, Toran was the closest with Novak and Halis barely a minute behind. The Sergeant ran for all he was worth and saw he was approaching a sheer drop off a cliff edge along which Rickard and the Chaos Marine were fighting.
From a distance he could see that the Traitor was clad in midnight blue plate, etched with jagged lightning. His helm was fanged with small unobtrusive wings on the sides and he had a large leathery cloak swept behind him that swirled and billowed as he fought.
He wielded a large polearm as long as a grown man with a serrated knife on one end and a roaring chain blade on the other, the infamous weapon of the Night Lords: a Chain glaive.
The traitor's movements were oddly graceful, flowing from parry to attack without hesitation. His pole arm was never still, lunging and withdrawing in hypnotic swirls then he would spin it in both hands with dazzling flourishes.
There was something poetic in his style, a beauty that was truly wrong coming from one so foul. His every gesture was informed by ten thousand years of combat and he always managed to find just the right spot to avoid incoming blows, to turn every parry into a counter attack.
Rickard's movements however could have been taken straight out of the Codex Astartes, following prescribed sets of blocks, parries and counter-attacks. Every attack he made was countered, every parry bypassed to leave deep scores in his armour. His style was unimaginative, formulaic and predictable, Toran recognised that Rickard was badly outclassed and pushed himself harder desperately trying to come to his brothers' aid.
Before the Sergeant could intervene the Traitor spun his chainglaive in both hands sweeping the end down and to the left to trip Rickard. The Storm Herald followed Codex prescriptions and did not move to parry the obvious feint. He raised his blade expecting a new attack from above but realised too late he had made a fatal mistake.
The Chaos Marine did not strike with his chain blade but instead grabbed his polearm laterally and shoved it forwards under Rickard's guard. The adamantium shaft caught the Marine across the abdomen and hurled him backwards, his feet swiftly repositioning to compensate but in doing so ruining his stance.
Rickard's guard fell and for an instant he was dangerously exposed. With elegant grace the Chaos Marine reversed direction swinging his polearm around to the right and the roaring chain blade came across at neck height to catch Rickard in the gorget.
The blade was perfectly angled to land between the curve of the helm and the rising neck ring. The fibrebundle musculature underneath offered absolutely no resistance and the Chain glaive parted flesh and bone. In one lightning swift move the Heretic swept his polearm around and spun on his heel to face the oncoming Sergeant while Rickard's headless corpse fell to the stony ground with a dull clang.
Toran screamed his fury at his brothers' murderer as he ran, he raised his bolt pistol and squeezed the trigger. He fired on full auto, hammering bolts at the Traitor chipping and denting the midnight plate, clipping grizzly skulls from his belt.
The Heretic buckled under the fusillade taking one step back and another towards the cliff edge, but then he straightened and in a hissing sibilant voice filled with smug pleasure called, "Too little, too Late". He put two fingers to his helm in a mocking salute before stepping backwards and without even looking jumped off the cliff.
Toran rushed to the edge and saw the Chaos Marine falling hundreds of feet in freefall before his leathery cloak spread out from his back, arching wide on bony ridges. Toran was shocked to see this was not some ornate affection but in fact large mutant wings growing from the degenerate's back.
The frail wings should not have been able to support the weight of an armoured Chaos Marine but they shimmered eerily with Warp Light and he floated down as light as a feather. Toran was left standing futilely over his brothers' corpse, he felt fury building in his heart yet all he heard was the Traitor's echoing laughter as he bounded away headed towards the east, escaping vengeance.
Toran's enhanced mind replayed the last few seconds with perfect clarity, recreating the fight in exacting detail. He analysed the Traitor's movements and style in a heartbeat and realised this one was a master of combat; Rickard had not even been in the same league as his killer.
Then something snagged at Toran's mind, the pattern of lightning bolts on the Traitors' armour was familiar, the Chaos embelms and the placement of kill trophies, even the Chainglaive was known to the Sergeant from his briefings.
With absolute horror the Sergeant realised he knew who this Traitor was.
"The Dusk Prince" whispered Toran in horror, "Vorshaan Lives."
