Chapter 14 – Assault on Nebekenezer
The nob backhand Maeva, sending her flying a good ten feet. But that left him wide open; Aevar roared as he brought Katla down on the nob's head, crushing it to a gory pulp. Thorgil, wearing his massive Cataphractii armor, stepped up to fill his spot.
"Go, get your kaerl," Thorgil said, "we'll cover you."
Aevar risked a look back towards Bjorn. The Fell-Handed fought on, a massive crack that opened his body, running to his sarcophagus. Despite the damage, the Fell-Handed was doing good, but not Maeva. Hissing, he ran to her. Sliding to a knee, he checked her vitals. Somehow, she still had a pulse. It was irregular, but he didn't have the time to worry about a skipped beat or three.
She did a good job applying a tourniquet to her stump; blood still leaked out, but at a much more manageable rate. The real horror was her head. The nob caved in one side of her face, bursting an eyeball. It was ruined beyond a doubt, and he needed to stop the vicious bleeding.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small kit of balms and bandages. He lathered the balm on a handful of bandages, and carefully pressing it into the massive cavity in her face; he saw more than a few patches of grey matter.
"I told you, I need your brains in your head, not on the ground," he hissed. He wrapped her head, keeping the bandage taunt but not tight. "Good thing you're unconscious."
Holding the remains of her arm while a servo-arm spun to life. He mentally selected the welder, and cauterized the veins. Meat sizzled and caught on fire, which he quickly put out. Blood still trickled out, but nothing that would otherwise threaten her life.
"Now stay put, will you?" He got to his feet and ran back into the battle. "Ojor va Russ! Fenrys hjolda!"
"Fenrys hjolda!" the battle-cry was repeated.
+Fenrys hjolda!+
The orks seemed to buckle under the cry. A few boyz broke and ran, but then another group of orks pounced on them. And they all wore purple.
+At last, the kommando shows himself,+ Bjorn said.
"Ya stupid gitz couldn't do one thin' right!" The ork was getting nob big, but had such a spring in his step that it was unbelievable. It was like hitting air. Bjorn took two massive swipes, and only clipped one ork.
"Damn orks, stand still, will you?" Thorgil shouted, swiping at one of the purple-clad kommandos. The orks jumped at him, scraping their daggers against the thick armor, scratching it but doing nothing more.
Aevar swung at the ork, both with Katla and with his servo-arms, but the ork seemed to fade away from each strike. His daggers lashed out, trying to gouge Aevar's eye out. He turned his head, and the daggers glanced of his armor.
"Oy, ya stupid hummie, don't you know when you should die?" The ork snapped.
"And you need to hold still!"
"Fat chance at that, hummie!"
Aevar swung Katla, just to get the ork to jump backwards. He smoothly pulled out Iounn and snapped off three rounds. He had the ork dead to right, but a different kommando jumped in front of him, taking the rounds for his warboss.
"Damn ya fer that," the ork yelled. It jumped forward, trying to skewer him.
Aevar blinked; suddenly there was another ork in front of him, but it was fighting the kommando, not him.
"Stupid gitz, get outta my way!" The commando yelled. "You supposed ta be fightin' hummies, not orks!"
Then the ork's skin melted. It's bones popped and twisted, and soon it was the assassin standing in front of Aevar.
"This one is not an ork," Geist said. The ork swung, but Geist was faster. She was faster than even Aevar could move, which surprised him. She lashed out with her strange, wrist-mounted sword. How could a mortal human be so fast?
The kommando staggered back under the fury of blows. Cuts sprang up and his skin, deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to put him down for good. He lashed back, and the assassin gracefully parried, spinning away to bring her strange gun up. Electricity arced, but the kommando was able to jump aside, letting another kommando take the shot. The ork squealed as his eyes burst, then slumped over, dead.
"Damn hummies, we lost this one!" The kommando called. "Get outta 'ere!"
The kommandos broke away, springing away faster than the guard, or Aevar, could chase them. The assassin gave chase, landing a deep gash in the kommando's turned back. But Aevar could see that it was a sly play by the ork.
"Get down!"
The ork swung around, catching the assassin on her off foot; the blade sunk deep into her side, nearly tearing her in half. The black-clad woman stayed on her feet, taking one last shot at the retreating ork group, but her show went wide. The assassin limped after them, trying to follow the retreating orks, but Aevar stopped her.
"That's a big fucking hit you took. Stand still, you're making it worse."
"This one has a mission to complete," she replied.
"'This one' will bleed herself to death if she doesn't stop."
"When?"
"Damn Death Korp," he grumbled. He gently, but firmly, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Now stand still."
Using his servo-arms, he grabbed the jar of balm and slathered it on the exposed side of the assassin. Being in such a suit for Emperor-knows how long, her skin was nearly translucent. The balm, a light blue-green, threatened to dye it. The assassin struggled, but he held her fast. The ork cut her deep, tearing her intestines up and even a kidney. Aevar quickly threaded a needle with his other servo-arm.
"This'll hurt like a bitch."
"This one is used to pain."
He sunk his servo-arms into the woman's side, but the Krieg-born woman kept quiet. Even when he was stitching together her intestines, the woman barely made a sound. Aevar would never admit it, but that freaked him out something terrible.
"There, done," Ironclaws said, sewing her closed.
The assassin looked the work over.
"This one did not know you are a skilled mechanic."
"'Mechanic?'"
"Apologies, that is the word for the Krieg Corpsemen who mend wounds," she said. Then, after a pause, "This one thanks you. Her mission would have been uncompleted if you did not provide assistance."
"Aye, thanks for facing that kommando down for us," Aevar said. "He might've done more damage to the Fell-Handed."
"This one finds it strange that the orks seemed to have mastered stealth," the assassin said, looking out at the ruins.
"Once orks get an idea, it's hard to stop 'em. Now, if you'll excuse me, my kaerl needs help."
"How badly is she wounded?" Geist asked, following Aevar to where Maeva lay. The Fell-Handed had walked over with Thorgil to stand guard over her. The assassin knelt over her, gingerly taking Maeva's remaining hand.
"She's down," Aevar said, "but she's still breathing."
+I've called Little Bjorn,+ the Fell-Handed said. +His mission was a success, he's coming with the Land Raider. We'll evacuate her.+
"And repair the damage done to you."
+I'd like that.+
Aevar checked the bandages, exchanging the blood-soaked ones for fresh bandages. The ground shook as the Land Raider drove over and the hatch dropped.
"Damn, looks like she got it bad," the Stormwolf said, walking out.
"Orks hit hard."
"Too right. Is the Fell-Handed good?"
+I'm fine. Shaken, but fine.+
"What were you doing that drew the—"
+We'll discuss tactics once we are back at the temple. We need to regroup, and heal our wounded.+
"Sounds good. Fat Hands, you've just volunteered; help greybeard there with his mortal whore."
Geist helped Aevar pick up her body as the Jarl Guard jogged over. He stood guard as he carried her back to the Land Raider. The tank squadrons stayed behind to escort the wounded Basilisks back.
The trip back to the temple seemed to take forever. Aevar changed the bandage on Maeva's stump and at her head again just as they finally made it back. The ramp fell; Geist helped him carry Maeva's unconscious body from the Land Raider.
"This one will help you carry her to the hospitallers," she said. "They are in the back of the temple."
"My thanks," Aevar said. "She's good help when she's not trying to get her head knocked off."
Guards made way for them, and they walked to the nearest bed.
"Sisters, my kaerl needs your help," he said, keeping to High Gothic.
"By the Emperor, what happened to her?" One gasped.
"The dumb bitch got in a slap fight with a nob, that's what," he growled. He and Geist set her down on an empty cot. "I need her alive. Her arm has been severed, it needs to be cleaned."
"What about her skull? We can only give her the Emperor's Peace."
"Give her the Peace, and you'll get your Peace as well," he snapped.
"B-but, milord, her skull is caved in. What should we do?"
"Just keep her sucking air until I can help. I'm needed out there."
"Understood, milord," the sister said, bowing.
"Forgive this one, but she must report to the Inquisitor," Geist said, bowing politely.
"Go on. Thanks for the help. Sisters, keep her breathing."
Aevar spun on his heels and stormed back out. Bjorn had nearly shaken his chassis to pieces on the march back; the orks had damn heavy demo packs. He needed to fix the Fell-Handed, and he needed to do it before Maeva's threat finally snapped.
"I take it you found your orks," Parsef said, paying Aevar no mind as he walked to the Fell-Handed. Geist walked to his side, where she silently stood.
+We did,+ Bjorn said. He turned to Aevar, switching to Juvix. +Aevar, your loyalty is commendable, but your kaerl is more beat up than me. Go to her.+
"Nonsense, you nearly walked yourself to pieces," he said, examining the damage to his dreadnaught body. "Look, you're hull is falling apart."
+I'm already dead; she's not. Make sure she stays that way.+
"And leave the Fell-Handed to—"
+Go. I've stayed among the living for millennia; I'll stay this. Besides, when the Fell-Handed is so much as scratched, it sends the Iron Priests running.+
Bjorn motioned behind him; his brother Iron Priests were arriving in force, carrying armfuls of adamantium plates to repair the damage to the mighty Fell-Handed. One stormed by Aevar, bumping him. It was too much of a bump to be accidental.
"We'll handle this," the priest said coldly.
"Thank you," Aevar said, bowing. He grabbing a scrap piece of adamantium/plasteel alloy; it was the size of his hand, from wrist to fingertips. Just what he needed.
He pushed his way through the temple, back to the sister hospitallers. A small group were tending to Maeva, pushing drips and needles into her limp body.
"Milord!"
"Yes, yes, I know, you've done your best," he said. "Now move over, there's some work to be done."
"She's at the Emperor's steps; her body can't take anything else."
"Says you. You've never seen how stubborn us Fenrisians can be. Do you have a servo-skull? A handheld scanner, anything?"
"W-we have a skull, milord. We use it to scan for injuries."
"Excellent. Call it."
"Why?"
"Most of her head is gone. I'm trying to rebuild it for her."
The sisters grimly nodded and went to securing Maeva to the cot she lay on. A sister arrived with the servo-skull in tow. Aevar mentally linked it to his cranial implant, and began scanning Maeva's head.
"Are you sure she can survive?" One sister said.
"Pretty sure," Aevar said. "The rest is up to her. You there, go bring me a big pot of boiling water."
The closet he ever came to mixing the art of a flesh-mender and an Iron Priest was when he interned warriors into dreadnaught bodies, and even that was mostly forge work rather than healing. But he didn't have the luxury of backing out now, or looking to some ancient text. He was flying by the seat of his pants, the only true way a Fenrisian knew, the only thing he was truly good at.
After all, it was flying by the seat of his pants that he was able to make Cataphractii armor and Paragon blades.
He made marks on the piece of metal, where to fold the scrapped armor and where to cut, then sent his servo-arms to work.
Sparks flew as he worked at the metal piece. The servo-skull continued to slowly scan Maeva's face, showing where the bones were shattered and where they stood strong. He shaved the edges, ground them down and raised up spikes to meld with the remaining bone. It wasn't long before he had a replacement metal skull.
"What about the jaw?" A hosplitar asked.
"I'll worry about that later. Right now, I want to make sure her damn fool brain has more protection than a few rags. Where's that boiling water?"
"Right behind you, milord."
He dropped Maeva's new head into the boiling water to sterilize it. That much he learned from the Soothsayer.
"Now comes the hard part. We're gonna have to cut her open and pull out all the fucking bone fragments."
"Blessed Emperor, please save your loyal servant in her hour of dire need."
Aevar bit back the desire to pray, and went to work.
"Damn, that's a big fucking hole," he grunted.
"There's a bone fragment."
"Well, don't just stand there, looking at it. Pull it out."
The sisters jumped, each gently reaching in with forceps to pull the fragments out. His servo-arms reached in, gently poking and prodding, searching for remains, but found none.
His servo-arm reached back into the boiling water and pulled the metal skull out. He waved it, cooling it off until it was warm to the touch. He peeled Maeva's face back until the opening was wide enough to slide the new metal skull into place. Grumbling, he slid it into place, mindful of her brain. But the scans were good, his calculations were right and his hand true; the skull slid into place, right where it was needed. He gently bolted it to the rest of her head.
"Let's get her face sewed up. I'll start working on a jaw."
The Sisters pulled the pieces of flesh back into place, and deftly sewed it up. Aevar got up and walked out of the make-shift hospital. He could hear the Stormwolf bellowing at the Inquisitor from the other end of the building. He could even hear a few of Parsef's retorts. If the man wasn't cowed by Bjorn Stormwolf, maybe he had more steel in his spine than Aevar thought.
In the forum of the temple, his brother priests were working feverishly at repairing Bjorn's dreadnaught. They were making fine progress; there wasn't much for him to do.
+How fares your kaerl?+
"Her thread is fine, for now. Now all I have to do is make her a new jaw and arm, and she'll be right as rain."
+Maybe this'll do something about that mouth she has.+
"Probably not. You know how the women-folk are."
+All too well,+Bjorn laughed.+They're just as wild as us.+
"Here, here," Aevar laughed. He went to the small pile of spare parts that he brought with him for the journey. Three servitors were standing guard over it. Recognizing him, they let him pass.
"Jaw. Jaw, dammit. Well, what do we have?"
He gathered wiring, small, precise linear actuators and raw metal to make the actual jaw. Finally, he pulled out a small logic-computer that he could implant in her head, just to drive it all. He left, and was given a wide berth by his fellow Iron Priests.
"We can be so petty some times," he mumbled as he walked back.
"Milord! Milord!" Aevar jerked his head up; a sister hospitaller was running towards him.
"What is it?" He said, switching back to High Gothic.
"She's waking up, and she's trying to get up," the sister said. "She's trying to fight us off."
"That's our women," he smiled. "Let's go."
Inside the hospital, Maeva was thrashing. She had broken free of her wrist restraint and was trying to kick off a few sisters. Aevar put a gentle hand on her chest, forcing her down.
"Calm down there, will you?"
Maeva tried to say something, but with half her jaw missing and the other half hanging on by gristle and thread, she couldn't say anything; she just moaned some guttural.
"I said, calm down. You're not in battle anymore, there aren't any orks."
Maeva shook, her remaining eye wild.
"You in pain?"
She nodded.
"Bad pain?"
She violently shook her head, flopping her ruined jaw about. Of course she was lying, but Aevar let it slide with a chuckle.
"That'll happen when a nob bashes your face in. You're lucky that didn't snap your thread."
Maeva blinked, as if recalling what had happened. A wild look slowly entered her eye, and she tried to reach for her missing arm. A sister grabbed her, trying to pin her arm to the side.
"Listen to me," he said. "Those orks did one Hel of a number on you. You're all cut up and barely hanging in there. I was doing some work on you to get you back up."
Maeva tried to say something.
"You're gonna have to mime it, you're out a jaw."
She growled, or tried to, and shook her hand. Aevar looked at the sister, and motioned to let her go. The sister, face hard, let Maeva move her arm, but never let her arm go. Maeva pointed to her missing arm.
"You lost it. Ork took it off."
She nodded, trying to swallow. She pointed to her eye.
"Ork popped it when he hit you."
She shook her head.
"You want to see yourself?"
She nodded.
"You sure? You ain't the most polished blade of the bunch."
She nodded again.
"Sister, do you have a mirror? Or something with a shine to it?"
"What? We'll never let her look at herself, are you crazy?"
"No, she's the crazy one. Come on, anyone got something mirror-like on 'em?"
A guardswoman hesitantly walked up, handing Aevar a trench knife with a mirror welded to the tip.
"Nice little tool you got here," he said. "This'll just be a second."
He handed the mirror to Maeva. Her breathing deepened as she looked over the remains of her face. She blinked back tears as she saw her cauterized stump.
"Better?"
She nodded, handing the mirror back. Her hand shook despite her.
"Good. Think of it this way: you get to learn how to make a new arm."
Maeva nodded.
"You're doing a good job keeping yourself together. Some Blood Claws have a hard time accepting a new arm. They get attached to it, you know?"
Maeva stuck her middle finger up at him. A few guardsmen gasped, but Aevar laughed.
"I'm gonna whip you up a new jaw, then it's back to the orks. We'll work on your arm and eye when we're back at the Aett."
Maeva nodded.
"Good. I'm gonna knock you out; it's never pleasant feeling your bones be drilled into. Don't go dying on me."
A sister stuck a syringe into her arm. Maeva blinked, then fell asleep. Aevar handed the mirror back to the guardswoman.
"Thank you."
"My pleasure, milord."
"Right, keep her sucking air, I'm gonna get this jaw set, then I've got to get back to the battlefield. Think you can keep her good?"
"As long as the orks don't break in here," a sister replied.
"Ha! We better make sure of that, then!" He roared. Chuckling, he cut off the remains of her jaw, leaving her skin intact, and went to fashioning the new metal one. First he formed the shape of it, then he quickly detailed the teeth. Finally, he wired the jaw, and quickly programmed the cranial implant.
He lifted Maeva's head up and found where the implant would go. His servo-arms spun up, drilling a hole in the back of her head. He slid the implant in with a claw, gently pushing it into the soft grey matter, then he drilled a hole at the base of her jaw to secure everything.
"Alright sisters, the hard work's done for you. Patch up her skin, get it all connected to the jaw."
"Thank you, milord."
"And thank you for keeping her breathing for me."
The sisters went to work sewing the broken skin into place, and reconnecting the soft pallet and her tongue. He walked out to the main atrium of the temple, only to hear the Stormwolf still bellowing at the Inquisitor.
There were not a lot of people who could yell back at Bjorn Stormwolf, and most of them were fellow Vlka. He walked over to the Fell-Handed, who's armor was being welded shut.
"Looks like they're being productive," he said.
+They've been productive since we've returned.+
Aevar looked over. Parsef's assassin, Geist, stood not a short pace from him; maybe his courage was because of her presence. The black-clad woman stood perfectly still, utterly impassive to the shouting match, or the wound he just closed.
"We still not going to do anything about her?"
+Nothing's changed: we leave her be. Otherwise we'd raise the Inquisition's ire, more so than we already do.+
"Think she's mentioned them, yet?"
+Don't think so. Where's the pack hiding?+
"They're in some ruins, ready to jump into Hel."
+Excellent. We'll need them for the next attack.+
"And that is…?"
+What I'm planning. How's your kaerl?+
"Looks like her thread is tougher than we though."
+Then death on this world is not in her wyrd. That's good.+
"Aye, that it is. Good help is hard to come by."
Parsef was hoarse, but the massive Space Marine seemed like he could bellow endlessly. Gasping for breath, he threw his hands up in the air.
"Fine, charge off to your foolish deaths," he spat.
"We'll charge out into glory, and show you how things are done," the massive man spat back. "Fell-Handed! We're finding another target. You ready to move?"
+Your priests worked hard; my armor is ready.+
"Good. Let's get out of here, I've stood around in one place for long enough."
Parsef stormed towards the back of the temple. He knew Geist was right behind him, even though he couldn't hear her.
"This one wishes to know her next assignment," Geist said.
"You're not going with those…those fucking barbarians," he said. Now that he wasn't yelling, it came out more of a croak.
"We share the same goal: eradication of the orks."
"But just barely."
Parsef stormed up to the battle map. The Space Wolves were added in as gray markings, and they were pushing the green tide back. With the destruction of the largest ammo dump, the ork's momentum was spent; they would make easier targets to attack.
"What is it you wish to do? Is there anything that this one can help with?"
"No, I don't think so," he said. Parsef looked at a map of the sector; they were the only world between the next planet, the all-important forge world of Ironghast. "Then again…That dreadnaught was heavily damaged, wasn't it?"
"That is correct. This one was able to eavesdrop on the tech marines who were fixing it. They were speaking in their native tongue, and this one's translation software was not perfect, but they commented that the dreadnaught's hull was nearly sundered."
"And they've fixed it?"
"Roughly, but yes, they have fixed it. They have done a commendable job in such a short—"
"Thank you, Geist."
Geist obediently halted mid-syllable.
Parsef looked at the star chart. He needed the heavy armaments that the priests of Mars had access to; there was no other way to crush the orks, not without relying on those filthy Space Wolves. But they were dedicated to their own protection; they wouldn't risk over-extending themselves. So how would he get their help?
What better way than getting them to believe that their precious machine-spirits were being abused?
"Geist, can you mimic a tech-priest?"
"While the physical form would be easy, this one is not intimately familiar with the way tech-priests talk; she is not trained in the intricate ways of the machine-spirit, only enough to operate them when necessary."
"We don't need to get into a full-blown conversation with them, only a short message," he said.
"What is your order for this one to carry out?"
"What else did you see, or hear, from those tech marines?"
"They referenced a 'Blasphemer' in their talks, saying how they wouldn't let him sully the Fell-Handed's form." Parsef spun on his heel, staring at her. "This one assumes that the dreadnaught is the Fell-Handed."
"They have a what?!"
"They referenced a 'Blasphemer.'"
"Who is this Blasphemer?"
"This one cannot know. In her short time of reconnaissance , she was unable to place a proper name. He does appear to be linked to the tech priests, although they seem loath to admit it."
"This is perfect," Parsef grinned. "What else did you find out?"
"That this 'Blasphemer' appears to be the creator of a new-type of armor."
"What kind of armor? I haven't seen anything new on them."
"They appear to be keeping it a secret. This one saw the armor in her last two battles."
"What did they look like?"
"This one cannot explain them. If you wish, she will draw a picture."
"Very well, but draw it quick."
"As you wish," Geist said, bowing as she walked away.
Parsef turned back to the maps. Yes, it was all coming together. A way to get rid of those filthy, flea-ridden, foaming at the mouth, barely loyal mad dogs once and for all. The Inquisition was looking for a way to bring them to heel for centuries, but the opportunity never presented itself.
Should the Space Wolves continue with their damned rebellious streak, it was only a matter of time until they fell to the ruinous powers; they had to learn who to accept orders from. For centuries, they were able to stay above the Inquisition. But now, now they had something. Harboring a blasphemer, and letting him work on armaments? The plot wrote itself.
A small piece of Parsef knew that he would be bringing a First Founding Chapter down. It was bad, but it would be worse to have them fall to the Ruinous Powers, to become a new traitor Legion. And that fate must be avoided all costs.
"This one's work is finished," Geist said, walking back with a sheet of parchment. Parsef grabbed it, and a beautifully rendered charcoal drawing looked back at him. It was a massive suit of armor; it had no visible knee pads, a helm that was sunken into the chest piece, shoulder armor that seemed to be slabs, and leather straps that hung from the waist. Next to the suit was a quick-sketched figure of a human, giving the drawing scale.
"I never knew you could draw so well."
"This one often sketched in her free time. It has helped her picture her disguises and memorize her targets."
He shook his head. If she didn't have the rotten luck of being born or Krieg, she would have made a great artist.
"Whip up a good tech priest disguise. We're sending a message to the forge world."
Tanks rolled across the broken ground, bike wheels chewed up dirt, and Bjorn the Fell-Handed trotted alongside the Land Raider.
"Back to the front," Aevar chuckled. He stood in the port hatch, watching the approaching ork encampment. He jumped down among the Blood Claws and closed the hatch, getting ready to fight.
"Deciding to grace us with your presence, eh?" Helfist chuckled.
"Those orks nearly killed my kaerl. Need to work off some aggression."
"Well, there's no shortage of orks." Helfist turned to the Blood Claws and yelled. "See this Iron Priest? His beard was grey when I was but a Claw. He's seen more war then the Old Wolf himself, and if you're lucky, you'll end up just as seasoned as him. Hey, greybeard, got any stories from the wars of Armageddon?"
The Land Raider rocked as they rolled over an abandoned trench.
"Well, there was this one time a bloodthirster of Khorne nearly cut my thread," he said, scratching his beard. He cleared his throat and Helfist pounded on the hull, measuring a tempo which the Blood Claws were quick to pick up on. The Land Raider itself was alive, it's beating heart roaring in their ears. Grinning, he launched into the tale.
The packs stood tall and vicious, true,
The daemon cover'd in heads.
Allfather's blessings left their lips,
Blood lashes notch'd their threads.
Where thirty stood left only four,
Defiant of the vile.
Strike back they did at champion's curse
Bury'd deep their axes' smiles.
The champion screamed and thrashed and killed,
The pack hewed flesh from bone.
Wing'd beast did fall and crash the ground,
And packs left marks on stone.
The Blood Claws cheered as Aevar brought the hymn to a thunderous close.
"Greybeard, you have another?"
"What Son of Russ would only know one hymn? Here's an old tale of a scrap I was in once; maybe you youngsters might've heard this out on the ice."
"You'll have to make your own," the driver said on the loudspeaker. "We got orks bearing down on us."
"Hear that? You get to make your own sagas and tales," Helfist shouted. The Blood Claws ate it up. "You know the drill by now, make sure those orks stay dead!"
The Land Raider was rocked as it was hit with rockets and grenades. Aevar gripped Katla tighter, then launched himself forward as the ramp was lowered. The Claws howled and bowled over the nearest squad of orks. They were learning, slowly but surely; they hit the orks three or four times. It was more so than needed, but there was no such thing as 'overkill.'
The air cracked as Katla kissed an ork, turning it to a bloody smear. Iounn was in his hands just as fast, peppering the retreating orks.
All around him were the Stormwolf's forces. Bikes plowed into burna boys, the few Guardsmen's tanks to follow them engaged in looted tanks and wagons, and Bjorn the Fell-Handed himself spearheaded the assault, crushing the xenos beneath him.
"What a day," Aevar grinned. "What a lovely day!"
"Damn right!" Helfist laughed, right beside him. "Come on, Claws, keep it up and keep an eye peeled for those damn kommandos!"
They advanced on the ork horde. Another Land Raider crashed into their lines, driving them back. The assault ramp dropped, and the Stormwolf led a charge out into the thick of the fighting.
"Ojor va Russ!"
"Kill 'em hummies!"
This was a fight that Aevar could lose himself in. Mobs of orks were drawn from all over the ruins, each charging into the fight. Bullets pinged off his armor as he returned fire, then lowered his shoulder as he charged in. Katla rang out, cutting threads as she caved in heads.
The Claws, even that damn Wight, were in top form, either from the stories the more experienced Claws told them, or because of Helfist's formidable tutelage.
Helfist himself kept finding orks to punch as he fought his way from battle to battle. Occasionally, he would whisper, drawing the power of the warp to himself, either to amplify his strength, or to shoot bolts of raw power at the orks, frying them where they stood.
+Face me,+ the Fell-Handed bellowed. +Where's your warboss hiding?+
The Stormwolf charged out, his twin lightning claws shredding skin, his retinue following closely behind him, a laugh at his lips.
"Now this is a proper battle!" He laughed. "Come on, where's that damn kommando?"
Battle wagons rolled in, shaking from lascannon shots and rockets. One lascannon punched through the thick, roughly bolted on armor, blowing up the entire wagon. A group of stunned orks pulled themselves from the wreckage, a few of them were on fire.
The orks were slow, but hit back just as hard. A few Claws were lucky and were just bowled over from the xeno's brutal strength. One was disarmed, and another was gutted by a power claw. Helfist pushed his way to the injured, trying to shield them as they were pulled back.
"Got another one down over here," Helfist yelled.
"Dammit, Vermund, I'm an Iron Priest, not a flesh-mender!"
"Too bad, greybeard. You're the closet we got."
"There in a second," he groaned. Katla bashed an ork away, and he was able to take a few steps back towards the wounded claw. He took one look and jumped back in the fight.
"What's it look like?"
"He's dead, Helfist."
"Damn shame," Vermund hissed. He begged his ancestors for strength and pulled a piece of their power out, strengthening his arms and taking an ork's head damn near off with a savage blow. "How's our Jarl doing?"
"What he does best," Aevar said, blocking a blow with Katla. A servo-arm shot out, crushing the ork who over-extended himself. "How does the Fell-Handed look?"
"In top form over there," Helfist laughed. "Those orks can't get away from him fast enough."
"And that command ork?"
"Still a green-skinned craven."
An ork roared and was able to land a blow across Aevar's side. His armor buckled, but held. He retaliated, using Katla to turn the xenos into a pile of bones and blood. Inwardly, he hissed. The Fell-Handed knew how to play risky games, and without anyone knowing it. If he was willing to use his Jarl to lure the kommando out, he must be trying to lure it out with this all-out assault. Where was that damn kommando?
+Terminators, deep strike,+ Bjorn commanded. There was a crack of light, and behind the orks Thorgil and his pack arrived.
"Bjorn, is this wise?" He asked as the heavy weapons turned the orks into mincemeat. "With Thorgil out on the field—"
+The kommando will come out to play,+ he said. +All units, keep your eyes peeled for that kommando. He'll be showing himself soon.+
Helfist spun around, looking for a sneak attack.
"Easy there," Aevar said. "Those orks will be coming soon enough."
"I lost too many Claws to the bastard to be careless," Helfist growled. He unslung his runic axe, holding it at the ready. "Come, let's bash some ork skulls."
"Gladly."
"Got him!" The Stormwolf bellowed. Even in the middle of the battle, with Katla cracking with the wrath of thunder itself, the Stormwolf could be heard. "Come, coward, come and face your death!"
"Damn hummies, gimme yer teeth!"
"Claws, get it together, we need to support our Jarl!" Helfist said, decapitating one ork. "Bjorn!"
+I'm moving, don't you worry,+ the Fell-Handed said, trudging behind the fight.
The Claws pushed on, pushing the orks back and back until the green skins broke and ran. The Claws, led by Wight, caught the retreating orks and butchered them.
There was a familiar rumbling from the sky. Aevar looked up, and saw drop pods streaking towards the ground.
"Looks like someone else decided to join the party," he said.
The pods smashed into the ground with a resounding bang, their retro-thrusters only marginally killing their momentum. The doors fell to the ground, and a team of warriors left, hefting combi-bolters.
One-shot plasma- and melta- guns fired, cracking and turning the air to fire. A team of heavily armed nobs fell to the fire, their numbers cut in half as the plasma and melta guns burned limbs from limbs.
"Who's pack markings are those?" Helfist asked. "Can't see with all this ork blood in my eyes."
"I'll be a son of a whore," Aevar laughed. "It's the Old Wolf himself."
"You're joking. Our hides are worth that much?"
"Shit if I know. But that's his markings."
"Hear that, you dunderheads? We got the Old Wolf himself lending a hand! Fix up, look sharp! Wight, put on a damn grin, you're looking like an Ultramarine with that damn stone face!"
From the atmosphere, two Stormwolf assault ships flew down, flanked by Stormfangs.
+Grimnar arrives,+ Bjorn said.
The assault ships roughly landed, dropping their hatches, and out from one came the Old Wolf himself. A mighty roar escaped his lips as he led a charge, and Aevar could see Arjac Rockfist biting at his heel as they charged a massive group of nobs.
"Whatever made Grimnar decide to come to us?" Aevar laughed.
"Shit if I know. Why don't we ask him?" Helfist said. "Claws! To Logan!"
At the heels of the Fell-Handed, they charged forward, trying to get the the Old Wolf first. Arjac put the last nob down, and Grimnar strode forward, a dark look on his face.
"My king," Helfist said, bowing.
"So, you decided to go out," the High King of Fenris said.
+I grew tired of waiting,+ the Fell-Handed said. +I needed to get out, stretch my legs.+
The Stormwolf and his retinue were quick to arrive, bathed in blood.
"My king! What brings you here?" Bjorn said. "Not that we mind, it's a great honor…"
"Seeing what you have unleashed here," Logan said. "Have you tested that vile armor of yours?"
"We have," the Stormwolf said. "You should see it, the orks can't match it—"
"I'll get a battle report when I ask for it," Logan snapped.
"Of course," Bjorn said, baring his neck.
"Let's get these damn orks killed," the Great Wolf snarled. "Where's the warboss?"
"Slipped away again, the craven," Bjorn hissed. "Pushed him and his kommandos back, then he slunk away like the spineless bastard he is."
"Kommandos? Orks that sneak around? Haven't heard of them much lately."
+They're rare, and have hurt us plenty. But no more. We'll end this Waaargh in one fell swoop.+
The heavens seemed to part again, and more ships flew in.
"What's this?" Logan said. "Have the guardsmen come to join us?"
"Those aren't the guard," Arjac said, scanning the horizon.
"Aye, those are Mechanicus sigils," Aevar said. "Is the forge world stepping in to help?"
The ground shook, and from the ruins strode a red and silver Imperial Knight. A massive, super-heavy walker, it stood on two thin yet strong legs, stepping over most rubble with ease. Massive cloaks and banners hung from its nearly grotesquely large arms and tiny legs, heralds of its house, and those heralds bore the skull of the Mechanicus.
In one hand, it held a massive chainsword, while the other held a cannon. It aimed at the retreating lines of orks and opened fire, belching fire and death. Orks were tossed like rag dolls, and those that tried to assault the Knight were crushed beneath the massive weight of the chainsword.
"What the Hel is a Knight doing here?" Aevar said. "That sigil is the house of Taranis. It should be defending the forge world, not over-extending itself."
"Doesn't matter," Logan said. "Let's make sure they came here for nothing. Forward!"
The Claws bellowed, joining the charge. The ork lines were stretched thin with the arrival of Logan's Great Company, but with the Imperial Knight, they were shattered. Orks were running away, and the Vlka all ran to catch them in their flight.
Aevar scanned the skies as they ran forward. More and more ships were entering the atmosphere; all of them were Mechanicus.
"What would make the forge world dedicate their forces at this time?" He said. "They sure as Hel waited a long time."
"Maybe they found out we were getting rid of all these orks, and they had to get in on it," Helfist said.
"The Mechanicus doesn't care much about kill-tallies. They're boring like that."
"Well, how about you ask them when we're done?"
"Something tells me I won't like what they have to say."
Shivvers ran, ducking and weaving through the rubble, the few remaining kommandos following him.
"Damn Space Marines. Damn hummies," he grumbled. Finally, they came to a small ammo dump that still had a few roughly bolted-together planes.
"Oy, grab tha' plane, we gonna get outta here," Shivvers said.
"We runnin', boss?" A mek-boy asked, dropping his tools.
"This Waaargh ain't big enough fer some Space Marines," Shivvers said. "We gotta—"
"So we runnin'? What kinda ork are ya ta run?"
The group of orks stopped and stared at Shivvers. What kind of ork ran from a fight?
"Th' kinda ork who sees the need for an even bigger Waaargh, ya stupid gitz," Shivvers snarled, advancing on the mek-boy. "Ya wanna fight 'n die here? Go on ahead. You wanna get an even bigger Waaargh later? You wanna take out a whole buncha planets instead of just one? You wanna even bigger fight?!"
"Yea, what kinda ork hates bigger fights?" The mek-boy said. Every ork nodded; any true ork loved bigger fights.
"Then we gonna get outta here, 'n find more boyz," Shivvers said. "We gonna get 'em together, 'n we gonna start an even bigger Waaargh!"
"What if they don't wanna follow us?"
"Then we beat 'em upside the head until they realize that I'm the biggest and baddest ork there is!" Shivvers yelled. "We gotta Waargh ta put on, an' we need more boyz fer it. So let's get out there 'n find more boyz!"
The orks cheered, anxious to get an even bigger Waargh put together.
"Come on, into th' planes," Shivvers shouted. "Come on, or this'll be yer last Waaargh!"
The Mechanicus ships entered the atmosphere, and immediately disgorged troops. Aevar could see the robotic Skitarii troops assemble in battle lines and begin their relentless assault, their guns firing as they moved, never stopping. They chased down the retreating ork lines, electricity arcing from their weapons and frying the xenos.
"For Russ and the Allfather!" Logan bellowed.
"For Russ and the Allfather!" The chant echoed as they caught the retreating lines in their assault.
"Now this is a fight," Helfist laughed.
"Aye, that it is," Aevar said. Why would the Skitarii arrive? The forge world was under no direct threat, not for nearly a standard week; the Waaargh had yet to finish with this planet.
Finally, the orks were slaughtered to the man. The last ork fell to Logan's mighty axe, and he held his hand up for his men to stop.
"Well met, priests of the Mechanicus," he said to the advancing Skitarii. He spoke in perfect High Gothic. "Glad to see that we—"
"Surrender your forces," a lead ranger spat.
"…Want to run that by me again?" Logan said, his eyes narrowing.
"Surrender your forces." This time, it was the massive Knight who spoke through its bullhorn. It spoke even louder than Bjorn. The Knight advanced, leveling it's cannon at them. "Surrender, or die."
"If this is how the Mechanicus says 'thank you,' I'll never do anything nice for you again," Grimnar spat.
+Grimnar, watch your tongue,+ Bjorn said. +Brothers in the Mechanicus, why are you holding us at the end of your weapons?+
"Are you hurt, mighty machine?"
From the ranks of the Skitarii came a gaggle of robed tech-priests, utterly ignoring the Vlka and hell-bent on reaching Bjorn as fast as possible. They fussed over the quick-patches to his hull and started working on mending it.
+I'm well, tech-priests. Why are my brothers being held at weapon's length?+
"We will make sure they never touch your sacred chassis again," the priests babbled, ignoring his every word. "Please, stand still so we can work."
+What's the meaning of this?+ Bjorn demanded.
"You are being held by Archmagos Slithin of the Cybernetica," the Knight bellowed, "for profaning the sacred designs of the Omnissiah."
"What madness is this?" Logan demanded.
"You have a snake among your numbers, the one you refer to as the Blasphemer."
No one turned to face him, but Aevar could feel their gazes on him as all talk came to a halt.
"Well, shit," he sighed.
"We will take you, and this individual, to our ships where we will hold trial over your crimes," the Knight continued. "Inquisitor Parsef has informed us that he will be joining us. Watch yourselves, Space Wolves, for your days are numbered."
"Bet the spineless bastard was waiting for this," Helfist muttered in Juvik.
"Undoubtedly," Aevar said. "Well, might as well get this over with." He stepped forward, ahead of the knight.
"Halt," the Knight said. Aevar suddenly had a clear view down the barrel of the cannon. "Who are you?"
"I am Aevar Ironclaws, Sky Warrior of Fenris, Son of Russ, and Iron Priest of Bjorn Stormwolf. I am the Siege Layer and Siege Breaker, and I am the one whom my brothers call the Blasphemer."
"You surrender yourself to our authority?" The Knight demanded.
"Aye, I do. I have but one request," he said.
"You do not get requests, Blasphemer."
"My kaerl was injured," he said, ignoring the scything words. "She is being attended to by sister hospitallers. May I recover her, to see if she lives?"
The Knight tilted its massive head, as if it was thinking.
"You speak of your assistant, are you not?"
"Aye, I am."
"You're not trying to hide her? Protect her from our judgment?"
"You would've found her anyways. Not a lot of places for an off-worlder to hide here."
"Very well. Gather her, your trial will begin upon our arrival to the Inquisition's vessel."
"Thank you."
"You will be guarded."
"Of course. She's back at temple. Who is being summoned to this trial?"
"Your lords, as well."
"Thank you. Well, no time like the present. Let's get this done with."
"Wake up."
Maeva groaned and tried to roll over, but a massive hand stopped her.
"Wha-?" Hel, it felt like her mouth wasn't working right. She nearly bit her tongue.
"Easy, that's your new jaw you're talking with. It'll take some time to get used to it. That and you're on a lot of painkillers."
Maeva blinked and tried to sit up. Aevar was there, helping her. She gently ran her hand over her jaw. It was rock solid, but pain tap-danced along her skin despite the drugs they gave her.
"How do I look?"
"You'll have some wicked-looking scars, that's for sure," Aevar said. "Gonna attract some rough men with that."
"Fuck th' men. I lost my arm; better get a whole harem a women fer this shit, yea?"
"So that's why you took that whole 'take your tongue' thing hard."
"It's my best part, yea?" She tried to laugh and ended up biting her tongue. Dammit all.
"That tongue landed you in a lot of trouble."
"Landed me in a lotta nice places too, eh?"
"You'd better watch your tongue if you ever want to go anywhere again. We're in a spot of trouble."
"Damn, this is like talkin' with a mouth fulla wool," she grumbled. "Wha' trouble ya talkin' about, eh?"
"Someone let my new name slip to the forge world next to us. The Mechanicus are putting us on trial for profaning the holy Omnissiah's body."
"Tha' someone bein' tha' Inquisitor?"
"I never said that."
"Ya meant it."
"I can't say as to how you came to that conclusion," he said. His eyes slowly traveled the room; they were being watched. "You're my kaerl; you're needed to stand trial with us."
"Makes me feel special, yea?" Maeva groaned. She tried to get up, but forgot she lost one arm. She spun, but Aevar gently caught her. "Dammit all."
"A blacksmith with one arm isn't much help. We'll make you a new arm, don't you worry."
"Least it was my off-arm; still got my fingerin' fingers ta work with."
"We'll make you something special to replace those fingers."
"Ya crazy, yea? Ya want somethin' cold down there?"
"Who said they would have to be cold?"
She gave him a hard look.
"Now we're talkin'," she said, letting herself get helped up. The guards were giving them a healthy berth, either from Aevar being a Vlka Fenryka, or from them hearing his new name, she knew not. She was glad they were talking in their mother tongue. "Hey, if tha' Geist around, let me know. Want ta make a good impression, yea?"
"You want to impress Geist? The same assassin that scared the shit outta you?"
"Have ya seen how lithe she looks, or th' ass she has? I'm willing ta give tha' a go, weird shit 'n all."
"Well, for what it counts, when you got the shit kicked outta you, she helped us carry you back," Aevar said. "And she seemed pretty gentle with it."
"Ha! Tha's my in!"
She could barely take two steps without weaving all over the place. Aevar kept a solid hand on her shoulder, and they made their way out of the temple. Sure enough, that assassin was there, standing behind the shit-eating-grin Inquisitor.
"Damn him," she hissed.
"What did I say about keeping your tongue?"
"Right, right, I'll just think about what that Geist looks like under all that black suit 'n all."