Windows of the soul
The young Huntress decided that while being practically at Humanity's cradle, in the heart of the Imperium, was kind of awesome, it was also definitely boring in more ways than one. She never liked the bureaucracy that Weiss seemed to fond of, especially since their deployment on Macragge, and compared to this, even Ultramar seemed as free and direct as Yang's favorite Chogoris.
With a sigh, she looked out to the admittedly nice sight of Terra rising over the horizon, her thoughts dwelling on the explanation Uncle Perturabo gave when he asked her to come here - and she sighed again as she once more had to admit that he, Glynda, and Ozpin were depressingly right. Oh, she did enjoy tinkering within the Magma City, exploring the wonders Adept Zeth created, and she hoped that the Rose-type boltgun would pass the tests and go into mass production (surely it would, she based it off Crescent Rose, and her sweetheart was perfect).
No, the reason for her glumness was her current location - the Somnus Citadel was not a cheery place at the best times. She tried to come up with a place that felt half as sad and full of regrets, but she couldn't think of anything. And it did not help that the whole fortress was so silent and felt empty and cold - eerily so. Yes, of course the Silent Sisterhood was supposed to be silent, but even the novices spoke so little! If not for the regular contact with her team, she felt she'd have gone insane, despite her learning Thoughtmark, at least well enough to carry on basic conversation.
At least the strange looks lessened - she could not understand why they were so judging of her in the beginning, why the suspicion. Sure, she was from a frontier planet, and yes, she was just a junior Huntress, but why would she not apply herself when it was obvious how much she could learn from the Sisters? And the actual lessons were so interesting, and Lady Amendera (who taught most of them) was a rather patient teacher - she actually reminded her of Aunt Glynda back home, in a way.
She snickered at the thought of the stern Huntress painting her hair purple, and tattooing her face - although she felt certain that her Uncle would not mind, and might even like it even more. Her snickering morphing into a partially embarrassed, blushing giggle, which then turned into a squeak as she noticed the tall, slender woman in golden armor looming behind her, head cocked to the side with a questioning gaze directed at her.
"Greetings, Lady Amendera" she noted the exasperated eyeroll of the woman, and quickly went on "I mean Oblivion Knight Kendel."
The Sister nodded, and signalled, the gestures quick, testing - and Ruby allowed herself a small smile at being able to follow and interpret them.
"I was just admiring the view, and thinking about … stuff." She sighed, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, did I miss a planned lesson? I thought you were occupied with … something about the Aeria Gloris?"
The taller woman's hands moved quickly, precisely, her gaze boring into the silver eyes of the Huntress. As Ruby deciphered the meaning, she could not entirely stop herself from grimacing, and the Sister flashed a question at her, stance strangely resigned and ... defensive? Did she somehow offend her teacher?
"I'm sorry, Lady Amendera" her eyes never leaving the empty, yet somehow sad gaze of her teacher. "I understand perfectly well why you have to do that. But with all the gloominess and stuff here" she gulped as she gestured around, indicating the whole Citadel, "I guess I wonder why no-one ever shows any gratitude to you, why you never seem to get any kind of understanding? Why do people shun you, fear you?"
The Oblivion Knight's head snapped back as if she had been slapped. Ruby went on, silver eyes starting to shine with something.
"I mean I get that you are supposed to be cold, and distant, and yes, at times being near a Sister is not a nice feeling, but you do so much, and ask for so little! In a way, you are just like us Hunters or the Astartes of Uncle Perturabo - you do protect people."
The taller woman shook her head with a sad smile, signalled something.
"Maybe some of you do, I mean with how many Sisters there are, surely there must be a few jerks like that. But most of you are not like that, Lady Amendera. You would not be so sad otherwise - you care about those you take away on the Black Ships, you protect them from themselves, and prevent them from accidentally harming others as well. And nobody ever thanks you - or at least I never heard of anyone, I guess maybe the Emperor does, I don't know..."
With a flurry of rose petals, she closed the distance, and the tall, armored woman stiffened as the young Huntress hugged her with surprising strength. The hands of the Oblivion Knight awkwardly patted Ruby's back, as the woman half-closed her eyes and smiled bitterly.
Embers of emotion
Yatshuhashi Daichi was rather unused to others towering over him - sure, the Astartes were bigger than him, but not that much. But simply being in the same forge as the Salamander Apothecary, he felt dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the giant.
Usually, the two of them spoke little - he watched the Apothecary at the forge, occasionally assisting him by handing various tools, or lending a hand in expediting certain phases during the creation of whatever thing Atesh Tarsa worked on at that moment. It seemed the ebony giant always had something different to forge, and he figured that maybe half of the stuff was for the Legion or warlike purposes, the rest simply everyday items for the Nocturneans, or just small trinkets, with exquisite craftsmanship. If he had not known who made those, he would have bet that they were intended as gifts for children - and even seeing them being made, he was not sure this wasn't their purpose.
Still, the silence did not mean he did not learn quite a lot from the Legionary Lord Vulkan set as his guide - and what he learned, made him certain that the Lord of the Drakes would be a quite good influence on their own Primarch. The time spent with Apothecary Tarsa taught him even more about patience, focusing on the task at hand - and what was perhaps of greater importance, about why Astartes should keep a close connection to humanity.
Just the sight of the immense Astartes who looked like he stepped out of one's worst nightmare actually playing with children was something Yatsuhashi thought a certain overworked teammate of his would appreciate. With a smile, he took several pictures with his scroll, thinking about how to cheer her up later when they met.
The lava-red gaze of the Apothecary tore him out of his short reverie, the lips of the Astartes twisted into a half-smile. The young Hunter blushed, and the Salamander's smile widened into a full grin, as he stepped back to his forge, and continued working on a small pauldron.
"So, is she a blood-kin, or rather someone you like?" The low buzzing of various power tools was a strange counterpoint to the mellow tones of the Legionary, as his deft hands worked on the piece of ceramite, even while his red eyes seemed to bore into the core of Yatshuhashi. The Hunter swallowed, then nodded.
"The latter."
"Of course, she's likely a delicate crystal in need of protection, hmm?" There was something in Tarsa's voice, an undercurrent he could not identify. Yatsuhashi chuckled as he shook his head.
"No, she doesn't need protection - or rather, she at times needs protection from herself, to remember that are other things than the anvil of war." He could see the Salamander smirk and nod at that, the nod of the Apothecary conceding the point.
"Then, young Hunter, you should bring her around one of these days, before we are heading back into the fires of battle." Tarsa put aside the delicate tool he'd been working with, and examined the rather small, human-sized pauldron. "Otherwise, fitting her with this will not be easy."
Blinded sight
The oppressive heat of the desert almost suffocates the slender Hunter as he follows his Astartes guide, matching the giant's pace with a small but constant effort of will, using his aura to enhance his speed and endurance.
Their trek was a rather long one, heading straight into the Desolation of Prospero, with the Legionary not saying a word about the reason for the trip or the specific destination. Not that it would have mattered - as with most things the Thousand Sons did, the Hunter considered it a lesson and evaluation, as well as an opportunity to practice his meditative skills.
He frowned, as something twigged the bare edges of his perception, a faint droning of distant wings, a sound more felt than heard. He checked his auspex, modified its range, changed detection modes several times, to no avail. For all intents and purposes, only him and his guide were alive within a rather sizable radius. Still, his instincts had never betrayed him, and both at home and here the Legions taught reliance on said gut feelings. Thus, the Hunter reached out, touched the elbow of the Astartes, and stopped. The Legionary turned towards him, an eyebrow raised in silent question.
"We are not alone here. Auspex shows nothing, but I can feel something coming, some kind of flying creature."
The answering smile was equal parts pride and bitterness, the circuits of the psychic hood pulsing regularly, a small surge of cold accompanying each pulse. The Hunter tilted his head to the side, frowned in thought, before his eyes widened. The Astartes nodded.
"Yes, you suspect correctly. The creatures you sense are called psychneuein, and I'm quite sure that you are aware of the danger they pose to our kind."
The Hunter swallowed, nodded, his face a mask of focused concentration, his half-closed eyes moving rapidly as he quested with his senses and aura alike.
"There is quite a lot of them. Any practical advice on how to fight them?"
"Not this time. We are not here to kill them; methods for that are already known. No, we will be testing something rather different."
Despite the heat, the Hunter shivered, his mind racing as he considered the implications of what the Astartes said. Still, he could see the logic and reasoning behind it, and the potential benefits were surely worth the risks. He nodded, swallowed, his breathing slowing as he focused inwards, his mind rising through the Enumerations as power swirled in invisible waves around them, before he reached out with his aura, pulling close and inverting the skeins of psychic energy, slowly weaving them into a form-fitting falsehood of concealment, layering the complex web of misdirection and invisibility extra deep - then the damned Astartes just had to open his mouth!
"You do know if you don't succeed, and the psychneuein eat us, Nora will kill you."
Lie Ren glared balefully at the smirking Legionary who seemed totally at ease - then again, being a Corvidae he might have already known of and made peace with his demise.
"Not helping, Sergeant Arvida. Not helping at all."
Dust and Devotion
He looks down on the ruined plaza as the squad of Astartes moves in, their weapons slowly, menacingly searching for targets - not that they would find any. The great servant of his Mistress has already left, and the ground-bound giants had no chance to locate him up on his perch. Stifling a giggle, he cautions himself not to get too overconfident - his prey does have quite finely working sensors, and judging by the service studs, the sergeant has close to a century of combat experience. Hopefully, he will provide some sport, it has been awhile since he could pay proper homage to his Mistress.
He sways a bit on his perch, searching for the best balance, feeling his blood pump in anticipation as the five armored warriors come into range. His eyes alight with joy, he kicks off from the shadows, the aura-enhanced leap ending on the shoulders and power pack of an Astartes. His wristblades stab downwards, piercing neck seal and gorget alike with a shriek of ceramite, driving deep into the chest cavity of the Space Marine, then a short burst of the built-in guns shreds the organs of the giant, before he twists his blades, kicking the helmeted head directly at another Legionary.
With a sickening crunch, ceramite dents, the head of the still-alive giant rocking back from the makeshift projectile as the breathing grille of his helm dents, the red eye lenses cracking. The Hunter dives for the ground, narrowly avoiding the shots from the marines who scatter, firing, mass-reactive rounds cratering the ground as the attacker puts more Aura into his speed, his happy, shrill giggling filling the plaza as he dances around the bolter fire.
He zooms to the side, and his own gauntlets spew bullets towards the already-hurt Marine, and he feels the usual warmth, the craved thrill as blood spurts from the ruined helm of the giant when his shots find the already-cracked eye lenses, and behind, the vulnerable eyes and brain. Thus, his second enemy falls, and his grin starts to fade somewhat - had he misjudged them?
A mass-reactive shot explodes against his chest, and he can barely duck below the swing of the sergeant's power sword. With a snarl, he focuses again - he cannot allow himself becoming lax; he can never forget that this prey has fangs. He pirouettes from the precise, quick strikes of the sword, before leaping onto a roof with a burst of his aura, vanishing into the shadows of the partially-ruined building.
The building promptly collapses into rubble when the krak grenades explode, demolishing the already-strained support beams. The Hunter is forced to evade, coughing, barely seeing in the thick cloud of dust and debris, pushing his aura to keep ahead of the bolt rounds racing to kill him. Golden eyes alight with glee, he laughs in happiness - it has been long since he had so much fun!
He circles the plaza, weaving, dodging, heading for the sergeant, his Aura slowly but steadily decreasing as the shrapnels thrown by the near misses shower him. He ducks below the sergeant's slash, rolls aside from the stomping boot, kicking off towards the Astartes with the Stalker pattern bolter - and barely dodges the bolt of electricity arcing from the gauntlet of the third Marine. He bares his teeth in a savage snarl - these freaks are not worthy to use that precious gift; only the favored of his Mistress should have that privilege!
With a hateful shriek, he throws himself at the Dust-using giant, the second bolt of lightning barely deflected by his Aura - he cannot play much longer if he does not want to disappoint Her Majesty. A last leap brings him within striking distance as he throws himself at the Marine's legs, his blades cutting into both knees from behind as he rolls, before a savage kick to the thigh sends the Legionary crashing down, a quick stab into the wrist joint disarming the freak, a sinuous twist enough to evade the unharmed arm trying to grab him, and then he punches his wristblade through the breather grille of the helmet, his shots pulping the head.
The momentary satisfaction of the killing is almost his undoing; despite the distance, despite his bulk and armor, the sergeant closes with lightning speed, lines of Dust inscribing white-glowing runes on his armor - the mere sight of a humanoid tank like this speeding towards anyone would send most people into a panicked rout. Even an experienced Hunter like him feels this transhuman dread - the difference is that he can still react, is able to overcome his visceral reactions. Thus, he manages to dodge the slash of the sergeant's sword, hitting the ground rolling - and then feels something wrong, something missing. He spots his hair, so carefully styled and fashioned into a tail lying on the ground, severed barely an inch from his neck.
He can't help himself as he starts giggling, the sound becoming ever more piercing, before transforming into an enraged shriek, as Tyrian Callows kicks off with the boom of displaced air, the weaving, serpent-swift jabs of his wristblades forcing the sergeant back a step, then another, as the Legionary parries, the three blades meshing into a melody of violence. As he presses the Astartes, Tyrian keeps the last Marine in his vision, as the giant searches for a clear shot.
The three blades lock together in a shower of sparks and a shriek of tortured adamantite, servos and transhuman muscles straining against the rapidly depleting aura of the Hunter. The stalemate lasts for but a handful of seconds, not even enough for the last Marine to move into a position for a clear shot - but he sees his sergeant die, as the tail of the scorpion flashes and punches straight true the eye lens of the helmet. The slain giant topples bonelessly, and Tyrian dances on, intent on finishing the task, on providing his Mistress with the trophies she deserves.