Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 201

The Wyvern limped into the depths of the ion storm, her hurts many and her spirit keening. Her ruined bow was a scorched mess of fused plates and melted armour, truncated barrels of macro weaponry sticking out like broken bones. One of her hangers was a charnel house of corpses and ruined machinery, where flesh and metal had run together like pooling wax. Salvage teams picked through the remains in vac-suits, sorting out the dead and cutting away puddled metal. Many chattels struggled not to vomit inside their helmets at the sight, knowing the same fate could have befallen any of them. Filled with anguish and lament Wyvern steered a course for the rendezvous, all within feeling the bitter sting of defeat, though none more than Ferrac.

Deep within the vessel the Battle-Captain was taking out his ire upon a combat servitor. The machine-helot rolled back and forth on caterpillar tracks as four mechanical arms jabbed and thrust. The grey-faced thing held no expression around the many tubes and devices burrowed into its face, the brain of the man it had once been cut away to leave only unthinking programming. Yet despite that the four arms were fluid in motion, buzzsaw tips blurring as they tried to end Ferrac's life.

Ferrac fought the servitor alone and unobserved. Such was not the Amber Viper's typical manner, they preferred to duel with a baying crowd cheering them on, but Ferrac was in no mood to share his anguish. So he fought alone, chewing on bitter recriminations as he deflected and evaded blows. The hacking and slashing was a welcome distraction from his woes and he sank into the blessed focus of combat, letting the rush wash away his feelings.

A buzzsaw came at his face and he ducked, only to have another try to rip his throat out. Ferrac could have died then but he threw himself aside, pauldron hitting the metal floor as he rolled over. The bulky mass of his jump pack nearly tripped him but he had centuries of experience fighting in armour and was not troubled. He came up with Axe-rake in hand, just in time to deflect another swipe for his eyes.

Ferrac's teeth pulled back under his iron-facemask as he rose to his feet. The Servitor spun on its tracks and tried to rush him but this time he was ready. His spinning chainblades met the first arm below the elbow and sheered it away, leaving a mass of sparking wires behind. Three other arms tried to stab him in the guts but he threw himself forward and slammed into the machine-man, knocking it back. His axe-rake flashed again and another arm fell to the ground, leaving the servitor with two right arms. It rallied in moments but Ferrac was already moving. His axe-rake reversed and struck a fourth arm off. Only one remained and Ferrac grabbed it in his hand, disdaining to use his weapon. A heave of Transhuman muscle and the arm ripped free, coming away in his hand to render the servitor weaponless.

The machine-man paused as its simple brain tried to process the fact that it had been dismembered then finally it intoned, "Program complete."

"Go get fixed," Ferrac spat as the machine trundled away without a flinch.

Ferrac dropped the broken arm with disgust for that had been far too easy. The reprieve from his woe had been brief and now combat was over it all came back. Ferrac was not a soul given to introspection or second-guessing but the facts were he had led his forces to defeat. An unconscionable outcome for any Astartes, they were made to win at any cost, not limp away in shame. In other Chapters rites of chastisement and lament would have been mandated for such a failure, excoriating his shame with electro-lashes and ritual brandings but the Amber Vipers had no such niceties. He could only stew on his transgressions and take it out on the servitors.

His brooding was interrupted by a slow clap. He turned to see the unwelcome sight of inquisitor Markof standing at the door, clad in silver power armour with his Thunder Hammer strapped to his back. The man's stern face was not amused as he glared at Ferrac and growled, "Are you done?"

Ferrac gripped his axe-rake tight in irritation as he spat, "What do you want?"

Markof stepped within to say, "I was looking for the commander of this ship but he didn't seem to be on the bridge."

Ferrac sniffed, "The Chattels can handle it."

"What if we run into trouble?"

"Then I'll deal with it," Ferrac retorted, "It's not like we are going to fight again."

"Shouldn't you be planning our exit strategy?" Markof needled as he walked closer.

"Shouldn't you be off committing the Exterminatus on some helpless civilians, Inquisitor?" Ferrac snapped snidely.

Markof snorted, "That is the common image of Inquisitors, a useful cloak of fear to be sure, but hardly accurate. Barely one Inquisitor in a million has ever had to enact the Exterminatus. Most of our battles are secret and unseen. Truth be told, nine-tenths of our labour is tedious inquiry and trawling through records or reports of deep-cover investigations. For every exciting tale of dangerous traitors rooted out there are a hundred hours of boring paper-work that underpin our judgements."

"Small wonder you are such a miserable lot", Ferrac retorted, "Give me an enemy to smite with my axe-rake and I'll be happy."

"Yes you are a simple soul," Markof retorted, "Which is why you let yourself get distracted and lead us into this debacle."

Ferrac snapped, "Watch your tongue lest I turn my weapon on you, Inquisitor or not."

Markof smiled without a hint of warmth as he reached for his thunder hammer and held the long stave in both hands as he coldly said, "I'm game for a workout."

Ferrac blinked in shock and said, "You wish to challenge me?!"

Markof replied coolly, "You are not the only one who needs to train, I promise not to hurt you too much."

Ferrac was actually amazed and said, "You can't win, I am Astartes."

Markof replied, "I won't pull my punches then."

"As you wish, but I'll make the odds even," Ferrac replied as he clamped his axe-rake to his hip.

Markof blinked, "You intend to fight fair… I didn't take you for the sort."

Ferrac snorted, "Hardly, but it wouldn't be any challenge otherwise. Fighting bare-handed might make me break a sweat."

Markof opened his mouth to reply but suddenly he was in motion, his speed augmented by his silver armour. The head of his thunder hammer swung startlingly fast in a roundhouse blow, the golden engravings wreathed in lightning. Had it made contact Ferrac's brains would have been exploded over the floor but his reactions were blinding. He spun out of the way and let the head fly past his face then darted past the flank, ramming a fist into the man's side. Markof reacted with impressive speed, slamming the haft of his hammer backwards. The tip rammed into Ferrac's hip, knocking him aside with strength that was more than human. The Battle-Captain realised the Inquisitor was augmented in some fashion, muscles and bones rebuilt with mighty technoarcana. It elevated the man to post-human status, but even that was a far cry from being Transhuman.

Ferrac spun and his boot swung out, smashing into an armoured greave with a clang of Ceramite on ceramite. It should have knocked the man over but it merely sent him staggering back, face screwed up in annoyance. Markof rallied valiantly, coming at Ferrac with a series of looping slashes that wove a web of death but the Battle-Captain was not touched. Ferrac retreated with a swift evasion that wove through the swinging blur, lightning arcing over his pauldrons so close were the blows. Markof pressed his attack but Ferrac was done retreating, he suddenly reversed direction, stepping into the arc of the hammer to drive his fist into Markof's face.

Had he wished it Ferrac could have pulped the man's skull but he pulled his punch just enough to stagger, making the Inquisitor stumble from the impact. Markof fell back shaking his head as he spat, "Good, so you can be focused when you have to be."

Ferrac sneered, "I am Astartes."

"Yes you said that," Markof retorted, "But it didn't stop you wandering off-mission and getting distracted by the lure of glory. Your lust for glory is born of pain and you let it blunt your focus."

"What would you know of it?" Ferrac spat.

"Everything!" Markof spat, "I have known pain you can't imagine."

"Nothing in your life could compare to the agony of gene-forging," Ferrac sneered.

But Markof's face went brittle as he growled, "You know nothing of pain, nothing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ferrac snapped.

Markof bit on his lip for a moment in hesitancy but then set his will and explained, "I wasn't always an Inquisitor, once I was a man, an Arbites would you believe? A man who lived for duty, honour and family. I upheld the Lex Imperialis and raised my children, in accordance with its tenants. I thought I was brave and true and incorruptible, until the day my eldest boy started showing signs of the psyker."

"Your blood was tainted?" Ferrac asked in confusion.

"Aye, my own son was warp-touched. I knew what fate awaited him; I knew the law of the Emperor. I had to turn him over to the Black Ships… but I couldn't do it. I loved my son; I couldn't bring myself to let him go. So I hid him, I lied and cheated the system, thinking I could spare him. I hesitated to do my duty and paid the price."

Ferrac's guts clenched as he said, "A Daemon took him."

Markof spat in disgust, "Were it only so simple. No he loathed being imprisoned and he could not understand why he had to suppress his powers. He wanted more from life and came to see me as his gaoler, resentment filling him with hatred and bile. Tyrant he called me, hypocrite and oppressor. Then came the day he turned his power on his family. I was away performing my duties but I returned to find him gone and in his wake was a slaughter. My wife, my three daughters, he had slain them all. Left their remains painted over the walls for me to find. He was taunting me, he wanted me to know he had done it. I held my wife's severed head in my hands and wept and that was how the Inquisition found me."

"I'm amazed they let you live," Ferrac retorted.

"They were not so kind as to end my pain quickly," Markof snarled, "I was taken to be punished, to break my spirit before they ended my life but I endured, knowing I had to make right my mistake. I would not break, I told them I would not submit to death until I had done my duty. My fortitude impressed someone, for I was taken up for training, rebuilt and made into a weapon of the Emperor. They told me I had strength and will, talents not to be wasted."

"And your son?" Ferrac inquired.

"He led me a long chase over a dozen worlds, leaving piles of dead in his wake. He didn't need to embrace Chaos to become a monster, he always was. I had seen the signs but ignored them; I let myself be distracted by love and familial bond. He punished me for that, each body he left behind was a taunt, every life he took was on my head. Yet his merry dance came to its end at last. I ran him to ground and ended his madness with a sweep of my hammer. Doing at long last what I should have done the day I learned what he was. Truly a moment of laxity spawns a lifetime of Heresy."

Ferrac heard pain in the man's voice yet it was so far removed from his experience that he couldn't relate. Astartes and mortal lives were so far apart to make the bridge uncrossable. Coldly he sniffed, "I hardly see how that applies here."

"I thought one who once marched in other colours would understand," Markof commented.

Suddenly Ferrac was a blur, crossing the distance between them in a moment. His hand snatched around Markof's neck and hoisted him aloft, armour and all. Fierce and wild anger surged in his breast as he hissed, "You don't know anything of that!"

Markof kicked and struggled as he spat, "I work alongside the regent, do you think he hasn't uncovered your origins? He knows, the Inquisition knows. Oh yes, we know you, Sarpedon's traitors…"

"He betrayed us; he took our chapter from us!" Ferrac roared, "Those of us who remained loyal had no choice save to flee in disgrace with nothing. He took our lives, our good name and our Brotherhood, he denied us even vengeance. We were left to rebuild from scratch. You cannot understand the depths of our pain!"

"I killed my son!" Markof shouted, "I know pain! It is my anchor and my anvil but you let yours lead you astray. You sought to wash away your guilt with glorious laurels but it didn't work and nearly cost us everything. You are a rash fool and I will not let you lead us into another disaster."

Ferrac glared at the man, knowing he could end him with a squeeze of the hand. He wanted to do it, but knew the price. The Amber Vipers would be executed and worse it would prove Markof right. Ferrac knew he was a brawler through and through, but he was also loyal to the core, to his Emperor, his Chapter and his Imperium. He would not let his hot head overrule his good judgement, not again.

Slowly he lowered the man to his feet and let go, saying, "You are wrong, I made an error but I will not compound it. We shall rejoin the convoy and make our escape in good order."

Markof adjusted his gorget and challenged, "No more mad rushes for glory?"

"No," Ferrac grunted, "We couldn't survive another fight with the Revenge, retreat is the only course left to us."

"Good, see to it, I shall be watching."

With that Markof departed, leaving Ferrac behind. The Battle-Captain gritted his teeth in frustration but knew there was nothing else to be done. They would retreat in shameful defeat and be left in shame. There was no other course open to him so he would simply have to learn to live with his dishonour.