Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 217
The Arco-flagellants came on in a furious mass, piston legs propelling them at fantastic speed. Each was a unique horror; their augmetics tailored to their frame, transmuting them in ways insane as they were powerful. Some had a single pair of lashes where their hands should be, others a mass of grasping metal tendrils for fingers. Some had mirror-mask faces, without features or expression while others had a single strip over the eyes, leaving mouths exposed in a permanent rictus of pain. Upon their backs were chem-injectors and stim glands, pumping a bespoke cocktail of Slaught, Frenzon and steroids into their bloodstream. All they had in common were their chastening scars, rabid fury and the desperate compulsion to close into combat and massacre all they encountered.
Ferrac saw them bounding down the thoroughfare and knew they were as deadly as they were fast. Each of the sinners had been rebuilt from the inside out to become furious killers and avatars of wrath. The most brutal and unsubtle arts employed to elevate them beyond humanity, turning them into killers to rival a Space Marine, if only briefly. No mortal frame could withstand such extreme power for long, surely their lives would be short and agonising, but in the small amount of time they had left they would be Transhuman in might.
"Open fire!" Ferrac roared and the Amber Viper's guns responded. Bolters, pulse rifles and bolt pistols raged, spitting death at the closing foe. Ferrac took his sledgehammer gun and emptied it at the condemned men, slamming kinetic rounds into three flagellants and knocking them back. To his utter surprise none of them died, their bones replaced with plasteel rods and their spines with pneumatic rams. The force of the impacts sent them screeching backwards on iron talons, but they rebounded from the shots with ease and came on once more. Pulse rifles had even less effect, tiny holes burrowing through flesh and muscle to leave perfect holes drilled through them. Surely vital organs must have been violated but the sinners cared nothing for pain and death, surges of chemical madness rendering them disgustingly resilient. Only the bolters had any notable effect, mass-reactives blowing craters into transmuted bodies and smashing limbs from torsos. Two condemned souls fell, their innards blown across the floor by exploding rounds, but it was not nearly enough to stop the rest.
"Overwatch, hit them again!" Ferrac roared. Mere metres remained before they made contact and Ferrac heard the clunking of Wrexal's Fusil rotating as it tried to load another Phosphor shell, but he knew it was too slow to make any difference. Yet at the last possible second Kaida stepped up and unleashed his flamer. A plume of burning promethium swept the oncoming Flagellants, dousing them in a flesh-searing conflagration. A wall of heat hit Ferrac's faceplate as a bonfire erupted before them, a barrier of flame and smoke that consumed all within. Even he stepped back as the flamer describe a firebreak between the two forces, cutting off any approach.
"That should put paid to them!" Markof crowed.
Yet Ferrac took up his axe-rake as he growled, "I wouldn't count on it."
Sure enough the flames parted and an Arco-Flagellant leapt through. It was seared head to toe, metal parts tarnished black and skin peeling off where it had been exposed. Burned flesh was everywhere, enough to render a mortal man into a thrashing dervish of torment and woe but the sinner cared not, made immune to pain by malefic sciences. Flames still licked at its hide as it shrieked in rage, the fury injected into it quashing any impulse to lay down and die. It jumped through the flames with power whips lashing the air and in its wake a dozen more followed, leaping among the Amber Vipers with great sweeps of their whips.
Kaida came apart under the touch of those whips. Caught by surprise he failed to dodge and ceramite proved no impediment to those deadly coils. Two sweeps of the lashes and he was dissected like a hog on a butcher's slab, his torso falling into neatly sliced segments around his toppling feet. The Amber Vipers recoiled in horror, unable to process the suddenness of his death and Ferrac saw then that his younger Brothers were beset by doubt. In all the wars they had fought they had never faced their equals, they fought Xenos, mutants, pirates and Heretics, but the Chapter had never braved Transhuman foes before, never fought a foe who could stand toe-to-toe with the Adeptus Astartes. They had never faced Space Marines in open battle and that inexperience would surely cost them dear. Yet there were two souls among them who had: two warriors who had faced Space Marines loyal and Traitor in war and lived to tell of it. It fell to them to lead by example.
"Face me!" Ferrac roared as his jump pack ignited. He shot into the closing mob like a bullet from a gun, using his own bulk as a battering ram. He slammed bodily into the Arco-flagellants, knocking them aside and bowling the rest over with the weight of his charge. His bones rattled and he felt like his teeth would be shaken loose but the fury of his challenge stemmed the tide for a heartbeat and gave his Brothers a moment to adapt. Hot on his heels Shrios leapt into the fray, chainsword ripping and tearing as he yelled, "Don't just stand there you callow pups, get stuck in!"
With righteous cries the Amber Vipers drew blades and leapt into the fray, hacking and stabbing in a frenzy of unleashed ire. Ferrac however had no time to watch. He had wrapped his arms around an Arco-flagellant and the inertia of his charge carried them both into the far wall. A collision potent enough to make him see stars carried through them both, force enough to shatter mortal bones but the sinner shrugged it off and smashed an elbow into his faceplate. Ferrac hadn't been hit like that since the Time of Exodus, his helm's eyelenses shattered and the breather grill deformed, cutting off his air. Blackness overcame his vision but he endured, he had taken worse than this from the filth of the Traitor Legions and would be damned if he let some half-man claim the glory of taking his head.
Blinded Ferrac's knee came up and crashed into something hard and unyielding. The impact drove them apart and Ferrac stumbled back, his free hand fumbling with the helm's seals to rip it free. His iron-face was exposed to air and he heard the screams of the dying ring loud, deep Transhuman voices making their endings known. His hearts were hammering in his chest, breathing ragged and across his back faulty power lines etched fire into his spine, the janky gear marking his flesh with its improperly blessed cabling. Yet all his attention was spent on the Arco-flagellant coming right at him, twin lashes sweeping for his hearts.
Ferrac leapt back again but too slowly. The tips of the whips carved over his breastplate and cut through with ease. Searing agony traced two fingertips over his chest as ceramic-laced ribs broke and muscles tore. He stumbled back, feeling the hurts to his plate as keenly as the wounds to his flesh. The Battle-Captain's pain was indescribable but darker was the shadow in his soul. For the first time in decades Ferrac faced an enemy who could beat him in a fair fight and the ghost of fear emerged, terror enough to make a mortal's heart stop beating outright, but Ferrac was not mortal, he was a veteran Space Marine and fear did not weaken him, it only made him more deadly. His blood spiked as Hyper-adrenaline dumped into his system, a flight or fight response to the touch of death. Fear burned his soul like fire as he tested himself to the limit, using that most primal of impulses as fuel to push himself beyond his accepted limits and elevate him to undreamt thresholds of deadliness.
The Arco-flagellant pressed its assault, it was incapable of not attacking, yet Ferrac was done retreating. He abandoned any notion of self-preservation and reversed direction, leaping to meet it mid-charge with his axe-rake swinging. Spinning chainteeth clawed over the sinner's back, shattering glassic vials and chemical-injectors and taking a swathe of skin off its back. The blow was glancing and the mindless foe shrugged it off as its lashes cut through Ferrac's flank armour. More pain added its weight to that he had already taken but Ferrac was not dismayed, he was right where he wanted to be, close enough to the enemy to feel death's cold breath stir the hair on the back of his neck.
Faster than thought itself Ferrac let go of his axe-rake and grabbed the sinner with both hands about the shoulders. He hoisted it aloft, bringing its face up to his eyes. He saw it had a half-mask over the forehead, covering its eyes with optical lenses but leaving the jaw free to grimace in pain. The resemblance to his own iron-mask was obvious but Ferrac changed all that by driving his skull into its face. The Arco-flagellant rocked back as ceramic bone, tough as plasteel, rammed into its face. The crash left a dent in the metal face but did not break it, not yet. Ferrac however was not finished; he held the sinner tight in his grip and continued his assault.
"Gragh!" he screamed as he drew back his head and then drove it forward once more, buckling the face inwards. "Nargh!" he roared as he slammed his skull against it again, cracking iron bones and letting blood flow. "Kergh!" he bellowed as his cranium impacted once more, splattering chunks of bone and brain over his mask. "Yeeeeg!" he snarled as he forced his skull through its forehead and drove it deep into the braincase behind. Blood, brain and cerebral fluids painted Ferrac's face and gummed his eyes shut but he did not relent, pounding his head into the Arco-flagellant's over and over until there was nothing left of it above the neck.
At last the sinner grew still and unmoving in his grip and he let it drop to the ground. He shook greasy jellies from his eyelids as he stooped to grab his axe-rake, then turned to engage the rest. What he saw was bedlam and madness. Half-a-dozen Amber Vipers were on the floor, bodies opened up and venting steam as entrails cooled. Over their corpses the rest fought the surviving Arco-Flagellants, meeting their fury with equal wroth.
Brother-Sergeant Anaxar was duelling a sinner with lashes for fingers, his power armour rent in a score of places. Yet his energised Trident flashed brilliantly as he drove it into a neck, shearing the head from its shoulders. Elsewhere Brother-Sergeant Torvus braved a forest of tendrils to engage the foe most closely. A pauldron was sheared from his plate and his shoulder bleed profusely, but his grip was firm and his aim unwavering as he drove his Fang into the enemy's heart. Micro-compressors blew a potent package of acids into the chest of the transmuted man, chewing him apart in seconds. He collapsed into a steaming pile of gore as vital organs dissolved, leaving Torvus battered but victorious.
There was only one Arco-flagellant left, grappling with Wrexal. The heavy gunner was encumbered by the weight of his Fusil and took a grievous wound to the neck, he collapsed frothing blood but before the sinner could claim the kill Inquisitor Markof stepped up behind it. One swing of his Thunder Hammer and its spine imploded, even reinforced vertebrae unable to withstand the touch of a thrice-blessed relic of the Ordo Malleus. The Arco-flagellant collapsed without a death cry, its torment ended at last and the fight was over.
Ferrac sagged as the energy of combat left him, draining of hyper-adrenaline leaving him feeling cold momentarily. His wounds in contrast burned hot, genhanced organs already knitting his injuries closed. He felt shaken and numb, but knew there was no time for self-pity; the others would be feeling the same way and it fell to him to steady their hearts for the next fight.
"Form up!" Ferrac barked, "Check the fallen, kill any enemies you find breathing and gather ammo. Perform the Rite of the Dead for the fallen and someone grab Kaida's flamer. Don't just stand there, move your laggard arses! Shrios, will Wrexal live?"
The Apothecary was already kneeling over the fallen heavy trooper, Narthecium disgorging coagulant sprays and micro-sutures, and he called, "He'll live, but his voicebox is ravaged. He'll have to stay still for hours if he wants me to save it, if he moves he'll lose it."
Wrexal's hand clenched into a fist and smacked into Shrios's arm twice in protest. Ferrac grinned as he translated, "He says he doesn't need a voice to kill enemies. Lose the larynx and get him on his feet as fast as you can."
As the Apothecary worked Ferrac turned to take in the dead. He counted seven Brothers, in addition to the two lost earlier. Twenty-two Amber Vipers had boarded the Revenge, only thirteen remained. A costly price and the day wasn't over yet, but Ferrac knew the bleak lessons learned would never be forgotten. They would be etched into the souls of the survivors forevermore.
Anaxar stumbled like a drunk as he stood up from a fallen Brother's corpse and gasped, "I've never faced anything like these foes in my life."
Torvus' voice was badly shaken as he concurred, "So fast… so strong… they fought like… like…"
"They fought like us," Ferrac growled, "You have just learned what it is to face Transhumans. Fear, this is what our enemies feel when they confront us. Remember this feeling, claim ownership of it and it will empower you, as it weakens your enemy. This lesson will serve you well in the wars to come."
Anaxar's gait steadied as he growled, "This lesson is one I wish to share with the Heretics."
Ferrac grinned wickedly as he declared, "Indeed we shall, as soon as Shrios has collected the gene-seed of the fallen. Come brothers, the bridge is only fifty levels up and when we get there you shall gift the revelation of fear to the Heretics."