Extremus Fors Chapter 14
On the third day they ran across a settlement. It was a small thing, ramshackle and crude, formed by primitive savages clinging to the edge of existence. Jubila judged it barely worth conquering, but his army was starving and in need of feeding. Plus it had been days since he killed anyone and was getting bored. So he led the attack personally.
The sentries were dull-witted and complacent, their first inkling of the coming assault being Jubila somersaulting over the low stone wall. His Charnabel Sabre flashed and a guard collapsed, missing a head. The other spun about in shock, only to find Jubila's swordpoint tracing a line across his jugular. The second fell with a spray of blood, fountaining high as he fell back.
Moments later a tide of furry half-men was rolling over the wall, clawed hands sinking into stone to pull bulky bodies over the lintel. They came with savage fury and drooling maws, drawn by the scent of hot blood and the prospect of warm meat. A dozen of them fell upon the corpses, punching and clawing at each other as they fought to rip away chunks of flesh and stuff them into their hungry gullets.
Jubila was amused by their appetites, but wasn't about to let his army get bogged down. He grabbed one by the scruff of the neck, and kicked another as he yelled, "Drive on, take the whole camp and you can feast after!" Fearful of his wroth the Beastmen surged on, hundreds of them in the first wave alone. They tore into the rude huts, braying for violence, seeking any who could fight back and tearing apart any who couldn't. Men and boys, women and children, the feeble, the strong and the mad, none were spared.
Alarm was raised at last and armed barbarians spilled out of rough dwellings, shouting in dismay. Jubila noted they were thin and malnourished, their feeble augmetics worn and misfiring, but their courage was unbroken. They met the oncoming wave of Beastmen with bursts of stubber fire and clanking pincers or thrusting speartips. Furry bodies went down, but only a few, the rest drove on, sweeping over the defenders with ease. Furious fights broke out, fast and vicious, but without coordination. These savages may have some simple upgrades, but they knew nothing of tactics and strategy. Each warrior was a warlord all to himself, waging his own fights with no sign they had been trained to battle as a unit.
Jubila lowered his sword and sighed, "Too easy."
"Easy is good," Moragann muttered as he climbed over the wall.
"Easy is boring," Jubila growled, "Where is the rush, where is the thump of blood in the veins and the sound of my hearts in my ears?! I used to battle Astartes and Daemons, thrilling challenges that diced with death every second. Look at this lot, pathetic dregs, how far I have fallen to battle these."
It was true, the Beastmen were overrunning the camp, sheer numbers bowling over all resistance. Jubila saw many filling their mouths with hot blood, but it didn't matter anymore. This settlement was small, almost abandoned. Built around a caved-in Forge-fane that had collapsed long ago. Geothermal vents trickled heat to warm the air, but only a few, the magma channels that once sustained this encampment almost exhausted. Soaring columns of ice supported a glacier roof, that leaked a little light into the cavern below, but otherwise it was dull and disappointing.
For three days Jubila had known disappointment. Exploring ice-tunnels and voluminous caverns, seeing nothing but stalactites and the occasional prey beast. Hairy animals feeding on leathery vermin, or blubbery rolls of fat that waddled away, barely an ecosystem at all. There had been a cave full of long-legged spiders yesterday, killing them had taken all of five minutes. Jubila was frustrated, only the lingering scent of Rebre's warpcraft keeping him from going mad with impatience.
Abruptly Varador's voice rumbled, "Looks like we've drawn out the leader."
"Oh yes," Jubila sniffed as he looked to the heart of the battle, "Let's go kill them and get it over with."
At the centre of the camp a knot of burly warriors fought Beastmen. They were few but they boasted the best Augmetics, not that that was saying much, but with muscle and steel they formed a circle of defiance, keeping the feral mob at bay. They fought under a banner of a mountain, some tribal symbol Jubila didn't care to learn.
The Beastmen moved back as Jubila stepped forward and called, "Who among you savages can speak?"
A warrior with a big gun for a right arm and a notched sabre stepped forth. He had many augmetics in his body and both eyes had been replaced with a glassy visor that glinted as he snarled, "I am Tormal, chief of Stonekru, I will kill you!"
"Not likely," Jubila sneered, "In two minutes you'll be dead."
"Get him!" Tormal snarled.
But Jubila sniffed, "Varador, deal with the rabble."
The Traitor marine chuckled as his arms raised, pilot lights flaring. He squeezed his fists and twin plumes of Promethium shot forth, dousing the resistors in brilliant flame. Screams ripped from their mouths as flesh was seared from the bone, skin peeling off and hair catching alight. Metal melted and wires snapped as Augmetic failed, leaving them to collapse into heaps of slag. Roiling heat wafted outwards, carrying the smell of roasted flesh and melting plastek.
Varador panned his arms wide then cut off the flames, conserving ammo. His hands raised to his helm and ripped it free, revealing a face made monstrous by burns. He had no lips and his nose was a crater, but his eyes were alive with passion as reflected flames burned within. He stared into the fire, revelling in the light of destruction, his soul ensnared by the beauty of flaming death.
Jubila was about to make a snide comment but as he drew in a breath a body leapt through the bonfire. Scorched and trailing flames Tormal flew, screaming in fury as he drove for Jubila's hearts. The warlord was surprised the savage could survive so long, but his reflexes were razor sharp. He twisted aside and let the notched cleaver soar past, elegantly dodging the blow. A snarl of fury declared the blade coming about horizontally, but Jubila bent backwards and let it sail over his chest without contact.
"You live!" Jubila laughed as he backpedalled, "How delightful!"
"Kill you!" Tormal roared.
"Stay back," Jubila barked at the Beastmen closing in, "I want this kill all to myself!"
"I'll make you pay for what you did!" Tormal screamed.
The chief came at Jubila in a furious whirlwind of steel, blade hacking and slashing without pause. His attack was unskilled but driven by fury and pain, all speed and strength with no style. Jubila forwent parrying, instead electing to step around the blows. Left, right, pivot, duck, slide, step back, tilt to the right. His sword hung limp but he allowed the fight to continue, letting the thrill of danger grow with every second. His lips pulled back as the faint pulse of excitement ran through him, weak as it was, he let it fill his black soul, luxuriating in the sensation.
"That's it faster, faster!" Jubila laughed, "Make me feel it!"
"Raaaaaagh!" Tormal bellowed.
"More, more!" Jubila laughed, "You've almost got my heart rate up!"
Tormal drew back for a titanic blow, but it was not his blade that came up. His bulky gun was levelled at Jubila's face and energy coils flared blue an instant before it fired. Jubila laughed as he swivelled right in the nick of time, letting the blast sail past without touching. A crackling ball of blue energy struck a Beastman and flared with the cold of the void, freezing flesh and oxygen molecules alike. In a moment the half-man was no more, turned into a statue with icy spears sticking out of his back. A cyro-cannon, freezing him solid.
"Not bad," Jubila admitted, "But one shot's all you get." With that Jubila struck, darting low to pass before Tormal. The Charnabel sabre flashed, his first strike of the duel and its tip tore across the chief's abdomen. A slight impact rang up Jubila's arm, telling him he made contact and then he was past, turning to see Tormal collapse to the floor.
Jubila stepped back as the chief rolled onto his back, clutching at the ragged gash in his guts. The cut was deep enough to cripple but not so calamitous as to kill quickly, the kind of wound that would takes time to kill. Excruciating minutes of drawn-out agony. Tormal rolled upon the ground, mouth gaping as he struggled to accept death inching nearer.
Jubila idly cleaned oily blood off his sabre as he commented, "It hurts, I know. You are fortunate, you will experience such heights of sensation at the end, such wondrous torment. I haven't felt such a rush in decades. Oh, you provided some small sport, but compared the ecstasy I used to enjoy this was small change."
"Pain..." Tormal choked as his torment grew.
"Yes pain and pleasure," Jubila sighed, "Such majestic experiences I once weaved. I danced on the bones of my enemies and drank deep the tears of my victims. It was glorious, but look at me now. Reduced to cavorting with Beastmen, picking at scraps of sensation. I have been brought low, marred by disgrace and the threat of punishments most dire... and not the pleasurable kind."
"Cold..." Tormal wheezed as he shivered.
Jubila nodded as if in agreement, "It was a cold fate, and entirely undeserved. My Lord Fulgrim demanded the impossible. I nearly did it, I came within an inch of snatching the prize only to see treachery and fate whisk it away. Fulgrim didn't care though, excuses carry no weight with the Phoenician. I would admire such rampant ire, except it was directed at me."
"Please..." Tormal begged as he held up a shivering hand.
"Kind of you to offer to help," Jubila sniffed, "But there's not much you can do for me. Look at me, even my armour is debased. Still, take heart in knowing it won't last forever. Once I recover the blade all will be forgiven. Fulgrim's favour is fickle but his rewards are lavish. I will reclaim my position and my power, just you watch me. All I lost will be mine again!"
"Help me…"
But Jubila snarled, "Excuse me! I'm talking about my pain here! Talk about self-involved, I can't get a word in edgewise with you yammering on."
"Dying..." Tormal breathed as his head slumped.
"I've died a couple of times, it's not the worst thing," Jubila sniffed, "Life, death, it doesn't mean anything. The present is all, the past is dead and the future unwritten. If I keep putting one step forward the universe will show me the way. Fate loves me, it will provide a..."
Jubila glanced down and saw the chief was dead, his wound haemorrhaging oily blood. His death had come sooner than expected, irking Jubila greatly, "How rude, I wasn't finished!" he snorted prissily. He shrugged off the tiny insult and swung his sabre hand over hand as he stepped away. The future could wait, he had pleasures to seek at the moment, and there were plenty of savages left to kill. So Jubila led his horde on, drawn by bloodshed and the promise of recovering his glory.
