Extremus Fors Chapter 24

"I'm bored of poking through ruins," Jubila declared.

"Live with it," Varador grunted.

"This is getting tedious; ruins, deserted Forgefanes, pathetic settlements, it's all so uninspiring. I need better!"

"You'd be amazed how little I care for your boredom."

"You wouldn't like me when I'm bored, people bleed when I get bored."

Varador didn't answer, merely poking his head into another empty workshop. The Forgefane was cold and dark, abandoned for decades, possibly centuries. The roof was low in this section and frost crystals layered the walls. Here and there primitive detritus littered the corners, evidence someone had once lived here, but no longer. Old thermal vents had long since failed, dropping this place below the threshold of survivability, it was a mausoleum to failed dreams.

Jubila found it all very depressing. The Mechanicus was always a tedious organisation, interested only in bits of metal and circuit. Jubila's interest lay in flesh and bone, and the unmaking of such things. Tears and screams and passion were the fundamental aspects of life, not mechanisms. Even when he had worn the Imperial Eagle proudly he had thought the Tech-priest fools, chasing a dream of immortality, while throwing away everything that made life worth living.

He cast his head around the hall and found his Beastmen overturning benches and poking into frost-covered lockers. The former purpose of this place was unimportant, all that really mattered was that the Daemonsword was not here. Jubila found it most frustrating. Rebre was nearby, he could scent the spoor of her warpcraft, but even his senses were not refined enough to narrow her down. Lacking direction his horde was combing through ruined forges, trying to find a lead. Aggravating was not a grand enough term for how vexed he was. It was like smelling dead vermin in ones' house, overturning every piece of furniture without realising the body lay under the floorboards.

To alleviate the tension Jubila looked at Varador's back and asked, "Care for a wager?"

"No."

"A riddle then,"

"No."

"A tale, let me tell the tale of how I threw off the Aquila."

"I've heard it."

Jubila carried on regardless, "Istvaan III, the birthplace of treachery. Ah, how we laughed as the loyalists bled. Such wonders, such revelations. Then Istvaan V, where we set the galaxy aflame. Those were wondrous days, but I didn't truly embrace who I am until I led the assault on Nippour IX. It was garrisoned by the IIIrd, you know, an enclave of idiots who hadn't heard the news of our allegiance. Captain Nottaru, a plodding line-captain if ever I saw one. He welcomed us as lost Brothers, thinking we had been battling Traitors. How greatly surprised he was when our blades were drawn against him. The fool had welcomed us into his fortress, and we tore it out from under him. I claimed the local governor's head myself and cast down his dynasty. Nottaru's rage was hilarious to watch. Impotently cursing as he watched us fly away in our Stormbirds."

Varador half-turned and snapped, "Why must you bleat on?!"

"You have a better story?"

"I don't do stories."

"Oh, come now. What about your best kill, tell me of how you stuck it to someone who truly deserved it."

Varador paused, then sighed, "There was one… Bherrus Prime. Shortly after my exile, I came to fight in a mercenary band. Renegades, outcasts, those thrown from the Imperial bosom, but not yet embracing Chaos. We assaulted an Industrial world for spoils and plunder, thinking to enrich our status. The defence forces had been stripped to fight off the Tyranid advance two sectors over. We carved a path through the dregs and took the Governor's manse. I killed him myself, slowly, dangling him over a fire and burning him alive. Slowly, one strip of skin at a time. His screams, they awoke something in me… I heard something I'd never heard before. The song of power and wonder, eternal passion… the warp calling to me. I left the renegade Warband after that and sought true power."

"Not bad," Jubila sniffed, "Not the fireworks I like, but moving. Needs spicing up though, next retelling throw in some loyalist lapdogs, some boring and mundane Chapter like the Hammers of Dorn. You need some epic duels to liven it up."

"I'm not making things up!"

"Shame… what is a story without a great antagonist…"

He trailed off as a shudder swept through them. Jubila's skin crawled and his ears felt like they were packed with cotton wool. Long association with the Warp had left him sensitive to Etheric changes, and something had just shifted, something fundamental. He smelt putrid currents of thought and corruption that were the Beastmen as a mouldy stench, but now disturbed by something of a different order. A fresh wind was stirring the dank air, blowing from nowhere, blasting away the fetid odour of Chaos and replacing it with hateful purity.

Varador's senses were not so keen but even he said, "Something's happening…"

"Action at last!" Jubila cried as he drew his Charnabel sabre, "Follow me!"

He leapt into motion, dashing from the workshop into a broad corridor. He hared down the passage, feet skipping over frosted stone as he chased the disturbance. His genhanced ears heard the sound of bloodshed ahead, braying mutants venting their fury as they sought to rip and tear. Against them was a solid thwack of steel meeting flesh, grunts of aggression and armour ringing with deflecting blows. Jubila's Lyman ear could discern the calibre of a stubber round flying by in mid-battle and he knew the resonance of Astartes' weapons intimately. Whoever was battling his minions, they were Space Marines.

Jubila's lips drew back in anticipation, at last a real fight. Already his blood was spiking with Hyper-adrenaline and his vision narrowing to combat focus, preparing him for the violence to come. He dove through a wide door, thinking to engage immediately, only to find a most surprising foe awaiting him. In a ruined Forge-Templum, as broad as a Titan was tall, five warriors in silver armour were fighting off a horde of Beastmen. Tall were they, armoured in dazzling plate that threw off shining reflections of purest light. Their weapons were heavy and glowed with power, while their heraldry was aching to look upon. Each bore a small token on their breastplates, a sealed compartment fused to the Ceramite. They wore purity as if it were a cloak, radiant virtue driving back the background taint of Chaos. To look upon them was to feel shame, the inadequacy of one soul made plain in comparison, the scopes of one's failures undeniable.

"Grey Knights," Jubila breathed in surprise.

"Who?!" Varador snapped.

"The hypocritical corpse-god's army of witches," Jubila laughed, "Spend a little more time in the service of Chaos and you'll hear rumours of the Imperium's secret weapon against the Dark Gods. I've always wanted to kill one."

Varador snapped as he lifted his flamer-gauntlets, "They'll die all the same."

"I wouldn't…"

Varador didn't listen, triggering his gauntlets to spear lances of flame at the embattled warriors. The strike was well-aimed and devastating; promising to inundate them in an inferno, but it was not to be. One of them with a long staff raised his hand and caught the flame in his palm, wrapping it around his fist like a whip. This was impossible, he was holding fire like a length of rope, gripping tight as if it had physical weight. Varador spat in fury and tried to break away but the Psyker held firm and refused to let go. His hand jerked upwards and the whip of flame snapped back and forth, ripping Varador from his feet and sending him flying into a wall.

"Bravo!" Jubila laughed aloud, "A worthy display! Oh minions, step back and let our guests speak."

The beastmen paused at his command, but fell back, leaving piles of dead at the Grey Knight's feet. The one with the staff glared as he spat, "Die filth!"

"Is that any way to start a challenge?" Jubila scoffed.

"Challenge?!"

"Yes, I Jubila, most perfect swordsman of the Legions, do hereby challenge your greatest warrior to single combat!"

The leader cast his eyes over the widening ring of Beastmen and growled, "I Hypras have nothing to prove to the slaves of ruin."

"Dear me, do the Emperor's witches have no honour?"

"Honour, the word is a mockery in your disgusting mouth!"

"True," Jubila laughed, "But I have always wanted to kill one of you. Perhaps you'll get lucky and kill me instead. Accept my challenge and take the chance… or refuse and I'll have all my minions attack at once, plus me, and I'll kill you all."

Hypras snarled, "Pelleus, kill this fool, then we take the rest."

Another stepped forward, with twin blades in hand. Jubila eyed him curiously, this Grey Knight didn't seem particularly dangerous but appearances could be deceptive. Jubila lowered his Charnabel Sabre to his right flank, bracing his back leg as he waited for the traditional salute of blades. He wasn't surprised when it didn't come.

The Grey Knight surged forward with tremendous velocity, a cry of righteousness on his lips as he attacked. Twin points stabbed for Jubila's face, trying to end the fight in the first second. Jubila should have died right then, but he too was leaping forward. His Charnabel sabre met one blade in mid-air, defecting it away and the other skittered off his pauldron as he twisted his other hand and snatched something from the Grey Knight's breastplate.

The pair landed and spun about, only for Jubila to hold up a small book, still in an armoured casing as he sniffed, "What's this then?"

"Give that back!" Pelleus snarled.

"Is it important to you?" Jubila crooned, "I suppose you'd be upset if I did this…"

His fist closed and the small book was torn to shreds, mangled pages spilling from his hand. The sight incensed the Grey Knight and he attacked in full fury, twin swords spearing with all of his anger behind them. Jubila met the strike with sweeping deflections across his front, sword elegantly moving to block both attacks. Another thrust came for his belly, then high and low, another and another and another, so fast and sure, yet Jubila caught them all. His blade seemed to be everywhere as his feet danced over the cold floor. He felt a rush of excitement as the duel became frantic, his sword having to be everywhere at once. His hearts thundered in his chest and the sick thrill of dancing with death made his spirit cry in exultation.

"That's it!" Jubila laughed as he parried and denied, "Take it to the extreme, no limits!"

"I'll show you no limits," Pelleus growled as his arms shimmered.

Jubila was startled as the storm of swords coming at him doubled in pace, then doubled again. The swords thrust and hacked in frenzy, moving faster than the eye could follow, faster than Transhumanly possible. Pelleus was moving at speeds undreamt, his hands rendered invisible, so fast did they move. Jubila was amazed at the velocity of the Grey Knight, his own sword barely touching anything. He felt nicks and scrapes score his plate, actually touching him, a sensation he hadn't experienced for a long time. It took all his skill and speed just to keep from dying. He had to push himself to the uttermost extreme to stay alive, beyond anything he'd ever known before. The deadly pace of the combat was the crucible in which his limitations were burning away, leaving a transcendent being in his place.

"Stupendous!" Jubila cried, "I…". From nowhere a blade materialised, angling right for his face. Jubila threw his head back but still the tip scored over his cheek, leaving a bleeding furrow. Jubila bled, not an outcome he had expected, and he was forced to throw himself back to avoid having his skull opened up by a second blow.

Jubila cleared room as his foe gave chase, crying, "Remarkable, you truly are a superior warrior!"

"It's not about superiority, it's about purity," Pelleus snarled.

"How dreary," Jubila sighed, "And I was just starting to like you."

Pelleus spat a curse as he thrust forward. His hands blurred with speed, but Jubila was no longer in the way. He leapt vertically, clearing eight feet in a single bound, passing right over Pelleus' head. Jubila had noted while the Grey Knight was psychically empowering his hands, he neglected to do the same to his feet. Pelleus' strikes were beyond Transhuman, but he could only manoeuvre at conventional velocity. In footwork he was not Jubila's equal.

The warlord tumbled as he shot overhead and his boot lashed out, catching Pelleus in the back of the neck and sending him tumbling to the floor. Jubila landed lightly and spun about, charnabel sabre lashing out. He intended to slice across the neck and part Pelleus' head from his shoulders, a blow that would end the fight permanently. It did not land. An inch from the skin the sword stopped, sticking fast in mid-air. Jubila grunted in surprise as his sword was trapped in an invisible vice, unable to advance or pull back.

His head turned to see Hypras standing nearby, hand outstretched to cast a Kine-shield over his fallen comrade. Jubila snarled, "Cheating, you dishonour your brotherhood!"

"Our honour is beyond tarnishing," Hypras snarled, "Not least by dupes of the Primordial Annihilator."

"How delightfully narcissistic of you," Jubila snorted, "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave alive."

"You cannot stop us!"

"Yes I can, for you're not the only one cheating. You see, I only challenged you to buy time for my horde to arrive!"

From the corridor behind came a furious braying, torn from bestial throats charging towards the templum. Beastmen by the score, racing to join the fight. Moragann was with them, leading his slaves to the fight. Hundreds of beastmen, were pressing into the room, more than five Grey Knights could hope to withstand. With sheer weight of numbers the minions of Chaos sought to overrun the sons of Titan, and they would not stop, even if they had to suffocate them in their dead.