Extremus Fors Chapter 25
The horde charged at full pelt, hooves and claws pounding the ground with thunderous echoes. They came as a heaving mass of muscle and fur, their eyes bloodshot and maws drooling in rabid frenzy. No hint of intelligence remained, no reason or doubt. The raw passion of battle filled their minds, driving out all thoughts save to rend flesh and feast upon gory remains. The most bestial urges of man given form, their souls as twisted as their bodies.
They were met by flaring bolt rounds, rocket exhaust hanging in the air as mass-reactives punched deep and exploded. The Grey Knights held a line across the templum, storm bolters flaring on their wrists. Hypras was among them, holding his telekenetic vice firm as he fired in the other direction. The thunder of his gun quaked his arm and repercussions shook his teeth in his gums. Storm Bolters were not meant to be fired one-handed, but with Transhuman strength and long experience his aim did not waver. He fired in short bursts, blessed rounds wasted on lowly mutants, an obscene waste of their holy sanctity, but needs must win out.
Five Grey Knights fired in tight bursts, culling enemies with ruthless efficiency. A score of beastmen fell in gory rags of broken flesh, another score, another. It made no difference, hundreds of foes charged down the corridor, trampling their dead into the floor with utter disdain. The Grey Knights fell back, bringing their melee weapons to bear. Pelleus rolled out from the pinned Jubila, facing the greater threat with his swords held ready. Seconds drew out as the range closed, a tidal wave of flesh that threatened to roll over the handful of Daemonhunters, no matter how defiant they were.
Hypras spared a second to glance at the struggling warlord, still trying to break the vice holding him still. Reluctantly Hpyras let Jubila go, drawing his power away for a more urgent need, even he could not maintain two castings at once. With a moment to spare Hypras sent psychic power through his own nerves, firing them to incandescent fury, then he thrust his hand forward and discharged building energy. Crackling arcs of lightning burst from his hand, crossing the distance to earth in flesh. Beastmen convulsed as they were struck, they jerked and thrashed as their flesh smoked and eyes boiled in their skulls.
Hypras smote the front rank with all his fury, blasting the rest back a step. Once more he pulsed his nerves, letting loose a blast of lightning but this time it went awry. The lightning twisted, pulled away by another force. It grounded in the walls, blackening stone but doing no other damage. Hypras snarled in fury as he spied a cowering witch hanging back, carrying a psychic odour foul and tainted by the Primal Evil. A hedge-sorcerer, drawing away Hypras' power.
Hypras gathered his strength to engage mind to mind and blow this irritant's brain apart, but there was no time for the rolling mass of Beastmen piled in. Hacking and snarling, clawing and biting came abhumans beyond counting. Hypras felt the weight slam into his bulk, nearly bowling him over. Hands clawed at his hips and waist as crude knives scored the perfect sheen of his ceramite, seeking the vulnerable joints. He met them with sweeps of his Nemesis stave, breaking limbs and throwing back attackers, but to no avail. The beastmen just kept coming, uncaring for losses, for every one he smote three more would appear.
Hypras fought with all his might but was singularly unsuited for this kind of fight. Grey Knights were specialised Daemonhunters, forged to fight Neverborn and their lackies. Against mortal foes Nemesis blades were only as effective as traditional weapons. Wards of purity were meaningless in this fight and even the Aegis wafted feebly, barely stirring the hair on their backs. In this fight Hypras was no more than the average Space Marine Librarian.
Almost his hand strayed to the Tesseract Labyrinth at his belt. The arcane device could sweep up this horde, trapping them in a fractal prison none could escape. It would clear his road, but he stayed his hand. Such a device was precious beyond measure, irreplaceable, not to be wasted on dregs like these. So he fought on, channelling force into his staff to break bones and smash heads, trusting brute strength to hold the line.
He was fighting furiously but through the Aegis sensed Mercadier squad beset. Galhuan was swinging and stabbing furiously, piercing heads and hearts with every thrust. His form was perfect and his strikes deadly, but his precision was wasted. This was not a fight for exact combat forms, there were too many foes and too little room. Galhuan could kill a dozen enemies in moments and end up more outnumbered than when he began. Pelleus stood at his side, arms blurring. He was decimating anything that stood in front of him, but could not cover his back. His speed was eye-watering but could only fight what he could see. Beastmen kept trying to slip into his rear, and it would only take one to stick a knife into his back.
Agriff by comparison was going wild. Every swing of his hammer shattering enemies in wide circles about him. His psychically empowered arm cleaved through chests and heads like wet wood, spraying blood and brains wide. He was holding his own but having to cover Mordad, who was locked in a duel of his own. From afar the flamer-wielding Traitor advanced, arms spraying jets of fire. Mordad met the onslaught with flames of his own, his blade spewing psychic fire. The plumes met and exploded, showering hyper-heated vapours over all. Any beastman who strayed too close burned in that inferno, their fur set alight and skin charring to ash. Mordad was pinned so long as the contest continued, unable to break off or advance.
Hypras sensed the fight turning against the Grey Knights and gathered his strength. He channelled power through his stave and let rip a blast of telekine might. Beastmen went flying, tumbling away as invisible bonds threw them aside like leaves in a wind. Hypras thought to gain a moment's respite, but then a curving blade came at him. Jubila, re-joining the fight with a lethal flourish.
Hypras jerked aside but still the edge of the blade kissed the side of his neck, letting blood flow from a tiny slice. Jubila pulled back and chortled, "First blood to me, watch as I take the rest!"
"I don't have time for this!" Hypras barked as he reached out with his mind.
At his command strips of metal tore from the templum, pulpits, candelabras, ewers of sacred oil, flying under his direction, deforming and warping as he remade them. Narrow strips of metal slapped onto Jubila and wrapped themselves around him, binding his legs together and pinning his arms to his side. He wobbled as a statue for a moment and opened his mouth to yell outrage, but then a strip lashed over his mouth, silencing him as he toppled back. Hypras didn't believe for a moment the bindings would hold, but it bought precious seconds.
"Brothers!" Hypras bellowed, "Form a Kine-Shield!" At his command Mercadier squad united their powers, the Aegis blazing as four psykers merged their abilities. As one they compelled a barrier to manifest, an invisible wall as strong as their wills. It swept over the battle, leaving the Grey Knights untouched but throwing away enemies, driving them back six steps. They wailed and they howled, they beat their hands upon it but they could not break through. The kine-shield cleared a small corner of the Templum and held, it would hold, it had to.
Galhuan stood with hands held out before him as he cried, "We can't hold forever!"
"We have no choice," Mordad hissed as effort shook his soul.
Agriff spat, "Is there a back door?"
"None," Pelleus hissed, "I've checked."
"Break the floor and drop a level!" Galhuan cried.
"No good," Hypras uttered, "I sense enemies on every level."
"Think fast then," Agriff snarled, "They're getting heavier!"
Hundreds of foes had fallen and still they came, a crushing weight of flesh and fur. They pressed against the Kine-shield, slamming their bodies into the invisible wall. The heaving mass was unstoppable, grinding forward with relentless pressure. Those at the front cried out in distress as the weight of their fellows crushed them into the barrier, squeezing their ribs with unbearable mass. They were suffocating in the press, killed by the multitudes of fellows trying to force their way forward. The herd didn't care though, they were determined to roll over the Grey Knights, no matter how many of them died to do it.
Hypras saw the Daemonhunters were trapped and every impact on the shield was a wound in their minds. They couldn't hold this position forever; the defence would be ground down until their resistance shattered. Their blades had reaped a fearful tally, and yet barely made a dent in the hostile army. They were made to fight Neverborn, everything about them honed to that singular task, against hordes of fleshy foes they were disadvantaged. This fight was everything the Grey Knights sought to avoid: filthy, bloody and utterly pointless. This wasn't why they were here; these wretches were meaningless to their quest. Even if Hypras killed them all it would aid the cause nothing. They shouldn't be here, shouldn't be fighting this foe, so he made a fateful decision.
Hypras stepped back and left his comrades to maintain the Kine-shield. He closed his eyes and gripped his staff tight as he reached deep within his soul, seeking the font of his power. Immaterial energy waxed strong, pouring from the Empyrean in a steady current. He grasped that power and began reciting ancient mantras in his mind, hammering his thoughts into a complex weave of neural architecture. Few among Grey Knights could fashion so intricate a conjuration, few commanding the raw power, skill and experience to attempt so perilous a casting. Hypras however was one of the few, his mind honed by dark lore and harrowing trials to become an unbreakable mountain of will.
Hypras took the power and shaped it into a circular tunnel, broad enough to contain all the Grey Knights. The Gate of Infinity, a spell of translocation akin to Teleportation, as dangerous as it was powerful. Hypras intended to skim the surface of the Warp, without the protection of machine or ward. Among Grey Knights such weavings were spoken of in hushed tones, even Interceptors relying on the crutch of personal teleport packs. Hypras was not afraid, he was sure and certain of his skill and drove the spell into the fabric of spacetime, parting the veil betwixt reality and the Warp like a scalpel through skin.
Hypras felt the casting taking hold, but then came interference. A dark tendril of energy sneaked into the matrix of the spell, plucking at the weft and trying to unmake it. That odious little sorcerer, attempting to thwart Hypras' efforts. He was crude and unskilled, but nature dictated that it was always easier to destroy than create. He didn't have to be supremely talented to throw a spanner into the works.
Hypras' grip faltered, the complexity of the weave slipping out of true. He felt power bleeding from his hands and desperately sought for more. He found it in the Aegis, the combined might of Squad Mercadier. He didn't hesitate to draw upon that wellspring, drinking deep and greedily from their pooled spirits. Their minds cried out in denial as power was sucked away and the Kine-shield failed. The barrier evaporated and the beastmen surged forward in triumph, but Hypras was faster. He guzzled every drop of power then opened the gate and dropped them into the Warp.
Infinite depths took them, endless dimensions without form or function. Hypras was everywhere at once, present at all times, and yet did not exist, having never being born. All possible stories of his life existed simultaneously, he was a child cast out to die for the sin of mutation, a witch-king of Heresy, a hallowed saint led by visions proclaimed divine and a Grand Master of Titan. No mundane human mind could comprehend such paradoxes and even a Psyker could barely glean the slightest morsel of understanding. And yet he sensed sentience drawing near, hateful creatures of bile and spite, Daemons, scenting the spoor of his soul and coming to feast.
Desperately Hypras cast about for a way to escape, seeking a way back to the material world. His intended route was lost, soured by the witches' interference. Hypras had no anchor, no fixed point to cling to, yet there was a star to steer by. Hypras sensed a mind nearby, psychically potent but not corrupted by the Dark Gods. Hard and unforgiving, tempered by loss and secrets, potent but not overpowering. The mind of a human Psyker, somewhere on Lujan Minoris. It was enough for Hypras.
The Librarian practically threw his kindred from the warp, bursting into the Materium as Daemons gnashed their fangs in frustration. Hypras hit a slope and fell to his knees, hands plunging into powered ice. His head fell forward as the power slipped away, leaving him drained and empty. His breath steamed in the freezing air, warm exhalations torn from heaving lungs. The others were similar beset, their might spent and strength exhausted. They flopped in the snow, helpless as mortals, and utterly vulnerable.
Danger flared in Hypras' mind as he realised he had brought them to a place unknown, and to a mind unfriendly. He lifted his head and found himself staring at a pair of blue boots, Ceramite greaves rising above. Higher a warrior looked down; his esoteric armour marked with the runes of an Astartes Librarian. He looked young but hardened by sorrow and yet his face seemed familiar. Yes, Hypras knew this one. Sadly, that wasn't the most pressing concern, more troubling was the large Dreadnought looming over his shoulder, anger wafting off its half-soul as it aimed an assault cannon into the Grey Knight's face.
Honourable Ajax glared at the fallen Deamonhunters, who had just appeared from nowhere in a flash of light, and growled, "GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON NOT TO KILL YOU."
