Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 307
The Forge was in sight, so close that Ryneon could see fires glowing beyond the open doors. Only a thin line of resistance stood in the way, a scattering of Vipers, frantically falling back before they were overwhelmed. The counter-attack into their flank had been dealt with by Cottas' squad and Nyoir, while Auriga's Devastators were laying down torrents of firepower. All Ryneon had to do was lead Invika's Intercessors through the doors and victory lay within their grasp, so tantalisingly close, but then another force intervened.
From the other side a squad in purple advanced, Primaris warriors in the colours of the Soul Drinkers. They were few but their skill was equal to the Howling Griffon's own, their strength and courage on a par with the sons of Mancora. Their shooting cratered Ceramite and their timing was impeccable. At their head Daggon lifted his Crozius high and cried to their battle chant, as proud a warrior as Ryneon had ever seen. The Captain had discounted the Soul Drinkers, too few to make a difference, he was not too proud to admit that had been an error.
Chrysoar was in his hand and he discharged a round that should have blown the Chaplain's brains out. A flaring conversion field put paid to that idea, the sacred Rosarius' protection enveloping Daggon in an aura of white light. Ryneon was vexed but knew the limits of such a device, he would simply have to deal with this challenge up close and personal.
"For the Proud Eyrie, spill blood and end lives!" Ryneon barked.
"For the honour of our ancestors, charge!" Daggon howled in response.
The Soul Drinkers drew combat knives and charged, meeting Squad Invika in a furious scrum of hacking and slashing. Blood was spilled and cries of wroth filled the passageways as warriors of the rearing griffon meet the bearers of the golden chalice. Ryneon slammed Chrysoar to his hip and lit his power fist. The mighty gauntlet encasing his wrist crackled with potency, chained lightning playing about his digits. The weapon was slow, but anything Ryneon hit would suffer greatly.
Brother Queyre grappled with a Soul Drinker, arms locked about the gorget as a knife rammed into a gut. Ryneon stepped to intervene, pulling his arm back. His fist clenched tight as he rammed forward, putting all his mass and inertia into the blow. The strength of the Sinew Coils was added to his armour's spirit and that alone would have caved in a bunker's door, but the energy fields wrapping his fist magnified his blow to unearthly levels. When the fist landed lightning blazed and thunder rolled, then the Soul Drinker flew away in a shower of limbs and entrails.
"Brother Daerio!" Daggon roared, "You will pay for that!" The Chaplain hurled himself through the melee, aiming his Crozius for Ryneon's head. It was a blunt weapon with a spiked mace for a head, heavy-ended and long in the haft, lacking the glorious décor of a Firstborn's weapon but more than making up for it in potency. A power fist was a singularly inadequate weapon for blocking so Ryneon flung himself aside, trying to dodge. The Crozius clipped his pauldron and discharged in a blaze of light and sound, concussive energies battering at his helm. Ryneon powered through the effect, swinging wide with his fist. Daggon was forced to retreat, stepping back to allow the fist to sail past without contact. Then his Crozius stabbed for Ryneon's gut.
Ryneon took the blow full on and was sent staggering back, his armour wailing in distress. Daggon's weapon was potent and the discharge made the Machine Spirit screech in an alarum, telling of subsystem overloads and impediments to the fibre bundle musculature. It was all Ryneon could do to fall back another step and avoid being decapitated by a roundhouse blow, Daggon's attack displaying an admirable lack of mercy.
Ryneon pressed his free hand to his gut and gasped, "You fight well, Soul Drinker."
Daggon growled from his skull-helm, "Your lionheartedness does honour to the Howling Griffons. I shall tell of your valour when I despatch your skull back to Mancora."
"I would count that an honour," Ryneon hissed, "But alas it is you who shall fall this day."
"Valiant you may be but tainted by arrogance," Daggon spat, "I am your better in combat."
"Prove it," Ryneon barked.
Daggon threw himself forward, Crozius swinging high for a deathblow. The strike was perfect, without foreshadowing, swift and true, but Ryneon was not there. As the blow went for his head he ducked low, falling to one knee and allowing the spiked mace to pass. In return his fist lashed out, driving hard into Daggon's knee. Chained lightning met Conversion field in a blaze of clashing energies, but it was not enough to save the Chaplain. Ceramite shattered, sinews tore and Transhuman bones crumbled to dust as Daggon's leg was wrenched out of true, leaving a twisted mess of blood and splintered bone, hanging by a few gushing arteries from his thigh.
Daggon fell to the floor where he glared fiercely, "Finish it."
Ryneon rose to his feet, "You are not my avowed enemy, and the Imperium has need of such zeal."
"When next we meet I shall not be so merciful," Daggon spat.
"Then we shall truly be enemies and you will die," Ryneon agreed as he left the Chaplain in his wake.
Ryneon strode through the clash of Space Marines, seeing his Brothers engaging tooth and nail with their foes. Soul Drinkers battled Invika's squad, Cottas held off the flanking Vipers and Auriga's Devastators punched holes into the defence around the doors. The battle was on a knife's edge and Ryneon voxed to his other forces, summoning reinforcements. They were so close; they could not let anything stop them now.
Ryneon charged for the doors, slamming into the thin line of Vipers holding it against him. His power fist swung right and a wastrel in scout-plate exploded across the wall. He drove his fist forward and a cur in orange was torn in two. A dappled-steel sword scored over his greave, he obliterated the scum's skull with a short punch.
Two more steps and Ryneon was across the threshold, into the forge proper. Everywhere mortal artisans cowered, terrified by the violence but Ryneon ignored them all. Machines hung from the roof on chains or lay half-disassembled in the pits. Noble steeds looted for parts. Ryneon would have been disgusted but he had no time to waste. The relics of the Howling Griffons were here, he only had to find them and his Sacred Oath would be half-complete.
"No, you can't be here!" cried a bulky figure in a red robe as she rolled towards him.
"You!" Ryneon spat, "You are Castabore, the Cawlist envoy. Tell me where the relics of Mancora lie!"
"This is a holy place!" Castabore shrieked, "Leave now or face the wrath of the Omnissiah!"
"Tell me!" Ryneon barked.
Castabore's outline loomed as twin sonic blasters emerged from her robes. Ryneon didn't let her get a shot off. His fist slammed home, meeting her mass dead-on. He pulled his punch, cutting power to half so as not to obliterate her. Castabore was not an avowed enemy, and may prove useful. Still the force of the impact impacted her front and sent her sub-systems into wild convulsions. She was an Archmagos, her body protected by surge buffers against energy-blasts, disruptions fields and penetrating shots, but she'd never expected to encounter sheer kinetic trauma on this scale. Her operating systems went into a reset cycle, desperately trying to reroute power around crushed energy lines and compacted superconductors, effectively knocking her unconscious.
Ryneon was about to step forward and claim what he was owed but then a heavy crash behind made him spin. An Assault Marine in orange was kneeling, jump pack fuming from where he had leapt over the melee. In one hand was an ugly axe-rake but his face gave him away. Shorn of helm and bleeding around an iron-mask that covered his brow and cheeks, Battle-Captain Ferrac roared as he bounded into the fray.
Ryneon was nearly bowled over as Ferrac slammed into him, the shorter warrior all fury and spite. The axe-rake scored over Ryneon's flank chewing Ceramite apart as splinters flew everywhere. Ferrac's attack was not limited to one blow, knees slammed into hips, his free hand drove into the solar plexus and his chest slammed bodily into the Captain. Ryneon swung his fist about but they were grappling like street brawlers and he could not bring the cumbersome weapon into effect. Desperately he slammed forward, driving Ferrac back a step, but the Battle-Captain triggered his jump pack again and slammed forward, smashing into Ryneon and nearly bowling him over.
Ryneon was taken aback by the ferocity of the assault. Ferrac was Firstborn, shorter and weaker than a Primaris, but he made up for it with sheer spite. He was vitriol made flesh, he was malicious and cruel, without any hint of style or grace to his assault. Every motion brought pain to Ryneon. Fists, elbows, knees, boots and shoulder, Ferrac used them all as weapons, battering at the taller Marine in a display that was worthy only of gutter-trash fighting over a crust. It was like being set upon by a rabid mastiff, one that would sink its teeth deep and not let go till death.
Ryneon's armour was cratered in seconds but he refused to give in to anger. He opened his power fist wide and reached up. His engorged digits closed upon a Pauldron and he heaved, ripping the spitting ball of spite off his frame. The Pauldron crumpled in his grip but Ferrac was torn away, sent skittering back in a tangle of limbs, missing a shoulder plate.
Ryneon cast the crushed plate aside, "You are honourless gutter-trash."
"Piss-drinking grox fondler!" Ferrac snapped as he jumped to his feet.
"You deserve a most painful death."
"Frak you!" Ferrac roared as he pulled his gun.
Ryneon was a hair slower to draw and he felt the impact strike his battered chest. Sledgehammer rounds, trading explosive force for kinetic power. The impact sent Ryneon screeching backwards, sparks flying from his boots as he struggled to stay upright. Again and again the impacts struck home, making Ryneon stagger. A mortal would have been folded in half, but even a Primaris Marine was given pause, each shot cacophonous as a hammer striking a bell in his guts. Then the gun ran dry.
"My turn," Ryneon sneered as he pulled Chrysoar from his hip. Ferrac threw himself aside as the shot left the muzzle but Ryneon had expected this. His aim was not for the Viper's head but the jump pack on his back. The round clipped the lower edge of the device and triggered a misfire. Twin plumes of exhaust erupted from Ferrac's back, sending him hurtling high, arms and legs flailing in distress. Unexpected as it was the jump sent him crashing into a line of Sentinel walkers, awaiting disassembly, and they toppled onto his head, trapping him under their bulk.
Ryneon moved to finish the kill but then the vox lit, "Nyoir to Ryneon, Amber Vipers reinforcements attack from the rear!"
"Hold them!" Ryneon barked, "Our reinforcements are coming."
"Not soon enough," Nyoir spat, "We are surrounded, we must withdraw!"
"No, not when we are so close, I am inside the Forge!"
Auriga's voice cut in, "Remember the wisdom of the Codex Astartes. A pinned force must break out or be destroyed to no purpose. A futile last stand is no victory. There will be another fight, this I promise."
Pride warred with reason in Ryneon's hearts. He was here, the relics were in sight. He was on the cusp of victory, only for it to be snatched away by cruel mischance. Don't do it, his hearts implored, stand, fight, win. The Vipers are no match for true Astartes. Reason told a different story, venerable tactical decrees pronounced this position was non-viable, they must withdraw. Still he would not leave without something to claim as a win. He stooped low and grabbed the fallen form of Castabore, throwing her over his shoulder. She would provide him with the data he needed to win next time.
"All squads form up and prepare to conduct a fighting withdrawal. Move back towards our starting position and link up with reinforcements. The Vipers can keep their forge for now, but let's see how many of them we can kill before the day is out!"