Exitus Ultima Chapter 11
They weren't the first to arrive. Standing at the side hatch of the Thunderhawk 'Crimson Vengeance' he looked down at the temple, taking in its soaring majesty. Hovering on vector thrust he beheld spires reaching for the heavens, the entire edifice rising from the surrounding slums like a Hive Spire. Halfway up the fourth spire a bulging protrusion concealed their destination, a villa built into the Cathedral, a hidden retreat for the wealthy to bask in their ill-gotten gains. It was on fire. Smoke rose from broken windows and flashes of light indicated fierce fighting within. Someone had beaten the Storm Heralds to the target, someone else knew about the crime boss hiding within.
"We're not the first to arrive," Arvael growled over the gunships's howling engines,
Jediah was at his side, armour fitted with a compact grav-chute, "We had best get in there and stop them."
"But what if they're allies?" Brother Vuruel asked from the hold.
"Nobody stops us, nobody," Jediah hissed.
"Vox is jammed on all frequencies," Sergeant Gotram reported, "There's no response from anyone to the attack."
"Wait," Arvael averred, "Hear the timbre of the weapon fire. Bolters, there are Space Marines in there."
"Damned Traitors," Jediah hissed, "They're covering their tracks."
"Alpha Legion?" Arvael asked in surprise.
"Who else? We need to get in there, squad deploy wide-spread pattern, maximum aggression entry, kill anything in Ceramite that's not us. Arvael, what are you doing?"
"You want an aggressive entry, I'll give you one," the Librarian replied as he stepped out onto nothing. Instantly he fell away, plummeting from the open door like a missile. Clad in Ceramite he weighed an enormous amount and his velocity increased at a fantastic rate. He bore no Jump pack, not even a grav-chute, but he had other means at his disposal. The wind howled over his frame as he dropped feet-first, the spire flashing past his eyes as he dropped. The bulging roof of the villa rose to greet him, promising a terminal end, but Arvael's mind was ready. The energy of the Warp flowed along his neurons, fashioned by his mental architecture as he shaped the ethereal power into forms he could use.
Moments before impact he formed a kine-shield below his feet. Not a flat disc but a cone, sharp and pointed, wrapping him in a slice of Telekinetic barriers. Arvael's projection hit the rooftop like a bullet punching into a chest, tearing through with ease. The force of the impact shook his mind, bruising his soul, but cushioned within the folds of his power his body endured. He shattered the roof to bits as he burst within, tearing through Ferrocrete and plaster-boarding to crash into the interior.
Arvael slammed into a luxurious carpet, his boots punching through into the wooden floor below. The room he found himself in was a liquor room, where racks of expensive bottles stood in cabinets, displaying spirits from across the sector. Arvael's entrance had shattered most of them, the concussive boom exploding glassic and sending shards flying. A dozen mortals had been caught in the blast, criminal scum shredded by hails of glassic, but not the Alpha Legionnaire who stood among them.
The Traitorous filth had been busy slaughtering them and had his back to Arvael's entrance. Still he spun with Transhuman velocity, bringing a bolter to bear. Arvael was operating in the compressed time of combat and saw every detail. The bolter was framed by a brass Daemon's head, the plates of his armour swimming with azure and turquoise hues. Strange symbols adorned the plate, cyphers in languages unknown and the green of his eye lens glittered like a serpent's. All this Arvael saw in an instant, as his mind reached out and wrapped around the muzzle of the bolter.
The Traitor wasn't prepared for a Psyker to burst into the room and was caught off-guard when his gun jerked upwards, sending a bolt into the roof. Any other foe would have needed a moment to redress but this was Space Marine. Before a mortal could blink he let go of his bolter and drew a knife, hurling himself across the room at Arvael.
Arvael grabbed his Morning-star but was a hair too slow to realign his power and the Traitor slammed into him, knife angling for his eye lens. He jerked aside but the point scored over his helm, leaving a jagged furrow. Arvael's fist slammed into a flank, but the Force-weapon in his grip clanged off the armour, they were too close to employ it properly. The Traitor was silent, no promised threats or exhortations to Dark Gods, he merely drew back his hand and tried to stab Arvael in the face. Arvael was faster, his free hand came up and locked about the faceplate of the cur, as Telekinetic vices squeezed with earth-shattering force. The Traitor's head imploded, splattering the Librarian's front with brains, and ending the enemy in a heartbeat. The Traitor fell away, crashing to the ground with a clatter, his infamy ended at last.
Five seconds had passed since Arvael had broken inside and through the ragged gap in the roof Jediah followed. Grav-chute flaring he fell to the floor, short sword in hand. A moment later Gotram and Brother Juge came to land, their Phobos plate touching down lightly and their half-masks grinning in the light of reflected fires.
"Traitor presence confirmed," Arvael declared.
"So, I see, but why?" Jediah pressed.
"Tying up loose ends?" Gotram guessed, "Closing off avenues of investigation."
"That means we're on the right track," Arvael confirmed.
Jediah hissed, "So we better stop them before the Traitors finish the job. The rest of the squad are breaching the sides, we need to secure the middle!"
Nothing more needed to be said and the foursome leapt into action. They bounded out the door and hurried along a dark corridor. Mortal bodies lay in pieces everywhere, exploded by bolter rounds or crushed by Transhuman fists. Arvael's hatred surged as he saw the wanton destruction, young maids and cleaning boys butchered along with hardened Vettia enforcers. The kills were precise and efficient, no wasted shots or blows. Not like the mad Possessed they'd fought earlier, these were professional kills by those who battled with cold disdain, instead of brute fury.
In the centre of the villa they found them, Traitors, busy butchering the last defenders of the villa. Outside the open door of a master bedroom they slaughtered mortals, efficiently killing them with exact blows. Blood rained upon a marble floor as flames consumed hanging drapes and furniture shattered under ceramite boots. The Storm Herald's entrance quickly drew their attention though, bringing them about with bolters raised. Arvael threw up a Kine-shield and watched as roaring bolt rounds slammed into it, they hung for a moment, ends burning with rocket exhaust before they detonated in mid-air.
"A Librarian," an Alpha Legionnaire hissed, "Coils of the Hydra pattern assault."
"Take them!" Jediah barked.
The four Traitors charged at the Storm Heralds, hands drawing serrated knives. Arvael saw one coming straight at him, barrelling towards him like an oncoming freight-train. Twin horns arose from his helm, freakish mutations declaring his corruption by Chaos. The intent was plain, the Traitor counted on speed and fury to carry the day, breaking the Librarian's concentration, but Arvael was no battle virgin, he knew war well.
Arvael summoned his power and wrapped his mind around the Traitor's chest. A moment before contact he heaved upwards, throwing the cur bodily into the roof. The weight of a Transhuman killer in power armour was enormous but Arvael's will was equal to the task and his hatred made him strong. With a thought he reversed his grip and sent the filth crashing into the floor, cratering the marble surface and leaving the wretch in a pit.
Arvael stepped forward, determined to end the Traitor with one blow, but the filth moved like a snake. Faster than Arvael could process he rolled and rose, stabbing upwards. The knifepoint slammed into Arvael's guts, punching through Ceramite into his intestines. Arvael gasped as fire surged through his belly and pain thrummed along his nerves. A moment was all he needed to adjust but the Traitor jerked hard, twisting the knife in Arvael's guts.
"So weak," the Traitor hissed, "You wouldn't last a minute in the fires of hell."
"You like fire so much, have some," Arvael growled.
The Librarian reached for the flames consuming the drapes. With a thought he grasped the burning gases, pulling agitated molecules towards his open hand. True Pyrokinesis eluded his skillset, but he did not ignite the flames, merely steered them. At his command tongues of flames soared across the room, coiling like serpents as they struck the Traitor in the faceplate. Straight through his mouth grille they plunged, roasting the tongue inside his mouth as they plunged down his throat and filled his lungs with fire. The Traitor jerked back as his hands went to his face but too late, he was burning from the inside out and in moments collapsed dead.
Arvael looked about and saw Gotram stabbing an Alpha Legionnaire in the neck, ripping his throat out. Brother Juge lay still, his hearts penetrated by a jagged knife but he took his killer with him, his combat blade stabbed up through the soft under chin into the brain of the Traitor. Jediah had the last up against a wall, wrestling over his short sword. The filth was trying to push back but Jediah was relentless, slowly pushing the point ever towards the cur's hearts. The tip crackled as it penetrated Ceramite, ever so slowly sawing inwards, scorching skin and violating the fused ribcage below. Jediah pressed on, driving the point into the hearts and he stared into the Traitor's eye lens, taking great pleasure in watching life be ended.
The last Traitor fell dead and Arvael yanked the knife free. As Larraman cells went to work closing the wound he swept with villa with his Psyker's senses, finding no others. Five Chaos Marines, a combat squad, more than enough to kill every mortal within but the Emperor's Finest had proven their match. But had they been quick enough, that was question.
"Hurry!" Arvael barked and bounded to the open door. Within he found a bedroom, opulent in every way. He ignored fine furnishings and luxurious décor as he spied a body laid out on the bed. A naked man lay there, bleeding from vicious wounds across his chest. The bed was soaked in blood, more than any mortal could afford to lose. At the foot of the bed a naked woman cowered, stained head to toe in blood, clutching at a lesser wound to her shoulder.
"Telmarg I presume," Jediah hissed.
"Emperor Wept," Gotram snarled, "The Traitors got to him first, then went back to finish the rest."
Arvael's eyes narrowed, "You girl! What happened here?!"
"Don't kill me!" the girl cried, her lank blonde hair heavy with blood, "Please I'll be a good girl, God-Emperor I'll be good!"
"Save your bleating," Jediah hissed.
But Arvael raised a hand, "We're not here to kill you, tell me your name."
"Carisa, I'm a joygirl, that's all just a joygirl," she sobbed, "The serpent Daemons came and killed my mark, they killed him dead!"
A groan from the bed proved her wrong. Arvael sensed Telmarg was yet breathing, the Vettia boss wasn't as dead as he looked, some trace of life remained, but not for long. Arvael stepped up to the bedside and saw the wounds were fatal, mere moments remained, but time enough for answers.
"Telmarg!" Arvael barked, "Your allies betrayed you, they killed you. If you want revenge, tell me where they lurk!"
"No..." Telmarg breathed, "Vettia... don't... talk... never... talk..."
"Tell me where they are!"
"I don't... know..."
"Let me deal with this," Jediah growled as he shoved the wailing girl aside.
"Not enough time," Arvael rebuked, "This needs to be fast."
Arvael summoned his power once more, recalling his Telepathic disciplines. He wasn't as skilled in the realm of the mind as the physical, thoughts were such slippery things, but he didn't need finesse right now. He leaned down and channelled his will into the dying man, touching the most primal parts of the psyche. It was a moment's effort to trigger the most primitive neurons, bringing out the ancestral terrors of proto-humanity, the nascent dread that lurked in mankind's race memory.
"Fear..." Arvael breathed.
Telmarg's eyes snapped open and he began hyperventilating, "Throne!"
"Fear," Arvael snarled as he doubled his efforts.
"Save me!" Telmarg screamed with his last breaths, "God-Emperor save me!"
"Fear!" Arvael roared.
"Yukiana! The shadow of the Fodina Triumphal arch... Casino under... That's where I met the contact... that's where..."
Telmarg collapsed as his heart gave out. Blood stopped gushing from his wounds as his chest ceased to rise and fall, leaving him dead in his bed. Arvael cared nothing for the torment he'd subjected the mortal to, making Telmarg's last moments one of utter terror. The man was a criminal, he had spent his life leeching off innocent souls, he deserved no more mercy than the most odious heretic.
"Yukiana," Arvael mused, "A city-state two thousand kilometres from here."
"That's where the Alpha Legion hides?" Gotram asked.
"That or one of their operatives," Jediah agreed, "If the Traitors knew Telmarg was a liability they may already be moving to eliminate the next link in the chain. We need to move fast."
A faint voice rose, "Are you the God-Emperor's Angels?"
Arvael turned his face to the joygirl and stated, "We are His Finest Warriors, we are His Space Marines."
"Please take me with you, take me away from this life of sin," Carisa begged, "Please the Vettia will come for me, they'll want to punish someone for this."
"We are not a charity," Jediah hissed, "You chose this life of depravity, now suffer the consequences."
"But I can help you!" Carisa implored, "I know the casino you look for; I've been there!"
Arvael's took note of that and admitted, "She might have useful intelligence."
"I am not carrying her," Jediah snorted.
"I can walk... If I can just find a clean dress."
"Walk naked for all I care!" Jediah spat.
"Here," Arvael spoke as he tossed a grey tunic over, "Now we are leaving."
Gotram put a finger to his ear, "Vox-jamming has lifted, fire suppression teams are on their way."
"I'd love to see their faces when they find Traitor marines in the rubble," Jediah scoffed.
"They'd better not find us," Arvael agreed, "Grab Juge's body, I'm calling in Crimson Vengeance. It's been four minutes since entry and I want us gone before the sixth minute breaks. To Yukiana we must go, move fast Brothers, we are in a race with the Traitors and the clock is against us!"