Armorum Fidei Chapter 47

Swirling dust was everywhere, coating Ceramite in blanketing swathes of cloying grit. The air was a thick soup of mud, ash and some form of pulverised glassic that made mortal men fall to their knees, struggling to breathe. Toran's respirator filtered out the worst but something in that mix scrambled his autosenses, cutting his vision down to metres. Vox was also choppy and intermittent, coming and going without any pattern he could discern. It was a vision of hell but in the madness he exulted, the Pysbrid tower had come down and whatever threat it presented was ended.

He looked about and saw vague shapes moving in the murk, his Brothers calling out for direction and aid. At their feet lay choking mortals, clawing at their throats as grit coated their lungs, a poor laurel for their hard-won victory but those who did not survive would be honoured for their sacrifice. Toran tried to reach out with the vox to contact Raynek, Lorath, anyone but his armour's spirit was beguiled by the strange alien substance in the air. Whatever the Psybrids made that tower out of it was vexing.

Lost in the dark Toran gripped the Sword of Thiel tighter and stepped forward, trying to get out of the cloud. Surely it could not last forever, there would be a break or it must settle eventually, he couldn't imagine what he would do if it didn't. He stumbled over a fallen man, hands wrapped around the throat of a dead Tallestrian and found another alien standing still. It seemed lost, dumbly moving about without direction or control. He realised the mind-control had been shattered, leaving it a mindless husk, reduced to feral instinct alone. It heard him coming and lips drew back over sharp fangs, but Toran put his sword through its snout and ended the threat swiftly.

The sound of its collapse drew notice and from the murk stumbled Justini, her Paragon suit battered but whole. Her head cast about as she called, "Praxi, Resita… Heleyna. Where are you?!"

Toran addressed her, "Sister, be calm."

"I can't see anything in this muck!" she spat.

"It will settle, be patient," Toran rebuked then diplomatically said, "Trust the Emperor's will."

Justini was reassured and sighed, "Yes trust in Him. It was by His will we were led to victory."

"The war isn't over yet," Toran cautioned, "We must re-establish command of our forces and eliminate any remaining Pysbrids. Do not think for a moment they will fall so easily, we…"

Suddenly the mists parted to reveal a gangly form. Toran recognised it instantly, the fiend who had slain Matheus. Cold rage surged within him and his teeth ground together at the sight. The Psybrid for its part saw them too and twin whips raised in challenge, a hissing threat issuing forth. Toran accepted its challenge by raising his sword before his eyes and stating, "You die here filth, Matheus shall be avenged so says…"

Justini broke the solemnity of the moment by leaping forward, screaming in feral anger as her blazing axe swept downwards. Toran was caught by surprise and tried to call her back but the Battle-Sister reacted on instinct, driven by fiery rage. Her great axe swept down and had it made contact the alien would have been cleaved in two, but it had already relocated. It wove to the side and its lashes curved about, searing a deep furrow into the arm of the Paragon suit.

Toran saw his chance and leapt for its exposed back, leading with the shining tip of his blade. He moved with all his Transhuman speed but the Psybrid was faster. It twisted out of the way with swiftness that would have made an Eldar blink and slashed horizontally, aiming to decapitate him. Toran saw the blow coming and ducked at the last moment, sensing crackling whips pass over the back of his helm by less than an inch. He was forced off balance and hit the ground with his pauldron, rolling with the landing to come up back on his feet, ready to attack again. Unfortunately Justini was in his way, abruptly launching herself at the Psybrid with a wild swing. There was no elegance to her blow, no skill, it was the raw and anger and instinct of a wounded beast, fighting with blind rage. A fierce display of aggression, but not one that touched the Psybrid.

Toran was forced to jump back from an overextended swing and he yelled, "Damnation, learn to swing that thing or get out of my way!"

"They violated my mind!" Justini raged, "They defiled my soul, it must die!"

Toran tried to advance around her but had no opening and he barked, "You won't kill anything like that, we must fight together or it will take us apart!"

His words proved prophetic for the Psybrid had had enough of dodging. It waited for an extended blow to pass by then its whips flashed. Twin cords struck the damaged axe arm and sheared it from the body, ripping away the limb with sparking flares of Motive Force. Justini gasped and staggered back, instinctively bringing up the Heavy Flamer on her other arm. The Psybrid moved like quicksilver, striking the elbow and taking the limb clean off, leaving the suit armless. Justini lurched back and then the Psybrid was upon her, leaping high to plant both feet on her chest and send her toppling back into the mud with a wet thud.

The Psybrid landed gracefully on both feet and loomed ready to kill but Toran at last had his opening. "For Terra and the Living Primarch!" he yelled as he dove into the fray. His sword thrust for the centre mass of the Psybrid, trying to impale the creature within, but the foe jerked out of the way at the last moment. Toran's frustration rose but his arm was not slowed, he swept the edge of the blade about, then curved over and tried to slash its legs off. He gave it no respite, moving with all of his Genhanced speed and skills he had honed over a century of warfare. The Psybrid was on the backfoot, forced to retreat, backing into the cloying murk. Left and right, high and low Toran attacked, never relenting and yet never quite landing a fatal blow.

Suddenly the Psybird acted. Its whips made a scissoring motion and caught the Sword of Thiel in a vice. Toran's attack was brought to a dead halt and his hearts grew cold as the generator in the hilt shorted out, letting the disruption field dissipate to nothing. Instantly the Psybrid attacked, screaming some alien threat as it came on. Toran was left holding an inert length of metal and was forced to backpedal, frantically waving his dead blade in a parrying motion. Blows rang off the metal and with each touch the Sword of Thiel sparked dangerously, wisps of smoke starting to rise from the hilt. Toran was left aghast at the thought of permanent damage to the treasured relic but he had no time to recover, all he could do was retreat and try to stay alive.

The Psybrid surely noted his distress for it redoubled its attacks, pressing him to the limit of his skill. Toran had fought Daemons and Champions of Chaos in his time but this filth matched them in every way. Its whips were everywhere, coming at him from all directions, keeping him from defending any one angle as his blade had to be everywhere at once. Desperation gnawed at his guts as he realised he was outmatched, facing a superior combatant, one that would take him apart as soon as he slipped. His death was not a concern but to fall would allow this filth to go on to kill more people, his Brothers and innocent mortals.

Toran resolved to take this scum down no matter the cost and halted his retreat. He reversed his direction and dropped his guard, letting the whips past his blade as he stabbed for the centre mass. A whip lashed over his hip, tearing through Ceramite and letting his blood flow freely. A noose of pain gripped his right leg and lit his nerves on fire but he pushed through, determined to end this fight even if it cost his life. He was willing to die to take this enemy with him but his desperate act proved pointless. The Psybrid twisted inhumanly and dropped away to the right, leaving Toran overbalanced. A foot caught his midriff and he tumbled away, the Sword of Thiel soaring away to land point down in the mud as his wound sank claws of fire into his side.

Toran was left defenceless and rolled over, grabbing his knife but knowing it was useless. The Psybrid had him right where it wanted him, and would end this fight in a heartbeat. He swore to stare death in the face, yet that was not what he beheld. Even as his head came up a dark form blurred past, mechanical feet stomping over the mud as truncated arms pumped air. It was Justini, somehow she had got her suit upright again and was charging back into the fray, slamming her bulk into the Psybrid. The Xenos staggered back, alarmed and confused momentarily but its bewilderment would be short. It was armed and she was not, or so Toran believed.

"Die foul creature!" Justini screamed as she reared back and suddenly bolters set about her head barked, sending Mass-reactives in a hail at the foe. Spinning rounds clipped the Psybrid, punching weeping holes into its fleshy armour and making it stagger. Toran dared to believe the Battle Sister could end it once and for all, but the Xenos rallied, diving under her barrage to sweep at her legs. Sparking whips smashed into the joints of her suit and she collapsed like a hewn tree, crying out as the machine slammed over.

Toran however was not watching, for his eye had caught sight of something else. As the pair duelled he spied a bulky object laying in the muck, the fallen Heavy Flamer. Even as the Psybrid cut down Justini he was rolling over to it, grabbing its weight in both hands and lifting it with a snarl of pain on his wounded leg. The pilot light was still lit and his hand found a piston trigger as he levelled the weapon and squeezed. A burning gout of Promethium shot forth, dousing the Psybrid head to toe and making it into a living candle. Toran held the trigger down, bathing it in flames and making the Xenos scream in a fashion that brought vindictive joy to his soul. It flailed and thrashed about, jerking madly as its exterior peeled away and fat gobbets of broiling flesh dripped upon the ground.

The Heavy Flamer spluttered and died as its abused mechanism failed but Toran was not finished. He dropped the bulky weapon as he lurched towards his blade, snatching up the Sword of Thiel as he limped to finish the kill. Every step was a torment but he held the pain at bay as he forced his damaged limb to move. Impossibly the Psybrid was still standing, its charred edges flaking away. Whatever armour it wore had saved it from incineration but it was failing and its motions were halting and slow. Toran swung his blade in an overhead strike. The sword was still sparking and inert but it mattered not, driven by all his anger and hate the Adamantium shaft struck an arm and cleaved straight through, breaking off a limb as the Psybrid had done to his ally. It screamed in denial but Toran kept attacking, shearing off the other arm and then the legs. He struck for the lost, for all who had died, taking out all his anger on the foe as he yelled, "We are the Emperor's Storm!"

Dismembered the Psybrid fell to the dirt and lay helpless. A crack had opened in its chest and a dark eye peered out, the true creature within exposed at last. It hissed some unknown curse in its foul tongue but Toran ignored that as he reversed his grip and held his sword point down over the gap. He tensed for a moment and then drove the Sword of Thiel into the opening with a cry of "We are His wrath!"

The impact rang up the blade as he drove the point through fleshy armour and the creature within, driving into the ground below. The Psybrid jerked wildly for a moment, then black blood started to ooze everywhere, spilling out of the shorn body and at last it grew still. Toran held the sword there for long moments, feeling his breath heavy in his chest and hearing his hearts hammering his ears. The fight was over, he could scarcely believe it but it was true, the Psybrid was finally dead.

Silence bloomed at last, the awful noise of battle fading as peace returned to the world. Wearily Toran lifted his head and drew back the Sword of Thiel. His arms felt like water and his legs were shaky but he was alive and triumphant, a moment that demanded to be honoured. The noble sword was yet inert but he wiped the gore away with his gauntlet and placed it to his forehead with a whispered, "Matheus I commend this kill to your memory. Wherever your shade rests, know you are avenged."